#but getting so much content yet all of it SUCKS is a different more painful hell

[transpanda-1]

🪴We couldn’t imagine being a BTAS Two Face fan, the amount of whitewashing that happens to that character is insane…

[reidsworld]

A Different Kind of Training

Summary: When sparring with Logan turns into something more.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: sparring, cursing, mentions of alcohol, teasing, flirting, kissing, making out, tit sucking, fingering, heavy petting, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, knife play? (the claws come out), use of Y/N, pet names (baby, bub, darlin’) — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!

Word Count: 2.8k

Mars speaks… Two fics in one day? What can I say, I’m a sucker for writing (and Logan Howlett). I originally wasn’t gonna write smut for this but I locked in and nearly 1.4k words of smut later, I’m happy with how it turned out! I was imagining Logan in X-Men but this gif is too hot not to use.

Masterlist

The sun was setting over Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, casting a warm, golden light through the large windows of the gym. The usual buzz of activity had quieted down, leaving you alone to get in some extra training. The silence was almost calming, a rare moment of peace after everything that had happened over the past few days.

You were lost in your thoughts, practising your kicks against a heavy bag, when the door creaked open. Without needing to look, you knew who it was. There was only one person who could move so silently yet make his presence known so effortlessly.

“Looks like someone’s been working hard,” Logan’s gruff voice came from behind you, a teasing edge to it. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

You turned, arching an eyebrow as you met his gaze. “Just trying to stay sharp. Didn’t expect you to drop in. Thought you’d be nursing a beer somewhere.”

He shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Beer can wait. Figured you could use some real training instead of beating up that bag.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, so you’re volunteering to be my punching bag?”

Logan pushed off the wall and strolled toward you, his movements fluid and controlled. There was always something captivating about the way he moved—like a predator, always aware of his surroundings, always ready to strike.

“Something like that,” he said, his voice low as he came to a stop a few feet from you. “If you think you can handle it, bub.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “Big words, Wolverine. Hope you can back them up.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The session began as it always did—circling each other, testing the waters with light jabs and quick footwork. But there was an underlying tension tonight, more than usual. Maybe it was the way Logan’s eyes kept straying to your lips, or the way your heart raced every time he got close.

“You’re getting slow, old man,” you teased as you dodged a punch and spun away, landing a light tap on his shoulder.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk. “And you’re getting cocky. Might have to teach you a lesson.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, you both lunged forward, fists flying in a blur of motion.

The sparring intensified, the lighthearted banter replaced by focused determination. But even as you fought, there was a spark of playfulness, a dance of words and movements that only the two of you shared.

“Is that all you’ve got, bub?” Logan grunted as he blocked a kick and spun you around, his grip on your arm firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a sly smile on your lips. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your ego too much, Wolvie.”

His laughter was low and genuine, and it made something warm unfurl in your chest. Logan was a hard man, but moments like these—when he let his guard down, even just a little—made you feel like you were seeing the real him. The one beneath all the gruff exterior and adamantium claws.

As the session continued, you found yourself pushing harder, testing his limits just as much as your own. Each time he got close, you felt the heat of his body, the brush of his skin against yours, and it was becoming harder to focus on the fight and not on how much you wanted him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of back-and-forth, you saw your opening. With a quick feint, you managed to sweep Logan’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the mat with a surprised grunt.

You didn’t waste a second, straddling him and pinning him down with a triumphant grin. “Looks like I’ve got you.”

Logan looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense, but there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. “Seems so. What’s your plan now, darlin’?”

The way he said “darlin’” sent a jolt through you, and suddenly the playful atmosphere shifted into something heavier, more charged. You leaned in closer, your faces just inches apart, your breath mingling with his.

“Maybe I’ll make you beg for mercy,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing.

Logan’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. “Or maybe I’ll turn the tables on you.”

The challenge in his voice was clear, and you felt your pulse quicken in response. But before you could think of a retort, Logan’s grip tightened, and with a swift, effortless movement, he flipped you over, reversing your positions so that he was the one hovering over you.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly, but his eyes were soft as they searched your face. He wasn’t pinning you down, not really—there was still room for you to escape, but neither of you made a move to do so.

The tension between you was palpable now, crackling in the air like electricity. Logan’s gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if asking permission. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest, but you gave a small nod, unable to find your voice.

That was all the encouragement Logan needed. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as fierce as it was gentle. It was like everything that had been building between you two—the banter, the flirting, the unspoken tension—was pouring out into that one kiss.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, lost in each other.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Logan’s eyes were still closed, his grip on your hip gentle but firm as if he didn’t want to let you go, while his other hand was on the floor, positioned next to your head.

He leaned down to lay passionate but gentle kisses against your neck.

You bit your lip, suppressing the almost vile moan that was on the tip of your tongue, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I’ve been waiting for you to make the first move.”

Logan chuckled, raising his head to look at you. “Guess I’m not as patient as I thought.”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. “Guess not.”

The mood between you had shifted, the playful teasing giving way to something deeper, something more intimate. You felt a connection with Logan that you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully acknowledge before, and now that it was out in the open, it felt right.

“So, what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with a new intensity, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “How about we take this workout somewhere more private? I’ve got a few ideas on how to… optimise our training.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the suggestive tone in his voice. “Lead the way,” you murmured, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Logan smirked, pulling back just enough to help you to your feet. But before you could move, he captured your lips in another heated kiss, this one more urgent, more demanding. It left you breathless, your knees weak as you clung to him for support.

When he finally released you, there was a hunger in his eyes that mirrored your own. Without another word, he took your hand and led you out of the gym, his pace quick and determined. The cool night air hit your skin as you stepped outside, but you barely noticed, too focused on the man beside you.

Logan’s room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air was filled with a quiet intensity as you both entered, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Logan’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes dark with an unspoken promise. He stepped closer, his rough hands finding your waist, pulling you gently towards him. The world outside seemed to fade away as you stood there, the anticipation crackling between you.

You looked up at him, your heart racing, as his hands slid up your back, his touch both firm and tender. “So, this is your idea of a private training session?” you teased, your voice breathless.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Just thought we could continue our workout in a more…personal setting.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s lips were on yours, his kiss fierce and hungry. The sudden intensity took your breath away, but you melted into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, gripping him as you kissed him back with equal fervour.

His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer as if he wanted to absorb every inch of you. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as you both lost yourselves in the sensation. The roughness of his hands contrasted with the softness of your skin, creating a delicious tension that only heightened the experience.

Logan’s lips were warm and insistent, moving with a rhythm that made your pulse quicken. He gently pushed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours, the heat and strength of him undeniable. You responded eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips moving in perfect harmony with his.

The kiss was a dance of passion and exploration, each touch and caress filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. Logan’s hands slid down to your hips, his grip strong and possessive as he pressed you closer against him. You could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his muscles, and it only made you want him more.

“Jump,” Logan said, though it sounded more like a grunt than actual words. As you jump, his arms catch you, holding you by both of your legs as your hands threaded through his hair. You could feel him straining against his pants while he walked you over to the bed. You looked up at him with a smirk from where he tossed you on the bed. You slowly begin to undress, leaving you bare in front of him with the exception of your bra and panties.

“Stunning,” He muttered under his breath as he stared at you in a trance. His hand travelled down to his aching bulge, palming himself at the sight of you.

“Just gonna stand there and stare or are ya gonna do something, Wolvie.”

He let out an almost animalistic growl as he climbed on top of you, capturing your lips with his. His rough hands hands felt smooth against your skin as they travelled across your body. He pulls away from you, looking at his hands as his claws come out. He gently slides a claw under your bra, snapping it, freeing your breasts.

His claws retract and discard the bra across the room. His head quickly dives down to your tits, mouth latching onto one of your hard nipples as his hand kneads at the neglected breast. A yelp escapes your lips as he gently bites down on your nipple.

Your hands twine themselves in his hard, tugging gently as he moves his attention to your other breast. As he focuses on your breast, he shifts so that his elbow is holding him up while playing with your breast. His free hand slides down your body, slipping into your panties.

His fingers brush over your clit, making you let out a very solicited moan. His fingers run up your slit, making him groan.

“Fuck, you're already so wet and I’ve barely done anything yet, bub,” you let out an almost pathetic whimper in response. You feel him rut against your leg, attempting to get some much-needed relief. One of your hands leaves his hair and moves to push off his pants before planning him through his underwear, earning a groan from his lips.

You gasp as you feel one of his thick fingers enter you, pumping and curling in and out. It feels so good, all you can do is moan out his name. Looking into your eyes, he pulls you into a kiss as another finger slips into you. He swallows your moan with his mouth.

“Logan, ‘m so close baby,” you moan into his lips before whimpering at the loss of contact as his hand pulls your of you.

“Need to be inside you, want you to cum around my cock, darlin’” he says making you nod quickly, pulling your hand away from his groin.

He stands up, pulling off his boxers. As his cock frees, it slaps against his stomach and you almost whimper at the sheer size of it. His claws slowly extend out of his fist. He crawls back on top of you before using one of his claws to gently rip off your panties.

He positions himself at your entrance and looks up at you for approval.

“Please Logan just fuck me already.”

Gently and slowly, he pushes himself inside of you. His head falls back at the feeling of you around him. You wince at the slight sting from the size of him. He slows down and looks at you. You nod at him and moan as he bottoms out.

The two of you stay still for a minute as you adjust to him.

“Ok, you can move now, Lo.”

“How d’ya want it darlin’?” his raspy voice sounds out, making you even wetter.

“Rough baby, I thought this was supposed to be private training not–,” you tease him but are quickly cut off by your own moan as he roughly pulls out to the tip before slamming back in. His hands grip your legs, pulling them over his shoulder before moving to tightly grip the pillows next to your head. Your arms move up my your head, loosely wrapping around his.

The room is filled with loud moans and grunts as he fucks you. One of his hands moves down to circle your clit, making you cry out at the feeling. He drops one of your legs off his shoulder, changing the angle slightly.

“Oh fuck, right there!” you scream out as he pistons into your sweet spot. He throws his head back with a loud growl as your pussy clenches around him.

“Holy shit bub, so fuckin’ tight, wrapping around me just right.”

You hear the loud noise of his claws right next to your head as they extend into the bed. He uses them to give him more leverage as he fucks you harder, making you arch your back.

“‘M so close baby,” you moan into his ear as his head drops to your neck.

He doesn’t give up his relentless pace as he brings you closer to your orgasm. The sounds of his feral grunts in your ear throw you over the mess, making you scream as your insides tighten and you cum around his cock.

“Almost there,” he says as his thrusts become sloppier and his dick twitches inside of you.

“Where d’ya want it?”

“Inside, please,” you say, desperately.

Logan moves to kiss your tender lips roughly as he cums in you with a loud groan. His thrusts slow down before he comes to a stop. He drops on top of you with heavy breaths as you both lie there in silence.

Slowly pulling out of you, Logan rolls onto his back next to you before you both turn your heads to look at each other. He grins at your fucked-out expression.

“That was even better than I imagined,” he admits.

“Same,” you agree as you lean over to kiss him, smiling against his lips and muttering as you pull away,

“This was definitely a different kind of training, but I think that I still need a little more work on my form, think ya could help?”

Mars speaks... (again) I don't think I've ever locked in more than I did for writing the smut part of this. Any feedback is greatly appreciated🫶

[ozzgin]

Hello ozzign (is it okay if I call you Ozzie?) I was wondering if you could do how different hybrids reacting to reader getting their period, because I am on my period rn and it hurts like **HELL**, so I would very much appreciate it if you’d do that for me

Love, 🍄 anon

NSFW content!

Bear!Hybrid loves to spoil you with physical affection. The moment he sees your displeased expression, he knows. He'll sit down and pat his lap, inviting you to hop on. He's massive, soft, and warm: you'll be asleep and in no pain by the time he's done cuddling you.

Lion!Hybrid has a lot of female clients frequenting his salon, so he is rather well-informed when it comes to your troubles. You're in pain? He'll immediately cancel all appointments for the day, grab a blanket, and sit next to you. He has an agenda of tips, tricks, and suggestions that he's dutifully gathered for your sake. He's at your service.

Tiger!Hybrid is a tad awkward when it comes to this, truth be told. He's an underground fighter, and has lived his life with the simple philosophy of sucking it up. Unlike him, however, you're a frail human. He can't bear to see you in discomfort, yet it's not some opponent he can beat up. Maybe he can...uh...fuck you until you're better?

Cow!Hybrid Husband is such a caring spouse. He'll prepare you a warm drink made with plenty of love, then spend the rest of the day pampering you and fulfilling all your wishes. His tail is wagging in anticipation, eyeing your thighs and hoping you'll soon ask him to eat you out. Truly, there is no better cure. Let him take care of it.

Bull!Hybrid is a little nonchalant offering his help. He'll knock on your door, claiming he's heard your groans of discomfort and suggesting he...keeps you company. He doesn't even wait for your response, closing the door behind him and heading for the bedroom. What, it's common sense that neighbors help each other out! And he's starving to show you how neighborly he is.

Hammerhead Shark!Hybrid can tell from the moment you dive in. You barely left your boat, and you already notice him speeding in your direction. A shiver crosses your spine once you see his hungry expression. You begin to gesture at him to calm down. Pointless, really. When he's like this, there's no reasoning. He's always attracted to you, of course, but sometimes you really drive his instincts wild. He's about to devour his prey, and you'll love every second of it.

[More OCs with a menstruating Reader] | [Hybrid Masterlist]

[cadavercowboy]

Just Friends

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A night of drinking makes Bucky bold and a harmless text makes him bolder.

Word Count: 3.6k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Alcohol consumption. Thigh fucking. Orgasm denial. Cum play (microscopically). Oral sex (implied).

The tip of one finger prods gently at your lower lip, eyebrows scrunching with a wince when a burst of pain emanates from the slightly swollen flesh. A narrow, reddened cut dissects the once smooth surface and you lean closer to your streaked mirror to get a better look. Carefully, you press your lips together as if you’d just applied a layer of lipstick and the sting worsens.

You swear you can feel your pulse throbbing beneath the superficial wound and you sigh. It has ached all day, even more so when you split the small wound open while eating dinner earlier. Yanking open a drawer, you dig around in search of your scarcely-used tub of Vaseline, hoping the sticky goop will prevent your scabbed lip from cracking open again. With a soft touch, you apply a thin layer to your tender lip as well as its uninjured mate, having to stop yourself from habitually rubbing them together. 

This is all Bucky’s fault.

Last night had been a normal outing, no different from any other you’ve shared among your small group of friends. Music pumped from speakers, alcohol flowed from an array of bottles and cocktails, fun and laughter filled the evening. Normal, that is, until Bucky backed you into a dark corner of the bar and kissed you harder and more fiercely than any man or woman ever has.

It wasn’t the kiss that surprised you so much as the kisser. Admittedly, Bucky is a good-looking guy and sure you’ve had less-than-appropriate thoughts about him a time or two, but it’s not as if you’ve ever had a truly serious interest in him beyond what some might consider a crush. Not that it matters much. Although you consider him a friend, Bucky is rather reserved and — prior to last night — you’d have bet any amount of money that he’s certainly never had a second thought about you. 

And yet, the ghost of his warm lips devouring yours still haunts your mouth. The way he’d cradled your head and caressed your tongue with his own has you feeling light-headed even after all these hours. Bucky licked and sucked hungrily at you, at one point seeming to grow so overwhelmed with an untamed need that he’d nipped rather harshly at your mouth and left you with a memento of your shared moment of passion.

You shake your head and flip off the bathroom lights before heading back to your bedroom. Stripping down, you throw on a comfortable outfit to sleep in and climb under the covers. With your head burrowed comfortably deep in your pillows, you shut your eyes and beg your brain to stop replaying the memory of last night on a loop. You have to stop thinking about Bucky. And about Bucky’s lips. And about kissing Bucky. 

But you can’t.

Your eyes flick open, hardly able to see anything in the darkness of your room and you sigh. You huff and flop onto your side, hoping the change of position will usher you off to sleep faster. The niggling thoughts pervade. You still can’t believe he kissed you like that. Ignoring the pinch of pain you feel, your tongue sweeps repeatedly over your bruised lip and you swear you can still taste Bucky there. 

In all honesty, you want to simply blame it on the alcohol or the heated tension you’d created on the dancefloor together just so you won’t have to admit that your broody, handsome friend might actually be attracted to you. Hell, you’d blame it on something as trivial as the full moon if it means you can avoid having to think about what last night’s kiss might mean for your meager friendship. Is it too much to hope that Bucky had been overly inebriated and forgotten about it altogether? 

As if able to hear you thinking about him, the once silent phone sitting on your dresser lights up and vibrates. Propped up on one elbow, you can just barely make out Bucky’s name popping up with a succinct ping. You stare at the screen for a long moment, hoping that if you don’t look at his text, it will somehow go away. It doesn’t. In fact, an accompanying message joins the first and your curiosity finally forces you to reach for the device. 

Bucky: Tried to order a shot at the bar and they’re all out of tequila. I think we did serious damage last night

You smirk and release a quick snort of laughter at Bucky’s text, all the while wondering how in the world he’s managing to go out drinking after last night. It’s been an entire day and you’re still feeling the effects of your overindulgence, your head evidently doing its best impression of a balloon full of concrete. Before you can respond, the screen indicates that Bucky is typing something else. 

Bucky: Sorry about kissing you by the way. We have to be as awkward as possible around each other now FYI

So much for forgetting. Sensing Bucky’s attempt to make light of the strange situation while also trying to suss out how you’re feeling about it, you decide to take it easy on him. You have no hard feelings about the kiss and you’d hate for him to feel badly over something so trivial. 

Sitting all the way up, you switch on the bedside lamp and open the camera app while you bring your phone close to your face. You open your mouth slightly so the aftermath of Bucky’s kiss is more visible, take a photo, then send it his way with a sarcastic text about how he should be sorry for how he’s maimed and massacred you. 

It doesn’t even occur to you how the thoughtlessly snapped picture might be misinterpreted. There had been no purposeful intention in the sensual way your lips were parted, nor had you meant to capture your cleavage in the image. You’d simply sent the picture as a joke and locked your phone, but seconds later — even before you’ve managed to set the device back down — Bucky’s number and the goofy group picture you have saved as his contact photo are lighting up your screen. The phone vibrates steadily in your hand as you stare in surprise. 

If you’d been sitting in the downtown bar with him, you would have watched as the content smile that accompanied the sight of your incoming message had been promptly swept away as Bucky’s eyes scanned what you’d actually sent. You would have seen the way he snatched his jacket off the barstool and how his hand nearly shattered the glass of his phone’s screen when he jabbed your contact with unnecessary force. You would have witnessed him lifting the phone to his ear, grinding his teeth as the dial tone droned while he strode through the thinning crowd and out the bar’s exit to the crowded street.

“Hello?” you drawl hesitantly upon answering the call.

You receive no greeting in return, only a terse demand.

“Send me your address.”

“What? Why?” you wonder, sitting up straighter in your bed at the serious sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you sending me that picture,” he retorts as if it is obvious.

“Bucky, what are you talking about?” you laugh nervously. “It was just a joke.”

“I’m not joking,” Bucky assures you seriously. “Send me the damn address.”

You repeat his name again with another uneasy scoff as you try to process his unexpected adamance. Heat blooms all across your body and you begin to chew nervously on your fingernail as you struggle to come up with a reason for him not to come over. There’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“Listen, I’m…I’m already in bed in my pajamas,” you offer lamely. “I’m not exactly in any state to receive company and…and…I haven’t cleaned in days! I was just kidding, Buck…you don’t need to—.”

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t you dare.”

The argument sounds rather lacking even to your own ears. In actuality, you don’t care how you look or how your place looks if Bucky does come over. What you care about is what will happen if he does; specifically, what’s going to happen to you. But there’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“I’m going to hang up the phone and get a cab,” Bucky informs you impatiently. “By the time I do, I better have your address.”

Before you even have a chance to plead your case, the line goes dead. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you stare indecisively at the chat which remains open on the screen. The easiest solution would be to put the damn thing down, roll over, and go to sleep. But the cursor that flashes in the textbox taunts you, calling to you like a beacon. You’re suddenly feeling uncharacteristically weak. 

Your fingers move of their own volition, punching in the appropriate information before you toss your phone to the end of the bed and flop backwards with a closed-mouth scream. This man is going to show up on your doorstep. 

There’s something paradoxical to the notion that you aren’t close enough friends for Bucky to know where you live, yet he’s about to show up here to…well, you aren’t quite sure what he’s showing up for. His demand to know your address was alarming — if not somewhat enticing — and you allow your imagination to take over for a moment.

With damp palms dragging down your suddenly overheated face, your mind races and you begin to question your sanity. It would have been so easy to ignore Bucky’s demand and just go to sleep. You’d probably be saving yourself a lot of trouble. But deep down, you have to admit that this is something you’ve been secretly wanting since the very first day you met Bucky. However, that particular thought exists miles down a road you’re not quite ready to travel along.

By the time the resounding knock comes, you’ve paced about a mile and a half back and forth through your bedroom. Your heart is pounding and you’re practically shaking right out of the clothes you wear. A thick hoodie and a pair of loose cotton shorts hang off your vibrating frame, only because you decided wearing your sexy pajama set would seem a bit too presumptuous…perhaps even desperate. And it had definitely felt that way when you put them on earlier. 

Maybe you should change back. Maybe you shouldn’t care so much. The echoing knock is firmer this time and doesn’t give you time to think about it any longer. Because this man actually showed up on your doorstep.

You’ve hardly cracked the door open an inch and Bucky is already inside and shedding his leather jacket from his broad shoulders. He closes in on you until you’re forced to take several unsteady steps backwards into the dark, narrow hall. His hungry eyes look you up and down, sizing you up like a lion would its kill.

“What exactly are you doing here?”

Although you try to infuse some sort of playful, casual laughter into the question, the uncertain quiver of your voice gives you away. As does the way your eyes dart around, refusing to meet Bucky’s. He notes the anxious rubbing of your palms against your thighs and takes a slow step closer to you. 

Standing frozen before him, you gasp when he takes hold of your elbow and promptly marches you towards your bedroom. By the time you’ve turned around to face him, Bucky has already pulled his shirt up and over his head, the defined muscles of his torso rippling and on full display as he does so. Your mouth is dry and your brain is fuzzy.

“You changed,” he notes nonchalantly before gesturing at your outfit. “You’re gonna wanna take that off.”

Bucky utters the order so confidently and with no preamble that it nearly knocks you off balance. You know what’s happening, your brain just doesn’t seem to believe it. And so you stand stock-still, incapable of much more than staring. It isn’t until Bucky growls in frustration — clearly believing that you’re being coy or perhaps just stubborn — that you find your voice.

“You still haven’t said why you’re here.”

“Because…” he begins impatiently as he toes off his boots and kicks them aside. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night. And now…seeing how good I look on you is driving me crazy and making me wanna mark you all over.”

The admission is jarring. Almost as much as the cracking sound that shatters the silence in the room when Bucky unbuckles his belt and whips it free of his pants with one smooth movement. You choose to ignore his unashamed desire and opt to address the less detrimental part of his confession.

“Buck, c’mon,” you choke, somehow feeling even warmer. “It was just a kiss.”

“So?”

Your eyes meet his then, not sure how to respond to his unexpected challenge. The heat you find there nearly scorches you. You’re suddenly at a loss for an excuse that seems adequate enough to turn down the prowling man. Especially when you know you want this as much as he does, if not more. Still, you try.

“We were drunk,” you offer weakly.

It sounds like a question even to you and when Bucky quirks a dark brow, you know your reason has fallen flat. He regards you for a long moment, unbuttoning his jeans and revealing a trail of hair which dips below the illegibly branded waistband of his underwear.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he assures, hair mussed and nostrils flaring. “Now, like I said…take that off.”

“Take…what off?” you mumble distantly.

You’re too distracted by the plethora of smooth, tanned skin to pay attention; too beguiled by the sight of his half-naked body and all that it promises to continue thinking. Bucky points a long finger in your direction, swirling it mid-air to specify that he’s referring to your baggy hoodie and rumpled shorts.

“All of it,” he barks. “Off.”

Ultimately, you obey Bucky’s request and though your limbs move as if filled with sand, they manage to shed your hoodie and shorts just the same. You’re left standing bare-chested in nothing but a pair of underwear that do very little to shield you from the lascivious perusal of Bucky’s hungry eyes. He mirrors your state, now standing before you statuesque and gorgeous in nothing but a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs when he finally answers your earlier question. 

“I’m here to finish what I started.”

He breathes the words, his lips so close to your own that you can almost taste him. With barely an inch between you, Bucky’s eyes flicks to yours, silently asking permission. He shows no intention of closing the space between you, instead waiting for you to make that decision. You do so without hesitation and crash your lips into his with a sigh of relief at the familiar feeling of his mouth on yours.

In a flash, Bucky tears away and has you hauled into his arms to toss you easily into the middle of your soft mattress. You’ve barely stopped bouncing when Bucky’s strong body is braced above you. His hips settle perfectly in the space between your thighs; you can feel the heat of him there and the sensation is dizzying. Holding his weight on one hand, Bucky slips the other in the miniscule space between your torsos and hooks a finger along the elastic band of your panties. He tugs playfully at the material before letting it snap sharply against your hip.

“I did say all of it, didn’t I?” he taunts with a wry smirk.

“I didn’t have time,” you argue with a giggle that stops short when he allows his hips to drop so that you feel his hardness directly against your center. “I’m sorry.”

He hums against your skin as his lips trail from your jaw to your ear where he licks the sensitive lobe and nips gently at your skin.

“Shh…don’t worry,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We can leave them on because if you take ‘em off right now, I am going to fuck the shit out of you.”

You’re uncertain whether the words are a promise or a threat, even more unsure which you’d prefer. With a pathetic whimper that curls warmly into Bucky’s ear, you feel his heavy cock twitch against your crotch. His lips latch hastily to the side of your neck and he suckles.

“Please, Bucky,” you mewl, wanting him to deliver on his threat. 

Threat…promise…you don’t care what it was, just so long as he follows through. To your dismay, Bucky puts a swift end to your hopefulness.

“No no no, baby…don’t beg,” Bucky coos almost cruelly. “You’re not getting fucked tonight.”

He punctuates the lowly-spoken words with a pointed thrust of his hips, grinding firmly against your core and beginning to feel the dampness of your sodden panties through his own underwear. You gasp then, sharp and sudden — the sound only partially prompted by the pleasurable sensation he imparts upon you. It is the widening of your eyes that belies the other cause for the breathy noise: Bucky’s unexpected denial. The complete turnaround has you reeling. If he notices your disapproving reaction, he gives no indication and instead continues his inauspicious words.

“I’m gonna make you ache the way I’ve ached for you. Gonna make you go crazy wanting me,” he breathes, interspersing thrusts every so often between the syllables. “Make you so desperate that you’ll do anything just for a little taste.”

Bucky hisses the last word and you flinch just as the rigid head of his length brushes your swollen clit through the thin layers of material separating you. Even without touching you beyond this, he has you near tears and yearning. He watches the pathetic tilt of your hips and the pitiful way your face crumbles, in awe over the way your muscles quiver and your body moves restlessly beneath him. You haven’t even seen a fraction of what he has planned for you and already you’re falling apart; the very notion has him clenching his jaw as his cock hardens painfully.

“Buck. Please.”

You whine — breathless and high — though Bucky continues as if you haven’t said a word.

“I’m gonna take you right to the edge,” he cups your ass, lifting and grinding your hips into his with a dramatic pause, “and then…stop.”

Before you have a chance to lament Bucky’s refusal to give you what he’s made you want, his strong hands grip your bent knees to gather your legs and arrange them over one shoulder so that the backs of your thighs settle along the hard ridges of his abdomen. With your legs pressed firmly together, Bucky reaches down to take himself in hand. He inhales through his teeth, allowing a few indulgent strokes of his throbbing cock before he aligns the glistening tip between the soft flesh of your thighs.

A groan forms deep in his belly, bubbling up until it fights its way out when his lips part instinctively. You watch, trancelike, as Bucky glides his dick rhythmically between your legs. In and out, over and over. Sweat gathers where your skin meets and Bucky’s grip on you tightens as fucks your thighs, taking a smug sort of pleasure in his endeavor to continue denying you.

As his thrusts increase in speed and the veins in his thick neck begin to protrude, you hope Bucky is suitably distracted and dare to lift your hips in search of some much needed friction. Bucky’s reaction is swift, immediate, and infuriating. He presses his weight forward, shoving you back into the mattress and effectively pinning you in place just as a strangled sound pours from him. 

Without warning, his hips jolt forward and his body tenses before becoming still. A wet warmth splashes against your belly and Bucky lets out a rush of breath while his body convulses and another rope of cum rains down on you. 

Bucky finally allows your legs to fall to the side, each one bracketing his corded legs where he still kneels above you as he allows his orgasm to wash over him. The fog lifts for you before it does for him and with the dawning realization, your desperation ratchets up a notch. Feral for some sort of release, you thrash with need and whimper with embarrassing anguish. Your body vibrates with the tension that blazes through your veins and you reach for Bucky, fingernails grabbing and clawing at his hairy thighs while you beg and plead for him to take you, touch you, anything.

Bucky had come here tonight with every intention of teasing and torturing you — a sort of retaliation for the yearning he’s felt for you — but seeing you like this is pushing him dangerously close to giving in. To fucking you the way you both want him to. However, he vowed not to fuck you tonight and he’s a man of his word. Still, he’s willing to show a little mercy. 

With a huff and a quick sweep of his hand through his hair, Bucky is shushing you. He shifts his weight and slides down until his striking face hovers just above your pelvis. From here, he can smell you and the faint aroma has his mouth watering in a way he thinks he ought to be ashamed of. He drags his fingers through the pearlescent splatters that dot your stomach while his other hand eases your panties to the side before he brings the slickened digits to your folds. Warm breath puffs against you when he whispers.

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you, I never said I wouldn’t make you cum,” he concedes with a dastardly grin.

Sebastian Stan Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost

[anastasiabowe]

𝙏𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀 𝙇𝙄𝙆𝙀 𝘾𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙔! — song lyrics corresponding with your boyfriend!

note: Hey guys! So, I have been writing a lot of KNB posts (which I’ll never stop) but if you guys want someone or many to be written about OTHER than KNB, then just request!

P.S. I wanted to try something new so this is why this is a little different from the recent posts!

Content warnings: smut, piv, licking, pussy eating, back scratching, pussy pounding, dick sucking, praise, jealousy, cuffs, overstimulation, and body worship.

★ — 𝗞𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗜 She's just like candy, she's so sweet!

Kagami dragged his tongue across your neck, growling in the process. You whimper as he did that action, you’ve never done this before, and his tongue feels weird! Kagami continued to dig his fingers that were on your thigh help keep your legs open as he laid between them, and the other on the bed holding himself up.

Kagami wanted to take it slow, savoring in your sweet innocent taste. He has never enjoyed smelling and licking someone like a fucking dog before, but if you asked him to bark, he’d yap. Your hands were on his collar bone as you tried to push his head away. He grabbed your hands with the hand that was on your thigh, and pushed them above your head.

When he was done enjoying your neck, he moved lower. This threw you off. Your face heated up, and panic filled your lungs as he lowered your fitted top past your boobs. Kagami kicked and kissed around your nipples and eventually your nipples causing your- down there to heat up.

Kagami sucked on your nipples, and slowly moved his hand down to your cunt. “W-wait!” Kagami stopped his movements, and lifted his head to look up at you.

He didn’t say anything, waiting for you to clarify. He didn’t move his hands, he actually moved them away from your parts. Eventually when you covered your face from embarrassment he got the memo.

“We don’t have to do this. I just can’t get enough of your taste. You taste sweet.” He smiled, you looked at him through your fingers, and sighed.

“O-ok, well, just go s-slow.” He chuckled, and moved his whole body lower so he was face to face with your cunt.

“Alright, let’s see how sweet she is.” He slid of your panties, and you felt extremely exposed, but yet extremely turned on. Kagami’s mouth practically frothed at the sight. He pushed your legs farther, you pushed back, not wanting him to see all of that, but he was stronger. When you kept fighting he stuck his tongue out and started eating you out. You then slammed your legs closed around Kagami’s head and he chuckled into your cunt.

After a while, he pulled his head from your cunt, prying your legs apart, and looked up at you with a cheeky smile.

“Mhm, she is sweet!”

★ —𝗞𝗨𝗥𝗢𝗞𝗢 Baby, I got everything and so much more than he's got!

Kuroko’s hand gripped yours as he saw your ex playing basketball in the local basketball courts. He was really good, no, very good, and he caught you taking a quick glance. You didn’t seem interested, but a glance was enough to make him jealous. He pulled you into his house quickly, and you let out a whine thinking you were in trouble or something. Kuroko only got like this when he was upset, so what is he upset about.

He pushed you up the stairs, very gently, but you were moving too slow, and he walked you into the bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and grabbed your face in a heated kiss. His face was so smushed into yours you had to pull away because it was becoming painful. Kuroko placed his hand behind your head to keep your lips on his. You whimper out in pain from your lips digging into your teeth.

Kuroko laid you down on the bed, and when you got a good look at his angry face, you could tell it wasn’t you. It was him. Kuroko quickly pulled your pants down, and spat on your cunt. Even though he is mad and not in the mood to be playing games, you couldn’t help but stifle a quick giggle from his cute little tantrum. He perked his eyebrow up when he head you laugh, and soon it wasn’t funny anymore.

“B-baby! I’m sorry, please just slow d-down!” Kuroko pounded into your cunt, his hair in your and his face. He hit his bottom lip as he kept thinking about how you were probably getting fucked by your ex before Kuroko came along. He kept thinking about how you probably once upon a time enjoyed your ex during sex since you stayed with him so long. These thoughts field his fire which he usually didn’t have very much, and it was becoming too good for you too handle.

“Whatever I did, I-I’m sorry!” Kuroko smashed his lips on yours so you could shut the fuck up. He of course wouldn’t dare say that to you, but that was what he wanted to say to you right now. You whimpered into his mouth as he pounded harshly into your cunt. You felt like cumming again, hoping Kuroko wouldn’t deny another one for you.

“I-I’m gonna c-“ kuroko pounded harder and brought his hand down to your pl cunt and started rubbing your clit. You moaned loudly at the action and came, hard. Kuroko wasn’t quite there, he wanted another one from you, and maybe a few more after that. He wanted to show you he was so much better than your ex!

★ — 𝗔𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘 I can name a couple ways, baby, this shit might go!

Aomine clenched his jaw seeing you with your friends. You were wearing a skin tight black dress with ripped tights and black pumps. He already knew guys were up against you wherever you were, and he was upset he couldn’t even punch one in the face. You didn’t know Aomine was following you and your drunk friends. I mean you wouldn’t have been hard to find with all that yapping and screaming you all did. He hurriedly walked towards you and your friends calling out your name so they know he wasn’t a creep.

You turned and stumbled from how drunk you were. Aomine grabbed your arm and dragged you a little ways ahead of your friends. You were in heels so he eventually just had to pick you up and carry you home over his shoulder. He got angrier by the second when he kept pulling your dress down over your ass. Why the fuck did you wear this shirt dress. Your ass must of been out in the open and you weren’t even wearing underwear under the tights.

Once you both reached home, Aomine had an idea. He removed your clothes, put on new ones, washed your face and put you to bed. You may think you’ve gotten away with this, if your altered brain could think at all, but tomorrow will be an interesting day.

When you woke up, your wrists and legs were cuffed to the headboard. If you hadn’t recognized the area, you would’ve thought you were kidnapped, but you heard the shower running and knew Aomine was home. “Shit.” You pulled on the cuffs, thankfully you didn’t have a major headache from all the drinking you did, don’t know how, but Aomine must of Gaven you something.

“Aomine?” You tried to yell out, but the shower was too loud. After maybe 5 minutes, the shower turned off, and out walked Aomine. Wet, hot, and mad. To a normal person he looks normal, but to you, you could see the slight twitch in his jaw, showing he is clenching it, which he only does when he’s upset.

He grabbed another towel and laid it over his head. You watched him, getting hornier by the second, but Aomine knew this. The towel around his hips hung low, and his abs were practically punching you in the face from all the workouts he did.

“Ao-“ “shut the fuck up.” His calm voice saying such an aggressive thing made you even more turned on.

Aomine took a deep breath, a tactic he learned from his anger control therapist, and he thought about what he was going to say.

“Y/n. Why the fuck did you think going out dressed like that, without telling me, is okay?” You frowned, annoyed he even noticed. “I don’t usually give a fuck about what you’re doing, but when you ignore my texts for 4 hours, it’s going to tick me off.” He quickly riddled his hair in the towel, and threw it into a hamper. The towel around his waist came off right behind it and you stared at his cock.

He took another deep breath, and walked towards the bed. “There’s a couple of ways this can go, I can’t decide on one, so why don’t you help me, okay?” You looked at him confused, and he smiled.

“Do you want the good option, or the bad one?” You couldn’t breathe. What this a trick question? “W-what?” You tugged on the cuffs again, getting nervous.

“Do you want the good option, or the bad option.” He repeated the question, still standing waiting for your response. “G-good.” You let out a shaker breath, and he smiled. “Good.”

Aomine pounded into you as you screamed, begging him to slow down. He had been making you cum over and over and over, and never once did a smile not break off his face.

“Oh baby, you had a choice, and this is what you wanted!” Your nails slid down his toned back, making him groan in pleasure. “I personally think this was the best choice.” He leaned down and softly kissed you, almost taunting you, because you guys never kissed gently.

“Don’t worry baby, just a few more, then I forgive you. Does that sound good?” When he looked at your face, he could see your eyes slowly closing. He softly slapped you face and chuckled.

“Don’t pass out on me baby, we still got a little more left to do!”

★ — 𝗛𝗬𝗨𝗚𝗔 Need someone who's sweet enough, who'll shoot to make that high note!

Hyuga never had time for a girlfriend, ever since their win at the winter cup, girls up just to speak with him, but he didn’t pay them any mind, until you. Hyuga used to joke about how he wanted a girl who wasn’t needy and could handle herself, so every girl that talked to him acted independent despite then being only a year 1 living with their parents.

But when he met you, his ways changed. You were sweet, kind, and needy. But for some reason, you were an enticing needy. You always wanted him to hang out with you and cuddle with you, and whenever you asked he would, like in a trance, obey you. He doesn’t know why, but he never feels annoyed by the hold you have on him. You aren’t intentionally trying to keep him wrapped around your little finger, but you do!

Hyuga would skip practice for you, very rarely, but if you both made plans and Riko for some reason assigned practice on that day, he would skip it. If there was a game, you were always front row, or on the benches cheering him on, to all the other Seirin girlfriends jealousy.

“Hyuga! Hyuga! Hyuga!” You cheered on the bench with the other teammates of Seirin as the time was ticking and he had to make this final shot. He looked over at your cute face cheering him on, and he felt that go straight to his dick-

He embarrassed but determined, reeled back, soread his feet and and jumped, pushing the basketball high past his opponent and straight into the basket. The arena erupted in a loud roar, and the other Seirin players ran towards Hyuga in victory, but he pushed past them and went straight towards you. He lifted you off the ground and hugged you as if you made the shot.

“You did it! Oh my god you did it!” You excitedly praised him. He felt his dick harden by the praise and had to cut this little victory short.

“We gotta go.” He excitedly said, but panic prevalent, you didn’t even question him and followed him. He led you both into a locked changing room, and he pushed you into the wall.

“I’m sorry baby, this is so inappropriate.” He breathed heavily as he pulled his pants down. You looked up at him with your pretty eyes, and he nearly came right there. You dropped down to your knees and grabbed his cock.

“Did I do this?” Your glossy lips slightly parted after the question which is so innocent but so hot in this current situation.

“You always do this.” You giggled, and brought your lips to his red tip. Hyuga’s knees nearly buckled in when you wrapped your pink lips around his cock.

“Ah! S-shit!” You jumped knowingly and started to take him as much as you could. Hyuga apologized as he grabbed your hair and pushed you onto his cock. You gagged which again, like almost everything you do, nearly made him cum. It was embarrassing at how quickly he came into your mouth, but you don’t care, you know he deserved this!

When you swallowed his cum, and showed him, the groan he let out sent a shiver down your spine. He pulled you up by your hands, and kissed you.

“Don’t make me hard again, we have to get home first.”

★ — 𝗧𝗘𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗜 Sugar coated, lies unfolded, you still lick the wrapper It's addictive, you know this, but you still lick the wrapper

Teppei is the definition of innocent. You lean in to kiss him, he turns his cheek, he thought you were trying to kiss his cheek. When you try to touch his abs, he laughs because he’s tickilish. And when you try to hint towards sex, he thinks you’re hinting towards going to sleep! You don’t want to seem slutty or horny, but if you have a hot boyfriend you deserve to have your hot boyfriend! And so, you try everything in your power to see if he’s even comfortable doing it.

You ask him if he’s a virgin. He responds with “what’s your definition of a virgin?” Face slap. You ask him if he’s ever kissed anyone. “Oh, yeah! I’ve kissed my dog, my mom, my sister, my pillow, well I do that every night when I sleep, I don’t have much control over that and I-“ face slap. You ask him if he finds you hot and if he thinks about you at night, he says “of course I think you’re hot! You’re gorgeous, but I always think about you, so.” Double face slap.

You can’t blame a man for being a gentleman but he really is a gentle man. One day, you were so sexually frustrated you resorted to jumping your pillow. Your fingers couldn’t reach where Teppeis COULD reach, and you can’t just rub your cunt! You cried into the air as the pillow wasn’t doing its job. Teppei walked up into the room, hearing your cries and approached you on the bed.

“What wrong?” His hand softly laid on your back as you laid your head against his shoulder. Your lip quivered and he couldn’t tell why.

“It’s nothing.” You softly said, and he pulled you off of his shoulder and made you look at him.

“No, tell me, if you need something or want something I can get it for you.” You frowned, and he softly ushered you to speak.

“It’s so stupid!” A tear ran down your face, for something that could be easily fixed, it wasn’t getting fixed.

“Nothing is stupid! Tell me what’s wrong, I promise it’s not stupid.”

“I can’t fucking cum, Teppei!” You already knew that word went over his head, but when he hugged you, you were shocked.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Your breath got caught in your lungs and you pulled away from him.

“Because I thought you didn’t know what my issue was..” Teppei softly smiled and pulled you into a kiss to your absolute shock. You kissed him back, and truly you didn’t know what the fuck was happening.

Teppei pulled you onto his lap, and you deepened the kiss. “Teppe-“ “What do you need?” He asked, you were almost confused by the question until you saw the look in his eyes.

“I-I need, wait Teppei-“ “what do you need, baby?” His voice still gentle, but more serious.

“Your fingers.” You softly said, he let out a little “alright.” And turned you both around on the bed.

“Teppei.” You called out to him.

“Hm?”

“Wha- how- I thought you didn’t know how this all worked.”

“I don’t, so you’re going to teach me.”

You looked at him in disbelief. He looked back at you, ready to listen to your every command. But he wasn’t stupid, so he started to kiss your neck and jaw. You eased into the feeling, but he was still waiting for you to tell him what you want him to do.

“Teppei, please go lower.” You softly moaned when he listed. He kissed your collar bone and sucked on it. He would then lick the mark, and move on. It felt so soft and loving, you were getting wetter by the minute, and Teppei could feel it on his thing since it was between your legs.

He kept going lower till he reached your nipple.

“Play with the other one t-too.” He sucked on your nipple and brought his thumb to the other and softly rubbed it with his thumb, and soon switched to his thumb and index finger, pinching it.

If you thought you were wet, you were wet now. You instructed him to touch your cunt, and like always, he listened.

He moved his mouth to the other nipple, wanting to satisfy everything and brought his and that was holding your boob down to your cunt. He swiped his thumb from your hole to your clit and back down. Even though he thought it wasn’t doing much, it was doing so much.

You moaned and arched your back at the feeling making him smile.

“What else baby, talk to me.” His breath warm on your boob, and fingers soft and gentle made you feel more than taken care of.

“Please use your mouth on my c-cunt.” Your voice shook from the immense pleasure and he moved himself down to your cunt.

He brought his face close to it, and inhaled your sweet smell. “Mmm, smell so good baby.” You smiled down at him, and he opened his mouth, and started to lick and suck on your cunt. Your hands instantly grabbed his hair, and he moaned when you tugged in it. When he got the taste of you, he became addicted. All the denying of knowing how to please a woman, and the innocent facade he worked hard to maintain fell the second he got a taste.

He felt almost too selfish from denying you of this, he shouldn’t have even pushed this off if he’d know you tasted this good. He had both hands on the sides of your ass, pulling you farther into his mouth. Your back arched and Nails scratched his head. Teppei was getting lost in your cunt, and you felt close.

“Teppei!” You squealed when you felt the euphoric sensation wash over you. Teppei never slowed his tongue movements sending you into overstimulation.

“F-fuck, T-Teppei, too much!” He moaned into your cunt, he couldn’t get enough of you, and his cock was getting dangerously hard by the second. Who knew eating you out would turn him on so much. Who knew eating you out was so addictive.

[allthesmutl0vers]

Dating Fred and George Weasley Headcanons

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Masterlist Requests/Asks: OPEN (please read) Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader x George Weasley Request: Not a request just wanted to write to fight writer's block. TW: Sexual Situations, Kinks, Some Fluff, Pseudo-Twincest A/N: I feel like I ate with this, tbh. Been working on it for two mf days. 😮‍💨💞 I hope you enjoy! Comment here if you want to be added to the tag list for any/all HP content.

Please feel free to let me know how you feel about this. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. ✨💞

How you got together:

You had been friends with them forever, but you never expected them to have the same feelings towards you as you did for them. None of you were willing to admit it until it was called out by Ginny and her loud ass mouth when she told you guys to 'just fucking kiss already, for Merlin's sake.'

They had just finished a match against Slytherin and won, of course, so their adrenaline was already flooding. You had opened your mouth to fire back at Ginny with some sarcastic ass comment when Fred grabbed your face and smashed his lips to yours, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

When Fred finally pulled back, your head was in a daze, and before you could suck in a breath, George grabbed you by your waist, dipped you, and kissed you with the same passionate intensity.

After that, everything else was history, and the only thought any of you could form was, 'Why didn't we do this sooner?'

Fred

Song that best describes your relationship with Fred:

Good Girls Go Bad - Cobra Starship (Iykyk)

Nicknames he has for you:

Darling: His go-to nickname, he uses it all of the time.

Love: Uses this one when he is being extra lovey, or giving you presents.

Sweetheart: (this one is for when you're in trouble and he wants you to know it)

Kinks:

Biting: Fred loves to bite you while he's fucking you. Leaving trails of bite marks all over your neck and going down your collarbones and, especially, between your thighs when he's eating you out. Though he never breaks the skin, he does bite hard enough to bruise. Fred's biggest turn-on is the sounds that leave your lips when he bites down hard and then licks and kisses the same spot, melting pain with pleasure until you can't tell the difference.

Bit of an exhibitionist: Nothing revs Fred up more than the risk of getting caught, especially if it's George walking in when he has you bent over, face down, ass up. He knows you're with George, too, but it's not necessarily about who catches you two in the act. It's about simply being caught.

"Looks like we've been caught, darling," he taunts with a dark chuckle and pulls your head back by your hair to make you look at George while he pile drives into you from behind. "Show Georgie how good I make you feel. Come on, let him hear how I make you scream."

Begging: Hearing you beg, 'Just fuck me already,' almost makes him break and do it. His response? Shoving his cock down your throat, all the while taunting you with little phrases like, 'What was that, darling? Didn't quite catch that,' or 'But you look so good, down on your knees begging for me.' He will definitely give you what you want, but only after tears are running down your cheeks as your need becomes almost too much to bear. Almost. He's not a complete sadist, after all.

Honorable Mentions:

Hair Pulling I mean, need I say more?

Teasing at the MOST inappropriate times, family dinner? Ha, his fingers are right at the apex of your thighs, silently challenging you to keep your facial expressions schooled.

Breeding Kink: You think he doesn't fantasize about filling you up so fucking full with cum, that it's only thanks to your birth control you haven't gotten pregnant yet? That's fucking adorable.

Favorite Positions:

Face down, ass up: What's not to love? It's the perfect position for Fred to slam into you at the brutal pace that leaves you cock-drunk. Perfect for him to either hold your hips still or slam you back onto his cock to match his pace, all the while leaving perfect little fingertip bruises on your hips. Even better is when he pulls you back, flush to his chest, a large hand holding just under your chin, supporting your weight while he leaves a trail of bite marks down your neck and shoulders while you whimper and plead for mercy, not that you actually want it, he just loves to hear you beg.

Against a wall: Being the exhibitionist he is, Fred will fuck you any and everywhere. An empty classroom, a broom closet, the locker room after an intense quidditch match, win or lose, he doesn't care. So long as he gets you. But there is just something about holding you up with your legs wrapped around him, back pinned to the wall (or a locker), that makes Fred fucking feral. The way he can watch your pupils blow with arousal, your lips part and quiver as your orgasm crashes into you like a fucking freight train, the way you tug on his hair as if you're trying to keep some semblance of grounding as you feel your soul leave your body. Fuck, he's sure he's never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.

Spit roasting: When you're on all fours on the bed (or anywhere, really), and he pounds into you while you suck off George. Fucking you so hard it forces you to take more of George down your throat. What are brothers for? He's not sexually attracted to George, but there's nothing like watching you take his other half while he slams into you. Both of them work in a delicious and synchronized rhythm, filling you up so full that you might just burst, will burst. Body trembling while George offers you sweet praise and Fred reaches around your body, rubbing tight and fast circles over your clit; all the while, they drag you further and further down to hell or up to heaven. Is there even a difference anymore?

Random Head Canons:

Fred is more possessive, not so much that you're not allowed to have friends of the opposite sex. He knows full well he can trust you to tell him if someone makes you uncomfortable. He knows damn well you're not going to be fucking around with anyone else, given how fucking incredible he and George make you feel. Possessive in the aspect that he will brutally, if not mercilessly, prank anyone who so much as looks at you in any way that isn't platonic.

When you chastise him for these methods, he stops because you are bloody terrifying when you're truly angry. He switches to pulling you onto his lap or brushing your hair over your shoulder in front of them to reveal the litter of bite marks he made or the hickies that George made all over your neck, all with the cockiest fucking smirk on his face.

Fred's Ideal Date: While he loves being buried deep inside of you, he loves treating you to an adventure. His favorite? Walking into the forbidden forest, finding the perfect place to swim (he found the best swimming hole with a ledge to jump off of.) In the warmer months, he'll pack a lunch and take you here, loving the adrenaline rush of jumping and diving off of the small cliff ledge. Swimming behind the waterfall and exploring the caves inside with you. In the colder months, he will challenge you to a snowball fight in the courtyard, George is allowed, too, of course, but one of them will always be on your side against the other. Otherwise it's not really fair, is it?

George

Song that best describes your relationship with George:

Ride - SoMo

Nicknames he has for you:

Baby/Baby girl: Uses this as a placement for your name.

Little One: Uses this when he's teasing you; typically whispers it in your ear when his hands are around your waist. Or when he is watching Fred fuck you before he steps in and joins.

Mine/Ours: Uses this one the most in the bedroom when either he or both of them are fucking you.

Kinks:

Hickies: While Fred loves biting, George is a little more gentle. Note that I said a little. He'll fuck you like a whore in church, but he prefers to drag out the pleasure by sucking the soft skin right behind your ear all the way down your body down to your clit, right to his favorite part on your body, which brings me to my next point-

Eating you out: Holy. Fucking. Shit. If this was an Olympic sport, George would take the gold every single fucking time. Sure, Fred knows how to send you over the edge, but George takes his time. Licking and sucking your clit with slow, purposeful movements, drawing out sounds from your throat that sound inhuman. The way his fingers curl just fucking right inside of you, thrusting against that spongy spot inside of you, scissoring them to spread your walls and thrust his tongue in and out. Seriously, this man would live between your thighs if he could. Sending you over the edge again and again with just his devilish fucking tongue and fingers, he gets off on that shit, literally. This man has cum simply from eating you out before.

Edging: Remember how I said George is 'a little more gentle'? This is what I meant by that. George's favorite hobby when he's buried deep inside of you is bringing you right up to the edge, then pulling out, leaving you feeling empty as your walls clamp around nothing. You whine, and you whimper, and suddenly, he thrusts into you with a snap of his hips. Only to do it all over again.

"You want me to fill you up, baby? Is that what you want?" He teases as he only pushes his tip inside. You try to rock against him, to take him in deeper to satisfy the craving inside of you. "Hmm, I'm not sure you deserve it," he taunts as his thumb lands on your clit. Just as you open your mouth to beg, his hand grips your throat, and he slams into you so hard you see stars, his cock buried so deep that you swear you can feel him in your guts as he finally lets you cum with an Earth-shattering cry around him.

Honorable Mentions:

Choking: Because you know what would make you even more beautiful? A hand necklace. His, to be specific.

Bit of a voyeur: He loves watching you get pounded hard and fast when he typically fucks you hard and slow. The way your face contorts slightly differently when Fred is fucking you amuses him like no other.

Breeding Kink to the fucking MAX: He wants your pussy flooded with cum, if some spills out? No big deal, he'll fuck it right back into you. And after you finish school? Yeah, that shit is going into the fucking trash. (But you have no arguments, tbh.)

Favorite Positions:

Riding him: Guiding your hips, thrusting up into you as your hands rest on his chest to hold yourself up. Sure, George is dominant. But that doesn't love to see the look on your face above him as you come apart, over and over again, until you're a sweaty, shaky mess. George doesn't mind reverse- cowgirl, but he'd much rather see your face as his hand wraps around your throat just hard enough to make you dizzy as he tosses you over the edge, following right behind you.

Missionary (hear me out): Who says missionary is boring? Not you. Sure, nothing beats a bed, but George prefers you laid out across his desk. Or with your legs thrown over his shoulders, ass hanging over the bed as he stands and pounds into you. His thrusts are slow and firm, sliding into the hilt and then grinding against your core, making damned sure to draw out every last moan your body can produce.

Between him and Fred: George is not biased when it comes to fucking you in your ass or your pussy, if he's honest. So long as you're on your knees on the bed, while he's in either hole while Fred is in the other, both slamming into you with an animalistic ferocity. Filling you up so full with their cum that it'll be dripping out of you for days.

Random Head Canons:

George LOVES it when people stare/flirt with you. It drives Fred up the fucking wall when George doesn't try to brutally prank or show off just how much you're theirs. But it gets George off when guys try to flirt with you only to have a drink thrown at them, or you simply laugh at them before pointing out him and Fred. While Fred's anger is palpable, George just winks at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. Maybe it's the voyeur in him, but he loves watching you interact with people, male or female, because he knows you're not going anywhere except right back to him and Fred.

George's Ideal Date: George loves to fly with you on his broom, you in front of him as he grips the broom between your thighs. His favorite time to do it is at night, flying up so high you swear you can almost touch the stars as you soar over the clouds. You know this is what you two are doing when he bundles you up in one or maybe two of his sweaters. Because Merlin forbid you get cold. If it's too cold to fly or it's snowing, he loves to take a walk to Hogsmeade and share a butterbeer. So long as he's spending time with you, he couldn't be happier.

I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it. Please don't forget to reblog and comment! ��✨🤞🏻😇

[dark-konohagakure2]

Alucard nonconing Integra’s little sister because he simply doesn’t respect her as he does with his master, mainly cause shes shy and timid unlike her big sister?? 🥺🙏

tw: noncon, bullying, age difference, size difference, threats, abuse, gunplay, sadism, fear play, fuck or die, object insertion (gun)

All characters depicted are 18+

Alucard has nothing but respect for his master, obeying her every command and carrying out her orders to the letter, but this courtesy does not extend toward's Integra's family, or more specifically; her younger sister. Alucard doesn't hate the girl, as evidenced by the fact that her brains aren't painting the walls yet, but he sure as hell doesn't respect her in the slightest either, and that's putting it lightly.

He's practically just a bully around her, popping out from around corners or out from walls when she least expects it, intentionally scaring her, he finds it hilarious how easily frightened she is, laughing his ass off whenever she flinches or jumps at his sudden appearance, but his teasing doesn't stay harmless for very long.

Alucard's antics will quickly escalate from schoolyard bullying to outright harassment and abuse. He'll fire his gun mere inches away from her head, just barely missing her, and he'll also get much more handsy with her, groping her tits and hips and slapping her ass whenever she walks by.

That's not even the worst of it, Alucard knows how scared and uncomfortable his guns make her, and he uses that to his full advantage, rubbing his Jackal across her body, brushing the cold metal against her most sensitive areas before forcing the barrel past her quivering lips and demanding that she gets it nice and wet for her own sake.

"Oh stop crying, little bitch. My master isn't scared of guns, so why should you be? Now if you don't start sucking already I'll blow your empty little head off."

If he is feeling especially sadistic, which will be more often than not, Alucard will when even force his gun into her pussy, with nothing but her saliva to lube up the cold steel. He'll keep his finger right on the trigger, but never actually pulling it. The chamber is completely empty and the safety is on of course, can't have his chew toy dying too quickly now, but she doesn't know that.

Everyone in the Hellsing Organization will turn a blind eye to what Alucard is doing to her. Walter is content to let his old friend do whatever he wants, and Seras is too loyal to her master to say anything against him. Even Integra, her own elder sister, won't do anything about it, the very most she'll do is tell Alucard not to kill her or break any bones.

The absolute worse thing Alucard will do is forcing himself onto her, making her take his entire huge cock into her small virgin pussy. Alucard is much bigger and more well endowed than the average man, even by vampire standards, so it's going to hurt like hell when he forces every single torturous inch into her untouched pussy, it's enough to make her bleed, which just spurs the vampire on all the more.

He's big and rough, treating her like a sex toy and having no regard for any pain he might be causing her during the brutal fucking. Alucard is so much bigger than her that he'll have to lift her up to even get her shorter form onto his cock, her feet off the ground as he fucks into her, hissing venomous insults into her ear as he rearranges her cunt.

"Hah! Pathetic! Even Police Girl can take more than this without passing out! You really sicken me brat, you're not worthy of sharing the same blood as my master..."

Being a creative sadist, Alucard will almost never run out or ways to play with his toy, having literal centuries of experience to pull from. In fact, if she proves to be entertaining enough for the ever bored Alucard, he might even consider making her his eternal plaything.

[wttcsms]

and so a touch that was my birth right became foreign, satoru gojo

with hands blessed with the technique that enables you to feel the most likely future for the person you're touching, it's easy to see why you don't want to touch satoru when he comes back. even if he doesn't know his own ending, all he knows is that he would like to feel your touch even if it's for the last time. so you let him. (wc 1k) content contains satoru gojo x reader, slight angst, allusions to jjk 261 leak, some fluff, possible hurt/(no) comfort (depending on how you look at it), humanizing gojo

“You’re worried about me,” he rolls over in bed, bluer-than-blue eyes staring into yours. “It’s written all over your face.”

“No, I’m not. This is my ‘you’re hogging all the blankets’ face.” You retort, yanking the bedsheets closer to you. You try to make yourself more comfortable, but it’s no use — you only sleep well when you’re snuggled up by Satoru’s side, but the idea of touching him, the effects of what will happen when you do, serves as a good enough deterrent. 

“No. It’s your ‘I suck at keeping a secret’ face.” 

“Well, that face and my ‘worried about you’ face are two entirely different expressions. So, even if you’re right, you’re still wrong.” 

Usually, he would laugh at your logic. Nowadays, there’s not much laughter to spare. Just intense gazes that cut you to the bone, deep enough to leave a mark on your soul, yet soft enough for you to momentarily forget the pain that comes with it. You like to make comments about his eyes; not his Six Eyes, but his. The ones that are uniquely and wholly his own. You want to drown into his eyes, the prettiest, rarest shade of blue that only he could pull off. You know he knows that you think this, which is precisely why you have no issue with telling him he needs to get brown contacts for bedtime because his irises practically glow in the dark. 

Our bodies are built by memories. It’s why your fingers twitch, confused as to why Satoru is so close to you, close enough to touch, and yet, there’s still a distance between you two. Your hands know him well — know him the best of all. Your fingers, the ones that have ran through his hair so many times before, may share the same color as many other members of his clan but the stubbornness of his hair is all his own. You would tease him; tell him that his hair is just like him: annoying, with its own mind, its own will. His hair is coarser than it looks, and sometimes, you can still feel remnants of hardened hair gel when he gets too tired to wash it all off properly. (On those nights, you’ll wash it off for him.)

The sharpness of his cheekbones have been traced by the tips of your fingers. Gaunt when he’s so laser focused on work, but full when he’s shoveling food into his mouth. You like the sight of Satoru gorging himself on daifuku; so rarely does he give into greed, and there’s a boyish glow to him when he’s unable to speak because of the sheer amount of mochi he has in his mouth, looking annoyingly cute with his chipmunk cheeks. 

“You don’t want to touch me because you’re scared.” Of course, Satoru doesn’t shy away from confrontation. You suppose it’s for the best. The fact that he let you go this long without him calling you out on your behavior isn’t surprising, though. He always puts the feelings of others before his own. 

“Is it that obvious?” 

Satoru doesn’t need the Six Eyes to see through you. He just needs to use his own. 

“Did you really think it wasn’t?” is what he says.

“I just— Knowing the future is worse than the not-knowing.” Your voice cracks during the explanation, but he doesn’t comment yet. He waits patiently for you to continue, even though you already had this breakdown in front of him before, a lifetime ago. When the two of you were just students and he sneakily pulled off your gloves and placed his hand around yours. Back then, his touch had been brimming with life. It had shocked your system, your soul. Every touch exchanged from him since then had felt the same, more or less.

You’re worried that you won’t get that familiar feeling this time around. 

“Because not-knowing leaves space for hoping.” He finishes for you. You blink, and suddenly he’s closer, and you want to cry. You want him to be this close to you forever, and you know that that is one future path that not even the strings of fate will entertain. 

“I’m worried about you.” You whisper out this confession, and Satoru’s lips part. He looks like he’s about to joke around, to say “aha! I knew it!”, but he doesn’t. There’s a defeated sort of air to him when he tells you,

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m Satoru Gojo, after all.” The smile he gives you is a good imitation of his genuine one, but you can see through him just as easily as he does you. 

“I can’t worry about Satoru Gojo?” 

“You would waste time and precious tears over the strongest?”

It’s true that his strength is a big part of him, but it’s not his entire being. People chase after the reason for their existence all the time, while Satoru’s been told his entire life that being blessed with his strength is the sole cause for his existence. Satoru knows what his designated purpose is; no one’s ever given him any room for doubt or an opportunity to pursue another path. He could argue that the not-knowing your purpose in life is a whole lot more fun than actually knowing. 

“Who’s going to keep that daifuku shop in Osaka open if you’re gone?” And it’s such an unserious statement to make, a statement that has reduced you to a wet puddle of tears, but it’s genuine. 

You don’t care about the strongest dying.

You care about him dying.

With the same disregard for your personal space he had back in high school, Satoru takes your hand and laces his fingers through yours. You’re crying, and you can register the warmth of his physical body, but there’s a foreignness in his touch that you don’t recognize, a touch that your hand engraved with memories of him can’t quite seem to remember. It scares you, because you’ve never felt this before. You’re gripping his hand even tighter, as if trying to force his familiar presence to steady you, but there’s no use.

When you touch Satoru, you cannot feel his future. You can’t feel him.

[doromoni]

A Rivalry Misunderstood | LN4

Ships : Lando Norris x McLaren Driver! Reader

Genre : Angst , Romance

Warning : Toxic! Lando , Possessive! Lando

Summary : You’re the new Golden Rookie of McLaren F1 , a driver loved and accepted by everyone. But Lando may beg to differ.

masterlist

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Quickly passing by every motorhome as you joyfully skip through the paddock , signing merchandise and taking photos with the fans. The Sprint race had just finished — with you getting your first Formula 1 win as a rookie! Well technically, but you were happy either way. Congratulations and pats on the back were constant from your team and even competitors as you made your way towards your own motorhome.

Life as a rookie in formula 1 had its ups and downs , majority of the people around have been supportive. However, oddly enough, you expected the least person to be against you would be your teammate … yet, here we are. You never understood Lando’s dislike towards you , it was so out of the blue and you could not think of anything you could have done to earn his mistrust.

You were always on your best behavior, and you always made an effort to be friendly towards your senior driver. You always made sure that you were cautious and that you didn’t step on any toes.

Busy with your thoughts, you reached your motorhome. So here you are, walking towards your designated driver room. Nearing the hallway of your destination.Head filled with thoughts but at the same time empty, not noticing the built figure as you turned the corner. Both bodies weren't aware of the other person, bumping into each other with a thump.

The person was heavy for sure, a built composed of lean and hard muscles. How would you know? He was currently lying on top of you. You were pressed by his chest, while he was on top of you. Yup … definitely muscled, you can feel it through your fireproofs

" Urghh, watch where you're going " you groaned in pain. Suddenly , you were face to face with the your teammate, Lando Norris.

His face was painted with an expression you cannot understand ... His toned arms were beside your head, trapping you between him and the floor . You stared at your co-driver, his hazelnut brown wavy hair, dark emerald eyes as green as the amazon forest, and a jawline that could rival a sword.

Unconsciously, your hand trailed the bridge of his nose to the soft and plump lower lip that the man possessed.

" What the hell are you doing" Stopping yourself from examining him more, and finally connected the dots. You were pressed on the floor by Lando Norris! The person who hated you and wanted you gone.

Almost automatically, you put your hands on his chest — an effort to push him . But alas, your efforts were null, when he suddenly pinned your hands above your head.

Struggling from his iron grip, and sighing into submission and decided to use your brain rather than brawn. Since trying to force yourself out would do you no good, knowing that he was much stronger than you were.

Having enough of his attitude and his harsh treatment , you realized being nice was never going to work— and that you don’t actually care about what he thought of you. And for the first time with him , you set your foot down and served him the attitude that he served you all the time that you were his teammate.

"I think your male bravado is content now, right? having a girl defenseless and restricted. I suggest letting me go now " you felt his hold on your wrist grow even tighter.

Steeling your front , you stared back into his glare, challenging his piercing glare.

"Why? Do you have somewhere to go? Have more people to suck up to? Don't you think that's low ,even for you?" A dangerous glint in his eyes. And an animosity in his voice that you couldn't decipher. He drew his face closer to yours, you felt his breath on your cheeks , an inch more his lips would touch yours.

Suddenly finding the situation amusing, a chuckle slipped your lips. Your chuckling then turned into laughter, and this stunned Lando, as he stared at your face, still sharing the same breath.

He can’t beat you on track, so he now uses other tactics to up you. Funny.

"Funny, such accusation are done by you , don't you think? Oh that's right its because the team actually prefers me now over you. Now that I’ve actually given them a win... hmm or maybe we all should be like you and bow and cower when max’s car shows in the mirror? “

Of course that wasn’t true, you just wanted to aggravate the English driver more. Once again, you tried prying your hands off his grip.

"Shut the fuck up . You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. " Lando bit back with so much animosity. You were definitely scared now .

Realizing that you are in the middle of a hall way and is still beneath Lando, you once again struggled to push him off.

" You know what, let go of me! I need to go to the debriefing for Pete's sake" You started squiggling trying to move away from under him, when an deep growl vibrated through your ear, causing shivers down your spine and goosebumps littering the nape of your neck.

"Don't.Move" Hearing him swallow and steady his breath, you smirked as you lay still below him and glared into his eyes challenging him further

Lando finally lets go of you as he stood up. Scrambling to your feet and dusting yourself off ; adjusting your driver suit and fixing your hair. You the felt his stare on you.

"What? The hell are you staring at?" With a scowl, you folded your arms and returned his stare with a glare.

"You changed your fireproofs" You looked down at your clothes . Your race suit was half open and your fireproofs were showing.

"What? Even my uniform you've got issues with? Should I also have my uniform exactly like yours instead? " you asked with a sneer as you patted the crease on your pants

"Stop trying to be different from everyone on the team! Fucking mooching on every mechanic . Know. your. fucking. place “ The British driver said scathingly.

Suddenly pissed, you decided to provoke Lando even further. Having enough of his bullshit. You drew your body near his , going on your tippy toes and placing a delicate hand on his chest, slowly dragging your fingernails to draw patterns on his fireproofs, feeling him tense under my touch. Fuck it! You were already a slut in his eyes anyway.

Slowly moving your lips to his jaw then towards his ear and whispered

"Does that make you angry, hmm, Lando? little ol me taking your precious spotlight? People adoring me instead of you. “ You tutted , making sure your voice held rotting sweetness

“All eyes on me. Does that make your blood boil? You getting nothing while I have everything, Lando?" Adding emphasis on his name, you gently moved your hand towards his hair and pulled.

Feeling Lando freeze and grow rigid from your touch you chuckled, you were about to move away, when you felt a hand wrap around your waist and suddenly pinning you against the wall with force.

" Don't fucking test me princess. Your playing a dangerous game. No one will look at you, I'll make sure of that.... Don’t prance around trying to win everyone to your side, you’re only mine to look at “ His lips ghosting the shell of your earlobe as he pulled you into his embrace even tighter.

Your breath hitched when you felt his teeth nip your ear. His lips traveled down your jaw to your neck, harshly biting the skin he traveled. He licked the junction of your neck and your shoulder, sucking and lapping his tongue over the bite. He let out a moan while you whimpered.

" Baby? I Never knew you could taste this good" Speechless , you stared at him as he licked his lips, your mind trying to gather any thought it could process.

"Win all the races you want, I don’t care. But don’t fucking flirt with anyone … and I don’t care if he’s your engineer. " With a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze on your waist , Lando was gone

You stood shocked, heart pounding, in the deserted hallway,trying to piece everything that just happened.

[g0niki]

can you do enha when you are sick and in the hospital for a while please

enha x gn!reader

word count: 710 (estimated 100 each)

contents: sick reader, fluffy enha

a/n: sorry, i do not know a single thing about the hospital so i just wrote enha when you’re sick. 

heeseung ⋆｡°✩

⭑tending to your every need. he’s sitting in the room gaming at his computer but if he even hears you sniffle in the slightest he’s stopping his game and checking on you. ⭑”are you cold? is the bed uncomfortable? do you need soup?” he’s not quite sure what to do, but if you tell him he’s stopping everything in a moment to tend to you.  ⭑once you fall asleep he’s sitting next to the bed, holding his hand to your forehead to check your temperature and kissing you on your temple. he just sits there concerned and makes sure to wake you up to take medicine. 

more under cut ᯓ★

jay ⋆｡°✩ ⭑number one boyfriend for real. jay’s making you homemade soups, giving you your medicine on a schedule, making you take a shower to ‘scrub all the germs away’ somebody put a ring on him STAT. ⭑if you were to ask him to cuddle you he’d be slightly hesitant because he doesn’t want to get sick..but he can’t resist you he’ll be taking his vitamins and getting right under that blanket. ⭑he lets you sleep everything off and does all the house chores, doing his best to disinfect the area and give you peace of mind/ a proper break.

jake ⋆｡°✩

⭑he’s like the human version of a sad puppy. he hates seeing you sick like it pains him so much, he’s moping around and sitting on the floor next to the bed with the biggest pout on his face.  ⭑holding your hand and feeding you soup, telling you “you have to eat something love.” with a big frown on his face. i don’t know if you’ve seen the video of him and won but if you suck at taking medicine he’s trying his best to encourage you and help you take it all! ⭑he wouldn’t know what to do, he’d be so bored not getting to talk to you and feel so hurt by the fact you’re sick, he hates seeing you feel so down.

sunghoon ⋆｡°✩

⭑the second he notices you’re getting sick he’s running to the store and picking up all the essentials. would come back with so many different teas, medicines, and vitamins. ⭑would make too much tea for you to handle, constantly trying to get you to drink them saying “you’ll feel better” hand playing in your hair/and massaging your scalp to ease your pain.  ⭑giving you his clothes saying they’re more comfortable and wrapping his hands around you to lull you asleep and have you sleep it all off. 

sunoo ⋆｡°✩

⭑if you’re sick sunoo is in full spoil-you mode. he’s making sure your pillows are fluffed and that you’re as relaxed as you can be, giving you his favorite comfort items.  ⭑he’s the type to pull out the face masks and give you a whole sick self-care routine, massaging your shoulders and giving you kisses all over your face. ⭑most of the day is just a way to do self-care together and nap. sunoo big spooning and holding you tightly, watching movies and just relaxing together.

jungwon ⋆｡°✩

⭑would call jay and ask what to do, but once jay gives him a brief rundown he’s immediately tending to you and doing his very best to make sure you’re recovering quickly. ⭑would order soup and get a wet rag to place on your head and help bring down your temperature. he’s playing with your hands and using a dry towel to clean up any sweat off of you.  ⭑tries his best to cheer you up and do activities that won’t tire you too much yet keep you occupied so you aren’t bored all day.

riki ⋆｡°✩

⭑he’s so pouty and not because you’re sick. i think he’d be upset that he can’t be all over you, i firmly believe riki would be so clingy so the two or three days that you are sick is the literal worst for him. ⭑he’d call his mom and ask her to help him make soup, you can hear him shuffling in the kitchen and asking how much seasoning he should put and things like that.  ⭑nothing would stop him from getting up in bed next to you, playing with your hair cuddling, and still leaving pecks on your lips. best believe he’s also waking up sick the next morning. 

ᯓ★

@g0niki all rights reserved. do not translate or post my work anywhere without permission.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN ELEVEN TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN

He asked her to submit and she (more or less) agreed, completely unaware of what really awaits her. Now he just has to help her say goodbye to her old life, in the only way he knows...

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Vaginal sex. Humiliation/Objectification if you squint. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 6.5k

A/N: Welcome to SEASON TWO! Here's what happened...

P R E V I O U S L Y

Once there was a girl, 19 years young, cute and innocent, but mature enough to have one wish: to hook up with a man she'd seen only from afar. His confident and dominant aura had mesmerized her as she'd first laid eyes on him through the crowd on the dance floor of his club, how he'd lounged at the bar, eyes scanning the people dancing and drinking, and one day, their gazes had met.

But he had just watched, and it was her who approached him first. So you could say, whatever happened next might have been her fault. Her own naive little dream come true, though in her innocence she had not been prepared for what he had planned for her. What he saw in her. She'd wanted a hook-up, maybe something to dream about when the loneliness of her life came crashing down on her again, a fond memory, but it wasn't just a hook-up for him. It was more, so much more.

Because she was perfect.

The perfect submissive. Someone he could lead through life, take by the hand, take over the back of the couch, take to heights she had never even dreamed about. And oh how he showed her...

She woke up in his bedroom after he'd taken her away, coerced by a little drink, a little help, erasing that particularly memory of how she got there forever. It didn't matter. She was with him now. And she was meant to stay, even if she didn't know that yet. He was a goner as soon as she asked him to take her virginity. What an opportunity. Taking all her firsts. Served on a silver platter, just for him.

In her innocence, she expected him to be gentle and stick to his words, make her a real woman, because that was what happened when your virginity was taken, right? Oh how naive she'd been. Of course he took it, but before that he made her choke on his cock, taught her how to suck him off properly, made her more familiar with the very thing that would assault all her holes eventually.

And he didn't stop there. Butt plugs, dildos, vibrating eggs, he tested it all on her, and strangely enough, she let him. Was it submission, fear or curiosity? Who knows. There were moments where she did protest, showed a little bit of defiance, questioned him, but it only ended in him forcing his cock up her ass. A punishment she soon learned could also be a reward. It was all confusing to her, but she always came back to the same conclusion: she made this happen, she came to him, she asked him to pound the virgin right out of her, so to speak (not that she would ever use those exact words).

And he did, pounded, rammed, hammered, pistoned, slammed, stabbed, deep and hard and fast, until her head would shut down and a blissful emptiness took over. And it was that feeling that made her stay, not that she even tried to get away. Why would she? He was handsome, rich, experienced, the perfect match, right?

And despite all the vile things he did to her, she was yearning for the moments afterwards, the gentle touches, the strong grip of his arms, the pain-easing embraces. And the praises. The good girls and well dones, the proud smiles on his lips, the approving nods. She came to a point where she'd let him do anything just to be called a good girl. It was as disturbing as it was easy. It would excuse everything.

The fucking her in her sleep, the bullying of bruises he'd pummeled into her before, over and over again, in every position imaginable, at least for her, because he clearly had more ideas in mind, wherever and whenever he wanted, he would take her. He'd let her cockwarm him while he would work in his office, and she'd sit on her knees between his legs for hours, suckling on his cock, delving into the head-empty-state with pleasure. She'd be confused when he'd reward her with a deep anal pounding afterwards, but she'd take it nonetheless.

It was her purpose. She was his to use. A body with holes to fill. A toy to play with. A doll to move about as he saw fit. And she grew into her role, more with every passing hour. And those 48 hours, that single weekend, was packed with new experiences, new sensations, as he explored her durability, what she was capable of, how much she could endure. And she surprised him. She'd be sore, of course, but she wouldn't whine, not too much anyway, and he could just continue.

A perfect match.

And it led him to make a decision he would not regret: to keep her. To make her his completely. And so, on a dreary Monday morning, he took her back, to her old life, causing her to think he would really get rid of her after all, but then everything would change. He told her of his plan to keep her, told her that he'd terminated her apartment lease, resigned her from her badly-paying job. And he even asked her, despite doing all this behind her back, asked her to submit.

And in the end, she couldn't make that decision, she needed him to make it for her. She asked him to give her an order, and of course he did, and she did as he told her: she submitted, gave her life into his hands. Became his.

But that's not where the story ends. There is more on the horizon for the two strangers that met each other on a whim, whose lives entwined by chance. Who found each other compatible on multiple levels. When bodies and souls merge, stronger feelings arise. And a little infatuation can turn into something else. Maybe it's love, or maybe it's a deep, dark obsession...

TEN 🟥 ELEVEN 🟥 TWELVE

He is honestly very surprised how well she took it. No apartment. No job. Dependent on him and him alone. Her old life taken from her just like that. And she wants it. There's no denying the look in her eyes as she knelt in front of him, asking him to give her an order. So submissive, so innocent in her own needs. Almost a little too easy, but still perfect.

He leads her into her bedroom, frowning at the décor. A small bed covered in colorful quilts and blankets and pillows in every shape imaginable. There's even a stuffed animal on it. A tattered looking wolf. He raises his eyebrow at the sight, a smirk dancing on his lips. As if this was meant to be. The image of a little girl cuddling the wolf to her chest, seeking comfort in the presence of a predator, makes his stomach tense up. He knows he'll be that wolf for her, giving her comfort as well as the unpredictability of a monster led by its natural urges to dominate.

She moves timidly through her (former) own space, shoulders sagged a little as her eyes move over various surfaces. He leans against the door frame, watching her, before his gaze wanders over the fairy lights on the wall and the bright curtains and the random assortment of trinkets on a dresser ranging from snow globes to plastic figurines to other dust collecting clutter. There are pictures above her bed, polaroids, mostly of landscape or architecture, not many people.

Walking towards a small bookcase in the corner, she runs her fingers over the spines of old looking books, but in the end moves away again and opens the door to her closet. A tiny space, filled with colorful clothes. There she bends down and picks up a backpack before she starts stuffing it with randomly picked things. He's not sure if he'll let her wear her old clothing, but he's asked her to pack stuff she may need, and maybe those old rags give her comfort, remind her of something. He allows it, for now.

She flinches when he steps behind her, his hand moving through the sparsely filled space, running over the soft fabrics hanging from the rail. He picks up a pastel pink colored dress, with little white flowers adorning the skirt portion, a thin belt cinching it up in the waist, a high rounded neckline keeping it very modest.

“Wear this,” he tells her quietly, and she looks up at him, biting her lip, but ultimately nods.

She hesitates then, unsure if he wants her to strip right away, so he takes that decision from her by putting his hands on her shoulders, slowly guiding her towards the bed. He puts the dress over the back of a chair next to the small desk, his eyes curtly grazing over the cluttered space filled with notepads and pencils and a box filled with tiny beads. He couldn't even name all the hobbies she's assembled on the tiny surface. But it tells him she is in dire need of having the clutter in her life (that's also in her head) re-organized, stripped down to the bare minimum, taken completely.

“Bend over the foot of the bed,” he says nonchalantly. Her breathing gets a little harder as she approaches her small bed, slowly leaning over the wooden frame, the boards creaking when she puts her weight on them. She folds her body over until her chest is pressed into the soft covers, elbows digging into the colorful quilt, hands clutching at the fabric, head turned to watch him out of the corner of her eye, ass raised, legs shaking slightly.

He steps behind her, gently pushing up her skirt, hands gliding over her curves, making her skin pebble beneath his touch. His fingers hook into the waistband of her panties, slowly drag them down until they pool around her ankles where he leaves them, keeping her from spreading her legs too much. He presses a few kisses up the backs of her thighs, hands sliding up and down her legs before he straightens up fully again, one hand on her lower back, the other unbuckling his belt.

His cock is already hard when it springs free from its confines, and he grabs it, gives it a few hard pumps, watching the girl in front of him as she shivers, forcing herself to remain calm while she waits for him to use her. A quick swipe through her folds tells him she's ready, or at least getting ready. Coating himself with her wetness, smirking at the way her back twitches when he drags his cock along her slit, he doesn't wait any longer.

Pushing into her with small rolls of his hips, he digs his fingers into the fabric of her bunched-up skirt, holding her in place when she starts squirming against him. Inch by inch he sinks deeper, forcing through the resistance, ignoring her tiny wails, while his heart is beating harder in his chest, his stomach already tense, the sight of her in her childish bed making him feel like an even bigger monster.

A growl escapes him, and he pulls her hips against him as he sinks the rest of his cock into her tight warmth with a harsh snap of his pelvis. She whimpers, burying her face in the blankets, thighs twitching. His hands move up her curved back, fingers curling around her shoulders, gripping her, anchoring her as he starts drawing back slowly only to push in with a force that makes her squeal. He's going deep, slow and steady, repeating the same motion over and over again, precise thrusts of his hips against her cushioned rear.

She cries out every time he slams into her cervix, body arching, hands white-knuckling the sheets, her legs kicking helplessly. Her walls clench around him, either fighting the intruder or sucking him in deeper. The same struggle is in the girl before him as she bucks her hips back, straining her shoulders under his tight grip, squirming or moving along with him. He can't tell. He doesn't care either way. He only picks up the pace.

Her legs slam rhythmically into the wooden boards of the bed, strangled noises escaping her, every plunge accompanied by the soundscape of skin slapping against skin and that traitorous squelching of her wet cunt getting to terms with his intrusion. Her whines turn into moans while he keeps pounding into her harder and faster, in and out, back and forth, until his own breathing gets rougher.

He takes one hand from her shoulders and slips it beneath her, fingers brushing over her fluttering stomach until they find her throbbing clit. She squeaks when he touches it, arching her back, body contorting as more uncontrollable spasms crash through her. She comes with a wail, pussy clamping around him hard enough for him to fight the onslaught of sensations, the need to come as well, but he keeps rubbing her nub while holding his steady rhythm of hammering into her, letting her ride that high for as long as possible.

His grunts fill the small space, her mewls are muffled, hands clutching at the blankets, head thrashing. Leaving her clit to press his hand to her belly, he moves his other hand around her neck and grips her throat, making her cry out as he lifts her up and against him, holding her tightly as he continues to ram into her, his stomach tight, his balls ready to burst. Limp fingers try to grip at his wrist as he squeezes her, her noises turning into soundless, breathless gasps as she struggles in his hold.

He wraps his other arm around her middle, lifting her up a little more, his cock pistoning in and out rapidly. The slapping sounds add to the squeaking of the bed, a cacophony of noises that drive him mad with need. Growling into her ear, he moves his hand back down between her legs, rubbing hard at that sensitive bundle of nerves, making her writhe and twitch, pathetic little gasps falling from her parted lips.

“Come for me,” he grunts, head spinning, heart racing, the tension building up into an ache he can't get enough of. “Come on my cock!”

She's shuddering, head thrashing into his shoulder, eyes rolling back, mouth wide open as she succumbs to the sensations. He feels her cunt clamping down on him as her orgasmic contractions crash through her tiny frame once more. He eases the grip on her throat, wraps his arm around her chest instead. Her soft little whimpers, that constant string of high-pitched little “Ah!”s, cloud up his mind, drive him right over the edge.

He groans and grunts and growls before he gives her that final hard thrust, burying himself as deep as possible inside her tight warmth, while the tension explodes within him, balls pumping, stomach tensing, as he empties himself inside her, painting her walls with his hot seed. She's limp in his embrace, hard breaths mixed with small whines, arms and legs boneless. He savors her warmth, that wetness coating his skin, the little shudders making his cock twitch as her tight cunt keeps milking him for all he's worth.

Slowly he lets go of her, drapes her back over the foot of the bed, carefully pulls out of her before he watches his spend dripping from her clenching hole. Then he bends down and pulls up her panties, trapping his cum, feeling it gathering in the fabric, warm and wet as he cups her mound. After putting himself away again, not even caring about their combined juices seeping into his underwear, he flips her skirt back down, makes her stand, then turns her and leans her against the wall, his hands cupping her face as he takes her in.

“You look so beautiful when you're all fucked out and boneless, you know that?” he whispers with a dark smirk, leaning closer to brush his nose against hers. She looks at him out of hooded eyes, cheeks flushed, lips still parted and trembling, a little bit of drool gathering in the corner. “Head empty, hm?”

She nods into his hands, her lips twitching into a shy smile. He closes the distance and captures them for a soft kiss, holding her against him until he feels her small hands fisting at the back of his jacket. He picks her up easily, still glued to her mouth, tongue lazily sliding against hers, as he carries her to the side of the bed and sits down, arranging her on his lap with his arms wrapping around her tightly.

Leaning into him, she moves her mouth against his, slowly gaining in confidence, her fingers sliding up his back, gripping at his shoulders, teasing at his nape. Her warm crotch presses into his leg, and he is tempted to give her another load, but then refrains, inhaling deeply, turning his head slightly. Her lips slip along his jaw and down his neck before she rests her cheek on his shoulder, breathing hard.

“Thank you,” she whispers barely audible, and he rubs her side in response, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

They sit like that for another moment, and he has to admit, it's growing on him to just have her in his arms, holding her, feeling her small body move against him when she breathes deeply, her warmth is a comfort he didn't know he needed. But the beast inside him isn't entirely convinced yet. She may be pliant now, but he's seen the defiance in her eyes. He shouldn't go easy on her too soon.

Exhaling loudly, he grabs her shoulders, startling her out of her stupor when he puts her on her feet, her legs still trembling as she stares at him with wide eyes. He tilts his head towards the desk chair, waiting for her to follow the motion. Her head turns slowly, a tiny nod jerking her chin as she sees the sundress he wants her to wear.

“Strip,” he tells her, leaning back on the bed on one arm, the other hand resting heavy on his thigh as he watches her intently.

She licks her lips, swallows, her chest rising when she inhales deeply, then she moves her hands back and fidgets with the zipper of her skirt. Her eyes wander over his face, too timid to hold his gaze properly, her cheeks splotched in many different shades of red. Putting her hands on her waist, she shimmies the skirt down her hips, bends lower, back stiff and quite uncoordinated, trying to keep looking at him before she tilts her head and steps out of it a little clumsily, swaying dangerously.

His hand shoots out to steady her, and she flinches, looking at him before biting her lip. He can't help the amused twitch of his lips. She blushes even more, quickly straightening up again while he retrieves his hand. Taking a shuddering breath, she crosses her arms and grabs the lower hem of her shirt, slowly pulling it up and over her head before letting it fall to the skirt lying next to her feet.

Now she's standing in front of him in her soiled panties and her worn down sneakers, slim arms and legs, tiny tits, a narrow waist with the hint of a curve to her hips, not typically a tremendously sexy sight for him, but she's trying, he knows it, trying to impress him. He keeps watching her, not issuing any noise of either judgment or confirmation. She's hesitant when she turns to the dress on the chair, her chest moving, her small breasts shivering, nipples hardening the longer they're exposed to the stale air of the room.

As soon as her hand closes around the rose colored fabric, he stands up, startling her when he steps behind her, towering over her. Taking the dress from her, he nudges her to turn around, and when she looks up at him, chewing on her already swollen lips, he tilts his head. “Arms up,” he says quietly, and she does as she is told. He slips the dress over her head and flattens it along her body, then pulls her hair free before his hands rest on her shoulders.

Cute. Is one word that comes to mind. Beautiful another. He raises a hand and tucks a strand of silky hair behind her ear, watching the blush spreading down her neck to her exposed arms. The sleeves fray out a little over her deltoid, accentuating her slim shoulders. He runs his hand down along her arm, hooking it around her elbow, pulling her closer to him.

Her big eyes look up at him, and he watches her, fighting the urges crawling back to the surface (and the blood back into his cock). Exhaling loudly, his breath making loose hairs around her face fly, he clenches his jaw and lets go of her, steps back. “Alright, finish packing. I'll wait out there,” he says and turns around, leaving the tiny space that is her childish little bedroom. Before he leaves, his eyes fall onto the wolf plushie.

Shaking his head with a dark smirk, he keeps walking and settles on the couch in her living room slash kitchen, listening to her rummaging through her drawers and dressers while scrolling through his emails on his phone.

Her shuffling footsteps make him look up. She's holding the straps of the backpack that seems to burst at the seams with how full she's packed it. Her eyes are lowered, a nervous twitch to her lips before she starts chewing on the bottom one. “I'm done,” she whispers.

He stands up and walks towards her, grabbing the backpack from her small hand before flinging it over his shoulder. “And this is all?”

“It's all that fit,” she admits, still biting her lip. He moves his free hand to her face, rubbing his thumb over her lip and pulling it from between her teeth with a firm press. She looks up at him, her eyes a little watery.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. My people will grab the rest. I won't dispose of anything,” he tells her quietly. “Well, except for that couch, which is just awful.” The comment makes her lips quirk up, and he smiles at her in return.

“Thank you,” she whispers, genuine gratitude swimming in her big eyes. He caresses her cheek, holding her face, before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

It's almost too easy how this all worked out. She is so submissive, eager to please, eager to follow him wherever he drags her. He just ripped her from her old life, abducted, used, forced into her new reality, and she still thanks him for it. What a beautiful little creature. Simply perfect.

He shifts the strap of the backpack on his shoulder and grabs her face with both hands, bending over her as he tilts her chin up. For a moment he just looks at her, takes her in, every inch of her soft face, noticing the twinkle in her eyes, the blush on her cheeks, the warmth under his palms, the slight tremble to her lips.

Inhaling deeply, he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against hers. “I wish I could pay this place the proper respect by bending you over every surface there is, oh trust me, I'd imagined it while I was waiting, throwing you on that awful couch, splaying you out on the counter, I'd even take you on that horrendous rug down there, but I'm afraid we don't have time...” he closes with a sigh.

She shivers, her breath hitching, and when he looks at her, leaning back a little, her face is fully flushed and her lips parted. He smirks at her.

“Did you think about it too?” he whispers, his breath fanning over her face. “Never had a boy over, right?” She nods into his hands, averting her eyes. “So all these surfaces have never been used like that?” He sighs again. “So tempting,” he whispers, licking his lips.

He lowers his hands and lets them rest on her shoulders as he straightens up and looks around the small space, his mind reeling with images of them doing it wherever his eyes land. Sure, there's not a lot of options, the place is tiny and so are the surfaces, but he would have made it work. He'd even fuck her in that minuscule shower. There's a certain thrill to shoving his big body into tiny spaces, his cock certainly can relate – and it twitches dangerously as he remembers the tight grip of her beautifully small cunt.

Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head trying to rid himself of those tempting fantasies. They'll have time to fuck elsewhere later. Maybe he shouldn't prolong the moment of letting her say goodbye to her own little space too much. He looks back down at her, catching her watching him intently. It's rare to see her so curious, so eager in her own little wishes, and the way she looks at him, he can tell she's having the same thoughts he had.

A smirk plays around the corner of his lips, and he notices a deeper blush forcing itself onto her cheeks. “We should go,” he says then, tilting his head. “Are you ready?”

Her eyes move down, all eagerness and curiosity gone, as she nods timidly. His hand is back on her chin, pushing it up gently. “Last chance to tell me to fuck off,” he teases with a grin, challenging her. She looks up with a bit of shock in her big eyes.

“I... I would never do that,” she murmurs softly, blinking before looking away again. “I... I want this,” she then adds, and he watches her inhale deeply, squaring her shoulders. “I... I want to be... with you...” Her voice is that soft hum in the stale air around them, and it softens his heart – but thickens his cock.

He caresses her bottom lip, gently slipping his thumb into her mouth when she looks up at him. “My good girl,” he whispers fondly as he watches her close her lips around his digit, giving the slightest of sucks. Her eyes seem to glaze over, pupils dilating, and he just knows her mind is emptying as she focuses on him.

She needs this, needs him, and it's the best fucking feeling, he couldn't have asked for anything more (not that he would have actually asked because he doesn't ask for anything, but you get the picture). Her obedience, submission, her trust, it all gathers in his stomach, a pleasant heat that he can't get enough of.

God, he wants to fuck that cute little face so bad! He pulls his hand back with a groan, fighting the urges that make his fingers twitch before he curls them around her slim shoulder. His grip is tighter than intended, and she flinches slightly, a small gasp falling over her parted lips. “The power you have over me,” he says under his breath, clenching his jaw.

His eyes meet hers, and she seems confused, and she should be. Never before had a woman been able to get this deep under his skin. All his life, he had been the dominant one, using women for what they are: holes to fill, bodies to satisfy his urges with. Nothing more. He's kept the occasional submissive, or rather, slave, plaything, toy, but he had been growing bored with them so fast, it had been a little concerning.

But this girl, despite only knowing and having her for a weekend and a few hours, this tiny innocent girl seems to hit all the spots that make him absolutely crazy about her. He's never been this sure about anything in his life, and he's taken numerous risks before. He wouldn't be who he is now if there weren't risks involved, both in life and in business, and even though it seems to be a major risk to bind her to himself after only this short amount of time, he feels more than confident about it.

Because she is perfect. And she wants this.

Having her around 24/7 will be a new adventure, and he's looking forward to it. Oh he's already imagining it. Her little frame, preferably naked, possibly kneeling somewhere, waiting for him, ready to be used, and he only has to approach her to get her to service him... whenever he wants. The thought makes his cock strain against the confines of his pants.

To rid himself of the temptations, he steps back, grabs her hand and turns around, pulling her after him. He feels her stumbling slightly, surprised by the sudden movement, but she follows nonetheless. When they reach the door, he catches her looking back towards her old bedroom, it's only a few seconds, before she looks back at him, and he squeezes her hand and gives her a small smile that makes her blush instantly.

He meets one of his men in the hallway outside her apartment, and while she stares at the other man in slight shock, he only exchanges a nod with him and watches how the broad guy enters the tiny space. As they descend the many stairs, more of his people enter the apartment building, ready to rid it of any evidence of the girl he's dragging after him.

She seems a little hesitant, and he can't blame her, having strange men rummage through the stuff she used to call her own is not easy. But she shouldn't worry, he's planned this out better than he's planning most of his business deals. She'll be in for a surprise.

They reach his car, and there are two moving trucks parked on the small street. Her grip on his hand is tight as her eyes follow the line of workers vanishing into the building. He pulls her to the trunk, opens it with his free hand and puts her backpack into it. A strange sight, a battered old backpack, stuffed to the brim, in the spotless little space in the back of his car. But it isn't the most unusual sight it has seen.

For a moment he remembers stuffing other things, girls like her, into it, blindfolded, gagged, tied up to fit, scared out of their little minds, and he's glad it had been a different story with her. She came to him. She wanted this. And it's only fair to give her the best treatment he can think of, the best in his mind anyway. No matter the grip she has on him, this is still all about his pleasure, and luckily she knows it by now.

When he closes the lid of the trunk with a thud, she flinches, then meets his eyes. He cups her face with one hand, caressing her lips with his thumb, his eyes roaming over her soft features. She melts under his touch, a shy smile grazing her mouth, eyes warm and pliant, pupils dilating despite the bright light around them. He gives her a wink and watches the blush creep up her cheeks.

After he put her into the passenger seat and buckled her in (which she doesn't seem to get used to, as she watched him with wide eyes and trembling lips while he leaned over her), he slips behind the wheel, puts on his own seat belt and starts the engine with a roar that echoes through the quiet street.

She settles into the seat, small hands clasped together on her lap, that pastel pink dress he chose a stark contrast to the dark interior of his car. Once he pulls into the rows of traffic, his hand finds her thigh, and she stiffens before she relaxes as his long fingers curl around her soft leg, slipping between them, feeling her warmth. Imagining the stain his cum had left on the fabric of her panties.

He keeps having these images flicker through his mind, and the longer he drives through the crowded city, the harder he gets from just thinking about whatever he could do to his new plaything, the willing girl next to him. The possibilities are endless. As they stop in front of a red light, he slips his hand deeper between her thighs, fingers pushing firmly against her sex, and she squirms, but ultimately opens her legs a little, allowing him to tease the damp fabric of her underwear.

Pressing down hard, he quickly finds her clit, and she gasps, her legs twitch and threaten to clamp down around his hand, but he feels the effort she's putting into keeping them open. He looks at her, that little thing on his passenger seat, so small, flushed and aroused, red splotches dancing on her cheeks while her eyes are hooded as she worries her lip between her teeth. He keeps circling that sensitive bud that throbs under his touch, until he has to take his hand away to shift gears as the traffic light changes to green.

Her sigh mirrors his. He chuckles softly, while she looks away, her face even redder now. They keep driving in silence until he pulls into a parking garage below one of the stores he wanted to take her to. It's very quiet when he cuts the engine and turns to her. She is still chewing on her lip, and he reaches out to stop her as he notices how swollen they already are.

She looks at him, and her mouth opens slightly, an instinct as his thumb moves closer, but he pulls it away before she can suck on it again. So predictable, his little kitten. He smirks at her, admiring the small pout that crosses her features. Forcing himself to look away, he gets out of the car and walks around the hood to her side, opens the door and leans over her to unbuckle her seat belt. She hasn't even tried to do it herself, she's learning already.

When his face is in line with hers, he grabs her chin and presses his lips to hers for a quick kiss, holding her gaze. “You'll be a good girl for me, right?” he whispers, hovering close to her, waiting for her to react. She nods. “You'll do whatever I tell you?”

“Yes, sir,” she breathes against his lips, and he gives her another kiss in response. Leaning back with a smile, he then extends his hand. She grabs it instantly and lets him pull her out of the car. She's so tiny against him, it melts his heart, which in turn sends a strange heat lower down his body.

Squeezing her hand, he pulls her away with another sigh of frustration. As much as he wants to press her against his car and fuck her raw in this very parking garage, he knows he shouldn't and he won't. This fucking restraint. Instead he drags her towards the elevator and punches the button a little too hard while simultaneously trying not to break the girl's hand with how tight he's holding it.

She doesn't protest, though, just follows him, her old sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. He fights another image of railing her in the elevator, right under the surveillance camera, their reflections all around them, her face contorted in pleasure as he bounces her up and down on his thick cock while the small cubicle pushes its way up the building. A stifled groan slips from his throat as he closes his eyes to force the thought away, and it's the little squeeze of her hand that grounds him again. Inhaling deeply, he opens his eyes and looks down at her.

Seeing her soft expression, full of equal parts curiosity and anxiety, he just shoots her a strained smile and pulls her against his side, savoring her warmth, the little flutter of her breath as she leans into him. They stand in comfortable silence until the doors slide open with a ding, and he grabs her hand again and pulls her along gently, keeping her next to him until they reach an unassuming door.

He never walks into shops through the front door if he can help it, it's become a good habit, a necessary need sometimes. Rapping his knuckles gently against the slick surface, he waits, and only a few moments later, the door opens, and they are greeted by a smiling older woman with big hair and too much perfume. He nods at her and she bows her head as she welcomes them into the backroom of her store.

The girl pushes against him instinctively, timid and confused, searching his body heat, the safety of his hold, and he grants it to her, putting one arm around her slim shoulders as he guides her through the narrow hallways until they enter a carpeted room lined with mirrors and a shelf full of tailor equipment.

“What an adorable little thing,” the woman drawls in obviously fake enthusiasm as she closes the door behind them, shutting out the muffled chatter from the front of the shop where other clients rummage through the various clothing racks. “So how did you like the clothes I sent you? Was everything alright with them?”

He looks down at the girl who meets his gaze, a little frown between her brows. “They were perfect, but I'd like you to measure her properly. You got the list I made?”

“Of course, sir,” the seamstress replies in her borderline annoying sing-sang voice. If it wouldn't be for her discretion and their long history together, he couldn't stand spending another minute with her. “I'm glad you brought her, it's always easier to find the right things if I can get my hands on the object wearing them.”

Object. While he chuckles at the word, he sees the girl in his arm frowning deeply. But that's what she is, that's what they all were. Objects, toys, dolls he could dress and undress and do whatever he wanted to. He leads her to the little platform in the middle of the room, and she hesitates as she steps on it, her eyes widening slightly.

“Take off your dress, baby,” he tells her, cocking his head to the side. While she stares at him, his insides tense. The first real test. Will she obey without fussing? It's important to him to know that she will do what he tells her, especially in front of strangers. His hands slip along her arms, palms pressing into her skin, a demanding grip, as he stares down at her, eyes narrowed, and she takes a shuddering breath and nods, slowly reaching for the hem of the dress. He relaxes and lets go of her. “Good girl.”

He watches her as she slowly pulls the dress over her head, hands shaking, body stiff, breathing heavily, but she's focusing on him, trying to ignore the woman waiting behind them. He takes the dress from her and hands it back to the seamstress without looking at her, his eyes focused only on the naked torso in front of him. She's trying to cover herself, her arms squishing her small breasts together as her hands rest in front of her soiled panties, her thighs clamped together tightly, and there's panic in her eyes.

He's almost forgotten about his cum in her underwear, and a sigh escapes him. It doesn't matter to him, and certainly not to the woman waiting to do her job, but he feels the girl's discomfort, wants to tell her that he dragged girls in here in far worse conditions, but ultimately he just steps closer and grabs her hands, holds her wrists, looks at her intently. “It's okay, keep them on,” he says quietly. “No need to be ashamed.”

She swallows visibly and nods, biting her lip. He tilts his head, gaze fixed on her mouth, and she stops the nervous motion, moves her tongue between her lips before pressing them into a thin line. He lets go of her and nods in return, ignoring the curious gaze from the other woman as she steps around them, a flexible measuring tape in her hands. She must think he's lost it now, with how soft and gentle he treats the girl in front of him.

He's never been like this, so considerate, comforting, patient. He usually brought his toys here to be left with the tailor, not caring about their discomfort. They usually barely noticed where they were anyway, he'd make sure of it, so bringing her here, as pure as she is, so willing and eager, mind open enough to follow his commands without having been coerced (by drugs at least), it's a first for all parties involved.

Stepping away, he holds her gaze until he leans against the wall, crossing his arms in front of his chest, watching her as she comes to terms with her surroundings, or the woman starting to take her measurements. She's thorough and rough, grabs the girl's arms and lifts them as if she were indeed just a doll – that is until she flinches away and winces when the woman forces her legs apart, and he sees the restraint in the seamstress' motions, she's about to slap the poor girl for disobedience, but instead she turns to him.

“Tell her to stay still.”

He shoots the woman a dark glance, and she bows her head, but holds his gaze, determined to continue her job, no matter whose money is paying her to do so.

With a sigh, he looks at the girl behind her who freezes when she meets his eyes. He doesn't have to say anything, she issues a tiny nod and lowers her head, standing stock-still on the podium, letting the woman grab her limbs to measure them. Her face, however, is bright red, and she even clenches her hands into fists, fighting the urge to flinch time and time again, especially when the tailor slips the measuring tape around her thighs, dangerously close to where he can see the little wet stain in her panties.

He watches her, thinking back to the list he made. He isn't just ordering underwear for her, also dresses, cute and more elegant ones, but most importantly things the store doesn't sell in their front window display. Closing his eyes for a moment, he can already imagine her in the lacy sets, her small body covered in the intricate straps of the garter belts holding those soft stockings that will hug her legs, and that he can't wait to peel off her.

And then there are the harnesses, the cuffs, the belts, all kinds of restraints he wants to put on her to rid her of her last ounce of self-control. He wants her to lose it all, lose herself for him, give herself up to him and him alone. She'll love it, he's sure, eventually.

A sudden slapping sound breaks him from his daydreams of tying her to the bed, and his eyes fly open. The girl lets out a whimper, slouching her shoulders, while the woman stands in front of her with the measuring tape wrapped around her small bust, the rigid tape pressing hard into her nipples. There's a barely there red spot on the girl's cheek. He pushes off the wall and walks closer.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low and with a dangerous edge to it. The seamstress stiffens.

“She kept moving about,” she explains, quickly finishing the measurement of the girl's chest to step away from him. “How am I supposed to get her exact measurements if she fights this so much?”

“She's not yours to slap,” he says darkly, his eyes moving along the naked body in front of him. The girl's chest rises and falls quicker, her head bowed, but her hands relax slightly.

“Yes, sir,” the woman replies quietly as she returns to wrap the tape around the girl's slim waist from behind her, her motions much more careful now. “I apologize...”

He hums in response, extending a hand to touch the blemished cheek. She meets his gaze, eyes big and full of concern, but they soften when he caresses her softly. “Keep still,” he reminds her quietly, and she nods into his hand. Pressing his thumb to her lips, she parts them, but he only smirks at her and gives her a wink as he pulls his hand away again, his cock stirring at the sight of her little pout.

Returning to lean against the wall, he keeps watching the scene, slowly slipping back into his fantasies, smiling to himself as he thinks about the girl clad in white lace, or black, or that soft pink that will fit her as well, and how he will then remove that fancy lingerie he's paying way too much for. He could strip her gently, let her wear a certain set again, or he could rip it off, cut it off, tear it away until she's bare in front of him. That'll depend on his mood.

TEN 🟥 ELEVEN 🟥 TWELVE

End notes: Welcome back to SEASON TWO of INFATUATED!

I wrote the following ten chapters down in about a week (like I did the first ten, actually), it'll get quite intense, but there will be more backstory as well, as hinted in this chapter already. Things will thicken, the plot included. I hope you are ready!

Thank you for coming back to read this depraved piece of fiction.

Next chapter on Sunday!

TAG LIST:

@untamedheart81 @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN

ELEVEN◾️TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN

[toji-bunny-girl]

CONTENTS— swearing, supa bratty!reader (idk, kinda like powy), dom!aki, kinda ooc aki but wtv 👆👆, tw!Makima, smut, angst, cry baby reader, jealousy, brat taming, spanking, teasing, fingering, orgasm denial A/N— repost cuz it got flagged 🤮 👩‍🦽💨💨

“You’re acting like a freaking brat,” Aki mumbled into your ear, large hands grabbing your arm as his weight pushed you against the wall. Clicking your tongue, you tried to buck against his tightening hold—which only ended up futile.

“Get off, bastard!” you huffed, giving up trying to free yourself from him as you turned your head to face the wall, refusing to let him see the prickling tears in your eyes. 

“Makima-san gave you a life here, and yet how could you treat her like that?“ you didn’t need to look at him to know that he’s already got a frown plastered on his face. 

Makima this, Makima that. It’s like she’s the only one on his mind, and you hated the thought of it. You just got tired of how he wags his tail at her as if he’s her dog and was slightly annoyed at them. And now he’s getting all protective over her?

“Fuck you, and fuck Makima! Fuck everyone! I hate my life!” you wailed, letting your tears and jealousy flow out in front of Aki. You don’t even care anymore about acting cool, you just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“—39!” you choked back your tears as another sharp slap rang in the bedroom, your skin going numb and your body jerking from Aki’s ruthless palm as he strikes yet again onto your flesh, peppered with painful red marks. There you were over his lap, with your skirt pulled over to reveal your bare and swollen ass while you were made to count your punishment.

“Are you going to apologise to Makima-san tomorrow?” his cool voice contrasted with the burning sting he afflicted onto you, as if he has no problem giving you such harsh punishment.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go to her and tell her to suck my dick,” the defiance was still unyielding in you, albeit you didn’t want to be punished any longer. But to be reminded with every throb on your skin that you’re in this situation because of her, it does nothing but make you despise Makima even more.

Aki sighed, shifting your weight on his lap while you stared hard at your puddle of tears on the ground. “She’s kind and gentle. So why would you treat her with such disrespect?”

“Well, I don’t get why you like her so much. All you do is bark or fetch whenever she wants you to!” you sobbed, vision beginning to blur with a different kind of tears, not from physical ache but the one brimming inside your chest. “When are you going to like me then?”

Silence served in the air before you managed yourself off of Aki’s lap, wobbly legs making themselves towards the door until a sudden pull brought you into his arms.

“Are you saying that I’m Makima-san’s mutt?” his breath tickled your skin as he whispered low against the back of your neck, the cool scent of his filling up your nostrils as the blush on your cheeks grew thick.

His hands found themselves resting on your thigh and another on your tummy, smoothing over the skin where his long fingers could stroke. Shock took over every nerve of your body, making it almost impossible to move while your heart twisted and squeezed in all burning ways.

“Not gonna come back with another snarky remark?” you didn’t need to turn your head to know that there was a smirk on his lips and if it was any other day, any other situation, and a normal you—you would’ve tried anything to wipe that triumphant smile off his face.

After all, what could you do in this circumstance surrounded by his warmth and scent? “Y-You—” you tried to speak but embarrassingly found yourself only capable of stuttering out your words.

Just as you were about the turn your head to glare at him, he suddenly crashed his lips onto you, and all angry fronts fell apart at once. You let him shift your body to straddle him, immersed in the way his plump lips felt and the minty taste of him while his hands wandered over your body.

“Aki…” you moaned his name when your lips parted, the air heavy and hot as you blinked at him through your eyelids, intoxicated from the kiss.

He only sucked the air through his teeth in return, palming your ass from underneath your skirt and smoothing his hand over your aching skin. His lips trailed up your neck and a shiver slithered along your back as you threw your head back into the air. Slipping off your top, Aki’s breath hit your chest the moment you revealed yourself bare to him, the hair on your skin standing tall before he let his tongue twirl and flick your nipple, his fingers busy rolling your other bud.

“Fuck,” you breathed, locking your hands around his neck. Peering down at him, his gaze caught yours and a blush grew crimson on your cheeks. The man you’ve always liked now pleasuring your body with such expertise, centralised on hearing you moan his name from his touch.

Lifting you to have you lay on the bed, Aki’s hand reached between your thighs, rubbing against your panties before his thumb drew slow circles on your clit. Your arms brought him closer to your face by his neck, drawing out moans against his lips before nipping his lower one when his finger quickened.

A soft frown itched itself between your eyebrows when he paused in a sudden, a slight annoyance blooming inside your chest from a missed orgasm. He pulled his body away from you before his hands tugged the waistband of your panties down and off your ankles, his tongue swiping across his lips to wet them as he inhaled the sight of you lying almost naked in front of him.

A spark of lust danced in his dark eyes as he watched the perverted look on your face—hazy eyes blinking up at him with tears still clinging onto your eyelashes, your lips swollen as an evidence of his kiss.

Moving forward to hover over you, Aki slipped two long fingers of his into you while noting the way you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, your chest tugging upwards into the air in a sharp inhale.

“Haah—” you gasped when his digits started moving in and out of you, slowly rubbing over the sloppy walls of your cunt and the soft spot deep inside. Your thighs tried to clamp close when his pace fastened after a few long strokes, your sensitivity growing to the brim after his fingers unrelentingly stroke your g-spot over and over again. But you were simply in no match with Aki’s strength when his hand grabbed one of your thighs still, making you capable of only crying and screaming aloud.

“Please, Aki! M’gonna cum!” the sheets was crumpled up in your hands as you arched your back, tears of pleasure prickling at the ends of your eyes, a strong wave of orgasm building up inside your tummy. All you needed was the last push to have it all wash over you, just a little bit more to send your mind blank.

Yet instead of another promised stroke, all you got was the absence of his digits in your needy cunt, dripping and yearning for something. Then as you lifted your head to glance at Aki, all you see was another smirk on his face—

“Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

© toji-bunny-girl― all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, plagiarise or repost my work

[visceravalentines]

folger's, eat your heart out

oh my god this got away from me so bad it's wanted in twelve states. but it's done (is anything ever done) and i'm.......i'm quite happy with it. i really hope you like it.

4.3k words. canon divergence, boys on the run. established relationship. character study, lots of introspection. implied sexual content, nothing too explicit. so much kissing. hand job. light s/m. night terrors and vague mention of canon-typical trauma. mostly soft, so soft. benson is so in love and doesn't know it yet <3

read on ao3 here if that's more your speed.

It’s a Tuesday. Benson knows this because his eyes snap open automatically at five in the morning even though he hasn’t set an alarm in weeks. He opens on Tuesdays, been on that schedule for so long he doesn’t even need the alarm anymore anyways. 

Well, he used to open on Tuesdays. 

He wakes up slow. Gets a savage satisfaction out of being somewhere unfamiliar, revels in it. With bleary eyes he traces the outline of the water damage on the ceiling and it’s different than the one back home. Room smells different too, stale sweat and dust and complimentary green tea bar soap. The mattress is too fucking soft, folds around him like dough. His spine is electric with pain. 

Fuck, he’s getting old. Twenty-nine going on fifty. 

He drags a hand over his face and wishes he could fall back asleep. Not going to happen. Not a chance with this marshmallow bed and the sun popping its stupid Raisin Bran fucking face through the blinds. Benson sleeps dark and cold and silent with his back to the wall. Arms locked in front of his chest like armor. Like a corpse on a slab. 

Or he used to, anyway. 

He can’t feel his left arm. He pushes his chin into his throat at an odd angle to look down at Randy, still asleep, curled up on Benson’s chest like a sandy-colored cat. His hands are tucked together, long, knobby fingers folded over each other, resting in the center of Benson’s ribs. The sun takes each strand of his hair and wraps it in gold, even his eyelashes, laying long and pretty on his cheeks. 

Fuck Folger’s. Nothing comes close to this. 

It’s surreal, still. Being here, being anywhere, together. Like, together. Unbelievable the way he fits so neatly under Benson’s arm. He rests his lips against the crown of Randy’s head. He does it because he wants to, because he can. He inhales slow and deep and he smells warm and bright and a little grimey. Like summer. Like sweat and mud and the most beautiful blue sky you’ve ever seen. Fucking perfect, he’s perfect. 

He's peaceful now, which is saying something. Randy’s a terrible sleeper. Sharing a bed with him is punishing. He thrashes in his sleep, digs elbows into Benson’s ribs and jolts him awake in a panic ready to fight, and then Benson has to stare into the abyss and count to a thousand before he can calm the fuck down and drift off again. 

He never talks about his nightmares. Benson knows he has them, but he knows better than to ask about shit like that. On occasion he’ll wake up to Randy tugging on his arm, pulling it around him like a security blanket. He doesn’t mind that in the least, rolls over half asleep and wraps himself around Randy’s sweat-soaked body. He pins his arms to his sides for both their sakes, buries his face against the back of his neck, and that’s that. Problem solved. 

Benson, on the other hand, sleeps like the dead–save for the nights he wakes up screaming and doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Doesn't even know he's awake until he sees Randy’s face floating above him in the dark, wide-eyed like some twig-limbed owl. Until he feels his hands on his face, wiping salt from his cheeks. 

Shit sucks, because then he has to turn all the lights on and pace the room, chewing on a cigarette and cracking his neck ‘til it's sore, trying to walk it off. Randy sits on the bed hugging his knees to his chest and watches him like a hawk. But he doesn't speak, doesn't try to push it, waits patiently until Benson crawls back into bed and lets him decide where he wants to be. 

He can't stand to be touched during and after those episodes, always hated when his ma would try to smother him when he was still young enough to smother, but funny enough, Randy’s okay. Doesn't seem to count. Maybe it's because he lets him set the pace and doesn't get his feelings hurt when Benson curls up on the edge of the mattress with pillows stacked between them. Either way, most times Benson falls back asleep with his head tucked into the hollow of Randy's neck and those skinny arms slung around his shoulders. And the light on.

The night terrors aren’t new, but it’s been a while since they’ve been this bad. It’s like they’ve worked their way to the surface of his brain. Like a splinter finding its way out of the skin. He doesn’t like Randy seeing him that way, but he can’t really help it. He used to sleep on his stomach with his face in the pillow so he wouldn’t wake Ma and have to deal with her on top of everything else, but he had so many nightmares about suffocating he can't do it anymore. 

But Randy never lets Benson apologize in the morning, insists he doesn't mind being woken up. He's told him that again and again, so often that Benson’s starting to believe him. They’re both fucked in the head just enough that it makes it okay. No hard feelings. 

Last night was quiet for both of them, for once. Benson wishes he was still asleep to take advantage of it, but this is nice too. He can feel Randy’s breath on his collarbone and it’s driving him crazy, a little bit. He’s not used to nice things. He’s always scared he’s gonna fuck them up somehow. Sometimes he wants to fuck them up. Track mud across the carpet, break a dish. Say the wrong thing. Bite down too hard. 

He’s learning how to be gentle. He’s trying, like, really trying. Randy doesn’t make it easy, that’s for damn sure. The way he whimpers when Benson’s hands are on him isn’t fucking fair. The way he bares his throat and gasps and begs. And then he shows Benson the marks afterwards like he’s proud of them, like Benson wasn’t there when he got them. 

“You did a number on me,” he said last night with this sheepish grin, almost giddy, leaning over the sink to look at himself in the mirror. Prodding at the bite mark on his shoulder, the hickies on his neck. Never mind all the shit he couldn’t see from that angle, but Benson saw it. The shape of his body all over Randy’s in bruises. 

Made him feel kinda good and kinda bad, sort of guilty, but then Randy looked over at him with those eyes, hair all mussed, bottom lip cherry red and swollen, and said with unmistakable adoration, “You’re an animal, Bence.” 

Un-fucking-fair. 

But he’s trying, he is. Trying to ease up on the reins. Trying to be soft, because Randy needs soft no matter what he asks Benson for in the dark. He can’t fuck this up. Can’t fuck him up; at least, not any more than he already has. On the list of things he’s ever wanted to fuck up in the world, Randy is at the bottom. 

And it’s good too, the lovey-dovey bullshit. It’s good. It’s great. The way Randy falls asleep on his shoulder halfway through the movie, any movie, no matter how good it is or how loud it’s turned up or how much Benson promised him he was gonna like it. The way he bumps his knuckles against Benson’s when they’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder, just because. Just to touch him. He’ll catch him smiling at him for no reason, all the time, just glance over and there he is looking like they’re on their way to Disney World. No one's ever smiled at him like that. He’s not even doing anything to earn it, he’s just living his fucking life. The fact of his existence is apparently an ongoing novelty to Randy. 

Crazy fucking kid. 

Benson feels like he’s body-swapped with someone on better terms with luck and the skin doesn’t fit quite right but fuck, he’s figuring out how to make it work. He doesn’t get handed things like this. Good things with no strings attached. He’s always kind of on edge, always waiting for someone to break down the door and haul him away. For someone to pause the laugh track and punch through the set. For Randy to suffer a moment of clarity and tell him to go fuck himself. 

He’s never had this kind of good, never expected it. Never really thought he deserved it. And Randy sure doesn't deserve this kind of bizarre sideways bullshit that makes up the best that Benson can offer. He deserves better from him. From everyone. From life. Benson keeps trying to tell him that. 

Too bad he can't quite convince him. Too bad Benson’s selfish and couldn't let go of him if he tried. Wouldn't even try. Wouldn't turn out well. 

He runs his thumb across the angle of Randy's cheekbone, feather-light. He wants to let him sleep and he wants him to wake up and he doesn’t know which he wants more. He draws lines across his cheek, from the corner of his mouth, along the edge of his jaw, carefully, carefully, so gentle his hand shakes. He’s probably never been hit in the face. Probably never had a black eye, broken nose. Shy, scared, beautiful thing. 

There’s been a violence in Benson for as long as he can remember. Bone-deep. And it’s a magnet, pulls other violence right to him like wasps to fresh meat. Sometimes he loves it, sometimes he hates it. He always falls back on it, no matter how hard he tries to leave it behind or wrap it up so tight it can’t get out. He fails again and again. But it doesn’t scare Randy anymore. In fact, it’s like Randy gives it justification. Permission. Validates it. Like maybe it’s hung around this whole time just so Benson could learn how to use it, for his sake. To protect him. At least until he figures out how to protect himself. 

And Randy’s learning, he is. Stands up taller, takes up space. Orders his own food at restaurants. But Benson kind of likes playing guard dog. Likes being needed in that way, and others. Likes being needed by Randy in particular. 

Benson’s already killed for him, so it’s like he’s always trying to find a way to top that. That should be hard, right, but Randy makes it easy. Gets excited over nothing, little shit like finding both their names on some dumb souvenir keychains. Or when he brings him a bag of plain fucking potato chips, his favorite. Or when Benson covers his eyes before the money shot in some gore flick because he’s a pussy and also it dredges up some shit for him that neither of them wants to think about. The way he lights up about that stuff, stupid little stuff, makes Benson feel worthwhile in a way he can’t describe. 

For all he goes on about helping Randy become the best version of himself, the version of himself who’s confident and decisive and knows who Trent Reznor is, sometimes Benson gets the feeling like maybe, Randy’s the one making him better. Not changing him, not really, just…making him kind of okay. Making it all kind of okay. There are so many things Benson’s taken for granted, never thought twice about. About himself, about his life, about where both of those things would end up and how they’d get there. Randy makes him reconsider. Makes it worth reconsidering. 

It feels wrong to stop him. Might as well let him try. What’s it gonna hurt?

Sometimes he wants to laugh in disbelief at it all. Who the fuck is he these days? Going soft right and left and glad for it. He feels like he’s on another planet. Hundreds of miles from home, no phone, no way back. Shooting towards the sun with everything he needs inside his shitty little rocket ship of a car. 

Randy’s a spaceman for sure, no question. Ever since they turned west and hit the desert, he hangs out the window when they drive at night through all that nothing, head craned back to look at the sky. 

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Benson asked him the first time, when he rolled down the window and started climbing out like a fucking lunatic. 

“Looking at the stars,” Randy said. “There’s so many, Benson…you should look.” 

“No thanks, I'm driving.” 

“I mean…you could stop first.”

“I’ve seen stars, Randy.” 

Randy was halfway out the window so his reply was almost lost to the wind. “Not like this.” 

Benson reached over and grabbed him by the pocket of his jeans. “If you fall out I’m leaving your ass behind.” 

He let Benson pull him back inside then, and stared right at him in this new way of his. This new, brave Randy who had finally shaken some of that paralyzing fear of confrontation and figured out how to be direct. “No you wouldn’t.” 

Benson had looked at him for as long as he could without drifting into the other lane, and then looked at him a little bit longer and had to course correct. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.” 

He’s right. He wouldn’t. 

Benson lets the memory slide away and finds Randy gazing up at him here and now, eyes crusted with sleep. He feels a twinge in his chest like a guitar string being plucked. The whole room is golden now. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, and even he can hear the velvet in his voice. Feels self-conscious about it for a second until he gets distracted by Randy wrinkling his nose to stave off a yawn. 

“Morning,” he murmurs, peels his cheek off Benson's chest and leaves a pink circle behind that matches the one on his face. He rubs at his eyes and gives him that dumb Disney World smile. “Sleep well?”  

“Slept great.” Benson swipes away a stray eye booger from the inside corner of Randy’s left eye. “Nice to have one single solitary night where I don't have to fight you to the death.”

Randy bites the inside of his cheek, looks bashful. Benson fucking loves it. “Well, I mean…you wore me out pretty good last night.”

Benson smirks, takes hold of the back of Randy’s neck and pulls him back into his shoulder. “Yeah I did. I oughta do that more often.”

Randy worms his arm beneath the covers and around Benson’s waist and it gives him honest-to-god butterflies. He runs his fingers through Randy’s hair. It's getting fucking long, almost falls past his ears. He keeps asking him to cut it and Benson keeps refusing. It's got this little flip at the ends that he thinks is cute. He bets it’ll grow out into gorgeous fucking waves when it hits his shoulders. 

He takes a fistful and squeezes, does that a couple times before he tugs his head up so they’re nose-to-nose. Randy’s eyelids slide half-closed and his lips part on reflex. 

“What you wanna do today?” Benson murmurs. He can feel Randy’s breath on his chin, licks his lips. 

“...just this,” Randy says, almost a whisper. 

“That’s it?”  

“Yeah.”  

“You’re not bored of this?”  

“No.”  

Benson almost smiles. “Me neither.”

He pushes Randy's head back down into the curve of his neck, rides the swell of satisfaction he gets from his frustrated groan. “Don’t worry, babe, we got all day. How about you, how’d you sleep?”  

“Good.”  His thumb moves back and forth along Benson’s hip and it’s electric, feels like he’s got lightning bolts shooting around under his skin, makes his muscles twitch. He’s still not used to that. Gentle shit like that. “Had a dream about you.”

“No shit?”  He’s not sure anyone’s ever dreamt about him before. He’s kinda flattered. “Was it hot?”  

Randy snorts. “No, it wasn’t…like that. We, uh…we were at the beach.”  

Benson screws up his eyebrows, looks down at Randy. He can’t see his face from this angle. “The beach?”  

“Yeah. We were just, like…there. Just messing around. I mean, there were other people there, but they didn’t…matter.”  

Benson doesn’t know what to make of this. “Huh. That’s it?  Just…beach day?”  

“Yeah. Well, I mean, until the end. A shark showed up and you…punched it so hard that it died.”  

Benson does a genuine double-take. “I punched a shark. And it died?”  

Now Randy twists, looks up at him, smiling. “Yeah. It was awesome.”  

It sounds kind of awesome. Benson pokes him in the ribs. “You’re a fucking dork.”  

“I’m just telling you what happened!”  

“Look, Randy, I’ve never been to the beach, but I’ve seen Jaws about one thousand times and I know for a fact a shark would swallow my ass whole. And it would eat you and not even know that it happened. I’m not saying I’m scared, I’m just saying, don’t count on me to save you from a fucking sea monster.”  

Randy doesn’t laugh and Benson looks at him and he’s making that face, that little frown and the line on his forehead that means that Benson just said something puzzling. Here we go. He tenses up without meaning to, braces for it. Grits his teeth, pops his knuckles. 

“You’ve…really never been to the beach?”  

Fuck, he hates this feeling. Like loss except you never had the thing in the first place. Like realizing maybe you’re supposed to be mourning something but you don’t really know what that something is or why it’s so important. He knows his upbringing wasn’t shit compared to Randy’s, compared to most kids’. He just wishes he could grow out of giving a shit about it. 

So he gets defensive. He always gets defensive. “No, I’ve never been to the fucking beach. What’s so super-duper special about a bunch of sand?  And water that’s mostly fish piss?”  

Randy props himself up on his elbow, leans lightly on Benson’s chest, completely unfazed by his attitude. “Well…let’s go. You can decide for yourself.”  

“To the beach?” Benson says incredulously. “Randy, we’re in fucking New Mexico.”  

“Not–not today.”  Randy waves his hand dismissively. “We can leave tomorrow. Make a beeline for California.”  

And that’s that. The magical realism of the newly reformed Randy Fucking Bradley. No pity. No shame. Just the simplest solution in the whole damn universe. 

“California.”  Benson pictures the Beach Boys and hippies on rollerskates, rolls his eyes. “Sounds dreamy.”  

“It’ll be worth it, Benson, I promise.”  Randy looks at him with those puppy-dog eyes, chews his lip, slides his arm around Benson’s waist. He knows what the fuck he’s doing, the little shit; he’s too smart for his own good. “We don’t have to stay. We can leave as soon as we get there. I just…I think you would like it.” He leans a little heavier against Benson’s ribs, nudges his foot with his toes. “Please?”  

Benson huffs. He’s not a fucking pushover, swear to God he’s not, but it’s like he can’t help but fold these days. He’s gonna spoil the guy rotten if he’s not careful. He has to at least pretend to put up a fight, just to say he tried. “What if I say no?”  

His brow furrows. The puppy-dog eyes flick down to his mouth and back. “Well...maybe I could convince you.”  

One of Benson’s eyebrows pops up. He likes the sound of that. “I’m listening.”  

Randy sits up unsteadily on the marshmallow mattress and straddles Benson’s hips, tucking his hands beneath the pillow on either side of his head. Benson looks up at him, the angles of his face kissed by the sun, and feels a pleasant sort of ache in his chest. It's almost the same feeling as when he finally gave in and pulled over and let Randy sit on the hood, leaned back next to him and looked up at the stars and felt big and small at the same time. 

“It’s amazing, Bence…you can't even imagine.”  His thighs press against Benson's waist, wrists press against his shoulders. 

“Yeah?” Benson licks his lips. His eyes can’t move fast enough, trying to take in every piece of his face, of his body, his name written all over all of it in red and purple. “Tell me about it.”  

Randy's hair is hanging over his face like a messy kind of halo. He peers through it with this earnest intensity, this lion cub ferocity that might be the hottest thing Benson's ever seen. He shifts his weight to one hand and strokes the sensitive spot behind Benson’s ear with his thumb, sends chills spidering across his skin. 

“The smell of the water and–and the sound. You never forget it. And it makes you feel…it’s massive. It’s amazing.” 

“You know what else is massive?”  

Randy stifles a chuckle, looks away, color rising in his cheeks. Benson grins. “Listen to me, Benson.”

“I'm listening!”

“It makes you feel…it makes you feel small, I guess. But not in a bad way. We could just walk around or maybe…swim a little bit?”

Benson pictures Randy with wet hair, dark and wavy, water rolling down his neck. Salt water, salty skin. “Could be nice.”

“We can do whatever you want.”  He curls his toes against Benson’s thighs. “We could get ice cream and sit in the sun.”

The image of melted sticky sugar dripping over Randy’s hand, down his arm, hits Benson like a truck. Knocks the wind right out of him. He thinks about licking it off, watching him suck it off his own fingers. He wraps his hands behind Randy's knees and grips harder than he means to. 

“That sounds, uh…that sounds good. I’m into that,” Benson says and he sounds like a moron in his own ears but it makes Randy smile so it's fine. He can feel the blood rushing away from his brain as fast as it can and he’s about ready to give in and end the discussion. Move on to other things. 

Randy gets that earnest, uncertain look in his eyes all the sudden and touches Benson's face, brushes his thumb across the lines at the corner of his eyes in this foreign kind of way that Benson’s brain registers passively as tenderness, and all the sudden he can't breathe right. His throat’s fucked up like he’s getting sick. He swallows hard. 

“I want to–I want to kiss you in the ocean,” Randy says quietly. “I think…I'd really like that.” 

So now this is the only thing Benson cares about. His number-one goal. A shining and glorious reason to be alive. He’s going to kiss Randy in the ocean if it’s the last thing he fucking does. 

“How about you kiss me right here, huh?”  He cups the back of Randy’s neck and pulls him in, hard, yanks him really, because he can’t fucking help it. Because he wants him right now, right fucking now. 

Randy resists, just a little, on reflex, and then gets overeager and his lips crash into Benson’s, but that’s okay. Randy kisses like he’s starved for it, always, no matter how long they’ve been at it. Even now, first thing in the fucking morning, he opens his mouth expectantly and moans when Benson slips his tongue past his teeth, one hand twisting the sheets, the other gripping his shoulder. He’s greedy, wants more, always more, is done depriving himself after fourteen years of solitude. 

They’re a perfect match because Benson wants to give it to him. Anything he wants, everything, always, no matter where they are or how much skin is showing. He wants to share his space, his spit, his air, his anger, every inch of the car, every inch of the sky. All the bad nights. All the good ones, too. All the golden mornings that come after. 

Benson laps at Randy’s bottom lip, catches it in his teeth and pulls. He digs his fingers into the half-healed shadow of his own hand on Randy’s waist from all the times before, opens his mouth to catch the gasp that wrenches free from his chest and swallows it whole. 

“Benson,” Randy says, breathes his name like an exclamation of wonder. He presses the length of his body against Benson’s, weaves his fingers through the curls at the back of his neck and squeezes tight. He moves his hips in short, subconscious little thrusts, makes a desperate, hungry noise in the back of his throat. Benson can feel him hard against his stomach and fuck, he better pop a handful of painkillers for his back because they’re not leaving this shitty bed anytime soon. 

Randy leans to the side so there’s a little breathing room between them. He runs his hand over Benson's chest, down his stomach, wraps his fingers around his dick and the sound Benson makes is strangled, animal. 

“We can go, right?” Randy says. He strokes him like he can barely contain himself. “We can leave tomorrow?”

Benson arches his aching spine against the bullshit fucking mattress, digs his nails into Randy's back, feels lucky. Feels like a spaceman. 

“Fuck yes. Fuck–yes–you got it, baby.”

Randy lights up and it's like staring into the sun. Transcendent. Fucking beautiful. 

He twists out of Benson's grasp and ducks beneath the sheets and Benson can't fucking stand it. Can’t believe it’s real. He feels weightless, so light he just might end up way out there with all the stars. Nothing comes close to this, never has, never will. It’s not fair. He probably doesn’t deserve it. But no one ever said life was fair, now, did they?  Sooner or later the odds had to end up in your favor.

He closes his eyes and grips the sheets and lets it be, lets it all be for once. Because for once, it's good. He's good. He's great. And they’re leaving tomorrow. For California.

Sounds dreamy. 

tagging a couple friends who have gassed me up and been so patient sdlkfjlsk i just adore you guys <3

@crumb @ace-of-hearts-and-spades @cherubgore

[swayziiwriter]

Pleasure | Pedri González

summary: a passionate night with Pedri; your pleasure, fuelling his actions.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

The covers weren't required so you had both tossed them to the floor; it didn't make any difference on the off chance that it was a cool night on the grounds. Pedri had his hands all over you, the atmosphere intensely hot. His light stubble rubbed and rubbed against your skin.

Pedri was pleased with how much ridicule he could inflict on you, he frequently made you cry and scream ambiguously under him before his cock was inside you. This evening was the same.

His hands moved around your body until, like a map, they knew every part of your skin. He followed his hands with kisses and nips before changing to bites and scrapes with his teeth to leave a lasting impression on you.

His teeth and tongue worked hotly over your areolas until you were pitifully attempting to drive him away while telling him not to stop.

You hadn't figured it conceivable to turn out to be any more delicate yet by and by your sweetheart was showing you his gifts weren't simply just in football.

As he sucked, licked, and nipped until he was satisfied that he had sufficiently teased you, his stubble brushed against your nipples. He leant up, pushed your knees apart, and dove between your wet thighs without warning.

When you felt his flat tongue lick over you and his lips close around your extremely sensitive clit, you arch off the bed while pulling at the pillow under you. Your gasp turns into a breathless groan as you feel him do this. He groans and growls at you, and as he makes sure his tongue gets into every crevice of your pussy, he barely steps away.

Pedri's enormous hands hold you down ensuring you can't shake or lift your hips, he needs full command over how he's treating you and you're glad to allow that to occur as you squirm, mewl and scratch over his back and shoulders, leaving profound welts.

He complains about the heat, and your nails pierce his skin, causing him pain and pleasure at the same time. As if he hadn't eaten, savoring your wet center. Your sensitive skin is burned by his stubble but when he pulls away to tease you even more, you find yourself pushing him back against you with your hand on the back of his head.

He rolls his tongue over every part of your pussy while making a loud groaning noise against you, pushing inside you momentarily before powerfully pulling endlessly and inclining up over you.

You are lying there, your hands flexing and panting, balling them into clench hands prior to attempting to loosen up them once more. You're a crying mewling wreck and you need the Spanish man inside you until you drop from overstimulation.

Pedri looked over you and licked his lips as he runs his hands over your inner thighs leaving red marks that match the ones on his back and shoulders from you. After a couple of seconds of simply partaking in his view, Pedri grasps your hips and lifts them into his lap until he was completely encased within you, his cock effortlessly slipping into you.

You were able to make a comment about protection, but Pedri quickly stopped you. He was deep in his hips, and you called his name wanting him to be cumming deep inside of you. He pushes himself further with each thrust, barely retracting.

You can't speak coherently, so you just moan and whimper in delight as you arch and rock your hips onto his cock.

"Baby, is it too much?" While securing your ankles around him, you whimper and shake your head.

"You're a crying wreck, amor, are you sure?" He yells and grins. You manage to utter a single "yes!!" as you nod. It is sufficient for your boyfriend.

He recognizes your safe gestures and words. He knows when you've had enough, so he keeps bouncing you on his cock and grunting your name through gritted teeth until you've had enough.

You turn and pull yourself up to fold over his body. He puts his arms around your lower back tightly and pulls you in with short, sharp thrusts until he can't say anything anymore and has to snarl and growl into your ear. He knows that the vibrations and sounds against your skin make you crazy.

"Close!" you scarcely murmur and scratch over his back. His skin was covered in a series of marks. He gestures and covers his face against your neck, his pushes unhinged and with next to no beat, as he gasps brutally against you.

His hands splay and grip you with bruising force until your hips both tilt just right, and as your vision begins to blur and get darker, your hand grips the back of his head.

As you tighten around Pedri's cock, feeling him pulse and empty inside you, feeling yourself completely let go and squirt around his length, it spills on to his abs and all over his arms, coating his body in your juices.

He gasped generally, groaning between open kisses on anything skin he might reach. He lays your bodies both down and holds you close. You collapsed against him, trembling, unable to speak.

[yns-world]

golden boy

part iii of the euphoria au!outer banks series

part i part ii part iv

title: golden boy

pairing: euphoria au!jj maybank x reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, toxic relationship, emotional cheating

a/n: this fic is kinda depressing so i had to use a slutty gif to balance things out 🙏🙏🙏 IN JJ WE TRUST 🙏🙏🙏

italics = rue narrating

fem reader, racially ambiguous, any size reader

JJ Maybank. The sweet, Golden Retriever boy. Nothing but laughs, because if he stopped laughing, he’ll start crying. He’s had a hard life, hasn’t he? No mother, no real father— just some stupid asshole that he lives with. 

In a way, he’s a lot like Y/N. They both grew up with the worst kind of abuse, yet they turned into rays of sunlight— of course, that was before Y/N snapped. Speaking of which, why did she snap? She looked perfectly normal to us. 

She snapped because they all ignored her when she cried, begged, and pleaded to be saved. 

She became a monster in order to survive.

JJ remembers a time when Y/N used to be so cheerful, so full of light. But back then, they were still from two different worlds; and a sun doesn’t intrude on another sun’s galaxy. He would watch her from afar, taking her in glances, and he was content with that. 

But he wasn’t content when Rafe came in and sucked all that sunshine out of her. The change was so sudden that it gave people whiplash, but JJ most of all. You see, to him, Y/N was another beacon, a buoy, that made him feel sane. So to watch her change like that killed him. 

It hurt even more when he realized just how violent and aggressive she became; Y/N became a projection of all of Rafe’s insecurities, she became a mirror of all his flaws. 

Or that’s what JJ thought. 

Deep down, JJ knew that this was just a side of Y/N that Rafe had brought out— this ugly, bitter, revengeful side had always been there, buried deep inside her. And JJ had this exact same side inside him, always there, always hiding in the shadows. 

Because of this, JJ could never hate her. If anything, it only pushed him to want to reach out to her, to let her know that there is at least one person that cares, someone that understands her pain. 

It was lunch and Y/N had been standing outside in the courtyard for the past hour. The warning winds of winter surrounded the school but it didn’t come close to bitterness inside Y/N. The cold that nipped at her face and skin didn’t measure to the boiling rage she held. 

Y/N enjoyed the bitter cold because no one was stupid enough to join her outside and bother her. The cool, thinning air was able to clear her thoughts, it brought silence to her screaming mind. 

She was alone, truly alone, for the first time in days. The fresh air was whisking Rafe’s cologne off her, the wind was whipping at the 14 carat chains around her. She didn’t even feel the tears on her face until someone pointed them out. 

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

JJ was walking past the courtyard, taking part in his friends’ meaningless conversation, when he saw a lone figure standing and looking straight at a tree. 

He could recognize that mink coat anywhere. But why was she alone? That’s what JJ couldn’t figure out. 

JJ isn’t one to get into people’s businesses, but his soul ached for her. His brain and heart both decided that he needed to see her. 

He didn’t feel his legs move, he didn’t remember how he got there, all he remembers were the silent tears on Y/N’s face— her stoic, unmoving, perfect face. 

But her eyes gave her away. They were swarming with so much agony and hate. If he didn’t know her, it would’ve scared JJ. 

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

His voice broke her thoughts, bringing her back to the surface. He could see it in her eyes; how she blinked back into the presence; how that cold, hard anger melted as she realized that JJ stood directly in front of her. 

In a matter of seconds, her face contorted into the most emotion that JJ has ever seen from her— she looked like a child in misery, and she lunged into his arms, sobbing into his shoulder.

Instead of pushing her off, JJ just brought her closer, nearly crushing her to his chest, but that was all she wanted. 

She wanted somebody to care. She wanted somebody to see her as a real person and not just as some 2D antagonist.

That day in the courtyard bonded the two in ways that Rafe and Y/N never could. JJ was someone that Y/N could rely on, he was always in her corner. 

That same night, JJ went over to Y/N’s house.

They didn’t kiss, they didn’t fuck, they just laid side by side and JJ listened to Y/N spend the whole night talking about all the people (primarily men, but her mother gets a nice feature, too) that fucked her over. 

JJ listened to every word with his whole heart, and wrapped his arms around her when she began crying again. 

Unlike Rafe, JJ never left her that night— or any night that he was over. 

During the day, they would have to pretend that they never knew each other, but as soon as the school bell dismisses them, they go back to their soulmate-like relationship. 

Their relationship seemed complicated, but to them, it wasn’t. They didn’t put a label on what they had, but that didn’t stop the rumors from festering. 

People were quick to notice the mutual eye contact between JJ and Y/N. 

People noticed all the times that Y/N would acknowledge him in the halls, even while she had a rabid dog on her arms. 

People used to think that Y/N was cheating on Rafe with the dead football player, but she wasn't cheating at all. If anything, you could argue that she’s emotionally cheating with JJ, but could you blame her? 

It's not like Rafe was offering her any emotional support. The longer that Y/N went out with Rafe, the more she felt like a trophy for him to brag about. 

No, she was more like a doll for him to dress up in pretty clothes and expensive jewelry, but he would throw her to the side as soon as he saw snow. 

People mistake his possessiveness for love. Rafe was possessive of his toys, no one was able to play with them. But he wouldn’t play with his toys, either. He would just throw Y/N to the back of the closet to rot, making sure to lock the door so she could never escape.

JJ wasn’t like that at all. He saw her. He saw past the facade that Y/N so desperately tries to keep alive. He knows exactly where she’s coming from, he understands her and makes her feel normal. 

JJ makes her feel desired, he makes her feel seen and accepted. 

With JJ, she felt the most comfortable.

It’s been months since JJ started coming over to Y/N’s place. He’s always over when Rafe isn’t there. 

Like so many other countless times, Y/N was sitting in between JJ’s legs, his hands running up and down her arms as he listened to Y/N.

“Am I a monster?” Y/N choked out, tears stinging her eyes.

JJ turned her head so she could look at him. “You’re not a monster.” There was so much conviction in his voice that Y/N nearly believed him. “You’re just a product of your environment. Plus, a monster wouldn’t worry about being a monster.” He tried to lighten the mood with his last sentence, but Y/N didn’t care. His words were what she needed to hear.

His words calmed the storm inside her but fed another flame in her heart. 

Mere centimeters separated their faces and Y/N could feel his breath on her lips. 

“JJ…” Y/N whispered, but he didn’t let her finish. He pressed his lips against hers, attempting to suck all the pain from her. And she let him. She also let him fuck all the problems away. 

For a night, she was free. 

For a night, she felt loved for who she was. 

a/n: DON’T BE A GHOST READER!!!!! let me know your thoughts, opinions, ideas, etc in the comments!!! i love talking with y’all <3

if you enjoyed reading, please consider reblogging and tipping, they help my account more than likes :)

i'm open to requests! free feel to request, just make sure to read my pinned post for request rules <3

[gooseloverfiction]

I'll be home for Christmas

Sierra Six/Court Gentry x afab!reader

NSFW, 18+ only

Wordcount: 3337

Summary: Christmas Eve's here but not Six... And he promised he'll be home for Christmas.

A/N: English is not my native language, sorry for all mistakes!

Content warning: smut, piv (unprotected), bj, cunn, blood and wounds (typical banged up Court coming home), swearing

****************************************************

The clock in the kitchen was a constant reminder of the time passing and Court not coming. Christmas was tomorrow and he promised you he'll be back for it. Especially that he knew how much it meant to you, and Claire was spending her break at the dorm, having “so much to catch up” as if she wasn't one of the best students of her year.

But you couldn't blame her. You're the one encouraging her to focus on school first. Even if it means spending Christmas alone.

You were just hoping Six was fine. He was just running late…

-------------------------------------------------------

It was really hard not to crash right through the door. But Court wanted to avoid giving you a heart attack or being hit with a baseball bat. He was actually pretty lucky you refused to use a gun as self defense at home. Although he would still argue with you on that.

Being finally inside, Six locked the door and resisted the urge to sit on the couch. He wouldn't get up for at least three days. He couldn't even remember how many hours his body was running out of fuel.

Speaking of…

Six sniffed, feeling his mouth getting all watery. His nose brought him right to the kitchen and pots, slightly cold but still warm enough to let him know you weren't sleeping for too long.

He felt bad, knowing how much you worried about him.

After digging into the food, not being able to ignore a sucking pain in his stomach anymore, Six moved to the living room and Christmas tree.

Even in the darkness the agent saw it wasn’t decorated yet. The boxes were all standing next to it, he could make shapes of different gifts wrapped. Smiling to himself, Court promised himself he would get up earlier than you and decorate it himself. You can’t have Christmas without a proper tree.

Going upstairs was quite a challenge for his battered body, dragged to hell and back. The job was really annoyingly difficult this time. And he wasn’t getting any younger. Six rolled his eyes, Claire’s words suddenly fresh in his memory. She was lucky he loved her so much. The door to the teenager's room was ajar and dark which meant she wasn’t coming back for Christmas.

The subtle light coming from your shared bedroom was like a beacon for him. He was finally home. Not in the sense of a building… You were his home as you had a vice grip on his heart.

------------------------------------------------------

And here you were…

Laying with your face toward the door, on his side of the bed, squeezing his big pillow, face buried in it like you fell asleep, smelling it. You probably did, and he didn’t blame you. Whenever he felt a perfume you usually wear, on the streets, his focus was on a brink of breaking, thoughts running toward you.

Six crouched next to your spilled hair and moved it to see your peaceful face. But your features almost immediately twisted and your nose scrunched. Oops…

“Court?” you wobbly sit up, seeing your boyfriend’s slightly smiled face. He chewed gum as always but you launched at him anyway, trying to aim at his lips, hidden under the beard. His arms caught you, when you almost fell, entangled into sheets.

“Woah, woah, slow down princess. I’m not a Christmas ghost,” Six almost laughed, groaning right after, when your lips connected and your tongue darted to taste his watermelon flavored mouth.

When he moved a bit, to hold you more comfortably, you broke a kiss.

“God Six, you stench death,” you weren’t even playful. And he didn't realize how bad it was until you quickly left bed and ushered him to a bathroom. Within just a few minutes, the tub was filled with hot water.

Finally, you turned to your man, who was propped on a counter. Once he was gliding off of adrenaline, his body felt heavier to the point when he wouldn't move a muscle even if he tried.

Under the bright light you've seen it all. His jacket was undoubtedly going to get soaked and straight to wash. His t-shirt underneath was definitely going to the trash can. Bloodied, with dirt and grim on it, burned at one place, torn and cut. It was impossible to guess what Court was doing. And you didn't even want to ask.

Knowing how tired the man was, you took his jacket off of him and grabbed a pair of scissors, cutting the shirt from bottom to collar to make it easier to take it off. You could see, by the way Court naturally curled up to one side, that his ribs had to take some damage. Your hand slipped through and gently touched him. Six sighed and let you undress him until he was just in his briefs.

You took a step back and looked at the perfectly muscled body, littered with scars, bruises and fresh wounds.

You looked at the cut above his hip but it was stitched already. He had to sustain it earlier.

“Is there anything needing more stitches?” you asked, looking at the purpling bruise that was under his left pec, going to the side and down.

Six smiled at your fussing but let you, knowing well enough you needed to. 'Mother hen' title was always triggering you but at the same time suited you best.

“I'm fine, hon. Just bruised and in a bit of pain. This is the worst,” he pointed at the bruising which didn't surprise you. The cut was probably clean and not really this deep. It wasn't even too red on the edges.

“Are they broken?” you brushed fingertips on man's side but he shook his head and pushed from the counter, letting you guide him to the tub.

God, he was exhausted.

-------------------------------------------------------

Court looked so peaceful, almost like he was already in slumber. And maybe Morpheus took him into his gentle embrace, because he didn't even twitch when you put his massive arm on your lap and scraped it with a sponge, applying less pressure on bruises.

With his head almost hanging off the tub, you cleaned his neck and face, giving extra attention to his beard. You weren't sure if Six would want to keep it this long, so you washed till the water was clean. He had some cuts on his face, so you decided to leave it for the end, as they will probably sting and wake him up.

Your hand moved to his shoulders and pecs. The valley between them making you suddenly hot. Way hotter than steam steadily dampening your shirt and panties.

When you cleaned his chest that was halfway out of water, you couldn't resist the urge to kiss the hard muscles. Court desperately needed some massage, his body tense even in the bath. He did surrender a bit but you knew it wasn't enough for him to relax completely. Besides, you had to practice after you finished your massage classes…classes you took solely to give your man some level of comfort and relaxation he denied himself for so many years.

Your mouth moved to the side and down, your nose stroking a bit of darker shade, half hard nipple. You can't do this to him. Not yet. He needs at least a few minutes of sleep to get enough energy to move to your bed.

One look at the water made you grimace. You pulled out the stopper and took the shower head, adjusting the warmth. Court stirred and was watching you now, silently, but his hooded steel blue eyes were talking loud.

You rinsed him and the tub from the residue and put the stopper back, filling the tub again.

Six catched the hem of his white shirt you wore as pajama and pulled you down for a kiss. Looking down at your nipples, already hard and peeking through the wet material, the agent took your t-shirt off, leaning and latching on your breast. You wanted to protest, but your body went limp once he sucked you, sending shivers down your spine and right to your core.

“Court… I need to…” your mind turned into mush when you felt a wet hand between your thighs.

“You got dirty from me, princess. Come here.”

You managed to stop water before Court’s big hands gripped on your waist and pulled you into water. Thankfully the tub was just half filled and with you inside, it didn't overflow.

“You're crazy, I still have…” you've started but a sudden, harsh pull underwater from both sides made you sigh in annoyance. A wet material of your panties splashed in the sink, skillfully thrown.

Six tried to pull you onto him but you stopped him firmly. With the sponge rinsed and clean again, you took a big dollop of scented shower gel. The smell of pine, leather and some smoke were just what you had in mind when you saw that man in your mind. The plus was it always killed a stench of blood on him.

Your hand moved through his abs, avoiding the stitched wound, and scrubbed just enough to take off flaking blood that poured down his hip and into his thick pubes. Normally he kept it trimmed but the last job took him longer than usual… You avoided his hard, already very ready cock, taking care of his thighs and all the way of his long legs, ending on his feet. Propping your back on the other end of the tub, you looked at Court, your breath hitching in your throat, when he moved closer, keeping your butt and pussy between his thighs. You could see an outline of his cock under the water, the sole thought of his thickness and length making your mouth dry and pussy wet.

“God, I missed you…” Six never broke his eye contact with you, while his long fingers teased your entrance and folds, thumb fitting perfectly over your clit. And you wouldn’t let him win so easily. You resist the instinct to close your eyes when he changed teasing into action, plunging those digits into your throbbing core. Even under water he could feel how wet you were, your juices thicker and hotter than liquid surrounding you.

Left out finger matched lazy pumping of the rest, making small circles, brushing your swelling bundle of nerves in agonizingly slow motion.

“Six…” hearing his Sierra codename, the man moved closer to you, bending his fingers and brushing your sweet spot, picking up pace. With the other arm holding himself above you, his face inches from yours.

“Ma’am?” his voice low, almost growling, made your stomach flip and walls clench around him.

“You were late,” you tried to sound strict and a bit disappointed. But he could feel a shudder in your breath on his lips. When your mouths met and he swallowed your moan, his hand stopped, leaving you. Just when you felt that all you needed was a brush of his pad on your clit. Your eyes widened in disbelief.

“Could you wash my back and hair too, baby?” Court voice was almost apologetic. And you almost grind your teeth seeing his smirk under his beard. He moved a bit and you stood up, your cunt gashing with water he pumped into you just minutes ago. But before you could even cross above him, or on the side, he stopped you, his eyes gliding from your pelvis to your face. His hand moved through your calf, back of your thigh, up to your ass and back. He slowly took your foot and put it on the edge of the tub, giving himself an open way to your redden pussy.

You had no idea how you could stay still, feeling his thick facials on your sensitive folds, his tongue licking long stripes through you, stopping at your clit to rub it with a tip, changing from up-down strokes, to sides. Feeling your body shaking, Court’s hands steadied your hips, his groan of pain from his bruised ribs mixed up with a moan, when his long tongue buried into your pussy, nose brushing over your clit. You knew it wouldn’t help you keep upright, but your hands gripped his still dirty hair and kept his head on yourself.

The sole thought Six enjoyed eating you out was enough to push you over the edge, the rest of the bathtub water and your juices flowing over his mouth with each hard wave of your pleasure.

“Is it enough to tell you how sorry I’m?” his smug face was far from sorry and he knew it. Still holding you, Sierra lowered your weak body, his cock so hard right now, it was standing ready for your dripping pussy. But you mustered enough strength to use your slick skin and just move swiftly behind him, pushing him more forward.

“Sponge?” with your hand outstretched, your knees on his sides, bracing his thighs with your legs to keep him open, you took what he gave you and started to scrub the dirt, making his skin red but clean.

“I thought, I did good,” he protested, trying to move from your almost assaulting hands. Until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing and definitely leaking cock. With three first strokes he twitched furiously and you had to move your hand to his base, squeezing it. Court covered your grip with his, pressing harder.

“Fuck…” a swear almost strained in his mouth. You turned him so much, he could’ve cum like some teenager.

You let go of him, sitting on the edge of the tub, facing his side, reaching for the shower head. Reaching up to knobs, you almost slapped him for distracting you by sucking your nipple.

“Can I finish this?” you asked, scolding him with your tone.

“Feel free to…” he mumbled, switching to your other breast, not really caring about the water flowing now on his face. First it was brown, getting more red with time until it was just slightly pink. You decided you can use some shampoo now and after a few minutes the bath was over.

Court’s ministration brought you on the edge of another orgasm by only sucking, licking and massaging your tits. Sometimes you couldn’t believe what an effect he had on you.

With the kiss to your sternum, Six looked into your eyes, his gaze full of desire.

------------------------------------------------------

Both wrapped in fluffy towels, your bodies slammed through the bathroom door, busting into the bedroom. Having the upper hand, being the one who pushed the other to the bed, you had to use all your strength to make Court sit on the edge and break the kiss. His groan of disappointment was almost adorable.

“Baby, I want to make amends…” he started, but you hushed him, falling to your knees, opening his towel. He didn’t soften even for a moment, his tip furiously red and steadily leaking precum.

“Will you hold on for me?” your innocent question made him swallow hard and nod. You knew he would do whatever he could to let you enjoy yourself.

His eyes glued to your tongue going from the base of his thick, long shaft, flat and dragging up, right to lick off the creamy drop at the top of his glans. Thank God, you didn’t…

Court’s hands shot to your hair, when your tip stroked the frenulum, making him shudder. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. To stop you, to fuck your pretty, wet mouth or just ground himself, his body betraying him any second now. So when you took him in, hollowing your cheeks when you bobbed your head a few times, sucking him and swirling your tongue, he almost pulled your head closer to him, bursting into your throat with hot, thick ropes of cum.

“Fuck…fuuuuck” man’s voice was hoarse and almost… whiney?

His cock was still hard when you pulled out, trying to swallow all the load. And you were failing miserably, your mouth overflowing, dripping cum on your breasts and thighs.

“You did a pretty lousy attempt,” you teased him, knowing exactly why he popped like a shaken champagne bottle.

“You're pretty aware that will happen, asking me to not touch myself all the way on the mission,” he did a pretty good job in sounding almost hurt.

“I kept my side of the bargain too, want to find out?” you got up but before you even tried to straddle him, Six locked you in his arms and licked all of his cum off of your tits, sucking at those places, leaving red marks. You leaned, capturing his bearded chin and kissed him, pushing your tongue to catch the last aftertaste of his seed.

Both of you moaned at the same time, trying to fight over dominance in your mouth, Court winning with ease. He bit you gently and pulled your lower lip, using it as distraction, catching you and throw on bed with force knocking the breath out of you. He never was into the whole dom and sub stuff. But he was too impatient to be all gentle now. He will make it up to you once he has you.

Six didn't even have to tell you what to do. Or what you want. You just turned on your stomach and put your ass high up, gliding your knees to the side to make room for him. One glance over your shoulder and you knew you chose well. Because he looked absolutely mesmerized by your glistening pussy, untouched for weeks, only briefly by him in a tub, maybe a quarter an hour ago.

Spreading your folds with his calloused fingers, Court positioned himself, pushing his cock in your tight pussy. Inch by inch you swallowed him, the thickness stretching you almost painfully.

“God, I almost forgot how tight you're. You okay?” seeing you nod, Court pulled out a bit just to shove himself all to the bottom, almost knocking you out from your knees. You couldn't hold a scream escaping you, making the man behind you stop all the movements.

“Six, just fuck me already,” you breathed out, not letting him speak again. And boy, he listened.

His thrusts made whole bed shake and you were pretty sure, this was the first time he fucked you this hard and fast. Like he had to do it quickly before you disappeared. Even with how wet you were, you could feel his every move, your pussy clenching each time he brushed his tip into your cervix, making you cry out loud. The perfect mix of pain and pleasure, brewing up another orgasm in your core. You knew it wasn't enough but you didn't care… You just wanted Court all over you, to feel him being alive (and well enough to fuck your brains out).

His guttural groan made you shiver, his hands crushing your hips, the pain almost too much to bear. But before you could say anything, he thrusted one last time, without any warning cumming inside you. He rode his high for a moment before even he couldn't stand the friction.

Court put his wet forehead on your shoulder blade, panting into your back. You felt his body slowly crushing yours, covering you in more sweat. It definitely was a call for another shower…

----------------------------------------------------

There was something almost therapeutic in laying on the big chest, listening to the steady heartbeat of a man you loved. He was here. In one piece (kind of). Yours…

You looked at the clock. It was almost 9 in the morning. You barely caught a breath an hour ago. You should've been sleeping just like Six but you couldn't. Smiling to yourself, you thought this is the best gift you ever got for Christmas. And of course you had to start crying. Hopefully Court was too tired to wake up to see you like this…

You felt a hand gently brushing your hair and a kiss on your head.

“I've told you, I'll be home for Christmas.”