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toomanystoriessolittletime · 22 days ago

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Shhh....

Summary: Being a single parent comes with all kinds of challenges. Challenges that are so much easier to deal with when the father of your daughter's best friend is there to take of your more personal needs. And if that meant sneaking off with you into a laundry room at a garden party? Well who would he be to complain?

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.2k

Rating: E

Warnings: smut (semi public sex, unprotected sex, oral f receiving, cumplay) friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of flirting, fluff?

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

He didn’t know exactly why he agreed to go to this garden party. It was one of the few Saturdays he had off and he wanted it to spend with Sarah. She’s been in middle school since the summer and with all the changes that brought they only had little time to hang out in the last few weeks.

So when Sarah brought the invitation for this garden party that the parents of one of her new classmates were throwing, he wanted to decline. But Sarah told him she really wanted to go, and that if he had something else to do that day, he could just drop her off and pick her up after?

But of course Joel Miller went with her.

And it wasn’t that bad. The drinks were cold, the food was good and meeting all the new parents at the beginning of the year was a good thing too. Even if he already had forgotten most of their names. There were a few faces he recognised from Sarah’s elementary school, so he kept talking to them, all while having an eye out on Sarah who was playing soccer with some kids at the other side of the backyard.

„Fancy seeing you here,“ he heard your voice behind him, and his eyes closed before he took a deep breath and turned around, fighting unsuccessfully against the smile that sneaked to his lips as he looked down at you.

„Could say the same,“ he winked and your smile widened.

This party just got interesting.

You were running late.

The plan was to leave around twenty minutes ago but Charlotte, your daughter, just couldn’t decide on what to wear. She just turned twelve and if this last half year was a preview on how puberty would be with her, than you were in for a wild ride.

Usually you used the weekends to charge your mental batteries by having as little contact to the outside world as possible after working at a bakery and having to be social all week.

But Charlotte had brought the invitation for the garden party a couple weeks ago, begging you to go because Sarah would be there too.

And where Sarah was, her father wasn’t far behind which was why you said yes in the end and spend way too much time on deciding what to wear before you decided on a light summer dress.

It had been a while since you seen him, and you couldn’t even remember the last time the two of you had found the time to have sex.

Because ever since Charlotte and Sarah became best friends some time back in pre school, you and Joel started sleeping together occasionally. The first time happened after a night out at the bar where you ran into him, both of your kids on a sleepover. It had been positively mind-blowing and you were more than eager to agree to keep this going when you both needed a release.

His wife had left him and Sarah before the girl turned one and your husband had used your pregnancy to fuck his secretary because apparently carrying his child made you unattractive to him.

And with both you and Joel being very devoted single parents, both of your love lives was pretty much non existent. You wouldn't say it was frequent now, but every month or two you would find some hours where you’d meet up at either of your houses, not leaving before both of you were more than satisfied.

And you didn’t know if it was the secrecy of the whole thing, but my god the way Joel Miller knew how to play your body to the point of a crying orgasm was addictive.

But now you hadn’t really seen him in almost three months.

With the school change and summer break things were busy not only for you, but for him too. You texted occasionally, trying to figure out a time to meet up, but business was picking up for Miller construction and Joel used the little time he had off to spend with Sarah.

Something you could understand.

So you were excited to see him as you parked your car right behind his on the street after Charlotte finally had chosen a dress to wear. You knew all that time deciding on her outfit would be for nothing once they played soccer, but hey.

Charlotte was off to see Sarah as soon as you stepped into the garden, many people already mingling. The smell of fresh BBQ lingered in the air and before you even had taken two steps inside you already had an iced tea in hand, the host, one of the moms of a new classmate of Charlotte that you had met before, welcoming you.

You were glad that Charlotte and Sarah where in the same class, both of them loving each other like sisters. With Joel working so much you had Sarah over more often lately, seeing Joel only when he picked her up.

She was very well behaved and deep down you got the impression she loved hanging around with just girls for a change. Of course Joel was the best father, but there are some things that teenage girls don’t want to speak to their dads about.

Such as how to use the eyeliner she secretly bought correctly or the awkward question about what to use, pads or tampons or period underwear?

It was nice that she trusted you with questions like that.

You knew from Joel that she had struggled to not have a mom like other kids and he told you it was nice that she now had you to ask all those questions.

Not that you were her mom, or wanted to be.

Well…. Okay maybe sometimes deep into the night when you looked at the empty space in bed next to you, you might imagine how it would be if Joel would be there, every day. How could you not?

He was the hot single dad every mom in class always wanted and you were the one who had him. Occasionally. But still.

You let your eyes gaze through the backyard before you saw the broad shoulders of the man you had hoped would be here.

You could feel the butterflies in your belly as you walked over to him and fuck that smile he gave you when he turned around…

„Work still keeping you busy?“ You asked a little while later, both of you with a plate of food in front of you, sitting at one of the tables outside.

„Yeah. Can’t remember when I got more than five hours of sleep at night the last time,“ he groaned and you reached one hand over to rest on his knee before you could stop yourself.

„You got to take care of yourself, honey. Let that brother of yours pick up some slack too,“ you winked and he gave you a bashful smile before one of his hands came to rest on top of yours.

„He does. As a matter of fact he’s taking over the next project so I have some more free time to spend with Sarah,“ he said and you hummed.

„And if I’m being completely honest there’s this girl I haven’t spend any time with in the last months and I really really miss her and her little pussy,“ he had leaned in, whispering the last words against your ear and you shivered.

„Just her pussy?“ You mumbled back as you looked up at him and he smirked.

„Nah, she’s the whole fucking deal. Should probably get off my own ass and finally as her out on a date instead of just fucking he brains out whenever she lets me,“ he said and you sucked your bottom lip in as you tried to hide your smile.

You looked away from him for a moment, gathering your thoughts, making up your mind.

You needed him, and you needed him now.

„Think you can show me where the bathroom is? I think I need a little refresh,“ you asked, hoping he would get the hint. And by the shit eating grin that came to his face, he did.

„Of course. Follow me.“

„This… This is not the bathroom,“ you mumbled against his lips, his body pressing you against the door of what looked like a laundry room.

„Less interruptions here,“ he hummed, hand slipping under your dress, finger hooking into your panties, pulling them down. You smiled, hands in his hair as you helped him get your panties off.

„Been too damn long,“ he ran his hand up your leg, wrapping it behind his back, his other hand on your back puling you closer before he kissed you again, his tongue playing with yours as you reached down, unzipping his pants.

„Missed me so much you gonna fuck me in some people’s laundry room? Want us to get caught?“ You grinned, hand pulling out his cock, surprised to find out he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Wrapping your palm around his cock you loved the deep groan he released against your lips.

„Not gonna get caught if you keep quiet baby,“ he hooked your leg over his arm, hand on the door behind you as he stepped closer, opening you up for him.

„Oh yeah, because I am the one who can’t keep quiet,“ you teased and he huffed a laugh, replacing your hand around his cock with his as he pumped himself and lined himself up.

You wrapped one arm around his shoulders, standing only one one leg, trusting him to keep you there.

Slowly he finally sank into you, his thick cock stretching you perfectly.

„Fuckin’ perfect,“ he grunted, lips pressing against yours in a deep kiss when his cock filled you completely, both of you moaning quietly.

„This ain’t gonna take long, sweetheart. Been to fuckin’ long,“ he grunted and you gasped when he moved, bottoming out completely before thrusting back inside.

„Don’t care, just fuck me,“ you whimpered and he nodded against your lips, fucking up into you, skin slapping against skin every time he filled you.

You sucked your bottom lip in, trying to keep quiet as he hammered into you, his lips now attached to your shoulder as he groaned into your skin.

„Shit,“ he grunted just a couple of thrusts later and you felt him twitch as he came, spilling inside of you. Letting your head fall against the door you gasped for ear, having not cum but fuck it still felt good to just have him inside of you.

You were about to say something when he got on his knees, cock pulling out of you, your leg now hooked over his shoulders as his tongue replaced his cock, Joel moaning as he tasted you.

„Oh fuck,“ you whimpered, hands now in his hair as he looked up at you. He grinned wickedly as he licked into you, licked his cum out of you.

„We taste good together,“ he mumbled against your cunt, and you pulled at his hair with a quiet whine.

„Shhh Baby. Don’t want anyone to hear what a little slut your are for me huh?“ He teased and you pulled his hair harder, making him moan as he continued to lick you.

He sucked on your clit, tongue playing with it all while pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

„Joel,“ you moaned softly, your head falling back against the door as you finally came, gasping for air as your body shook in Joel’s hold. You melted against the door once you rode it out, limbs feeling like jello. He kissed your pussy one last time, before he set your leg down, keeping his arms around you as he got off of his knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him hard once he stood upright.

„We do taste good together,“ you whispered and he chuckled.

It was two hours later, nobody at the party had noticed the very explicit things you did in that laundry room, that Joel carried a very tired Charlotte towards your car, Sarah already sleeping in the backseat of his car.

You opened the backseat door of your car for him and he carefully sat Charlotte down, putting the belt on for her.

You were leaning against the back of your car as he closed the door and he walked towards you.

„What are you doing next Friday?“ He asked, fingers tilting your chin up.

„Nothing. Charlotte is with her Dad,“ you said with a small smile.

„And Sarah is at her Grandma’s for a sleepover,“ he hummed with a smirk.

„Wanna go on a date with me?“ He asked and you grinned, getting on your tiptoes to kiss him softly.

„I thought you’d never ask.“

#my fic #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #Joel Miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction

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hoseoksluna · 4 months ago

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PROMISES | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x f. reader

genre: fwb au / angst, smut

word count: 9.3k

summary: when you needed your social battery recharged by your fuck buddy yoongi, you didn't expect to have your undiscovered feelings for him reciprocated.

pin: promise / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: strong daddy issues, slight dd/lg, manipulation, tiny rough treatmeant, edging, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), teasing, mixed feelings, oc is confused abt her feelings and the whole situation, fight, yoongi counts down, unprotected sex, pussy spanks, nipple play.

note: this has to be my worst work in the whole hoseoksluna universe. i'm terribly upset, disgusted, unmotivated. i wrote this all week, hated every second, and i'm sorry to say this is my last smut for a while. i'm really struggling mentally, i'm struggling with writing, and i don't know what to do anymore. i'm posting this a day early because i can't stand this fic anymore. i can't stand smut. you're free to skip this one until i get better.

You were a folded swan, drifting upon the smooth, glittering surface of a river that led nowhere—a dead end, bearing the face of a man you’ve been casually seeing for the past few months. A man that clutched adrenaline and tenderness in his fist like a bouquet of the prettiest woodland wildflowers, on top of which perched a note signed in your name. Scratchy Latin letters, doused in ebony ink, they had more life than you did at this moment; poetry-woven experiences that had you feeling life like life should be felt—drastically, enthusiastically and delightfully. Every vowel depicted the closure of each night you spent with him: mouth parted agape, through which the sweetest moans would erupt and saturate him in a certain kind of fatherliness, pride and manliness.

It’s what you need, laying as you are on the linen sheets of your bed, dressed down to your lacy underwear that you thought would make you feel better, somehow would recharge your dead battery that was stuck on zero percent for longer than you care to admit. Father issues, dissatisfaction at your workplace, at your home life, at life itself. You were tired, your concentration running thin as you were watching your well-loved K-drama that you have seen a hundred times before. Through your vision, your own non-romantic interest would fly by, smiling down at you in your dejected state and form. Your body knows him more thoroughly than your heart, stirring erratically at the memories that would begin to flood your system. Tongue, lips, hands. His cock that he would tease you with, giving it to you and not giving it to you purposefully because he enjoyed the sight of your desperation for someone like him—a person who has seen the worst of life, its characteristics engraved upon his skin, and yet you still yearned for him, yearned for those scars. You didn’t have to tell him, but he knew.

He knew by the way you would so very often trace the scar upon his shoulder, either with your fingertips or your lips. You were friends, fuck-buddies to be more precise. You were aware that someone entangled in a special friendship such as this shouldn’t do something like that, but you couldn’t help it. Yoongi taught you many times to listen to your body and you were doing just that.

Following your body’s inclination to sink into his soul that he wasn’t too scared to let you inside of.

He allowed you to do it to such an extent that the threat of his quick orgasm would appear and he would slip out of you, distract himself between your legs, make you come twice in a row—perhaps as a playful punishment, or perhaps as a reward.

He saw you—and right now you need to be seen, folded in your forest-scented exhaustion while the river flows on, the trees sway on and everyone else passes by while you remain fixed on the same spot, stooped in your ungratified, seemingly unnamed problem.

You can text him, ask for a quick fuck, something he’s very well acquainted with, used to at this point—so much that everytime you leave his place stuffed full of his cum, he stuffs you with something else as well.

A promise for the next time.

A package of something to make you look forward to your tight-knit time spent with him. The last time, he had promised to take you to a running sushi restaurant, where you didn’t linger for long because you got fed up with the way other people would steal the sweet plates you wanted to try. He had fucked you in his car to make you feel better about your innate misanthropy and while he was balls-deep in you and you struggled to catch your breath, he promised you ice cream. With each thrust that squeezed your soul, he described how you’d enjoy each lick, the details of the flavor and how he’d buy you any ice cream you wanted. You hadn’t realized it then, within the stupor of your mind-numbing pleasure, but now as you are recollecting it, you perceive how bothered he was by the way other people ruined your night with him.

And that rips open the restraints around the butterflies in your stomach.

You want some ice cream—and more than that, you want to see him. Close your mouth around the adrenaline he’s always so willing to fill your life with.

You don’t know what he’s doing at seven PM on a Thursday night. You usually meet him on Fridays or during the weekend if he’s working the day before. You’ve never shown him your neediness—and there’s a certain dangerous feel to it, baring yourself naked in this way, despite the fact he’s seen, touched, and licked every inch of you. And it’s hard for your brain to comprehend that you yearn for him when your social, emotional and physical battery is dead. If anything, you should be resting as you are, get right in order to be at your best for the next time you see him.

But alas…

With a sigh, you turn to your other side and reach for your phone that you’ve been charging, gliding your hands down the cable, imagining it’s his arm. And with a frustrated furrow of your brows, you tap on the circle above your messages. A pinned picture of him that you took, his face caught in his gummy smile against the dark backdrop of his car interior, filtrated with the twinkling lights of Seoul’s city buildings. Another sigh leaves you, one that exasperates you because why are you so needy for him? Why can’t you be a normal girl, independent, okay with your own company shared with the fictional people that you love? You’ve spent your girlhood like this, and happily so. Why does growing up mean you need the male energy more than your own?

Biting your lip, your anxiety spikes up, but your desire for Yoongi overwhelms it, wins. And that settles a layer of calmness over it, gives the command to your fingers to type what they need to type.

what are you doing

The bubbles don’t emerge from the dark motive of your chat until a few minutes later, the green of his message brightening up your phone—and your life, too.

About to have a concert. Having a shot right now for your health.

Oh, shit. A strange concoction of disappointment and a deep, low, murmuring stimulus rises in you. The swan in you elongates her neck, interested, but still dispirited considering her options. She will have to fold back into her form, and continue on her long, somber voyage back from the dead end, dwelling on the thrill of the flirtation of the man that she likes a little bit too much.

Staring at the thick canvas of trees and shrubbery that aren’t letting you in to see him, you think about what to type, your thumbs hovering in the air. Life dislikes you; life wants you to suffer—

A ringing tone of your phone tugs you away from your distressed thoughts. The Latin letters of Yoongi’s name expand across the screen behind that picturesque and private shot of him, enlarged, stirring your heart. Silence spreads through your mind and your thumb quivers as you slide it across the bar to accept his call, placing the device against your ear.

It feels as though you’re pressing the side of your head against his, especially so once you hear the warmth of his raspy voice pronouncing your name in his accent, marked by the liquor he drank prior to your messages.

Enlivened, your body is. Just from that.

“What’s up with you?” Yoongi asks, and the swan sails a little bit more swiftly, her tucked-in wings fluttering against her feathery body. You play with your necklace, your trembling so, so terribly evident. You’re glad he didn’t video call you, but the phone call is much more intimate and pleasant.

You huff out a noise of desperation without meaning to and cringe at yourself, crunching up your features. Yoongi calls you by your name with a tiny hint of alarm and you curse yourself, silently. Your misanthropy gets pointed at you.

“Noth—”

“Should I cancel my concert right now?” he suggests, cutting in, and you can hear the drunken playfulness in his voice, the one you have enjoyed on many occasions. Even acted out on your pleasure from it by making him, physically, feel good about it. You wish you could suck his dick right now, right before his concert, so he gives out his best for his fans.

The sighs are ceaseless and you don’t bother to stop them at this point, your enlivened body soaking up in a swelling, unmet desire.

“You’re sighing,” he notes, and you discern a cube of ice clinking in his glass, then a swallow of his throat, as if the indication of your yearning got him going, got him needing that burning liquid. “Are you horny for me?”

Enlivened, your butterflies are, starting a war just from that sole question: desire versus your mental health.

And using the vanilla scent of their wings, they remind you of the fact that you’re an adult woman and that you’re allowed, and more than allowed, to do whatever your body asks for. And if it’s asking for Yoongi, you’re going to go the extra mile to get him.

Brazenly and femininely—and a little bit slyly.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m really craving that ice cream you promised me,” you say, lowering down your tone, and you play with the lacy lining of your bra. Think you can tease him with it for a good effect. “I’m wearing a nice lacy set right now.”

Yoongi sucks in a breath and lets it out in a sigh that is entirely redolent of you, making your mouth curve in a soft smile. “What color?”

Your expression of a muted joy expands as you tell him. “Red.”

He swears, raspily, and the shade of your lingerie becomes more vibrant in the dimmed yellow light of your bedroom. And there you feel it—a more intense tendril of lust slithering down your sternum, moving your body side to side against your sheets in need. And the whimper that comes out of you is more primal than it is forced.

At the sound, Yoongi pauses. You imagine him biting his lip, the gears in his brain turning, and he doesn’t disappoint you. He never does.

“Do you have a dress of the same color?” he asks, small pants escaping his mouth, and you smirk.

“I do.”

He chuckles in personal delight. “Wear it for me. The set, too. I want to see it. I will pick you up after the concert and get you that ice cream.”

Your butterflies spring to your lungs, making it hard for you to breathe. And you don’t know whether to be glad, to be happy, to jump on your bed or to get ready. All those emotions simultaneously gather in you, spreading sparks of excitement down your nerve endings. And most of all, you want to hug him.

You want to hug your adrenaline-infused angel.

“Okay,” you agree, prolonging the vowel, the muscles in your cheeks aching. “How long is the concert?”

His delight leaks out through a deep hum, one that causes you to tense your body in feverish eagerness. “Two hours. Can you wait that long for me without touching yourself?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Think you can wait however long for him, just as long as you get to see him. “I can, but my panties will be ruined. Sticky and uncomfortable.”

The hum is strangled by his strained intake of breath, turning you woozy, your fingers itching to slide beneath your said panties, knowing his noises alone would make you come in seconds. You weren’t wet before he called, but now you can feel the center of the fabric dampening the longer you talk to him.

“I’ll take them off as soon as I can. I promise. Hold it out for me.”

And you believe him. You compress that promise into your hand, warming it up with your body heat before you tuck it safely into the chambers of your heart—and you wait.

You wait for him to fulfill the myriad of his promises.

You did hold it out for him, and brilliantly so. You watched one episode of your drama with a little bit more vehemence, despite the fact Yoongi swam past your thoughts more times than you can count. You’ve never watched him perform in real life as his own private life was always kept in secrecy from his fans, but your curiosity led you to search him up online and watch a playback of one of his more upbeat songs. Dressed in a long black coat, white shirt and a tie, your mouth was wide open, as well as your eyes, as you took in his ferocious energy, enhanced by his passion, and you never looked at him the same as before. He became someone else, a figure of brutal yet tender power and it made you want him even more zealously.

The memories of that performance resurfaced in your mind every now and then, and his Agust D persona would melt into the male interest of the show, deepening your desire for him as you dreamed.

Dreamed of reaching different highs with him. More profound, more devastating.

A dream that could never come true. A promise that would never flow past his mouth.

You didn’t let that ruin your night, however. As the second hour wrapped around you and your body lacked the heat it needed, you shut your laptop and stood up to your feet, walking over to your closet. Your fingers found that red dress you had spoken about first before your eyes did, silky and sleek amidst the thick, woolen fabrics of your winter clothes. It was the only nice dress you had, one you haven’t worn before, and you were thrilled you got to wear it for him tonight.

It fit you like a second skin, hugging your curves just right, fading into the lacy linings of your lingerie. One would have to sharpen their gaze in order to notice it—and you wondered if Yoongi was going to scout it with his eyes first or with his fingers.

The unknown excited you, so much that your panties gained that stickiness you mentioned in the phone call. And when you sat down to slide your feet into your black strappy heels, the feeling was so intolerable that you cringed—and your brilliancy ended there.

How were you going to sit against your cold arousal for another hour?

The awaited text didn’t come through until you were dousing yourself in your vanilla perfume. Yoongi was downstairs, waiting for you in his car. Left my lights on for you, he had typed to reassure you because he knew how anxious it made you, looking for his parked car in the dark when you couldn’t see anything.

Your heart blossomed two times bigger when you checked it from your window. Yoongi in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, the headlights filtering through the mist of the deep of the night. You smoothed a hand down your tummy, calming your butterflies, and, reapplying your lipstick, you grabbed your coat and went outside to meet him.

He spotted you long before you lifted your head to smile at him and he reached over to the side and opened the door for you. The motor was running, keeping the warmth intact for you, and you sighed in relief when you entered it—only to realize that Yoongi had turned on the seat heater for you.

You melt into the leather, closing your eyes, the ambience of the present moment nestling upon you like the most delicate layer of snow that dissolves when you feel a swift breath along your neck and it’s Yoongi, lengthening his arm and closing the door while keeping his twinkling gaze on you and giving you a pleased smile.

The butterflies kick against your stomach.

“I was going to do that,” you say because you truly were—it’s just that the snug, comforting heat he prepared for you made you want to stop and bask in it as the short walk from your apartment building to his car numbed your bones to such an extent that you needed the time to defrost. And he quickened the process by placing an even warmer hand upon the nylon of your inner thigh that the slit of your dress and your trench coat exposed. “It’s just so cold.”

He fondles the fabric of your tights on the top of your thigh with his thumb. A gesture of comfort that diffuses life down your legs and colors your cheeks in a shade of pink that irradiates the subdued atmosphere of the car. It’s hard to breathe—and it’s hard to resist him, keep yourself cool and not swing your leg over.

Fuck the ice cream. You want something way creamier.

“It’s only right I close it for you after I opened it,” he reassures, the deep tenor of his voice puncturing right through you, looking for your core, and you shift your hips, the discomfort of your wetness not allowing you to relax as much as you need. Yoongi’s eyes flick down to your movement and he parts his mouth as that distinctive smirk of his divulges his enjoyment in seeing you so horny for him. “Are you still sticky for me?”

It’s now that you take the time to fully look at him. There’s a certain glossiness to his long hair that tells you he went home and took a shower before he got inside his car and drove through the quiet night to meet you. You can smell the rosemary of his shampoo and the usual minty aroma of his body wash, blended with his natural musky pheromones and the wood, the tangerine of his perfume. He’s the synthesis of your internal woodland, the breath of the trees that your swan inhales and a punishment, all in one; and you’re not sure if you can hold out any longer. Both emotionally, both physically.

“Very sticky,” you say, wrapping your hands around his arm, descending your fingers down the bulky, wooly material of his winter jacket like you were touching your charging cord—a temporary dream come true. You enclose your palm around his knuckles, think that if he feels how wet you are, he’ll realize that you sentimentally require more than he normally gives you—that your flesh will somehow tell him and give him the bravery to do so.

But Yoongi doesn’t move an inch. His fingers remain fixed on the inner of your thigh, digging dents into the skin as you feel the bulging of his bicep the more you push his hand towards your wetly clothed cunt. His smile falls, his eyes droop—and the energy is charged with such unnamed intensity that you let go of your pursuit, slipping your fingers beneath the edge of his sleeve as a sign of your submission.

That quickly.

“You promised to hold out for me, didn’t you?” he asks, waiting for your agreement, and you nod, feverish, dripping with perspiration, with this great need that towers over you. “Then, be like Daddy and keep your promise or you’re not getting anything.”

A shiver cascades down your spine—not merely from his authoritative voice, but from the role he dipped into that immediately puts you into yours. You begin to giggle, palming your mouth as the blush in your cheeks bursts and tears of overwhelmingness add a certain glint to your eyes that sparkles beneath the yellow-tinted car interior lights. And using this fatherliness of his, he interweaves your arousal around his long, piano fingers, announcing he’s its King.

Your essence trickles out of the confines of your panties.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you whine, still giggling, you can’t help it. Yoongi takes after you, blessing you with that gummy grin of his that you adore so much. Your heart enlarges.

“What exactly am I doing on purpose?” he challenges, kneading the flesh of your thigh, and he senses his answer right away. Your essence travels to his hand, stopping there, and once again Yoongi’s smile falls, eyes plummeting to it, hand lifting—and fingers gathering that warm slick.

And it drips onto his own pants-clad thigh when he plunges his fingers into his mouth, shocking you to your core.

“Yoongi—”

He hums in titillation, interrupting you, and smacks his mouth. For a brief amount of time, he seems to be in his own world as he tastes you on his tongue. And then, he takes those same fingers, turns the key in the ignition, moves forward the shift stick, and without sparing you a glance, he drives out of his usual parking spot and doesn’t hesitate to correct you.

“Not Yoongi. Daddy.”

You clamp your mouth shut. Think you need some kind of plug to stop your arousal from flowing down your thigh. Yoongi doesn’t mention what just happened throughout the whole drive, but you do notice his semi-hard manhood poking out of his groin area. You salivate, but don’t tempt him, squeezing your thighs together so tightly that your muscles cramp.

You’ll save it for later.

You listen to him talk about his concert experience of tonight while the drum in your clit matches the beat of the songs of his playlist. He speeds down the road, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and the shift stick, and he doesn’t look at you until he halts the car at the first red light.

He smiles at you, knowingly. A dirty, dirty smile that turns your world upside down, vexes you deeply—enough for you to swivel your head in the other direction to ignore him because if you looked at him any longer like that, you’d be unbuckling his pants. But Yoongi does what he pleases. With his index finger, he whips your chin back to him, leans over and grins before he presses his lips against yours.

A gentle, gentle kiss. One that does not mirror his demeanor.

Your walls flutter, your whole body, too. Shock seizes you in its grasp at that gesture of affection and you can’t breathe—he’s stolen all of the oxygen in your lungs. The trees sway and bend, the swan in you dances quite buoyantly, despite the fact that a storm is coming.

A storm of your emotions.

He’s never kissed you like that—out of the blue, at the red light. He kisses you when he’s drunk, handsy and touchy-feely as he everlastingly is, but he doesn’t kiss you just like that when he’s sober.

“You doing good?” he murmurs against your lips, ripping away the fingers of your shock, and it feels as though you’re waking up from a dream—only to glide, boundlessly, into another one. Yoongi waggles with your chin before he pulls away, the yellow light bathing him in its shade momentarily before the green blinks and he jumps back into his own world.

Does he really think you won’t erupt in this storm? Disintegrate into smithereens and wipe everything clean that he is?

“What was that for?” you ask, softly, your lips numb and aching for more of his tenderness, one that you would, in all honesty, die for. You trace the print of his own lips on yours, feel its heavy warmth, and you might as well be drunk just from that.

You need a shot. And not just one.

Yoongi bites his bottom lip. “You’re holding out so well. I thought you deserved it.”

You roll your eyes back—not from raw annoyance, but from the pristine pleasure you receive from the dominant, fatherly energy of his words. Suddenly, you don’t know what to do with your hands, what to say, what to think. What you do know is that you surely will be crying into his pillow by the time this night is over and he’s fast asleep.

But you can’t cry much. Can’t wake up with puffy eyes. Can’t reveal to him the gravity of your feelings.

You don’t even remember the moment you realized you loved him. Think you loved him the first time you laid your eyes on him, but you buried it deeply in you—so deeply that you didn’t even recollect your feelings when Yoongi told you, straight away, that this was just a friends with benefits kind of arrangement. Truth be told, this business is the sole kind of relationship you can give him as you hate men. Always hated them. But you don’t hate him.

He’s not them. He’s different.

You may have wanted adrenaline and joy tonight, but as you dwell in this state of mind of yours, you slouch deeper into the leather and come to a heartbreaking understanding that you’ll never be happy in this life.

The night-clothed streets pass by you in soft shapes in colors, disappearing instantly out of your view. And the woodland, the trees and the swan, they disappear, too. Shrouded by the fog of your abysmal sadness.

***

Yoongi took you to such a small hotel that its luxuriousness pierced your eyes with its glorious light. You thought you were dining and ending the night at his place, but once Yoongi ordered your favorite shots of sweet rum with cocktail cherries, you perceived you were staying here. Perceived he was unknowingly giving you the opportunity to drown your feelings in alcohol as well.

You almost didn’t wait for him to take his own shot before you downed yours, but hearing the click of his tongue, you stopped midway. And to make sure you did wait, he placed his palm upon your wrist, bringing your arm down onto the table as he ordered your dessert.

Chocolate ice cream, just for her. Thank you.

He made everything worse.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to be so good for him, listening to every order of his that came to his mind. Why you wanted that validation, that praise. You could just do whatever you desired—it wouldn’t scratch your relationship with him. You could be bad and he wouldn’t mind. Hell, you think he would even enjoy it. But why is it your inert yearning to please him so much? It’s devastating—and it’s your personal ruination. Because the more you do things that caress his ego, the deeper the abyss of your feelings for him goes.

You shouldn’t. Not in the construct of your friendly relations. For the sake of your well-being.

You pry his fingers away and take that shot, watching his eyes grow large in their surprise. You never slide the cherry along with the liquor into your mouth, so once you swallow it, you open it wider and begin to chew it. His brows twitch, his own mouth parting at the sight and he leans back into his chair, completely submitted and enthralled by your act of defiance.

And it feels good, going against him like that. Living your life by your own decided rules, and not his.

You don’t hesitate to gulp down the other shot, but it’s not the slight burning of the liquid that gives you the buzz. It’s the way he seems to be completely pleased by your self-will, smiling lazily at you with his head tilted to the side. It propels you to steal his shot, too, and the brief facade of his pleasure collapses. A dark tendril of concern lines his eyes and those brows that twitched furrow, casting a dusky shadow over those slits.

Now he’s aware of it, the tornado that spins within you. But he doesn’t know the cause of it, the decadent poetry verses that cover it.

And he’ll never know—he’ll never read them. Because you’d much rather keep it in secrecy than risk losing him for all eternity. Feelings can be hidden, feelings can wander off, lose their bearings until they no longer remember that your body used to be their home. But Yoongi… he’s a person that you meet once in a lifetime. And losing him would mean that you lost not just your life, but the blood pumping in your veins as well.

It’s wrong, being attached like that to someone, regard him this way. And you’re cognizant of the fact it’s temporary—and for that sole reason, you bask in it. Because your life would be prosaic, and not poetic, if you didn’t.

That is the motto you carry in your pathetic, but strong heart.

And the darkness of his concern, it intoxicates you more than the last shot you take.

The backdrop of dining and chattering people sway, just like your past trees, behind him. Manifestations of foreign lives you’ll never witness twice in your life, that are a part of you today and will part from you tomorrow. Yoongi, in the middle, remains stable. A beacon of light, unmoving, a great pillar of fixedness and steadiness. He peers at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, his aura solemn, no longer playful. Your sighs emit out of you in a constant stream while your eyes roam at everything in motion but him and he seems to strongly, strongly dislike that.

“What’s up with you?” he asks for the second time around this evening, but the question has a loftier ring of seriousness to it. It passes through you, puncturing you until it pokes out of your back and transforms into a pair of monumental wings. Ones, upon which your feelings are mockingly hung, for his eyes to see, but not to recognize.

And the swaying of your body brings forth wetness to your eyes, for it is an anamnesis of the inner world you lost due to the comprehension of your feelings.

“Nothing,” you say for the second time around, too. A hefty blanket of silence is thrown across the table, scattered with empty shot glasses that were meant to be shared between the pair of you. Unable to look at him, your eyes drop to them, count them—one, two, three, four—and then your irises wind up at his clenched fist. At the white valleys of his knuckles that are composed only when his fingers are wrapped around a microphone. And the blanket of the silence is warmer than the warmth he has given you—a sweltering layer of heartsickness that you can’t bear. With your drunk brain, you think you should pierce it, as if with a needle, with a response to a question he didn’t ask you. “I haven’t eaten much today, that’s why I’ve gotten drunk so quickly.”

Yoongi runs a tongue down the inner flesh of his cheek. Ponders the information you have given him before he scolds you. “You didn’t eat and you drank four shots in a row. You won’t tell me what it is, fair enough, but I know you’re hiding it behind the pretense of you being horny.”

His head swivels to the side, sensing a presence. And he watches as the waitress puts down an ornamental plate of two scoops of chocolate ice cream in front of you. You don’t pay her a second of your time. You set your eyes on Yoongi, on the darkness of his energy that you are ever so slowly and magnetically pulled to.

Yes, he sees the problem, but doesn’t recognize it. He sees the shape of your wings, but he can’t recognize their color.

The solidness of his call-out quivers. You’re not sure if you’re hiding it; you’re no longer sure about anything at this moment, but you don’t care. You have to stick to your secrecy, you have to keep your feelings safe and tucked away, no matter how far on the edge of the cliff they are.

“I’m not hiding anything. I was horny,” you retort, not caring that the waitress is still present, picking up your shot glasses. Yoongi gives you a look while you tip your chin down and gaze at him through your long lashes—just like he did. A taste of his own sweet poison. And then you lift your foot and rest it between his outstretched legs, the sole of your stilettos pressing lightly against his soft groin.

This is fun. This is the adrenaline you were seeking. Who would’ve thought you would be your own provider of that.

Surprised by the abruptness of your act, he doesn’t let it show on his face, but his hands drift upwards from his thighs before he settles them around the bridge of your foot. He waits for the waitress to finish her job and, sensing the pressure, she scurries away without asking if you wanted to order another round.

And in her absence, Yoongi begins to touch you.

He sails his fingernails from your toes up to the thin strap of your shoe, wrapping them around your ankle. He squeezes your limb once, warning you about something you don’t know, his eyes tiny, tiny slits. Perhaps if you keep up with this, the night won’t end so prettily like it normally does.

But you don’t believe it. You refuse to. And to be frank, you can’t.

You shall have your fun.

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” he orders like the father he is, pointing at the dessert with his irises.

You look at it, at the bits of the chocolate bars jutting out of it, then back up at him. “Feed it to me.”

The slits break, his eyes enlarging. His reaction spreads all across his face—brows curling upwards, mouth parting, his thumb absentmindedly swiping across the skin of your shin, exposing how much he liked your request. Such an intimate place for that to happen.

Then, he examines his surroundings. Then, he gets up from his chair and sits next to you on the booth, taking a hold of the spoon and your leg simultaneously, hooking it over his thigh. Scoops the ice cream and turns to you, his arm suspended in the air.

“Open,” he rasps, and your eyes wet first before your mouth complies, opening wide for him. Yoongi slides the spoon into your mouth with expert gentleness, careful not to hurt you, and your first tear of the night cascades down your cheek when your mouth closes around the silver, your tastebuds cheering due to the chocolate flavor that overwhelms them.

Yoongi, the man that could never disappoint you. Yoongi, the man who has given you more fatherly love than your own father ever did.

How could you not love him? How could you not want more from the casualness of your relationship with him when he treats you like this? When he prepares a warm faith in men within your chest, a wet soil—out of which the tenderest sprout of joy shall grow?

The second tear cascades down. The ice cream melts on your tongue. You swallow.

Yoongi sighs, dropping his hands, the corners of his eyes rounding in an emotion you’ve never seen upon him. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

Your wings, swan-like, flutter behind you, ruffling the hair on the crown on his head. “The ice cream tastes good.”

You brush away your tears, lamenting your foolish mistake, and fold your hands on your lap. Give him a teary smile that you can’t hide and open your mouth for him again. Yoongi doesn’t say anything as he continues to feed you and frown at you, not until another waitress comes and asks if you wish to order another round. His anger is evident in his voice as he turns her down, stating you won’t be drinking any more than you have.

And again, he makes everything worse when he wipes your mouth clean after you finish the dessert. Pats your head to reward you.

You hold your tears, watch him pay for you, give him your hand when he leads you towards the elevator up to the room where you’ll be staying tonight.

Him, completely sober; you, drunk out of your mind.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, even as you and him stand side by side, the silence as thick as death. You can’t stand it, can’t do anything else but to break it all over again. Though this time, you don’t do it with words.

You do it with your actions.

Stumbling on your feet like a freshly-born fawn, it’s only then that Yoongi looks at you. Holds you steady as you move in front of him to face him. He doesn’t swim along the current of all these brown shades of the elevator, but you can see a deep emotion waving through his ice-cold eyes that heat up, melt and droop when you envelop your arms around his neck and press your face against the side plane of his, kissing him there a hundred, a thousand times. You sink your fingers into the hair at the nape, tracing circles along his scalp and Yoongi shudders, breathes evenly against you, and it reminds you of the wind that swept past your woodland—the one that made your trees sway.

All of that is gone because of your mistake.

And something tells you that nothing will ever be the same. That something groundbreaking awaits you once these elevator doors open.

And they open too quickly.

Breaks your wordless actions that speak your gratitude for his fatherly behavior by gathering you into his arms, carrying you out of the elevator. Doesn’t let your aching feet touch the ground until the snugness of the tiny room welcomes you in. A queen-sized bed, a mirror across the wall that faces it, a round table by the balcony. It would be stifling if you were here alone, but Yoongi, somehow with his domineering energy, enlarges the room—makes it his.

He empties out his pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. A white lighter and a pack of cigarettes. His jacket follows next, hooking it around one of the chairs, and once he notices your wavering feet, he sits down at the edge of the bed and sheds your trench coat, throwing it over his own jacket. Bends at the waist and takes off your heels, one by one. Only then, when you’re comfortable, does he set you down in the center of his lap. And you realize that the mirror is right in front of you.

You watch him through it. Watch his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck; watch your own form disappear into the buffiness of his body as his hands begin to roam. His watch glints in the dim light of the room and his own being coalesces, becomes one with the murkiness.

You want to do that, too. Forget who you are. Forget what you’re feeling.

Tears prick at your waterline and you let out a pained sigh. Another foolish mistake of the night, one you’re about to pay for.

“Talk to me,” he begs, a wisp of a tiny whiny weaving into his voice inconspicuously, but you catch it—and it vibrates through you, weakening you. It makes it so much harder for you, his unyielding need to know what’s troubling you, but how can you tell him? How can you risk never seeing him again?

You remain silent, painfully so.

Yoongi lifts his head from your neck and stares you dead in the eye through the mirror, chilling you down to the bone.

“You truly think I’m just a guy you fuck?” he spits, his anger on full, unabashed blast that you should’ve seen coming with your restrained behavior, but it’s better to take his anger than to take his absence—and you shall devour that emotion of his. His question causes a hiccup to ensue in your chest, the secrecy of your feelings leaning over the edge of the cliff. Dangerously, dangerously close. “That you can’t confide in me? You think I’m just gonna fuck you and pretend I didn’t see you cry?” Your eyes dart away, a heavy load of agony settling over your heart, but Yoongi prevents you from looking away. Makes you look at him by grabbing your chin and keeping your head still, facing the mirror. “Is that what you want? You want me to be this kind of asshole?”

You bite your lip, not knowing what to say, not knowing who you want him to be, not wanting to be in this situation at all. But Yoongi can’t stand your silence. Can’t stand the privacy of your trouble, as if he inertly knows that it has something to do with him.

He softens his touch, but he doesn’t do the same with his voice.

“Answer me.”

You cry out in unnamed desperation, which propels Yoongi to lift your head up to him, so you can look at him—so you can see how much this matters to him. The emotion in his eyes vivaciously thumps, urging you to speak to him. He holds you to him like this, gripping your cheeks with the littlest amount of pressure, sucking in small breaths and you can’t. You’re going to explode if he keeps at it, and you’re going to die.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tiny cries emitting out of your throat, and it’s almost a cry for help. You bunch up his T-shirt in your trembling fist, seizing the solidness of him like your fear seizes you, and you don’t know whether to run or stay put on his lap like this. You’re appalled about where this is going and you’re certain that the same dead end is impatiently seeking you—

Yoongi shushes you. Averts his hand and caresses your hair down. Kisses your forehead, where he lingers a few long seconds that subdue the expression of your storm. Waits until your breathing evens out, so he can unravel the words swelling in him.

“Even if you asked me, I couldn’t be this kind of asshole to you,” he reveals against that plane of your face, punctuating his sentence by pressing his nose against yours. And you can’t believe his actions, you can’t believe the kind of affection he’s bathing you in; it lessens your fear, slashing it apart until there’s nothing left of it. “Something is hurting your heart and that bothers me. And what pisses me off most of all is that you think I can’t help you.”

You sniffle and slide your hand upwards to his neck. Try to memorize every inch of this paintwork that your life is graced with as tomorrow won’t have the same paints, the same brushstrokes—

“I’m not gonna fuck you. If you want to be touched, I’ll touch you, but don’t think for a second you’re coming tonight, not if you won’t talk to me,” he murmurs and you gasp, lowly, your wings slumping limply.

The promise of him fucking you was your only salvation for tonight. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, your mouth falling agape, unbelief clutching you at the intensity of his stubbornness.

And you want to know the meaning behind it.

“Why?”

He scoffs, kissing your cheek as if you were a baby he’s cradling, and you can’t take it anymore. You untangle yourself from his grasp and stand up to your feet, your back against the mirror. Yoongi peers at you disapprovingly and then he shakes his index finger at you. Your legs mimic the same movement, trembling, weakening at that.

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he says and flattens his lips, pauses before he opens his mouth again, but you stop him, despite how much you like it.

“No, Yoongi. Why are you treating me like this?”

He props his knuckles against his thighs. A powerful, powerful stance. Curls his lips around his teeth. “Like what?”

You reflect him. “Like I’m something more.”

Yoongi chuckles, humorlessly, at that. You spewed it out so rapidly that you don’t realize what you said until he lets out that noise that returns the drum to your sensitive parts. And briefly, as if you uttered something stupid, you grow smaller and smaller—until his following words change your life once and for all.

“Because you are and because you always have been,” he rasps, the corners of his mouth downturning for a split second, exposing his own secrecy that brings you to your knees. They scruff against the white carpet, stained by time, and Yoongi’s eyes flash with light to see you in this position.

Your heart hammers with more life than it ever had, with a kind of adrenaline it never felt before, and wetness clouds your vision, misting this situation in a cloud of disbelief. Your lungs fail you, shuddering underneath his hard gaze, and they swell greatly when Yoongi clasps your face in his hand, the one that pointed at you so fatherly, so devastatingly.

“You’re not just a girl I fuck and I know I’m not a guy you fuck. What we have is irreplaceable, what we do has always been something more, beyond the label we gave it and I regret it,” he lets out, a pained sigh—just like yours—wafting over your features, and Yoongi leans over, propping his elbows on his knees, his other hand joining your face, fingers gripping your hair on each side. “I should’ve treated you more properly, with respect. Take you out on dates. Get to know you. Wait before you let me touch you… because that is what you deserve. You’re not a girl to mess around with. You have a dignity that needs to be taken seriously, that needs to be respected and I wish I had done that. I wish…” he trails off, clicking his tongue in ultimate regret, and you break. You break, break, break. Sob in his hands that hold you so steadily, that give you life, adrenaline and a new meaning to your whole being. Suffocate under his watch, the earth-shattering notion that this has changed the course of your trajectory of your relationship with him forever constricting your throat. “I wish I had allowed myself to court you like you deserve. I wish I had been better mentally, but I’ll make everything right if you want me to. If you want me as much as I want you, I’ll make it right. I’ll try my hardest.”

Your own words, your heartstrings tangle up in a complex manner. Your tongue twists, your speech held back, and you have no control over what comes out of your throat. You’re crawling through a limbo that has no end and each movement you make, the way back gets erased. You need to keep going before it swallows you, but you need him to lead you. You need him inside your skin, inside your heat, inside your mouth. You need to be connected to him in a way you’ve never been connected to him before. You need his breath in your lungs—and your attachment to him bursts in flames.

Sated, elated, magnificent.

“Fuck me and make me yours, Yoongi.”

He sucks in a breath as if he didn’t expect you to accept his favor. The light in his eyes soaks his irises in wetness and his mouth trembles in a tender emotion before he smashes it against yours. And within that lip lock, the swan in you is reborn.

A baby swan, learning how to sail upon this new, new river—needing her father more than ever before.

The kiss is hard and the kiss is catastrophic. Yoongi moves his mouth against yours, sucking every bit of your old life out of you to fill you up with newness. Lifts you up and sits you back on his lap. But the kiss is too brief and you soon perceive that his anger hasn’t been shunned out.

Wet and blue flames lick over his black pools.

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you. What I said still applies.”

The zipper slides down, the straps follow suit—and your silk is ripped away from your body that Yoongi turns over and moves to his preferable position, cradling you sideways like a child. And there—as he gives you a once over, studying the red lace of your lingerie, the swell of your breasts, the little valley of fat upon your tummy, the ruination of your panties and the stickiness of your thighs—there you realize that he’s as punishing you as much as he manipulating you into telling him.

And it’s as arousing as it is bad.

His free hand begins to roam while the other one holds you close, wrapped around your back, preventing you from running away. It ghosts over your breasts, causing your spine to arch into his palm and his throat to emit a delicious groan that drenches your panties. His fiery hand ventures down, his tongue gracing you with little praises of how beautiful you are, and when he reaches the V-line of your private parts, he discovers how much his deep voice and his touches affect you.

He lifts his fingers and catches them glistening in the orange light. And this time, he doesn’t plunge them into his mouth. No, he sinks them inside your own. You swirl your tongue around them, coaxing that throaty noise of his that makes your hips buck up. Your tangy sweetness stupefies you and your so-loved woodland is remolded by that intimate act. By your connected gaze that could start a foreign war and bring the world down.

“Suck on them,” he orders, and you comply. Hollow out your cheeks, make sucking noises as you find everything you ever searched for in his eyes. Stability, warmth, a father. Switch, cutely, between sucking them and dancing your tongue around them. His index and pinky fit just right between the elongated clefts of your cheeks and he coos, grows hard underneath you, kisses the tip of your nose, onto which he whispers: “Such a good little girl.”

You moan and he reacts so trenchantly fast, withdrawing his fingers and using them to slide your panties to the side, placing them on your clit and not moving.

“So swollen,” he comments, kissing you for a beat of time without closing his eyes, without missing this moment. “I like it when you’re like this. Swollen, dripping and so horny for me. Like I’ve never taken care of you before.” He glides his fingers down, past your lips to your hole before going back up, rooting on your throbbing clit before starting over. He etches desperation into your veins, stirs your butterflies to madness, and you breathe heavily. “No one will ever see you like this. No one, you hear me?”

Your nod is automatic, thoughtless, and he’s pleased to the core. Enough that he begins to massage circles on your clit, your wings fluttering, no longer limp, but full of zest. And he can sense it—and it touches him so much that he deepens the pressure while the circles remain agonizingly slow. Your body writhes. Yoongi smirks down at you, grins fully when you clutch the nape of his neck and make little noises into his T-shirt. And just as soon your vision begins to blur and you reach the cusp of your orgasm, he stops.

“What’s hurting you?”

He reciprocates your feelings, so you have no reason not to tell him. It’s more of a problem with your speech. You’re so fucked out that you can’t speak.

Yoongi waits for a few seconds before he spanks your pussy. Maneuvers you so you can look at yourself in the mirror, your back against his chest, and he collects your arousal while he pins back your thigh, drifting all four of his fingers along your femininity, stimulating you and punishing you at the same time. Then, he lets you see your slick trickling out of his digits.

“Look how wet you are, don’t you want to come?”

He’s a dark figure behind you while you are a small creature, spread wide, drooling, dressed in a sinful shade of red that doesn’t indicate her purity, whose smeared red mouth leaks loud, whiny whimpers when he sticks one of those fingers inside your heat, adding another one right away once you accommodate around him. He fucks you with a force that reverberates throughout your whole body and his name that pours out of your mouth like a prayer is a cry for help all over again. He pumps his fingers and pulls away, edging you in such a sinister way that drives out your tears.

He worsens your condition—like he invariably does. But the rapidness of his pace, it unlocks your mouth, it untwists your tongue, and you begin to babble.

Incoherent words, nonsense noises; sounds that blossom in volume when he withdraws ultimately, pushes the lace of your bra away from your breasts and kneads them with wet fingers.

And you erupt, at last, when he flicks your nipples. You flood his pants-clothed thighs and knees, your slick streaming all the way to the carpet. And the river continues on with his words.

“I know you want this cock. I know you want it deep in you. But you’re not getting it if you don’t tell me right now what it is you’re using me to forget about,” he whispers into your ear, tweaking your nubs, his hands descending down your body and pinching your clit. You cry out, the aftershocks of pleasure dizzying you, his manipulation technique in full effect, and you’ll give it to him. Because of his cock, because of his affection. “You have three seconds. One, two, three—”

“I love you,” you confess, screaming it out of your lungs, and his eyes enlarging and his mouth parting in shock is all you see before you’re thrown on the bed.

Before your panties are ripped in half and flung behind him.

Before your pussy is eaten and fingered in a way that makes you come in four heartbeats.

Yoongi’s skilled tongue flicks your clit, his fingers curl in that special spot that bespeckles your vision with the stars of the night sky beyond the hotel room window. And you don’t latch onto the fact you’ve drenched him with your juices until he straddles your thigh, arches over you and kisses you with love-drunkenness, his fingers sliding back inside.

And he doesn’t start fucking you until he confesses something, too.

“I love you, too.”

His digits drill you, his eyes pierce your soul and your orgasms are countless like this, not bound to time, not bound to anything at all. You squirt on him, bathe him in the newness of your relationship, cleansing off the old. And then he’s inside of you, murmuring reassuring words against your mouth about how that shouldn’t be troubling your heart. And you cry, you sob, you scream, overtaken by it all, your mouth numb by his constant hard kisses and if you ever belonged to him in the past—you didn’t. Because at this moment, as he stuffs you full of his cum, you’re interwoven into his DNA for all eternity.

One that he nurtures as he holds you in his arms and asks you about how long you’ve loved him. And he in return tells you that he loved you the moment you first had a taste of what he could give you—laughter, guidance, and orgasms. All from the first date.

And when you kiss him for the last time before sleep steals you away, you know that you’ll never lack adrenaline in your life ever again. As long as you’re with him, you’ll be on the receiving end. And his unchanging promises will make you look forward to each day, your batteries charged and green—like your blooming woodland.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

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landopoet · 9 days ago

Text

taciturnity.

pairing coworker!lando x intern!reader

warnings mentions of sex, use of vulgar language

synopsis a date in italy sounds like a dream. what could go wrong?

taglist @sheblogs @n3versatisfied @number-0-iz @gigicisneros @urfavnoirette

find part one here: clandestine

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It’s a quarter to six when the plane lands.

You and Lando had been texting about the date so much that it began to feel like it’s the only reason you’re in Italy. It’s only when you get an email from your supervisor, instructing you of all that you need to do over the weekend, that you get out of your little love-coloured bubble.

It’s Thursday evening, media day, and arguably one of the most busy days of a race weekend. Your supervisor let you know that their official photographer would be taking pictures today, so you could get settled in at the hotel and prepare for tomorrow. Which is incredibly fortunate, as you have to prepare all your camera settings, charge the batteries, bring your laptop hard drive and adaptors.

Stress would be overtaking all your emotions if you weren’t so excited to see Lando on Saturday.

You can already imagine it— the white button-up, the flowers in his hands, the candlelight on his face and the glare of his eyes as they burn into yours. It’s nothing short of magical, the way you imagine your first date, and you’re sure it’ll be even better in reality.

That night, it takes you far longer to fall asleep than anticipated. You know you should be asleep, resting up before the following day as you had to take pictures of Lando on the paddock and on track. It’ll be your first time working with fast-moving subjects, but you’re sure you’ll get the hang of it quickly.

Besides, it’s not like you’re here on full pay, anyway. Even if you don’t get good shots, you’ll be gaining experience and Eliza has nothing she can do but advise you to do better.

The sunlight filters through the hotel curtains and you rub your eyes awake, glancing at the alarm with blurry vision. It’s about fifteen minutes before you were supposed to wake up, so you take that as a chance to check your social media apps and contact friends.

In the flurry of notifications on your screen, one stands out more than others— lando followed you from Instagram. A small smile creeps its way onto your face and you click the bright blue follow back button.

You slip out of bed roughly five minutes after, having spent that time looking through his posts and finding his photography account, which he failed to mention before.

The tile floors in the bathroom distract you from thoughts of him and you zone back into your reality— it’s Friday and there’s work to do, and you’re not just here for matters of love.

Lexi calls you just as you’re about to tug on your shoes. “Heya,” she cheerily says, her smile evident in her voice. “You up yet?”

A small scoff leaves your lips as you press your phone to your shoulder with your cheek, using both hands to tie your shoe. “Bold of you to assume I wasn’t up before my alarm.”

“Ugh, of course you were.” she fakes disgust. “Anyway, Eliza asked to meet her in the foyer so just come down when you’re ready. And manifest that you run into Lando in the elevator.”

You roll your eyes, playfully, even though she can’t see it. “I’ll manifest that I won’t. Bye.”

Down in the foyer, Eliza gives you a brief rundown of your tasks for the weekend. Lexi’s ones are obviously more complicated than yours, but you feel intimidated by the amount of work you’ve been given.

You have to upload pictures from Lexi’s SD cards to your laptop, edit them and get them ready to post as soon as they’re done, as well as email them all back to Eliza and snap pictures whenever you can (Eliza said you could keep those to yourself, as she’s not convinced you’re as good as you let on.)

Lexi gives you a look and you read it as “she's such a bitch”. To which you can’t help but agree.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The paddock is as busy as you’d imagined.

The buzzing of people trying to get to wherever they were going made your head spin but it felt so great at the same time. You’ve dreamed of an opportunity to be at such a large event, more so as a guest and not staff, but this’ll do for now.

Your eyes scan the crowd of people as you’re walking towards the garage and you can see everyone, except the one person you’re looking for.

As if on cue, you feel two hands on your shoulders. “Looking for me?” The curly haired man can’t help but point and laugh at the way you gasp and clutch your chest.

“You can’t just sneak up on people like that, Lando,” he shields his head as you gently slap at his arm. “And, no, I wasn’t. I was admiring the scenery.”

“Scenery, right…” He takes a look ahead, seeing nothing but the back of heads. “Beautiful, Italian heads, truly a sight to see.”

“Why aren’t you in your car? I thought you’d be out on the track by now.” You looked up at him, noticing how tightly the race suit hugged his neck, making his adams apple pop even more.

He swallows and you watch as it rises and falls, mesmerising you. “There was some trouble with it, but it should be fixed before quali,” he explained. “I just popped down to my driver room for a quick break from the people.”

“Break from the people or to stalk me?”

Lando clicks his tongue. “Ah, fuck, you figured me out again.” He watches as you try to hide your smile behind an eye roll. “I’ll get going before they start to miss me. See you later.”

The man sends a wink your way before he disappears into the crowd of beautiful, Italian heads.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It was infuriating, really.

Lando wasn’t a jealous person. He didn’t think of himself as such, anyway, nor did he notice ever feeling that sharp pang of slight hurt before. All it took was to see you and Daniel talking for him to finally experience it sharp enough that he’ll remember.

It’s been about twenty minutes of you giggling at the Australian man’s jokes, him flashing you a smile as often as he breathed. Lando rolled his eyes for the millionth time. Daniel wasn’t really that funny, so there was no reason for you to be smiling at him so much.

It should be Lando you’re giggling at.

And he knows he could just walk up there, insert himself into your conversation, but what good would that do? He only just got you to go on a date with him and him being jealous would only hinder the chances of it actually happening.

Even though he knows it will. You were so excited about it on text that Lando was sure you wouldn’t miss it. He even got to pick out your outfit, as he swore not to tell you a thing about the place you’ll be meeting him.

Still, the worry of some unfunny, poor driving racer like Daniel taking you away from Lando lingered.

“You alright, mate?” One of the engineers in the garage nudged Lando’s shoulder and the Brit swiftly nodded, eyes still glued to the way your face lit up at another one of Daniel’s remarks. Stupid.

“I’m trying to focus up for quali. Is the car good to go?” He finally peeled his eyes away from the sickening scene in front of him to look at the engineer.

“Yeah, it wasn’t wrecked too badly so we’re only doing some final checks. Should be good to go in an hour.”

Lando nodded, turning his eyes back to you again. This time he failed to hide the scowl forming on his face— Daniel’s hand was on your bicep as he pointed towards the track, evidently explaining something.

You can show her without touching her, dumbass. Lando thought, eyebrows set so low on his face that they might as well be a moustache.

It was stupid to even think in such a way, as you were nothing but friends. For now. Lando knew you’d be a tough shell to crack but he feels it in his guts that you’ll, one day, be his.

He’s been enamored by you ever since meeting you. The way your dress sat on your body, perfectly fitting in all the right places; the way your hair laid against your back and shoulders, waves so deep he was ready to drown in them. Lando was never one to fall for one so quickly, but with you it felt just right.

And when you invited him home, fuck was he done for. He couldn’t have ever imagined the sounds that escaped your mouth when his hands dipped beneath your panties or the way you’d look rolling your hips against his, lips parted and, oh, so inviting.

One night stands were his usual routine. It was easy— he’d meet a girl, fuck her, she’d be on the same page as him and they’d never talk again. But with you, he changed his opinion quickly. Just after that one night he spent with you, he couldn’t bear to even think of another woman.

Lando was one lucky bastard that he worked for the same company you had interned for. Fortunately for the Brit, life put you two in each other's path when you were so clear about not wanting to see him again. He took it as a sign to make you his, no matter what it takes.

He never expected you to reject him that much, though. At one point, Lando was beginning to lose hope and feared that it was just a waste of his energy to even try and get close with you. That was until he caught Lexi in the elevator, a few hours after you had gone home for the day.

The girl, who was more like a friend to Lando than a coworker, told him how you didn’t actually dislike him. Of course, he took that as a huge ego boost and it only heightened his confidence that you were into him, too. Maybe not as much as he’s into you, but it’s enough for him to try and make it work.

He just never expected to fall in love with you so quickly and only realise it when you were talking to an ex-teammate of his.

So, maybe it was justified for Lando to feel jealous. Afterall, it’s not everyday he falls in love with a girl from the bar.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Max: I’m sure she’ll be there, mate.

Lando glances at the message that flashes across his screen, hoping it’s from you, but he’s quite disappointed to see that it’s from his best friend. It’s been ten minutes since Lando arrived at the restaurant, and although the time you agreed to meet was in five minutes, he can’t shake the feeling of something being wrong.

Though he’s sure you’re just navigating your way through the city. Lando understands the struggle, he was just the same when he first visited. But now, after coming here for six years, he feels like he knows his way around the place.

Lando can only imagine how cute you are when confused— eyes reading Google Maps from your phone as you bite down your bottom lip, slightly puffing them like you usually do when focusing. If he’s being honest, Lando has stared at you for long enough to notice the small habits, and pick up on them, too.

For example, you tap your fingers against any surface whenever you’re even the tiniest bit anxious. You also bounce your knee and do this thing with your eyebrows that Lando can’t get enough of. There’s so much to you that he hasn’t even learnt about yet, and it only makes him that much more excited to get to know you further.

Lando catches himself bouncing his knee and tapping the table when the twenty minute mark rolls around.

It’s been twenty minutes since you agreed to meet up at the restaurant that Lando set a special reservation for, in a secluded area hidden from the public eye. That’s the reason he didn’t just pick you up from the hotel. Sure, it’d be the gentlemanly thing to do but neither of you wanted the news of your blossoming romance to hit the headlines just yet.

“Would you like to order anything while you wait, sir?” A waiter asks, notebook and pen ready to write as he expectedly tilts his head to the side. Lando glances over at him, catching a glimpse of someone who looks like you, in the far distance.

It takes him less than three seconds to notice how the girl's hair isn’t as long as yours, how the shade of her skin is just a tad off from yours and how her face, even from so far away, resembles nothing of the features he had grown to adore.

He glances back at the waiter. “Uh, no, thank you. My date will be here soon.”

The waiter nods and scurries off to another table, leaving Lando in the company of none other than himself, the candlelight and the bouquet of flowers he had left on the chair opposite of him. It was a bouquet of red roses. You had mentioned those being your favourite briefly during your conversation at the bar, and Lando couldn’t help himself and bought the biggest bouquet he could find.

One hundred and fifty roses is enough, he reckons. Or not. Surely not. You deserve way more than measly roses, wrapped in a beige paper that made Lando feel uneasy the more he looked at it. It was either that or the fact that it’s been forty five minutes since he last checked the time.

It’s been an hour and you haven’t shown up.

Lando’s not one to get mad easily. Hell, he’s never actually been mad at you nor could he ever be. What he was feeling was a lot closer to betrayal than anger.

First it was you getting cozy with Daniel— sitting on two chairs in the McLaren garage, knees touching and laughs echoing so loud it made Lando’s head hurt— and now this.

He could think of a million reasons as to why you didn’t show up, but the fact is that you stood him up, and that’s not something he’s sure he can easily forgive.

The waiter rounds Lando’s table again, only to find some cash to pay for the champagne he had ordered and the sad bouquet of roses sat on the chair.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Time management isn’t really that hard when you think about it.

You had always struggled with doing your tasks on time, whether it be homework, university assignments or work related matters— it seemed impossible for you to get shit done on time. You were notoriously known as being late for everything, all the time.

Friday evening seemed to prove you different. You had managed to edit, compile and send out the photographs from both practice sessions before nine p.m., as well as edit your own photographs and review them with Lexi until eleven, meaning that you actually managed to go to sleep on time.

Which meant that you’re at the paddock bright and early, helping Lexi prepare the cameras and other knick-knacks that you weren’t paying much attention to. Your brunette coworker nudged your shoulder, head nodding towards a particular curly-haired racer that just stepped into the area. You couldn’t deny that the race suit made him look particularly attractive, so you took your time to soak it all in.

He happened to be walking towards the two of you and when he was close enough, both of you smiled and said, “hi, Lando!”

The man nodded at Lexi, eyes not darting to stare at you like they usually would. “Have you got the pictures ready? I want to post some to my Instagram, if that’s okay.”

Lando knows that it’s you who edits the pictures, compiles and sends them out. He got the email an hour after making it back to his hotel after you stood him up. Yet he had no intention to even speak to you, when you made it so clear that humiliating him was your priority.

“Uhm, yeah. Y/N should’ve sent you the email, did she not?” Lexi tilts her head to the side, watching the man make no effort to answer her, so she turns to you. “Did you not?”

“I did, I made sure to send that one first.” You explained, so incredibly confused by why Lando was acting this way. “You should double-check your email, Lan.”

“I’ll see you around, Lex.” Is all he says before making his way across the garage and towards the Ferrari one, possibly to talk to Carlos. Lando introduced you two the evening prior and you noticed how close the two were, finding it sweet how many people Lando was friends with across the grid.

Lexi turns her eyes back to you, eyebrows knitted together and face contorted into a confused grimace. “What was that about?”

Your eyes still expectedly look towards where Lando walked off to. “It’s like I wasn’t even here.”

For the next few hours, you try your best to trace back your steps and figure out what the hell you had done to make Lando so rude to you. The only thing you’d understand is maybe not texting him last night to check in, but he knows you were busy and you made sure to tell him multiple times that you couldn’t come hang out. Still, that doesn’t seem like something he’d mind.

“Earth to Y/N?” Daniel waves his hand in front of you.

You suddenly zone back into reality and notice the aussie next to you. “Oh, sorry. Hi, Daniel.”

“Heya, you okay? You’ve been staring at him for a while now,” he laughs, teasing you about your little crush on Lando. You regret telling him all about it yesterday and just roll your eyes.

“I don’t know.” You answer, honestly. “He’s acting like I don’t exist, but at the same time he’s acknowledging me because he covers his face every time he notices my camera focusing on him, and this morning he just fully ignored me in front of Lexi.”

“Okay, let’s calm down.” He places a reassuring arm on your back. Lando, of course, notices and the scowl on his face deepens. “I could go talk to him, maybe something personal happened. You never know.”

Daniel watches as you nod and then lets go of you, swiftly walking towards the McLaren driver standing at the pitwall. He approaches Lando carefully, trying his best not to upset his ex-teammate further. “Hey, Lando. How’s it going?”

Lando glances at Daniel with a look that would’ve killed you if you were in the aussie’s place. “Fine.”

“Oookay…” Daniel pulls his lips into a tight line. “I, uh, noticed the new intern you’ve got.”

“Noticed.” Lando scoffs. “You’ve been eye-fucking her since yesterday.”

“What?”

The Brit waves a hand in the air. “Nothing. Did she send you to speak to me?”

You anxiously watch the two men speak, noticing how alarmed Daniel looks and how Lando hasn’t stopped frowning since morning. That cannot be good for his wrinkles. Daniel says a few more things, his face changing to the exact same frown as you see on Lando’s face.

When the aussie comes back, you open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off. “Do you travel a lot?”

The question takes you aback. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll take that as a no,” he continues. “What day do you think it is today?”

“Uh,” you shrug. “Saturday? I don’t-”

“Yesterday was Saturday, Y/N.” Just as the words leave Daniel’s lips, you feel your heart drop to your heels. The realisation of what you did hits you as soon as the aussie says it. “You stood him up.”

Your eyes instantly flicker towards Lando, who’s looking at you with nothing but hurt on his face. Fuck.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Lando did not feel like talking to anyone after the race. Sure, he won it, but it didn’t feel much like a win without you there to celebrate. So when Lexi told him there’d be a meeting, he scoffed and got off the couch in his driver's room. He made his way through the building, shoulders slumped and eyes focused on his phone.

Last thing he needed right now was some bullshit meeting about you.

Lexi told him she needed to talk to him, fill out some documents about your internship and she needed him to write a review of how it’s been working with you. To Lando, it sounded like a load of crap but he had nothing better to do, and maybe he could write a review so bad that you don’t get to work with him anymore.

“I don’t have all day,” Lando’s voice echoes in the mostly empty room, the only company in the small space being… you. He rolls his eyes, “Where’s Lexi? I’ve a meeting with her.”

“I have a meeting with her.” You furrow your brows, evidently confused and slightly petrified of the tone in his voice. It’s only been a day so you don’t expect him to have forgiven you, but he could at least stop acting like he cared enough about you to be upset for so long.

It didn’t seem like a big deal to you that you missed the date, because you thought it was just Lando’s way to get into your pants again. You weren’t opposed to it, but for him to get so upset about not getting to fuck you on Saturday seems a little extensive.

Lando takes a seat at the table, not sparing another word to you until the door opens again and in comes Lexi.

“Oh, good! Both of you are here.” The two of you glance at her, confused by what she’s up to. She picks up the keys for the room from the table and steps back out, only peeping her head in to say, “I’ll be locking you two in here so figure out whatever the hell is wrong before I do it for you. And please don’t break anything.”

“What, Lex-“ Lando stands up to try and reason with the woman, but the door is already locked. He runs a hand over his face and groans. “Fucking hell.”

You sit in silence, eyes following his figure. From the way he stands, you can see the way his McLaren uniform hugs his shoulders and how his hair has grown a little more– since the last time you remembered seeing it– into a sort of mullet.

The man sits back down, turning his chair away from you so he doesn’t have to bear seeing you looking at him dumbfounded again. It’s taking everything in him not to rip that door off its hinges and leave the room.

“Lando,” you speak first, breaking the silence you were sure would last forever with no intervention. You test the water by just saying his name and when he doesn’t answer, you roll your eyes, “don’t you think this is a little silly?”

That’s what gets him to turn around. “What?”

“This,” you wave a hand over him. “Your whole i’m so angry i didn’t get laid act. It’s stupid.”

Lando’s speechless. There’s no way you think that low of him, right? Surely you’d assume he was even a little genuine when planning a date with you. He’s not even sure what to say to that, all he feels like doing is going back to his hotel room and forgetting everything that just happened.

Instead, he’s stuck in this room with you for an unknown amount of time and god knows what else you think of him that you’d find fitting to say. Lando chooses to find comfort in staring at the wall, since the data here is as shit as his mood. He can feel your eyes boring into him and he’s not sure if he likes it anymore– usually, he’d do anything to get your attention. Now that you’ve expressed that you see him as some sort of whore, he’s not so fond of it.

“It’s not an act.” Lando mumbles after a prolonged silence. Your eyes shoot up to his green ones and the sheer sight of his face sends shivers of anger, or maybe irony, down your spine.

There’s no other reason as for why he’d be so upset about you missing the date. You’ve seen your fair share of pussy-hungry men, Lando among them, and his reaction really isn’t anything short of fitting. But you at least expected some understanding from him, as you both work at the same place and he knows your schedule as well as his own.

You admit, what you did was fucked up. But would you undo it if you could? The answer is: highly unlikely. Knowing his current reaction, you regret even letting him buy you a drink, let alone allowing him into your home.

After another moment of silence, you sigh and look back at him. “Look, Lando. I know a quick fuck is always fun, but-”

“Quick fuck?” He asks, disbelief staining even the most subtle tones in his voice. “Is that what you think I want from you?”

“Is it not?” You seethed in frustration. “If it’s not, then why the hell have you been so rude to me recently? What have I done that’s so terrible? I know I stood you up, and I apologise, but if it’s not about a quick fuck, then what is it?”

Lando feels his heart beating in his chest so hard that it might leap out of his ribcage and into your hands, and you’d finally realise that the beating of his heart resembles the subtle soundwaves of your laughter. Maybe you’d realise something he hasn’t quite been able to accept yet.

It’s another beat of silence with Lando’s eyes down at the ground, a look of something you couldn’t quite read plastered on his face, and you glaring at him with fire behind your pupils.

“See? You have nothing to say, because it’s true.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not some random chick you can pick up and play with whenever you so please, Lando. I have feelings and priorities, and a job that I really fucking-”

“I love you.”

“-love, wait what?” You glanced at Lando, thoughts suddenly jumbled by what he had said.

A veiny hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, either to hide his embarrassment or out of frustration. “I don’t know how it happened, but all I know is that every fucking day, I wake up and I’m checking my phone in hopes of seeing your name.” He decides to look out the window when he finally removes his fingers from his eyes, trying his best to ignore how intently your eyes are burning into him. “It feels pathetic to admit that I’ve caught feelings, especially since you see me as a heartless prick who fucks and dumps girls regularly.”

A sarcastic chuckle leaves his lips and you feel your whole body run cold.

You watch his chest rise and fall, a vein in his neck growing more evident as his heartbeat quickens. “It’s never been about the sex, Y/N. I’ve wanted you since the second I laid my eyes on you. Is it that hard to try and imagine that I’d actually feel something for you?” Your heart drops when he finally turns to you. The rage in his eyes can’t compare to the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Lando hears the door lock click but it stays closed, and he takes it as a sign to finally leave. You rise to follow him and when he’s at the door, he harshly turns to you. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

#lando norris #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #daniel ricciardo #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando smut #lando fluff #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n

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agi-ppangx · 5 months ago

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low battery (han jisung x gn!reader)

no warnings, fluff/comfort, just two lovers comforting each other after a long evening; 0.5k words

author's note: this was requested by my lovely green, i hope you'll like it although its not my best work<3 also its not proofread so i apologise for any mistakes and typos🫡 please remember that feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated🫶🏽

“baby?” jisung called out as soon as he heard the door open, followed by your heavy sigh. you remained silent as you took off your shoes, happy that you don’t have to wear them anymore that day. dropping your bag on the floor you dragged your feet to the living room where jisung was laying on the couch, a fluffy blanket draped over his shoulders as some anime was playing quietly in the background.

“hi,” you muttered, giving him a little peck on the forehead, and decided to grab some water from the fridge. “i thought you were supposed to go out with the boys tonight?”

he sighed at your words, pausing the show. “i joined them for a while, but they invited their girlfriends and it felt too crowded after a while.”

“did you at least have fun?”

“i mean, yeah, we went to that new restaurant down the street. i have to take you there sometime, the food was amazing,” he responded with a small smile and you mirrored it. “i had to give up karaoke though.”

you let out a little mhm, sitting down next to him and hugging him. for a moment it was silent between the two of you, you didn’t really know what to say more, you knew exactly how he felt after the night out.

“how about you? how was the dinner?” jisung broke the silence.

“boring, tiring… do i have to say more?” you whined, taking a sip of your water. you put the bottle on the coffee table in front of you and without a word laid down, placing your head on jisung’s lap. “my boss was so annoying, he kept making those weird jokes about dogs. he was so drunk, you wouldn’t believe it,” you giggled as you recalled your memories from a few hours ago. he laughed at your words, trying to imagine your boss in that state and soon after the comfortable silence once again settled between you two.

when jisung and you started dating you were afraid he’s gonna think you’re weird for being so tired after nights out. it’s not that you didn’t enjoy it, but social interactions simply exhausted you. as a kid your family used to make fun of you for wanting to leave any types of family parties, thinking that your weariness was a sign of disrespect. that’s why when jisung happened to not only understand you perfectly in that matter, but also feel the same, you were relieved. some might think it’s nothing, but you finally felt seen and validated.

“i’m so exhausted, sungie…” you yawned.

“i know, baby, i know,” he whispered, running his fingers through your hair. you closed your eyes, relishing in the quiet moment, glad that the day was almost over. “you can rest now, i got you.”

“i love you,” you mumbled quietly, but he managed to catch that, smiling to himself before leaning over and placing a kiss on your temple.

no more words were said as you melted into jisung’s lap. soon your soft snores and the anime on the tv were the only noises in the apartment as you recharged, feeling the most comfortable in each other’s presence.

taglist ! @astraystayyh @laylasbunbunny @l3visbby @like-a-diamondinthesky @hanjsquokka @xichien @xocandyy @minhosbitterriver

#skz #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids headcanons #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz au #stray kids fluff #stray kids comfort #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids soft hours #skz han #han jisung x reader #han jisung scenarios #han jisung fluff #han jisung imagines #han jisung soft thoughts #han jisung soft hours

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psychemochanight · 1 month ago

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Dick being neurodivergent, because why not? (Am I projecting myself onto my hyperfixation character of the moment? Absolutely).

Dick finds the weirdest possible positions to be absolutely comfortable. We already talked about how he likes to hang upside down, but besides that, he's always sitting in a strange way.

Bruce doesn't have any opinion on any of this, but sometimes wonders if Dick is trying to give himself some kind of cramp. The others just wonder if the boy has actual bones.

Bruce thought Dick couldn't be a picky eater, but he's totally wrong. Alfred taught Dick to cook because he knows that if he depended solely on food prepared by other people, the boy would starve. (Worse is when they discover that if they don't remind him, this guy won't eat at all. He just totally forgets that humans need food).

He also taught him other things for sensory issues that he doesn't want to acknowledge. (Yes, there are ways to keep his sheets soft enough, to prevent his shirts from getting lint, even cleaning the slab so it doesn't have weird textures).

Bruce always purposely gave him more work than he needed to do, otherwise he would never get the boy to concentrate. Nothing too difficult, he didn't want to overburden him yet, but seriously, even if he liked math, he would never sit down for more than 10 minutes to do his homework. Organizing his tasks didn't always work, but a deadline? It was his best strategy. Even out of ten minutes, eight were just him thinking about something else and only two to complete the job, he would complete it anyway.

(He never gives him the same task twice in a row. God knows that will never be complete. Have you seen how many jobs this man has? He can't stay in one place for more than a few months).

His thoughts also jump from one situation to another as much as he jumps on rooftops when he is on patrol. Bruce never understands his line of thinking, but it is extremely helpful in solving cases.

Despite appearing extroverted, Dick was still more of an ambivert, sometimes even seeming more introverted, he's just not that shy. His social battery runs out pretty quickly, even if he pretends it doesn't. He still needs time to himself in order to move on, and as a child his best way of pointing this out to Bruce was by hiding under tables in a dark place, or instead, climb to the highest places, farthest from people. Bruce learned that although Dick was used to the noise of people, he was used to seeing it from above, not in the middle of the crowd.

It's not that he's non-verbal, but there are still days where just talking is a no-no. As a child he had better control, but as an adult he just doesn't want to talk, and he's not going to talk.

Weighted blankets? Yes please. Noise cancelling headphones? He would love to, but he is too paranoid to completely isolate himself from his surroundings. (If his friends notice that his leg is bouncing more than usual, they assure him that they will keep watch and ask him to wear his headphones for a while, if they need to talk to him they use sign language).

He also has blackout curtains. And we all know his comfort object is a stuffed elephant, come on. (I love the fandom for this idea. Give the guy his stuffed elephant, give him Zitka.)

Yes, Dick, people have hobbies, but normal people don't change hobbies after mastering them once, much less change them every three days. No, gymnastics is no longer your hobby at this point, it's literally your life.

A special interest falls short when you spent a week without sleep to continue researching your new hyperfixation.

#dick grayson #nightwing #nightwing headcanons #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson has adhd #he's probably autistic as well #batfam headcanons #headcanon #i'm projecting #bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #just my thoughts about dick grayson

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eli0004 · 10 months ago

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Some random Levi relationship HCs

Summary: Just some random lil Levi things I’ve had on my brain lately :D

Rating: 18+ [Minors DNI]

A/n: I can do a part two if anyone is interested

If you compliment him on his appearance, say you like his hair when it’s longer in the front, tell him he looks lovely in that shade of green, he will never forget that shit. He’ll start leaving his hair longer and wearing your favorite colors on him more often, because he loves knowing you’re finding him attractive.

When Levi catches you checking him out, he acts appalled, absolutely flabbergasted, how dare you objectify him like this. He’ll roll his eyes and scoff, waving you off like he can’t believe you’d be so openly perverted like this, but then you’ll spot the blush spreading over his cheeks, and if you’re lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of his lips curling up in a playful smirk as he turns away from you.

He’s not always “stoic”, he just has a very dry sense of humor. Sarcasm, deadpan jokes and teasing actually make him chuckle occasionally, and he loves when you go back and forth with him.

He doesn’t have a great social battery, but when he loves you, he wants you around regardless. Sometimes his favorite moments are sitting together in comfortable silence, and having you rake your fingers through his dark hair, or scratch his back.

I think he has a pretty normal sex drive, but sometimes he needs a lot of foreplay to get comfortable, because the second that sex starts to feel like mindless fucking rather than an expression of love, he feels unnerved and off put.

He’s such a giver, that if you give him something back he’ll be absolutely touched. Make him a bracelet? He’ll never take it off. Bring him something he forgot on his way out the door that morning? He’s thinking about putting a ring on your finger. Cook him his favorite meal? He’ll melt into a puddle of soft sappy feelings.

Honestly, he’s really just a hopeless romantic. Once upon a time he was a little boy that day-dreamt of finally being loved, being held, and doted on. Up until now, he was starting to get used to the idea of being alone, so he’ll do anything to keep you happy and content with him.

I think levi is a switch, but he leans towards submissive because, again, he loves being doted on. He likes sensual touching, thumb against his cheek, fingers gripping his thighs, running your nails down his abdomen and feeling it tense up. He fantasizes about that kind of thing. He wants your hands all over him.

He gets super turned on by possessive behavior, in and out of the bedroom. Bite him, yank on his hair, ask him who’s cock this is, he loves that shit. If you get jealous easily, he’ll roll his eyes and tell you you’re being immature, but he’s such a bad liar because his ego is soaring. He’ll be walking around with a little more confidence that day.

If you keep eye contact and tell him you love him during sex, he might bust on the spot.

In the colder months, he tends to become depressed easily. He benefits from having someone who won’t allow him to shut himself away.

Husband material, marry him immediately.

#attack on titan #aot #aot x reader #aot smut #aot headcanons #aot x y/n #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman headcanons #levi ackerman smut #levi headcanons #levi x reader #levi aot #snk levi #levi attack on titan #sub levi ackerman #subby levi #captain levi

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sapphicmsmarvel · 2 months ago

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azriel: mr grumpy and his miss sunshine

Notes: super domestic

god im so fucking single it actually fucking hurts

This man would prefer to never see people.

He loves his family and you, those are the only people he needs.

You however, are a little social butterfly. Everywhere you two go, someone knows you. When random people say ‘good morning’ to you, you smile brightly and respond enthusiastically in kind. Or, you’ll randomly just speak to a stranger and end up laughing with them.

You do not see yourself this way but he does. And then everyone in the inner circle would make jokes about you talking to random people and how it stresses Rhysand out because he doesn’t want you kidnapped.

“By no means are you ignorant to the world's threats, I just don’t trust people with my figurative baby sister.” He explained when you asked him if he thought you were stupid.

He called you his sunrise, you were bright, warm, sweet, you gave him hope. Meanwhile, you called him a grumpy bat. Sometimes you called him a grumpy old bat. Depends on if his bones were creaking or not.

You were a magnet for people. Randomly, people would say things to you. Or you’d offer to help people if they needed it (but only when you had one of the guys with you, you didn’t trust everyone easily).

You made friends everywhere you went, he however, kinda just sat behind and watched you interact with people. Made sure people didn’t take advantage of your kind heart, and nobody was being a pig with you.

Azriel loved how social you were, he also adored how introverted you were.

For example, while out at Ritas, he’d watch you be chatty and then just slow down. He can see when you start to zone out when your social battery has completely run out. So he’ll always say that he’s tired and wants to go home so the blame doesn’t go to you because it makes you anxious and you’ll feel the need to apologize constantly.

You two would hold hands coming home, bumping into each other and giggling. You may be socially burnt out, but you never felt that way with him.

He loved the “after” part of a night out. Watching you wipe your makeup off delicately with cloth, then hop in the bath with him. You’d delicately wash his wings as he hates feeling like they’re dirty. You two scrub each other down. When he gets to washing your hair, he’s so incredibly gentle with his hands. The idea of even accidentally pulling your hair hurts him. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he massages your scalp. He’ll then massage your shoulders, causing your head to drop down, your chin against your chest causing your spine to slightly stretch out and release the tension from being social.

After the bath, you'd do your skincare, he’d watch as you gently apply toner, serums and creams. Then you’d throw on his ratty tunic and a pair of oversized shorts. You’d sit your (fine) ass on the counter and pull his hands into your lap to apply creams on them. Because he insisted he wanted to take care of his hands more.

Once you two ended up in bed, you’d turn on the lap by your bedside and begin to read your novel. He would write in a notebook. You suggested he try journaling when he talked about his thoughts overcrowding his brain.

Eventually you two would settle down together, he would lay on his side, his arm around your waist pulling you to his chest. Your head on a pillow that holds both of your heads with his arm underneath it. He refused to let you sleep by the window because he wants to be able to protect you.

The window’s open, letting the cool night breeze in. The only sounds are your breathing and the drapes billowing.

You felt content in your husband's arms. Knowing he may be a grumpy introverted bat, but he’s yours. He loves you as yourself.

He’s your home.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acofs #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #azriel x reader

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blue-jisungs · 4 months ago

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hi can i ask how p1harmony would act if their partner run out of social battery in public settings? thank youu

when you run out of social battery ♡

# author's note … wow i haven’t written in this format for a while <\3

┆彡 KEEHO [ 기호 ]

you’re both chill and stubborn so good luck with that :p

you always try to act like you’re not tired but if keeho asks you, you tell him the truth

if its an event he really really really wanted to attend you’ll both stay until he’s done but you can be assured he’ll pamper you later <3

and during too!

“one more hour, okay? there’s still some people i wanted to talk to” he pouted slightly and you just nodded, sending him a lazy smile “i’ll grab you a drink, hm?”

you watched him have fun and that warmed your heart. he was all giddy and excited, you just didn’t have the gut to go home now.

once he was done and satisfied, he ordered an uber and wrapped an arm around you waiting for it to arrive. your eyes were half closed, nuzzling into him for assurance.

“i’m so proud, you know? thank you for holding on, i really appreciate it. love you” he hummed and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“anything for you. can you scratch my back when we go to sleep though?” you asked, raising your head up. keeho grinned with a nod.

“of course”

┆彡 INTAK [ 인탁 ]

he could be in the middle of a concert and see a glimpse of tiredness on your face and call it a day

he’s soooo chivalrous:( he’ll take the blame so you don’t feel guilty for going home earlier

(even if you protest)

intak bursted out laughing at a joke one of his friends cracked and with a corner of his eye he saw your bland reaction. it was a sign you’re out of your social battery; well, you started feeling exhausted earlier - you became non verbal a while ago and started fiddling with your purse.

one look it took for you two to communicate that you’re tired. you opened your lips to announce it but intak grabbed your hand under the table and let out a sudden, loud gasp that even startled you.

“ah, i forgot i have practice tomorrow. shit, we moved it and it totally slipped my mind… the joke about horse just reminded me… you know, keeho… well, whatever. we’ll keep going, im so so sorry!” he said normally, rubbing your skin and sending his friends an apologetic smile “let’s do this again soon, guys! i had so much fun! let me know when you get home, okay?”

they were not too happy about it but let you go, minutes later you two sitting in a cab.

“you’re crazy” you grunted and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. seeing you a bit more relaxed now was worth it.

“i was getting tired too, either way.”

┆彡 THEO [ 테오 ]

hes just so into whats happening that more often than not he kind of misses the stage when you run out of your battery :(

he feels really guilty when he does though so u can be sure the second he realizes you’re like,, half asleep, he’s taking you home

wont admit but lowkey ur sleepy state is far more worth observing than whatever he was doing at the social outing

“and then i won! literally snatched the ball from his hands and–” taeyang was explaining how he absolutely destroyed intak in a basketball game they had recently, when keeho nudged his arm.

“your partner is sleeping on seob. and he’s also asleep” the leader snickered and theo’s eyes widened as he scanned the place in search of you. eventually, he saw you and the youngest asleep on the couch. your head leaning on his shoulder, seob’s head resting on yours. a soft smile formed on taeyang’s lips.

“let’s get them home” he snickered and stood up. guilt washed over him that he didn’t notice earlier.

he gently woke you up, sleepy eyes meeting his. theo tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“hi, sleepyhead. sorry for not noticing earlier” he hummed and you just shook your head in protest.

“it’s okay, jongseob is a nice pillow” you snickered and your boyfriend just tsked.

“good thing we’re going home now. i’m a better pillow, actually” taeyang puffed his chest out dramatically and helped you stand up.

“not with that big head of yours, idiot–” the younger’s voice sounded quietly from below.

┆彡 JIUNG [ 지웅 ]

another gentleman 🥹

always puts you first, no matter the circumstances!!

does not care in the slightest what others will think,, like hello u wanna be home, so then be it!

you really tried to act like you’re not tired, you really did. but shota started showing you his island on his switch and you couldn’t help your eyes from closing a bit. you two ran off to hide your unwillingness to be here – since jiung really wanted to attend this party you just didn’t want to go home yet. since soul also felt a little sleepy and didn’t mind you not talking, you just watched his animal crossing shenanigans.

“here you two are” you heard a familiar voice and slowly looked up to see jiung. he sent you a soft smile and then noticed shota rubbing his eyes. “let’s go home, okay?”

“nooo you wanted to be here” you whined, a small pout on your lips. he shook his head and helped you stand up.

“i’ve had my fun. now it’s time for bed. both of you” he giggled and helped shota stand up too “i feel like a grumpy dad”

you scoffed and pecked his cheek, grabbing the younger boy’s switch before it slipped out of his hand. jiung sent you a warm smile and interlocked your hand with his.

┆彡 SHOTA [ 翔太 ]

he sooo gets the feeling of running out of social battery:(

when there are times when you run out of it sooner than him (which is rather the other way around) he’ll ,, well ..

go home without telling anyone (maybe except his mom (keeho))

“shota, i’m kinda tired” you mumbled into his ear, hanging on his shoulder tiredly. he scanned your face with wide eyes – and the hands that were anxiously fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. he nodded, taking your hands in his and interlocking your fingers with his reassuringly “but we don’t have to–”

“let’s go then” your boyfriend smiled softly and dragged you to the exit, sneaking behind the crowd. you played along, pretending to be walking on your tip toes. once out, fresh air made you wake up a little.

“won’t they be worried?” you asked quietly. shota hummed in thought.

“no, i told keeho. besides, we left together” he shrugged and swung your hands a little. the gesture was really precious “do you want to play minecraft when we get home? we don’t have to talk”

┆彡 JONGSEOB [ 종섭 ]

honestly he couldn’t care less what others will think

if his baby is out of social battery, he’s out of there

he’s just so rebellious ! (will get yelled at later)

seob noticed you drifting away a while ago but only when you poked his arm gently, he was sure. he leaned forward to hear you better.

“i kind of want to go home but… if you want to stay that’s fine too. i just won’t be too talkative, i’m really tried” you told him, scanning his reaction. he nodded and looked at you. tucking back a stray hair behind your ear with a mischievous look in his eye.

“let’s head home then. it’s pissing me off that i can’t kiss you here with all the people around” he teased with a playful smile (and it’s not like that he’s too shy to do it in public or whatever).

jongseob took your hand gently and you two sneaked outside, leaving without a word.

“i wonder when will they notice” you giggled, wrapping your hand around his arm.

“if they even will” jongseob snickered.

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,,

@mon2sunjinsuver ,, @litepowee

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glotoru · 2 years ago

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ooh baby, ooh baby, i’m in love | eren jaeger.

the note 𐦍 i’ve recently been thinking about a successful, older (early to mid thirties), soft spoken eren who lives to spoil the woman of his dreams—so i’m gonna share this with y’all too. i’m actually just projecting our relationship. not proud of the ending but wtv. part two here. inspired by west coast, lana del rey.

contains 𐦍 nsfw, fem!reader, stupidly rich!eren, established relationship, vaginal sex, mating press, cervix kisses, use of pet names (princess, baby, my wife, the usual yk), unprotected sex, breeding, squirting, softie eren, mild body worship, size kink, hand on stomach while fucking mhm, i love you’s exchanged, praise kink, eren talks to your pussy while he’s in it, i’m thinking black reader but it’s all subjective babes: if you like it, read it!!

truth be told, eren jaeger doesn’t believe he has much to live for.

he’s kept his circle small for all of these ongoing years; with the occasional extension of acquaintances from work dinners, or christmas parties—though, he preferred to slip away from such events when eyes weren’t so…watchful. he likes to think his social battery has drained over the course of his life. looking back at his angstful teenage years, fourteen year old most likely wouldn’t recognize the person he is today.

his once intense nature that resembled an overbearing presence of loud determination turned calm—steadfast and slow to visible anger (with the exception of a passive aggressive comment here and there from simple annoyance). the short hair that once barely covered his nape now fell to his broad shoulders, however, he preferred to keep it up—maintaining appearances while keeping it convenient. the smaller five foot six body grew to an intimidating lean six foot four instead.

however, those things were quite trivial; he knew such changes happened with growth and eventual maturity.

but for a significant chunk of his life, eren was never the greatest with women. he was oblivious—blind to the wandering eyes full of admiration from girls in his classes and workplace—and nose deep in his books. he wouldn’t rest until he was on top of his grades; which he had no problem with. His emphasis on success failed him when it came to the dating scene; to say the least he was shy—and married to his work as well.

but on top of all this, eren was a patient man, and good things always comes to those who wait.

and when a dangerously beautiful woman comes wandering into his life on the street outside of an office dinner he gracefully slipped away from, asking him for an extra five dollars to help pay for her cab home from a no-show date—a woman that has him battling the slew of warning alarms sounding away in his usually zen mind and redefining what he thought was himself—he knows that he’s waited long enough.

simply put, he’s a man of his craft; dedicated to two things. his work, and his wife.

His wife—the phrase has his brain melting into pure grey matter that spills out his body in the form of love. To even think he has the opportunity to refer to you as such is priceless in itself. eren didn’t believe he could love—let alone love this hard. you ask him to run, he’ll say how far; jump—how high?

you’ve changed him—ever since he offered to drop you off in his sleek black mercedes benz parked somewhere by the valet and you giggled in response, saying ‘i’m not usually so trusting of strangers’ will the slightest glint of curiosity in your bright eyes.

and somewhere in between the months, his ten hour workdays turned to six, important software development meetings got pushed back for convenience, the accumulating days of paid time off started being used, for once, his assistant could do their job, and his new focus was you.

diamonds and pearls, nails and hair, dinners on boats and vacations on beaches, shopping sprees on his black card and all of his devotion towards you—only you.

eren…he’s a worshipper—it doesn’t take much for him to get on his knees for you. he’s not ashamed, if anything, he’s proud. he likes to say that anything that’s his, is yours; so who are you to deny what he gives you?

that’s another thing he oh so loves about you—you readily take everything he can offer. you let him take care of you, and he wouldn’t want it any other way; you’re his wife after all.

his wife, his wife.

“my wife…” eren mumbles to himself as he buries his face into the crook of your perfumed neck. the pronounced scent makes his head spin, you can’t fathom how in love with you this man is. as his large hands engulf your own, he’s met with the texture of your wedding ring that cost him over twenty grand, the one you cried over when you saw it in his hands offering it to you—but eren doesn’t think it does his adoration for you enough justice.

he prefers to show you.

while there’s no doubt that material items and dream homes are things you like to receive—there’s nothing better than the way he has you now, one leg resting atop his shoulder and the other barely slung around his waist as he steadily ruts his hips into your own.

oh, how could you be so beautiful? splayed out on the bed like a wicked man’s deepest desires and dreams; the one he secretly lusts for from across the room with no hopes to introduce himself because you’re just so out of his league. your hair is messily draped over the silk pillows, all remnants of your lipgloss/lipstick gone from your parted lips and instead smudged on his own, the gold necklace with his diamond initial was falling into the dip in your neck, and you were gazing at him with need. pure, heartfelt need.

your body arches towards him, manicured hands trailing towards your own chest to play with your nipples that hardened from the low temperature of the room. “i need you eren, make me feel you—i want it.” your voice is smooth, accompanied with a small whine that reminds him just how spoiled you are, and how it’s all his fault.

but he couldn’t care less—you deserve it for wandering into his life to make you his own.

“i know princess, i know.” he knows damn well you need him, he knows, he knows—he’s repeating it as he peppers a kiss to your jewelled ankle before pressing down on the back of your thigh to steady himself.

eren fucks like he loves—endlessly and hard.

maybe that’s why the way he bullies your pussy while bottoming out has you grasping at the threads of the sheets and chanting his name like a hymn followed by prayer. he lets your cunt feel every bit of him, the ridges—veins, down to the last inch. he’s terrifyingly big, another thing you love about him.

his dick feels like it’s mushing your insides, curving up against your spongy walls that oh so desperately tighten around him. every thrust is harder than his last, and the way the trimmed hair resting above his base brushes against your clit provides all the extra stimulation that has your head rolling to the side. your uncontrolled moans turn to sobs when you feel his tip tickle your cervix—and boy does it make him a rejuvenated man.

“look at me.” his words barely register as syllables in your clouded mind—you keep your head turned, eyes focused shut as your body shakes upwards from the fervour of his unrelenting tempo. there’s a lot of things eren can have, and you not watching the way his slick covered dick slips in and out of your weeping pussy isn’t one of them. “you have to look at me pretty girl.” his tone is soft but firm, thick fingers taking your chin in his hands and turning you towards him once again.

“see how well you’re taking me? all of it.” he gives you a million dollar smile, hinting for you to watch where the two of you connect. “your pretty cunt just wants it so bad, right?”

“oh, eren…” it’s always a sudden surprise how soiled his mouth can get at times like this. heeding his request, you watch his cock disappear in your folds—and you sight of it has you fluttering around him like a whore.

“you were made for me, weren’t you? prettiest sight i’ve ever seen.” you’ve heard his praises a multitude of times, having him ramble on about fucking you so much your walls moulded to fit him like a tight glove, only that now, he’s saying it to your pussy instead.

“only you ‘ren, was made just for you.” you babble out, feverishly bucking your hips up to meet his ruts.

when your eyes finally rip away from below and back up to his face, the look he wears has your cunt melting like putty. with furrowed brows, a dip in his forehead and a bitten lip, he watches your body move with each fuck. even in such a sinful position, you were just so divine.

almost subconsciously, his ringed hand moves from your hip and over to your torso, gliding over your pierced belly and stopped at your lower stomach, “I’m right here baby.” gently, he applies pressure to the spot, making your eyes blow open as you moan in response. the feeling gives you butterflies—ones that go straight to your clit and stimulate the nerves in your shaky legs.

“cummin—eren i’m cumming!” you’re rambling, scrambling to push his hand away from your belly, but it’s all too late, and eren knows that well. how could he not? your body is a temple, he’s explored every inch of it, and the sudden vice grip your walls have you him and periodic throb of your cunt is all too telling. your orgasm is drawn out, legs spazzing around your entranced husband, “mm, oh-fuck! yesyesyes eren, don’t stop!”

oh, aren’t you just perfect. his eyes soften when he watches how your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, only to capture it in a languid and sloppy kiss, teeth grazing your plump lips and sucking on them like a sweet. you whine he pulls himself away from your body completely, instead he takes the time to tack his thumb to your puffy clit, rubbing feint circles and the occasional attempted heart on the bud. he always does this, coaxing out the last of your orgasm with nimble fingers that you dream about

“you gonna let me take good care of you?” he asks softly between hushed breaths while grabbing hold of both your legs and hoisting them over his shoulders. helplessly, all you can do is nod; you’re in a trance at the very sight of him. his defined torso is illuminated by the back light of one of the many lamps in your bedroom, his hair is slipping from its captive elastic band, the grip of his hands on your ankles sends searing hot pulses straight to your sensitive clit.

he gives himself a few good pumps, sliding his length between your folds. your wetness aids him in bottoming out once again, but your sensitivity has you squirming in his hold. “gotta stay put baby.” he marvels, talking you into submission, “that’s my girl.”

his praises are followed by the shift of his hands down to the back of your thighs, they gently rub the plush skin before pushing them down to meet your chest. while there are some circumstances where looking down at you sparks something within him, eren likes to be eye to eye with you when he’s balls deep—turns him on even more being in such close proximity with such a captivating woman.

you squeal from the uncomfortable burn in your hamstring from being folded in half with the additional feeling of eren’s body weight on your own. you swear that you can feel your heart palpitating in your ears as you feverishly clench around him. “it’s too much! can’t take it, can’t take it!”

“of course you can, you know you can, your pussy takes everything i give it.” eren speaks between juts, pressing your knees to your shoulder blades as he pistons into you without any regard for decency. his thrust feel like a hammer, knocking your body into the memory foam mattress you begged him to buy.

stars cloud your eyes as he wraps himself tighter around you, head in the side of your neck as he peppers kisses across your skin. your pants and gasps are loud, amplifying the sounds of slapping skin and balls hitting the fat of your ass. his favourite part is when you dig your nails into his back, leaving cresent shaped imprints and jagged lines across it like a painter with a canvas; scars of your love.

deep groans fill your ear, soft and sweet; all eren can ramble about is you—how good you feel, how quick you can make him unravel like a ball of string, how lucky he is to have you in his life—the list goes on.

“i love you—fuck, i love you so much baby, you treat me so well.” with his declaration of love, his pace seems to increase, fucking you dumb and leaving you to heave for whatever air is left to breathe.

“i love you too, so much.” your eyes scramble around in your haywire brain, overloaded by the repeated feeling of the jackhammering going on in your walls and the non-stop cervix kisses he gives you. “it’s all yours, eren; you deserve it, you deserve this pussy. you married this, have it.”

eren jaeger doesn’t believe he’s deserving of much; has he earned things? yes. but you…laying beneath him, telling him he deserves you? it makes him never want to leave—not that he would dream of doing so in the first place.

he does deserve it—your words make his brain malfunction. he deserves it. fuck, you might just be the death of him.

you’re crying for him, grasping at any part of his body possible to get him closer to you than physically possible. your tighten around his base once more, and your hand flies down to messily prod at your clit in an attempt to play with it.

meanwhile, eren’s unrelenting pace falters; that man knows he’s going to cum soon, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it with you. so he pleads with you to give him one more—telling you that you’ve got another one bundled up in there for him. to say it’s true is unknown, but your body listens to eren, and miraculously whatever he believes will happen comes to fruition.

but your body is delicate—everyone knows delicate things break under pressure. with the unrelenting strain and stretch his dick gives your walls, the tight feeling in your core, and aching numbness in your legs, your buildup feels much more violent—ready to release all built up tension given to you by your husband.

“eren—keep on going like this and i’m gonna make a mess!” you fuss around, hand reaching to gently push his torso away in fear you may soil the freshly made sheets.

“that’s the goal.” he states as a matter of factly, brows furrowing as a suppressed groan bubbles up from his chest at the thought: pretty little face going stupid and clawing at anything within reach as you writhe and cum all over his torso and lower body. you can’t make him budge now that he’s a determined man.

his strokes grow sloppy but powerful, curved cock repeatedly ramming into your spongy spot that force your plush walls to grip around him, “you’re eating me up here, love.” he mumbles, moaning into your mouth in the disguise of a messy kiss.

the last roll that tips you over the rocky edge is a shaky one, the last one he could give before emptying himself into you. it’s thick and hot and you feel it fill you as you twitch underneath him and cover his abdomen with your juices. wordlessly, his hands reach for yours as he stills; soft lips peppering the lining of skin on your cheek.

eren jaeger knows that change is inevitable—it comes with time. but eren jaeger also knows one thing will stay the same; his love and adoration for the pretty girl laying below him.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #aot smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #snk smut #eren yeager x reader

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