#crisp around the edges

[herlittlebunnyboy]

It's been a long month, I'm pretty beat but I'm still holding on. I desperately needed a pick me up so chicken noodle soup and a grilled cheese was dinner and now I'm making cookies.

[genderqueer-karma]

listened to ma cherie (w/ tetsu) for the first time yesterday

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.” 

“or else, what, honey?” 

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him.  initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d  taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here? 

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual  colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory. 

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“ 

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?” 

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it�� was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal.  “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.” 

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?” a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?” 

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?” 

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.” 

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more. 

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.” 

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time. 

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away. 

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.” 

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother. 

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy. 

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother. 

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk. 

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?” 

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth. 

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped  to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air. 

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon. 

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear. 

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality. 

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from. 

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and  inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well. 

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.” 

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length. 

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair. 

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity. 

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?” 

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”  

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory. 

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood. 

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all,  you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache. 

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two. 

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens.  “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“ 

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness  chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore. 

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top. 

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you. 

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way. 

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins  to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,” 

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?”  the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…” 

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n  down. keep goin’ just like that.” 

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light. 

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not  when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him. 

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close. 

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you. 

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?” 

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair.  the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom. 

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull. 

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him. 

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth. 

he’s going to cum. 

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him. 

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time. 

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good. 

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.  

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words. 

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a  gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?” 

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.” 

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared. 

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger. 

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.

[jaylaxies]

ENHYPEN: eating you out

pairing: enhypen legal line x fem!reader

genre/cw: smut, cunnilingus, pussy slapping, face sitting, squirting, car sex, biting, edging, fingering, usage of nicknames.

wc: 861

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

requested: here!

Heeseung:

➤ Tease.

He’d slap your cunt gently, patting it a few times as you whimper and try to close your legs with how overstimulated you felt with the pleasure he gave you, yet he only chuckled, holding your thighs wide open for him, looking at you right in the eye as he bend down to lick a strip of your wet cunt, “fuck,” he groaned at your taste, losing his mind as he practically dived in to devour your pussy, lapping and sucking on your clit harshly, going faster when you cried out, your fingers gripping onto his roots, tugging harshly to the point he was groaning into your cunt, sending vibrations up your spine, causing your back to arch as you sharply inhaled, now clenching uncontrollably around his tongue, your release close. That’s when he stopped, smirking at you, his face covered in your wetness and his drool, “H—heeseung, please,” you begged, and he clicked his tongue, “be patient, doll. I’ll let you cum later.”

Jay:

➤ Worshiper.

He’d press the softest kisses all over your inner thighs as you gasp and look at him, his eyes would be shiny, almost as if he’s in love with every inch of you, his lips travelling up where you need him the most, “can I?” He’d ask softly, pressing the gentlest kiss on your clit when you whisper out a yes. He’d have his eyes closed, his tongue tracing circles around your clit as you arched your back, letting him shove his two fingers into your wet cunt, his thrusts slow and mouth warm on your skin, “so pretty,” he’d mumble against your sensitive bundle of nerves, “all fucking mine now.” He’d kiss your clit again, “fucking mine,” he’d growl into your cunt, getting more desperate by the second as your moans get louder, fueling his desperation to make you fall apart on his tongue, and that’s exactly what he achieves when you cry out his name, gripping on to your sheets in a fist as he laps up every single drop of your cum.

Jake:

➤ Munch.

He’d be absolutely down bad the second he spreads your legs, your cunt is the only thing on his mind, and that’s precisely all what he cares about, especially when you’re in front of him. He’s too drunk on your cunt, his plush lips kissing and sucking on every inch of your pussy, the slurping noises resonating in the car when he devours your cunt as if he’s been hungry for ages. There’s no way for him to stop, not until he’s satisfied. He doesn’t care that his face is covered in your juices or that you’re absolutely crying and begging him to slow down, he would be too dazed to hear you, dead set on giving you the best orgasm, “fuck,” he’d mumble, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs, practically making you squirt all over his face as he rests his cheek on your thigh, looking up at you with lovesick heart eyes.

Sunghoon:

➤ Flirt.

“You like when I do that, kitten?” He’d ask, smirking between your legs, his tongue caressing your clit in the slightest touch, a gasp leaving your lips as you gripped the bed sheets, “looks like you do,” he chuckles right into your cunt, as if trying to make you lose the last bit of your mind, incoherent words leaving your mouth as you bucked up your hips involuntary to reach your climax which you were ever so desperate for. “You’re such a good kitten for me, so pretty all spread out for me, so desperate, listening to me like a pretty little doll,” he mumbled, fucking his tongue into your mouth, drooling all over to taste your cum, just for his own pleasure.

Sunoo:

➤ Freaky.

He would have you sitting on his face, your cunt spread out for him perfectly in a way that he could devour your pussy, licking and sucking religiously as he hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. “You’re sitting exactly where you belong, darling,” he chuckled, voice crisp even after as he pauses to look up at your tear stained face. Oh how he loved seeing you cry, he loved how sensitive you were and he loved how loud you moaned when he bit on your thighs, going back in to your cunt, sucking on your clit mercilessly to the point you flooded his mouth with your release, which he lapped up with a hungry gaze.

Jungwon:

➤ Playful.

“Like it, angel?” He slapped your cunt, your whines of pleasure getting louder as you shook your head no, which was a complete lie, “no? Tch, I think you love it, baby,” he whispered, kissing down your stomach, till he reached your cunt, winking up at you before immersing himself in eating you out, head crushed in between your thighs as you suffocated him exactly how he liked, chuckling and biting your clit slightly to see your body jerk with pain, “so fucking tasty,” he mumbled, licking up big stripes and grabbing your tits to squeeze them harshly, to hear the moans of his name reverberate all over the room.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion���Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

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

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be ­­crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t even describe it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, boss/employee relationship, stupidly domestic, little wife kink in there somewhere, nanny reader, single dad gojo, breeding kink [18+ only]

You sometimes find yourself wistfully imagining having a family of your own—a soft and sweet little bundle to cuddle and someone strong and capable (competent) at your side. But you can’t think of the last time you’ve been on a date where that person had the same interest in something more serious than casually sleeping around. 

Nannying seemed like the natural conclusion, especially when you’re still settling in a new city and barely scraping by for rent and student loans for a degree you don’t use. 

You pick up a few jobs just to get a feel for it: parents going away for a honeymoon, a last-minute call-in, a weekend business trip. Then a friend of a friend says she makes enough to afford one of those picturesque apartments that overlook tall high-rises and iridescent lights, the very ones you’ve dog-eared in real-estate magazines.

All it takes are a few phone calls and an interview until you’re packing up your apartment and taking the freeway outside of the city to somewhere remote and expensive, your car looking almost out of place parked beside the shiny new one in the long driveway.

You rap on the front door before you lose your nerve, and a few moments later, it opens, and you’re unsure who looks more out of place: this man with a smile too big, dressed for work, immaculate suit dampened by the baby rag slung over his shoulder and what looks like drool on his crisp collar, or you in your scuffed shoes and second-hand store clothes, standing in front of the nicest house you’ve ever seen.

“The nanny?”

“Yes,” you mutter, licking your lips. “That’s me.”

“Good, Ren just woke up from his nap,” he says, opening the door a little wider with a creak. The darkness behind him is almost comforting.

You take a deep breath and pass over the threshold into his home.

The entire time, his hand stays on the small of your back to steer you toward the nursery, and a shiver threatens up the length of your spine.

Three months. That’s how long it takes before your employer poses a problem.

It’s not that he’s a terrible boss; in fact, he’s quite the opposite. He lets you take over one of the many spare rooms in his massive house, pays you double the regular rate, and gives you time off when you ask for it.

It also helps that Ren is cute, only a year old, and still so sweet and tiny. 

Perfect.

The problem lies in that you know what he sounds like first thing in the morning, that he knows how you like your coffee, that he helps you fold laundry in the living room while the baby naps, how you catch him staring anytime you hold his son—his expression shuttered, a foreign thing that you can’t read. It’s all so terribly domestic. 

Terrible in that you think it’s a horrible idea to develop a crush on your boss, that you can’t help but get flustered anytime he so much as looks your way, even if it’s fleeting. How a sleepy smile before he retires to his room for the night can turn your thoughts into a scattered, ill-defined mess of what they used to be until all that’s left are words like spun sugar melting on your tongue.

But also, it’s not normal, at least not from your experience. 

You were lucky in the past if your employer even wanted to know about their kid’s day. Barely saying hello once they walk through the front door before sending money to your bank account.

Satoru—because that’s what he asked you to call him one afternoon while you were in the middle of feeding Ren mashed banana, a lazy smile curling the edges of his lips after you say it for the first time—wants to know everything: what Ren ate, if he laughed, how your day was, if you finally got your hands on that book you’ve been meaning to buy. 

“You don’t have to ask about my day,” you tell him shyly, accepting the glass of wine he proffers you after spending the past hour trying to put a teething baby to bed. “To make me feel better, that is.”

“Would it be so bad if I said I want to? You live here, too.”

You try to separate the two: that he cares as your employer and not for any other reason, and how you sometimes catch the soft look in his eye whenever he looks at you could make you believe otherwise.

Cool fingers cup your chin gently, thumb caressing the top of your cheek, now close enough that you catch a few of the warm notes of his cologne, a move that’s probably very inappropriate between a boss and an employee.

“I never say anything I don’t mean.”

You swallow, nodding, slightly shaky, breath caught in your chest. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” He retreats to his office before witnessing how those two words knock the wind out of you.

He starts saying things like our shopping list, our car—because he gave you the keys to the SUV parked beside his car and hasn’t touched it since; for you and the baby, he said, plus it’s terrible on gas when I drive it to work—our house, our baby. You don’t think he means to do it; it's more of an easy slip in conversation.

But then, one morning, he’s rushing around the kitchen, hair still damp and smelling like his shampoo, as he grabs his coffee and briefcase from the counter, kissing Ren’s forehead first…and then yours.

You’re half convinced that you imagined it—that his lips hadn’t stayed there for a second longer than necessary—until he straightens his tie and heads out for the day with a ‘be good’ tossed over his shoulder, and you’re left wondering if he meant to say that to you or Ren.

It sets off a chain reaction of thoughts whirling away in your head, leaves you wanting and wondering—only ever allowing yourself to fantasize a little when the house is quiet and dark, the baby monitor humming on your nightstand, and images of your boss flit behind closed eyelids as you fit your hand underneath your soft sleep shorts.

In the morning, you worry he can tell what you did, his smile almost too sharp, too something—more teasing than what you’re used to—his hand resting on your lower back as he leans down to kiss Ren’s chubby cheek while you make breakfast.

“I have a meeting this afternoon, so I’ll be late. Want me to pick up some food on the way home?”

No, you think, there’s no way he knows.

You spend most of the morning cleaning and folding the array of graphic onesies Satoru has a penchant for dressing Ren in, and the later half walking around the pool because it’s warm and Ren enjoys splashing around in the water. It’s enough to tucker him out for bed early, unable to keep his eyes open while eating a plate of mashed potatoes.

It’s also the first time in weeks that you have the night to yourself, no baby keeping you busy, no Satoru to—well.

After a long shower, you step out of the bathroom, moving into the hallway. And there are many reasons why you felt confident walking the few steps it took to reach your bedroom. Most revolve around what Satoru told you that morning, so you don’t expect him to be standing there, shirtsleeves rolled up, piercing gaze sliding down the length of you wrapped in a towel and little else.

“I brought home those drunken noodles you like,” he says when his eyes focus back on your face, his whole expression softening into a smile.

A beat. “Thank you,” you whisper, unable to look away.

He tucks the wet strands of hair clinging to your cheek behind your ear. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll join you downstairs?”

The noise in your brain goes static.

You’re unsure what causes it, but everything changes when he comes home early one afternoon and finds you and the baby napping in the nursery. He has this soft look on his face and something else you can’t decipher with his piercing blue eyes settled firmly on you.

Ren coos softly into your shoulder. 

When Satoru picks him up and settles him in the crib, then walks you to your room—here, let me help you—and when he hovers in your doorway, you let him in without question.

He doesn’t waste any time peeling off your clothes, eager to have you naked and splayed out underneath him. You cum on his tongue more times than you can count until you’re silently begging him to fuck you.

He laughs, large hands spread over your tummy. 

“Use your words, baby. I’m not a mind reader.”

You feel like you’re someone else watching you from somewhere else, another body rocking against the length of your boss’s cock, back arching every time you manage to find the friction you need. He’s hard against your back, thick in a way that makes you wonder if he did enough to stretch you out. 

“I-I want—”

All other thoughts are obliterated by the stretch and press of him against your cunt. 

“Think I’m going to keep you,” he rasps, lips dragging over your throat. “Keep this drippy little cunt spread open on my desk whenever I want while the baby naps. Would you like that? For me to fuck you full until you give me a baby.”

You clench, nerves shot.

“Gonna get all round with my baby, stay here forever,” he mumbles when he draws away, and you can’t tell if the words are meant for you to hear or slip out without him realizing. “Fuck—breed my little wife until it takes—”

Your eyes roll up, lost in the little promises he paints across your skin, body shivering over and over until you’re sobbing from it until he has to clamp a hand down over your mouth—shh, you’re going to wake the baby—going limp when he finally cums, pressing as deep as your body will allow, as if he can somehow imprint himself there. 

Wonders if maybe he’s been building up to this moment all along. 

It’s so easy to lay there after, blissed out while he litters kisses across your face and collarbones, letting him lift your hips up to slide a pillow underneath, even though the position is awkward when he tries to cuddle you afterward.

His fingers draw shapes on your stomach, giving you a wistful look, like he can’t believe he’s laying here with his cum still dripping between your thighs—no matter how many times he scoops it up and pushes it back inside you. “Do you think it’ll take?”

And you don’t have the heart to tell him about the little foil packet of pills tucked away in your nightstand.

[zipper-neck]

Excellent painting tutorial. In case you don't know the terms in the last description, "edge variation" means having "hard" or "soft" edges, where hard edges are crisp and good for high-detail, and soft edges are more blurry/smudged and are good for giving objects the appearance of receding in distance. In the painting above, the snake's eye uses hard edges, and its teeth and underside of the jaw use softer edges. "Occlusion shadows" are the absolute darkest parts because they are the areas where no light reaches, not even reflected or ambient light. They tend to be small and are used sparingly. Above, there's an occlusion shadow around the snake's eye. However, the shading of the eye was probably exaggerated to make it stand out more, since it's the focal point.

[littlelamy]

family thanksgiving with rafe

The house was alive with the warm chaos of Thanksgiving. The smell of roasting turkey wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. Your family filled the rooms with lively conversations, stories, and the occasional outburst of sibling bickering.

Rafe stood at your side, looking every bit the charming Southern gentleman as he greeted your family. His crisp button-up was neatly tucked into dark jeans, and his hair was combed just enough to look presentable but still had that boyish disarray you loved.

For a guy who claimed to be nervous about meeting your family, he was doing an excellent job of keeping his cool.

“You didn’t tell me your mom could cook like this,” Rafe murmured into your ear as you both carried dishes to the dining room. His voice was low, teasing, but the way his hand brushed your lower back as you walked sent a thrill down your spine.

“Behave,” you warned, shooting him a playful glare.

He smirked, but his eyes held a mischievous gleam. “I’m always on my best behavior, sweetheart.”

That was a lie, and you both knew it.

The first time he pulled you aside was when you were refilling your aunt’s wine glass in the kitchen. The others were still in the living room, chatting over appetizers.

“Rafe,” you hissed as his hand closed around your wrist, tugging you into the small pantry just off the kitchen.

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips already brushing yours.

The kiss was quick, soft, and utterly intoxicating. His hands rested on your hips, his thumbs rubbing slow circles that made your knees weak.

“Your mom’s a great cook, but you’re the only snack I care about tonight,” he murmured against your lips, his tone low and suggestive.

You shoved him lightly, a mix of exasperation and giddy laughter bubbling in your chest. “If someone catches us—”

“They won’t.” He kissed you again, longer this time, his lips moving with a confidence that made you forget the world outside the pantry.

The second time was when you were setting the table. He waited until everyone’s backs were turned, then leaned in to whisper something very inappropriate in your ear, making you nearly drop the fork you were holding.

“Rafe!” you scolded, trying to stifle your laughter.

He just grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “What? I’m just thankful for you, babe.”

By the time everyone gathered around the dining table, you were already on edge—not from the family chaos but from the man sitting beside you. Rafe looked innocent enough, nodding politely as your dad asked him about his job and laughing at your cousin’s awkward jokes. But under the table, his hand had found your thigh.

At first, it was a simple, comforting touch. His palm rested there casually, his thumb rubbing soft, lazy circles just above your knee. You shot him a warning glance, but he didn’t move his hand. If anything, his grip tightened slightly, a silent challenge in the way his lips quirked into a smirk.

The conversation at the table flowed, but your focus was entirely on him. Every time he squeezed your thigh or shifted his fingers, your pulse quickened.

When his hand slid higher, you nearly knocked over your water glass.

“You okay, sweetie?” your mom asked, looking at you with concern.

You forced a smile, your face burning. “Yep! Just clumsy.”

Rafe’s fingers stilled, but you knew it was only temporary.

As the meal continued, his touch became bolder. His fingers ghosted over the hem of your skirt, then dipped just beneath it. The light pressure against your skin sent a shiver up your spine, and you clenched your fists on your lap to keep from reacting.

“Pass the rolls, Rafe,” your uncle said, breaking the tension.

Rafe’s hand disappeared as he leaned forward, grabbing the basket and handing it over with a polite smile. He was the picture of innocence, completely unbothered by the storm he was stirring inside you.

The final straw came when Rafe dropped his fork.

“Shit,” he muttered, letting the utensil clatter to the floor. “I got it.”

You froze, your pulse skyrocketing as he ducked under the table. His movements were casual enough to keep suspicion at bay, but the moment his hand wrapped around your ankle, you knew you were in trouble.

“Rafe,” you hissed through clenched teeth, trying to sound firm, but it came out more like a plea.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice muffled under the table. “Just getting closer.”

The answer came when his lips pressed softly against the inside of your ankle. A rush of heat shot through you as he trailed kisses up your calf, his hands gently parting your knees.

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table as he moved higher, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just above your knee. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but the warmth of his mouth paired with the occasional graze of his fingers was driving you insane.

“Rafe,” you whispered again, more desperate this time.

“Shh,” he murmured, the vibration of his voice against your skin making you bite your lip to keep from reacting. “Mhm… just let me.”

His lips hovered just beneath the hem of your skirt, teasing in a way that made you squirm. His fingers slid further up, ghosting over your panties, and your stomach tightened as he paused, pressing his thumb against the damp fabric.

“So wet,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quietly for you to catch, but the deep tone sent a shiver down your spine.

You opened your mouth to scold him, but before you could, you felt it—a quick, deliberate kiss over the center of your panties.

Your entire body froze, a gasp threatening to escape as he lingered for a split second longer, his breath warm against the fabric.

“Got it!” Rafe’s voice rang out suddenly, cheerful and innocent as he reappeared with the fork in hand.

He slid back into his seat with a smug grin, completely unbothered by the chaos he’d caused.

You shot him a glare, your cheeks blazing with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You taste better than dessert, babe,” he whispered, his voice low and raspy, so only you could hear.

Your stomach flipped, and your thighs pressed together under the table. You refused to give him the satisfaction of a response, but judging by the satisfied look on his face, he already knew what kind of effect he had on you.

By the time dinner ended, you were ready to throttle him—and maybe fuck him senseless. As the family moved into the living room for coffee and dessert, Rafe caught your hand, pulling you into the hallway.

“You’re impossible,” you hissed, your voice low.

“And you love it,” he countered, backing you against the wall. His hands found your waist, and his lips were on yours before you could protest. The kiss was slow, deep, and absolutely intoxicating.

When he pulled back, his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Happy Thanksgiving, Rafe.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy y @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: so she tells him not to cry over the injustice of a life cut too short for at the end of all this, she’ll only be a dream.

pairing: ex-husband!toji fushiguro x terminally ill wife!reader | song inspo: soon you’ll get better, cancer

warnings: heavy angst, terminal illness (primary bone cancer, stroke and MS), mentions of divorce/past infidelity, allegories to cheating, major character death. please read at your own risk. | a/n: this was so heavy for me to write, i started writing at 2 in the morning, and it’s 6:34 now.

word count. 3k~

“Why can’t you do anything right?”

Toji should have noticed, he laments as he takes a sip of his cognac. He should have sensed that something was wrong sooner, maybe that way, he wouldn’t be begging to borrow some more time to make things right. Your fingers were trembling that day — the first time you ever ruined his morning coffee — your hands shaking uncontrollably as you washed the mug with a sorrowful look on your face, your eyes glossy with the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

He shouldn’t have been so harsh, he realizes that now. Breakfast had been burnt to a crisp and ruined, sure, but nothing could compare to how he constantly ruins the one beautiful thing that has ever happened to him, who haphazardly spilled her smoothie on him when they first bumped into each other in Shinjuku just after he finally cashed in enough money with Shiu to get his laundry done.

Toji, whose senses have now been honed to pick up on the slightest of your sluggish movements and your pained and suppressed hisses, hears the bedsheets rustling and he instantly gets up before you could even force yourself out of bed. “Hey, hey, easy now.” He catches you before you could fall backwards onto the mattress, your skin appears cold and clammy, your thinning muscles stiff as a board — you must be having one of your episodes again. “What do you need?” he asks, his voice heartbreakingly gentle for the first time in months.

“Water.”

Your husband nods, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, hurriedly making his way to the dining table which was now kept in your bedroom so you aren’t forced to move around too much. The sound of water splashing into the glass fills the air and you feel another stabbing pain coarse through your joints.

Toji gingerly brings the glass of water to your lips and you sighed, an exasperated yet amused smile on your face. “I can do it, babe. Don’t worry.” Why did that sound like you were trying to convince not just Toji but yourself? You bring your bony hands to grip the glass and it takes everything out of your husband not to break into a fit of sobs when he sees your hand violently shaking with effort just to keep the glass steady.

His larger hands close around your defeated one. “I-I…I can do it, I did it yesterday. Y-you saw me.”

“Shhh, I know, it’s okay.”

You bite your lip to distract yourself from the anguish of realizing the truth behind the doctor’s words. Everything you feared was finally becoming your and Toji’s bleak reality.

“It’ll be a painful decline.”

Funny how you’re the one fighting to extend your life but Toji feels like he’s already gone ahead and passed on. Just a few minutes earlier, you were overjoyed to see him again. You didn’t think he’d see your text thinking that his new girlfriend must have asked him to block your number, and you most certainly didn’t expect him to arrive when you asked for him via a brief phone call to drive you to the hospital for your monthly checkup since he took the car with him when you separated. He made up a bullshit excuse when Yuko asked where he was going in such a hurry and he makes it to your old shared apartment to see you sitting on the driveway looking thinner and sicklier than ever — your eyes were sunken, and your cheeks were hollow.

Yet in spite of that, you gave him the brightest of smiles, waving shyly to him as he steps out of the driver’s seat. “Happy morning!” you smiled, greeting him with your signature good morning tagline which he used to happily wake up to everyday. There wasn’t a scintilla of resentfulness in your demeanor, and you genuinely looked so happy to see him for the first time since he moved out.

“How long?” Toji asked the doctor, his heart twisted into knots when he hears you happily humming in the MRI room as you put your clothes back on, oblivious to the solemn mood in the other room. You already knew what was going on, but you’ll just continue pretending that everything’s alright and that this is nothing more but a case of fatigue so as not to inconvenience Toji.

“A year, maybe even less.”

“And…you’re saying it’s best if she simply…doesn’t get the treatment?”

The doctor sighs heavily. She’s seen many cases like this before, but none as utterly hopeless as yours. Even if you did start the treatment, the lesions in your spinal cord have already entered the most severe stage, you were already exhibiting signs of autonomic nervous system distress — the tremors, the uncontrollable stuttering of your words, the growing loss of balance — and as if that wasn’t enough, the doctor also discovers that you were suffering from primary osteosarcoma.

There was no way to cure you now that it’s too late.

“I suggest we just focus on keeping her comfortable. The only thing left for us to do now is to bring her home. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing. I can’t bring you anywhere.”

By some miracle, you and Toji went out one night around four months before the divorce proceedings. He went home that day, exhausted beyond all belief from another mission, but he was in a good mood. Yuko was out working late tonight, so, he decides to take you out to your and his favorite izakaya for some yakitori.

Some time during the night, after downing three full bottles of sake together, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back,” you told Toji, tipsily kissing him on the cheek as you hop off the bar stool in the direction of the women’s room.

You couldn’t tell if you were staggering from the copious amounts of alcohol you ingested, but your legs were beginning to feel heavy, and for some ominous reason, you were slowly losing all sensation in your left leg. You try to hold onto one of the izakaya’s shōji panel decor pieces to regain your balance, but it was a futile effort in the end. Your knees suddenly buckle, and a sickening crack tears through your tibia as you fall to the ground.

“Are you alright?!”

Toji picks up on the commotion instantly and he sees the izakaya patrons crowding around the hallway leading to the restroom. He quickly makes his way over and a look of disgust appears on his features when he sees you crumpled on the ground and the mortifying sight of you having relieved yourself on the floor, tears of embarrassment staining your cheeks at the thought of your body suddenly malfunctioning like this.

Muttering out an ignorant apology for his seemingly drunk wife, he roughly picks you up, growing increasingly infuriated with you when one izakaya employee offers him a damp cloth to dry out your urine with. It was funny how quickly other people came to your aid — people whose names you don’t even know — while your own husband seems very reluctant to even touch you right now. He doesn’t speak to you on the way home even as you apologize while he’s loading you into the car, grimacing when the leather seat gets wet. “Toji, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened—“

“—Save it.”

What he should have said was: “Are you okay?”, “It’s alright.” or better yet, “I still love you.”.

At present, Toji decides on a whim to take you to Yokohama’s famed bayside today. It’s only a two hour drive from your place in Tokyo and Toji figures you must miss going on road trips by now with you cooped up at home all the time. “Toji, are you sure this is a good idea?” you murmured nervously as the car pulls to a stop by the bayside promenade. What happens if you can’t control yourself again? There doesn’t look to be a lot of public restrooms nearby.

Toji plants a reassuring kiss to your nose. “Babe, you remember what the doctor said, spending some time outdoors can do wonders for your health. Besides, didn’t you always love the coast?” He brings your hand to his scarred lips, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin before stepping out of the car to retrieve your wheelchair from the trunk.

“I know but what if I have another accident?” you said worriedly, rolling down the car windows so he could hear you. “What if I embarrass you again?”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about you.”

You’ve lost all control of your lower extremities three months ago, rendering you unable to walk and feel when you need to relieve yourself. Toji struggles with the wheelchair for a bit and a flash of sadness fills your heart when you see him take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He wasn’t angry, he was devastated. He looks wistfully at the boardwalk, a distant gaze trained on the sea. He remembers when you used to walk down this very lane, his hand protectively around your waist as you happily take selfies. He could still hear your fond giggles the last time the two of you went here.

“Why don’t you ever smile when I take pictures of you?”

Toji shoos away a pigeon from stealing a bite of his ice cream sandwich. He feigns an unamused look when you try to take another picture of him on your phone.

“Come on, I’ve been trying to get a shot of you all day! You still have to take pictures of me so I can post it on my Instagram feed!”

Your ever moody husband pinches off a small piece of bread and feeds it to the nosy pigeon. “You and your precious feed,” he bemoans jokingly.

“Please? Just one picture!“ you playfully nudged him. Truthfully, you just wanted to see him smile for once, a genuine one and not one of those lopsided smirks he usually gives you when he’s teasing you. “Please?” you pout knowing he can never say no to that adorable face you make when you really want him to do something or worse, buy something for you.

Sighing, he turns to look at your phone’s camera lens and you blush when a smile slowly illuminates his usually stoic face. Your thumb hovers over the stop recording function, not realizing you’re taking a video, but you can’t seem to press it. “What’s taking so long?” he holds the smile like he’s some cartoon character and you snap out of it.

“Oh shoot, it’s a video!” you laughed, and you begin to run down the boardwalk, eagerly getting away from Toji who demands that you delete it immediately. Of course, you’re no match for his borderline inhuman speed attributed to his athletic physique and he catches you by the waist, playfully swinging you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes.

Now, your giggles have gone silent.

Toji realizes now he should have indulged you more over the course of your relationship and subsequent marriage. Had he known that you won’t even make it to your third wedding anniversary, he would have allowed you to take as many pictures and videos of him as you’d like, he’d swallow his pride and he’d give you the brightest of smiles so you could happily post him on your social media accounts with a heartwarming caption about him being your “smiley hubby”.

More than that though, he should have taken more photos of you, mostly stolen candid shots, of course. You can’t catch him being all soft on you now. He still has a reputation to live up to after all. But more than that, had he known that your illness was intent on stealing every scrap of you from him, he should have made more effort in preserving all these memories. He should have kept everything from those toll tickets on your late night drives together when the two of you just needed a quick escape from the world, to receipts from your trip to Tokyo Disney Sea on your first wedding anniversary, and even simple convenience store receipts.

Toji should have kept everything down to the smallest of memories knowing one day, that’s all he’ll have to remember you by.

He opens the passenger seat’s door and he effortlessly gathers you into his arms, being extra careful with your fragile form as he sits you down on the wheelchair. He opens the backseat and he pulls out two different colored blankets, one sea-foam green and the other, rose pink. “Take your pick,” he smiles at you and you chuckled softly, pointing to the rose pink one. He happily covers your legs with it to keep you warm, stroking your cheek when you whisper a bashful ‘thank you’.

Suddenly, the wind picks up and your hair-clip that’s holding your locks in a low bun comes loose, and your head turns in the direction of where it flew off to. Toji is quick to take out his phone and he snaps a quick burst shot of you, your hair blowing in the wind, under the coastal spring weather. You turn to look at him and your face falls when you see him burying his phone in his pocket. Since you fell ill, you’ve become insecure of your appearance, banning your husband from taking pictures and videos of you altogether. “Toji, I thought I said no pictures.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The next day, you serendipitously find your photo on your Instagram handle with the caption: “Y/N — Yokohama, Spring, 2024” and when you swipe left, another picture, well to be more accurate, a screenshot of the video clip you accidentally took of him captioned: “Toji — Yokohama, Summer, 2022”.

“You don’t have to stick around for me. Please just go, I’m sure Yuko must be looking for you right now.”

Yuko, his new fiancé, had been blowing up his phone the entire day with texts demanding to know where he is and if he’s going to make it to their date that night. It’s 7 PM now, and Toji still hasn’t shown up to confirm their restaurant reservations. The damn witch will surely cuss him out when they see each other again, but for some reason, even if he tries, he simply cannot bring himself to give a flying fuck. Your immunologist and oncologist stepped out for a bit to allow you two a brief moment of privacy which had now stretched to an expanse of five hours since your results came in.

The air in the room is thick and heavy, not a single sound can be heard. Inside however, underneath this tough exterior he was projecting, Toji is throwing a fit, screaming at the sky like those broken men in those shitty Netflix romance tragedies he used to callously make fun of.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? You knew, didn’t you?”

Toji’s bites his cheek trying to keep a lid on his emotions. He knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it out loud. You hated him. You wanted nothing to do with him after he cheated on you with some girl he met at a bar in uptown Shibuya. That’s why you didn’t tell him, he didn’t deserve to know. “Shit,” he whispers harshly, crumpling the medical abstract in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Was it because you hated me? Is that it? You didn’t think I’d worry about you?”

You screwed your eyes shut, shaking your head. You didn’t hate him, not even when you have every reason to. He abandoned you, left you to waste away and to die and yet, even now, you can’t bring yourself to resent him for the simple reason that he is the literal love of your life, the reason behind your smiles, your happy mornings and passionate midnight hours. “At first, I thought I was fine, maybe just fatigued or something.”

“Don’t lie. You knew something was going on and that something in your body was seriously fucked up.”

“And we weren’t married anymore so, I didn’t think it was right to tell you…I wanted to though, but I didn’t want to intrude on you and Yuko,” you said meekly. Even in your greatest hour of need, you were still thinking of him, putting him first even when he doesn’t deserve it. “I-I…I don’t hate you enough to worry you, to make you feel that you could have done something to prevent this. Because I’m telling you right now, regardless if you were faithful or not, I was bound to get sick anyway. You couldn’t have done anything to change that.”

“But I could have been there. I should have noticed. I shouldn’t have downplayed everything.” He says this as if he wants to shake this noble, self-sacrificing bullshit attitude out of your system. “I’m your husband. I should have been there.”

You flash him a heartbroken smile at his little slip-up, so, even now, he was still referring to himself as your husband, not your ex-husband. “To see me waste away? Babe, I don’t want you to see that.”

You begin to feel tears streaming down your face, the emotions you were experiencing now flowing like a free river after an entire dam is destroyed. Toji watches you unravel before his eyes and his bottom lip begins to tremble. What has he done? Dear god, what has he done to his poor, poor wife?

“I want you to remember me healthy, I want you to remember me as myself not this…sickly pitiful woman you’re unlucky to call your ex-wife…besides, after all this, I’ll only be a dream.” A mere passing second in his life. “And believe me, my life wasn’t so bad.”

He loses it at that.

“Just stop this, Y/N! Stop acting like you’re not scared shitless of dying, like you’re not gonna have regrets once all this is over! Stop pretending that things are gonna be alright one day because it won’t! Not when I’m now being forced to accept that you won’t get better, not when I’ve wasted so much time putting you through hell and back instead of taking care of you like a proper husband should, and certainly not when I’m suddenly supposed to learn to say goodbye and to live without you! Because fuck that, Y/N!”

You are left speechless at that.

Toji was never one to lose his cool, even during your worst arguments, he may slide a few snarky remarks here and there but Toji Fushiguro…never yells, and he doesn’t sob either.

You hesitantly stand up and walk over to him, crouching down in front of him as he covers his tear-stained eyes with his right hand while the other is crumpled around your medical abstract. Taking his left hand, you gently remove the medical abstract from his grip, and for the first time in so many months, you feel one another’s warm skin against each other. You press your forehead to his hand as you wept with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be a dream. I want you to be real.”

“Can’t you be bothered to clean up in here?!”

You wake up from your nap, you’ve been battling muscle and joint pain the entire day, the slightest of movement causing you to double over in agony and because of that, you weren’t able to clean the apartment today. You slowly get up from the couch, being extra cautious not to make any sudden movements. “Well?” Toji presses, his lips curled into a scowl.

“I’m sorry, I was feeling a little tired,” you sighed heavily, picking up a broom to sweep the living room floor despite the excruciating pain you were in. Toji rolls his eyes, handing you a Manila envelope. “What’s this?” you asked softly, peering inside.

“Divorce papers,” he shrugs nonchalantly. Everything stops, even the very rise and fall of your chest halts into an uneasy stasis. “I already signed them. I just need your signature then, I’ll move out by tomorrow.”

You must be dreaming. That’s the only logical explanation to all this. You’re asleep, in a deep REM sleep, utterly oblivious to the world. This wasn’t happening. But you could feel the rough surface of the brown envelope, and you could still feel the agonizing stabs of white hot pain throughout your body. Glancing at Toji, you see him texting someone with an eager look on his face that screams: “I’m free.”.

Instantly, it dawns on you.

“Will she make you happy?” you asked, putting down the broom to look around for a pen but Toji pulls one he stole from the law firm office out of his pocket.

“She will,” he answers simply.

And you are indeed grateful that he is completely upfront about finding another while the two of you are married. It would have hurt much more, you silently remind yourself, if he had just upped and left without another word leaving you to wonder what went wrong between the two of you. This was Toji’s final act of mercy in your marriage, and he’s not opposed to honesty and truthfulness either. Not once did he try to change his phone’s lock-screen passcode, nor did he try to conceal the identity of the woman who was texting him every night while you slept fitfully next to him. It was almost as if he wanted you to find out, like he wanted you to know so you could back off yourself.

But if there’s one thing Toji loves about you, it’s your unending faithfulness to your promises, to your marriage vows, and your willingness to endure anything he threw at you. You never checked his phone, you never brought up his affair, you never got angry with him. You just kept silent, simply content with giving and giving…and giving while he milked you dry by taking, and taking and taking, tearing you to pieces bit by bit without hearing a single complaint fall from your lips.

You were a devoted wife, through and through.

And it bored the hell out of him, on top of your recent mishaps, he was done. Done with everything, and done with you.

“Okay.”

Come morning, he takes everything he owns with him and promptly proposes to the girl he’s been seeing for the past year. Two weeks later, your divorce is received by the Tokyo Family Court and is summarily approved and finalized. From that moment on, you and Toji went on your separate ways never to look back, you were each other’s yesterdays, and the love that existed between the two of you was nullified in favor of acquaintanceship…or so you thought.

“Y/N, I’m home!” Toji calls into the house as he comes back from your neighborhood’s pharmacy. You look up from the book you were reading, smiling ever so slightly at your husband who seemed to have a wonderful sparkle in his eyes. “Hey, kid,” he kisses the top of your head when he reaches your wheelchair.

“You seem happy,” you remarked positively.

“Well, for one, they replenished their stocks today and I managed to get you your steroids and painkillers so you’ll be able to sleep easy tonight,” Toji smiles, taking out the items from the pharmacy’s paper bag. “And I got you this neat memory foam cushion for your wheelchair.” He fluffs it up as a form of demonstration before placing it behind your back.

When he sees you smile, a sense of relief washes over Toji. You reach towards him, and he pulls you into an embrace. “Thank you,” you said, pure sincerity dripping from your voice. “For everything you do.”

“Anything for you.” He suddenly moves back and reaches into the tote bag you lended him. “Oh, and wait, before I forget, I have another surprise.”

You laughed airily. “Another surprise? Now, you’re just spoiling me!”

He pulls out a piece of paper from the tote bag and he places it in your hands as your eyes quickly scan over the document. Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize what it is. Did Toji really—? You couldn’t believe it. “A marriage pre-registration,” you said in awe. You read it again just in case to make sure that this wasn’t a figment of your sick body’s imagination, that this was real, that Toji genuinely wants to make everything right again. Your fingers skim over your typewritten names. “It has our names…we’re really—“ You can’t even finish your sentence without bursting into happy tears. “Are we—?”

Toji nods, gazing into your eyes, and as emerald and (E/C) clash for what seems to be an eternity lost in one another, he plants a kiss to your temple, coming up to embrace you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We are. The Tokyo Family Court, as far as I know, will approve our remarriage once we file this. So, you have to get stronger, okay?” He’s begging you at this point, despite your rapidly deteriorating condition. “Strong enough to see me fix everything. Strong enough to be there on our second wedding, strong enough to say our vows again.”

Your hand comes up to stroke his cheek from behind, and he nuzzles into your neck at your tender touch.

“I will. I promise.”

But you never really get to say your vows. Not comprehensibly anyway.

“Babe, can you say that again?”

Toji crouches by your bedside as you look at him apologetically. You were causing him trouble and pain again which is the last thing that you want to give him especially when’s fought and worked so hard to care for you, to keep prolonging this borrowed time you’re on. “To-ji. Toji.” You gaze at him apprehensibly, not really believing you can do it without crumbling.

“Come on, babe, you can do it. Say my name, please…Toji. I’m Toji.”

“Toooji-“ you slurred sadly. At this point, your Multiple Sclerosis has reached its end stage and has taken…everything from you: your ability to walk, your ability to control your muscle spasms and other bodily functions…and now, coupled with an unexpected stroke, your ability to speak. And you and Toji know that time is almost up, with you having come to accept it, while your husband still held onto hope. Your fingers gently graze over his face as best as your spasms and tremors allow you, starting from his forehead to his eyes, his nose, his cheek and finally, his lips, as if you’re memorizing it one last time. “Lo-ove you-“

Toji sniffles, and your fingers instinctively catch his warm tears. “I love you,” he whispers brokenly. “I do. I love you.”

You feel yourself tearing up as you’re forced to watch your beloved cry. And the worst part? You can’t do a thing about it. “D-oon’t c-cry—‘m okaay. Promi-miise…e’everyything ‘ill be okaaay.”

“Y-yeah,” he chuckles, trying to crack a joke even as hope dwindles. “You’ve been nothing but a fucking champ this entire time, you know? I’m so proud of you. So…so…proud that you’re still here.” He strokes your hair as you tread between the realms of the conscious and the unconscious. “Do you wanna go out today? The weather’s shit though. You’ll probably catch your death out there.” At the mention of the word ‘death’, Toji stops, falling into an uncomfortable silence.

You smile weakly at him. “Tiiredd—“

“You’re no fun,” Toji gently flicks your nose and you scrunch it up in displeasure. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding back an entire waterfall of tears. He knows it’s today. It has to be. You woke up today without your usual ‘happy morning’ greeting, and you refused to drink anything, much less eat anything. “You tired? Any pain?”

You shake your head. You’re as comfortable as you can be for the first time in months. Hospice nurses say humans are built to live the same way they are built to die, no person in this world has ever had the uncanny privilege of being able to look up ‘How to die?’ on a quick Google search and actually find a Wikihow on the morbid subject matter, nor is there anyone else who can teach another how it’s done. It’s just something humans know how to do without a manual, deeply ingrained in the very fabric of human existence is the fear of death, the fear of what comes after, the fear of a nothingness that could follow after living such a vibrant life. Your life was short, barely spanning thirty years, but you lived well: you fell in love, you got hurt, but you fell together again. Now it all has to come to an end, Toji will just have to take care of the rest.

And you weren’t scared.

Or at least you can’t look scared, if you were to be more accurate, you have to look strong and ready to accept the cards you’ve been dealt with for Toji’s sake. When he feels your hand start to slacken, Toji intakes a sharp, shaky breath of sheer panic. “Not yet, Y/N. Please. Not yet.”

He climbs into bed with you, bringing you closer to this desperate man you call yours. There was no getting better anymore, there was no miracle he could hang onto, no deity he could beg for death to spare you, no pill bottle he could pray to. He knew that from the start. But what he witnessed these past months, you’ve been the braver one between the two of you, you knew how to make the most of the rhythm this cruel world gave you and you graciously took him along to dance to the last song of the evening with you.

“There’s still hope. Just keep your eyes open. Just keep them open.” He presses his lips to your forehead, his delusion getting the better of him. “We’ll just keep trying…you can’t leave. You have to stay. You have to.”

“Thaank yoou—“ you softly told your Toji, your voice shrinking in decibels as you become a little drowsy, sinking into the warmth of the requiem of a life well spent.

Toji listens to you, his lips pursed, intent on making this final act of love — a love that is strong enough to say goodbye — a memorable one. And should the afterlife exist, he wishes to send you off with a smile, with the reassurance that he’ll be alright even if that was far from happening.

“Toji.”

“I want you to be real. And I don’t care if we’ll live on borrowed time. Another extra second with you…is enough to last me my entire lifetime.”

[nouearth]

when the snow settles.

clark kent x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. clark’s busy spoiling his sick boyfriend with cookies and cuddles—until things heat up when someone decides a kiss (and more) is the real cure for a cold.

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 & 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 6.0k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 corenswet!clark 〳 established relationship 〳 sick!reader 〳 christmas!au 〳 sexual content: top!clark, bottom!reader, belly-bulging, breeding, rimming (r!receiving), praising, body worship, clark can alter the temp of his body (and dick).

Snow fell softly outside the apartment, blanketing Metropolis in a serene hush that contrasted sharply with the sound of sniffling from the couch. Clark’s living room was cozy, aglow with the golden twinkle of Christmas lights strung up around the windows. The faint scent of pine mingled with the sweet aroma of gingerbread baking in the oven, though the stuffy haze of your cold dulled the sharpness of both.

You sat bundled in a mountain of blankets, a tissue box on one side and a half-empty mug of tea on the other. Despite the misery of a congested head and the scratchy soreness in your throat, you couldn’t help but watch Clark with a mix of amusement and adoration.

In the kitchen, he moved with a carefree confidence, humming along to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas as it played softly on his phone. He had insisted on baking cookies for the evening, declaring it the perfect way to boost your holiday cheer. Not that you needed much help in that department—his reindeer antler headband, bouncing with every step he took, was doing most of the work.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms, and his glasses had fogged up slightly from the warmth of the oven. Even with the goofy apron he wore—a red and green monstrosity with “Santa’s Favorite Helper” embroidered across the front—he looked unfairly attractive.

Clark glanced over his shoulder at you, a soft smile spreading across his face as his gaze met yours. “You okay over there?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Need more tea? Another blanket? A better boyfriend?”

You groaned theatrically, flopping back into the throw pillows. “What I need is for my head to stop feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton.”

And stones—your flair for drama only worsened the throbbing ache from the sudden movement.

Setting down a tray of freshly baked cookies, Clark wiped his hands on a dishtowel and made his way over to you. He knelt beside the couch, one hand reaching up to take the temperature from your forehead while the other rested lightly on your knee through the blanket.

His touch was warm, steady, grounding.

“Still running hot. Sorry you’re feeling this way,” he said sincerely, his brow furrowing just a little. “If I could punch a cold in the face, you know I would.”

You laughed, but it quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. Clark was at your side in an instant, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back until the worst of it passed. “It’s so unfair that you never get sick,” you rasped, your voice rough and strained. “You’re just… immune to everything. Meanwhile, I’m over here melting into a Christmas puddle.”

“Wow. This is the thanks I get for baking you cookies? My boyfriend wishing ill on me?” He chuckled, resting his elbows on the edge of the couch to stay level with your gaze. "If it makes you feel better, Krypto would probably be thrilled to drink you up if you were a puddle! Likes his water from the spring... spoiled dog."

His grin was boyish and a little smug, and you rolled your eyes at him, though the corners of your lips twitched upward.

“What I’m saying is… we could’ve been sick together,” you muttered, “But I can’t even enjoy them. Look here.” You picked up one of the gingerbread cookies Clark had carefully decorated earlier, the icing swirls and tiny candy buttons a testament to his painstaking attention to detail.

The cookie felt firm yet inviting in your hand, its edges slightly crisp and still warm from the oven. Breaking off a piece, you popped it into your mouth, hopeful that even through the fog of your cold, some of the sweetness might break through.

Instead, all you got was the texture—a faint crunch that dissolved into a soft crumble on your tongue. The spice you knew should be there, the warm bite of ginger and cinnamon that normally screamed Christmas, was muted to the point of nonexistence.

You frowned, swallowing the flavorless bite with effort. A sharp, scratchy sting flared in your throat, the dry irritation making each swallow feel more uncomfortable than the last. The lack of taste was almost offensive, a cruel reminder of how thoroughly your cold had robbed you of simple joys.

Clark’s eyes flicked over to you, catching your expression as you set the rest of the cookie down with a defeated sigh. “Nothing?” he asked, his voice tinged with sympathy.

“Absolutely nothing,” you muttered, your voice still scratchy. “I might as well be eating cardboard.”

Clark chuckled softly, getting up on his feet to sit beside you. “Guess that means more for me, huh?” He reached for a cookie, his teasing grin faltering when he saw your pout, but his craving persisted nonetheless. “Hey, don’t worry,” he added, nudging your shoulder gently. “Once you’re better, I’ll bake you a whole new batch. Extra ginger, just the way you like it.”

“Yeah…”

Clark bit into a gingerbread cookie with gusto, clearly enjoying his own handiwork as he snuggled beside you on the couch.

“Mmm,” he hummed dramatically, his eyes widening as he made a show of savoring the bite. “Oh, wow. These might be my best yet. Sweet, spicy, perfectly baked—chef’s kiss.” He gestured extravagantly, grinning like he’d just won a baking competition.

“Not saying these aren’t good, but I’m pretty sure the last time you made cookies, Krypto got more excited than I did."

You were about to roll your eyes at his antics when you noticed a speck of icing clinging to the corner of his mouth and a small crumb nestled in the dimple of his cheek. It was such a ridiculously human detail—charming in its imperfection—that you felt a sudden pang of affection bloom in your chest.

“Here,” you said, laughing softly as you reached up and brushed the crumb away with your thumb, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. His skin was warm, and the bashful smile that tugged at his lips made your stomach flip.

“Didn't stop you from cleaning out the cookie tray...” he murmured, his cheeks pinking slightly as he quickly licked the icing from the corner of his mouth, completely oblivious to how endearing he looked. "Thanks."

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “You’re a mess,” you teased, but your voice was far softer than usual, betraying just how much the sight of him—unpolished, sweet, and so effortlessly Clark—had utterly disarmed you.

Clark’s smile softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. His lips lingered for a moment, warm and impossibly tender against your fevered skin. When he pulled back, he looked at you with that impossibly earnest expression that always made your heart twist.

“It’s nice, though, isn’t it?” Clark murmured, his voice soft and warm, like the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off his glasses. “The cookies, the Christmas specials, the decorations… being snowed in together. Like a Hallmark movie, but… not terrible?”

You could see the flicker of nostalgia in his eyes as he spoke, his tone carrying a quiet sincerity that made your heart ache in the best way. The soft crackle of the digital fireplace playing on the TV and the distant hum of holiday music only made the moment feel more intimate, as if the world outside had disappeared entirely.

A warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with fever. Clark had this infuriating knack for making everything—even being sick—feel like a kind of blessing, as long as he was beside you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice rough but laced with affection. “Talking like I’ve got only two months left to live…” You tried for sarcasm, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Clark’s grin softened into something more tender, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. “Yeah,” you admitted quietly, letting out a small sigh. “It’s nice. Really nice.”

The weight of your words hung between you for a moment, and the corners of Clark’s mouth twitched upward again, this time into a bashful little smile. He didn’t say anything more—he didn’t need to.

Instead, his hand found yours beneath the blanket, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles, as if to say everything he didn’t put into words.

You knew he was the strongest man in the world, but it was these quiet moments—his sincerity, his kindness—that made you feel like you were the one holding something unbreakable.

Clark squeezed your hand gently, his expression melting into something tender and a little uncertain. He studied you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked softly. “I mean, really okay? I know I’m supposed to cheer you up, but I don’t want to push too much—especially if you’re not feeling great.”

You leaned your head back against the cushions, exhaling a soft sigh. “Clark, I’m fine,” you said, your voice still raspy but carrying enough exasperation to make your point. “I mean, yeah, I feel like I’ve been hit by a snowplow, but it’s not like I’m about to collapse.” Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile as you tilted your head toward him.

“Besides, you’ve already gone above and beyond. The cookies, the mistletoe, the cozy speeches… you’re basically an elf on the shelf who magically transformed into the perfect boyfriend overnight.” You reached over, your other hand settling on Clark's broad shoulders as you gently rubbed them, a silent gesture of appreciation.

Clark chuckled at that, but the faint blush on his cheeks deepened. “Well, I don’t know about perfect…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in that adorably bashful way that made your chest tighten.

“Perfect,” you repeated, a little firmer this time, giving his hand a squeeze. “Even in that ridiculous apron.”

He let out a breathy laugh, and the sound sent a flutter through you. The way his smile lingered—soft and boyish, but edged with a quiet intensity—made your stomach flip. His thumb absentmindedly traced circles on the back of your hand, and though the gesture was small, it felt impossibly intimate.

“Clark,” you mumbled, leaning in slightly, the hoarseness of your voice making his name sound heavier, more charged. “Stop worrying so much.”

“I can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low murmur. His eyes flicked to your lips before darting away, a faint flicker of hesitation passing over his features. “You’re sick. I don’t want to… you know… make it worse.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, though it quickly turned into a cough. Clark’s expression immediately shifted to concern, but you waved him off, catching your breath as you gave him a lopsided grin.

“Clark, I’m not made of glass. And for the record,” you added, your voice softening as you leaned in just a little closer with the support of your elbows, “I think kissing you would make me feel a whole lot better. Best medicine and all that.”

His ears turned an impressive shade of red, and he ducked his head slightly, his grin both shy and disbelieving. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

You shrugged, your grin turning sly. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“I’m still here,” he echoed softly, his voice carrying a weight of affection that made your heart ache in the best way. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink, the soft glow of the Christmas lights casting him in a golden halo.

Slowly, tentatively, Clark leaned in, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw. “If you wake up tomorrow feeling worse,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in the barest of touches, “I’m blaming you.”

“Noted,” you whispered back, your breath mingling with his as you tilted your head to close the distance between you.

Strange. You hadn’t noticed the scent of cinnamon when he first brought out the cookies, but now, with your lips inching closer to his—like two cookies spreading and melding into one—you could almost convince yourself you were cured. Almost, if not for the stubborn stuffiness in your nose.

The kiss was gentle at first, as if Clark was afraid you might shatter beneath him. But when you let out a soft, contented sigh and threaded your fingers through his hair, his restraint wavered.

He deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a warmth and intensity that made you forget all about the congestion and sore throat. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his other hand pressed lightly against your waist beneath the blanket.

You tugged him closer still, your lips parting to let him in as the heat between you began to build. Clark’s kisses were like him—steady, powerful, and infused with an overwhelming tenderness that made your head spin. When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you were breathing harder, the warmth of the moment erasing the chill of the winter night.

“Feeling better yet?” he asked, his voice teasing, though the worry flickering in his eyes betrayed him. It wasn’t just concern over your condition—it was something deeper, a quiet struggle to hold himself back. Not when you looked so effortlessly beautiful, your disheveled state a product of his presence.

“Better,” your voice came out in a whisper, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm before traveling around his torso to untie his apron. “But I think I might need a few more rounds just to be sure.”

Clark let out a soft laugh as you tossed the fabric to the floor, his thumb grazing your cheek in a tender gesture. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, but this time the words were thick with affection. His teeth caught his lower lip as your hands lingered at the waistband of his pajama pants, your intentions unmistakable with the gentle tug at his drawstring.

“You sure?” he asked sincerely, large, calloused hands pressing all over your body, but mainly your bare stomach, where he began mapping out heat zones over the plane.You could feel the strength of his abdomen beneath the thickness of his sweater as your hand gently traced his body in admiration. Biting your lip, you reached up to remove his glasses and nodded.

"If you don’t mind taking care of me tonight.”

There was something about the way Clark watched you during moments like these. You couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of his touch or the intensity of his gaze that made you feel so small, so vulnerable. Either way, you savored it—the sensation of being his entire focus, the apple of his eye, and nothing else.

Your stomach sank when he slid his third finger inside of your tight hole, joining his twinned index and middle.

“I can never get tired of this…” you mumbled, unbuttoning the rest of your pajama top when the pressure below heightened your body temperature.

“I’ll say,” Clark hummed, a growing mass forming large in his pants as he was knelt on the bed, gently working you open. The sound of his lubed fingers twisting and curling deep inside of you made his cock jolt, your cheeks reddening as a result of his attraction.

Clark had always been patient, but when it came to having you submit under his touch, he seemed to relish every second. His hands moved slowly, pressing and kneading at just the right spots, his fingers curling deep and slow to the rhythm of your heart while his other hand rubbed small and smooth circles over your stomach.

It wasn’t just about easing your tension—it was about watching you. The way your breath hitched when he found a tender spot, the subtle flutter of your lashes, the way your lips parted with a moan when he spread his three digits—it all captivated him.

He couldn’t help but grin softly as his hands worked their magic, savoring the reactions that only he could coax from you. For Clark, the real reward wasn’t just in soothing your aches—it was in seeing your face completely melt under his touch, your body reacting wantonly because you craved for more.

And with that, Clark went on to give you more. Knowing how sensitive your body’s condition was in the moment, he carefully pushed your legs up, his large hands stabilizing you by the thighs, and replaced the fill of his fingers with his inquisitive tongue.

Like his fingers, he started out slow and deliberate, tracing the swollen ring of muscle to sample the fresh layer of artificially-flavored lube dripping out of your hole. He licked you with a casual ease, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

“Smells like coconut,” you sniffled softly as he lifted his head to press a few kisses to your inner thighs. The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin, but your attention caught on the sticky sheen smeared across his cheek, a glistening trace of slick that made your cock twitch.

“Close… coconut cream pie. More vanilla than I was expecting, if I had to be honest…”

A tender smile curved your lips as your fingers found their way into his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingertips. You began to pet his head gingerly, your touch slow and soothing, grounding both of you in the moment.

“Love you.”

Clark leaned into your hand instinctively, a low hum of contentment rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut briefly, the tension in his broad shoulders melting under your touch, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away entirely.

“I love you too, (M/N).”

His gaze flicked to yours, a sudden spark of mischief between the blinds of his eyelashes, before he paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build, and kept a watchful eye on you while he slowly pushed out his spit to drizzle it over your wet hole.

Then, with agonizing precision, he pushed the remainder of the saliva into the center of your opening, the wet, methodical slck of the motion sending a jolt of heat down your spine.

“Fuck…” Your fingers curled into his hair until they were grasping, pushing him and his tongue deeper into you while simultaneously rutting your hips against him.

Clark was a hungry man. He made sure to clean up any traces of his spit and lube with that thick tongue of his, slurping the remnants before adding onto it again with a generous amount of spit. Every time you thought the trail of saliva was dripping dangerously close to the bed sheets, Clark’s intuition was strong enough to blindly guide him to the leak, deftly licking it back up and kissing your flesh in passing.

He would never waste a single drop.

A quiet, satisfied moan escaped him, low and drawn out, as if savoring the sweetness of the lube and your flesh was a private indulgence. His eyes never left yours as his nose rubbed at your taint in midst of his devouring, The smile that curled at his lips—glazed and glistening—was a challenge, a silent dare that made the air between you feel heavy.

Heavier, when he found the right rhythm of flicking his tongue to make your body writhe under him.

“Clark, please…” you whined, one hand massaging your loose balls while the other toyed with your nipple, pleasuring yourself not only to the sight of Clark indulging in the warmth and taste of your flesh, but also his naked torso.

His chest rose and fell steadily, each inhale making his broad shoulders flex, the faint sheen of sweat catching the light. The planes of his abdomen looked carved, every ridge and dip inviting your eyes to linger, compelling your cock to leak out of sheer astonishment.

His arms were just as mesmerizing—thick and powerful, with veins running along his forearms that seemed to pulse with quiet authority, especially so when he’d alternative between working your hole open with his fingers and tongue again.

The strength they promised wasn’t just physical but protective. Those arms of his were built to shield and hold you.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze lingered, watching as you panted breathlessly, your chest rising and falling, desperate for him to finish what he had so teasingly begun. The tension hung there, thick and electric, like the moment itself had slowed just for the two of you.

He took off the remainder of his clothes before sprawling himself over you, his broad frame hovering just above yours while you seized the opportunity to thank him of his service. Between gentle kisses that Clark needed to get out of his system before he would lose himself in your body, you generously applied a glorious amount of lube on his large cock, though not letting Clark’s kisses answer to nobody.

His muscles pressed gently against you, the solid strength of his chest rising and falling with each breath when you took a couple of moments to thoroughly layer him in slick—to silently appreciate him for his efforts in lifting your spirits throughout the week with firm strokes.

The weight of his cock in your hands was satisfying, hefty enough to make you pause and marvel at the sheer size of it. You couldn’t get used to it, nor did you want to.

“You comfortable? Need more pillows? Tell me if your body starts hurting, okay?” Clark asked, suppressing his moans by showering your neck and face in small, lithe kisses.

His hands roamed your body at their own free-will before they began fixating on your arms, where your goosebumps were discernible. His brows furrowed in concern.

“Little cold…” One arm looped around to caress Clark by the nape, holding his forehead flushed to your own, while your other hand continued to stroke him between your collective hip grinds. You shivered again, despite being nestled so close to him, the draft still biting at your skin.

“Give me a moment,” he murmured softly, the heat of his breath brushing your ear.

You looked up at him, puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Clark pulled back just slightly, enough to give himself space to move. Without a word, he began to shift, his body warm and powerful as he adjusted his position. A flicker of surprise passed through you when you saw the subtle concentration on his face, but before you could ask again, you felt it when he pressed himself on top of you again, lowering his hips.

Clark’s body temperature seemed to rise—slowly, but steadily, until you could feel a gentle heat radiating off him. It was as if he was adjusting his own internal warmth, shifting it just for you. Your eyes widened in disbelief, but the shiver running through your body eased, the cold gradually melting away as his warmth enveloped you.

“You should be good now,” he said, his voice low and calm while he pulled you back into his arms, his skin now perfectly heated against yours.

You nestled against him again, finally able to relax as the cold left you entirely. “Not even going to ask,” you graced him with a kiss, reaching between your pelvis and his to adjust his cock against your hole and nodded. “I’m good to go.”

“Love you so much…” He took you by the jaw and slotted his lips into yours once more, grounding the wavering of your breath with his protection before he pushed his hips forth.

“It’s so… big, C-Clark—“ you groaned, clenching your eyes shut through the bittersweet tension of his large cock opening you up.

Clark whispered several I know’s over your lips, a strong effort in placating the pain surging beneath you, while taking a few pauses for you to catch your breath, for Clark to catch his because—you were so tight.

"You're so tight..." Clark seemed to have admitted in a whisper without realizing.

You felt yourself swell within seconds, the crown of your insides clenching him and pushing him out all at the same time, but Clark remained resilient, pushing, and pushing, allowing you to feel the slow, deliberate pressure inside of you, until he was finally deeply rooted inside of you to the hilt, earning himself a deep guttural groan from you as a reward.

“You feel so good, baby. So, so good. Taking me so well…” He peppered your whimpers with soft kisses, his words soothing you as his boyish smile remained, warm and comforting, easing you with each gentle touch and praise.

“You’re so warm too…” you muttered into the palm of his hand, kissing him at the calloused skin before you returned back to his plush lips.

Your breath caught in your throat as you shifted, the feeling of being filled growing deeper, fuller with every inch of Clark’s large cock moving inside of you. Clark’s large palm rested on your stomach, caressing over the bulge that seemed to move in conjunction with his slow, methodical thrusts.

He had never mentioned it, but you knew it was a sight that he secretly loved. Clark's eyes softened with admiration as he watched, his gaze lingering on the subtle curve of your stomach. It was unmistakable, the way it had begun to gently bulge with every rut of his hips, becoming more prominent depending on the strength, the fullness a natural sign of the way your body had been affected by what you’d taken.

And what you had taken was Clark’s love and devotion to you—his thick cock making you gape and swell from beneath.

It wasn’t easy, not by any means, but there was an undeniable pull in watching your stomach swell from his cock—an almost desperate craving for the mixture of pain and pleasure, for the way it made your body react even though your mind wavered between wanting to resist and wanting to surrender completely.

He couldn’t help but marvel at it, his fingertips lightly grazing the curve, tracing its outline with a reverent touch. The way your body had responded to him, the way it molded to the shape of the intimate moment, filled him with a quiet awe. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against your skin, his voice low and hushed. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, a hint of wonder in his tone, as if he couldn’t quite believe the sight before him.

Clark was never one to boast, but in this moment, the glint in his eyes spoke volumes. He’d never been so proud of having someone like you—someone so determined—take all of his girth with such unwavering focus despite the tears in your eyes. Happy tears, to which he’d only create more of, when he gently pressed on the bulge in your stomach and sandwiched his cock within your insides, plunging himself deep inside of you until the only sounds that came out of your throat were guttural.

“C-Clark—oh, god…” your cock was dripping in pre-cum, throbbing to the weight of his cock hollowing you out as he sped up his hips and pushed you deeper into the bed on instinct. You held onto his muscular shoulders as he clutched onto your waist and rocked you back and forth along to his deep thrusts.

“God, I’m so deep inside of you. Is this okay, baby? Is it okay that I’m making love to you like this? I’m being selfish, aren’t I?”

“No-please! I l-love it so much, Clark. Fuck. Keep fucking me like that… wouldn’t want anything more—”

“Like this? You like how I’m so deep inside of you to the point where your tummy’s swelling? So… good. You look so good for me…”

His forehead connected to yours again, panting over your mouth and taking a moment to marvel over how he had rendered you speechless before he could muster up the energy to kiss you again, to draw out another sound from you with his tongue.

The warmth of his mouth was almost feverish, his breath mingling with yours in a tangled, wet dance. Each movement was smooth and sensual, your tongues exploring, tasting, tracing the contours of each other’s mouths with growing eagerness. The wetness of it—the gentle press of his lips, the slick glide of your tongues—made the kiss feel all the more intoxicating, as if every flick and sweep brought you deeper into him.

Clark’s body temperature only seemed to have gotten warmer, affecting you from the inside and out as his cock was synchronous.

You could feel Clark’s dick heat you up from the inside, seemingly softening your guts to make the ease of fully wrecking you all the more easier. With each kiss, praise, and thrust, your body melted further, feeling as soft and pliable as butter left out in the warmth. The tension in your muscles faded, replaced by a liquid sensation that spread through you, leaving you entirely at ease and whimpering in his hot embrace.

The faint sheen of sweat gave him an undeniable rawness, a physicality that made your heart race. You were mesmerized by the way it clung to him, the way the droplets caught the light before sliding slowly down his torso.

Each movement he made only seemed to draw you in more, the heat radiating from his body intensifying the pull you felt. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, infatuated not just by his strength, but by the way he looked so alive, so real—like the sweat was proof of his effort, his focus, and the raw intensity of how he was making love to you and that tantalizing hole of yours.

“You’re fucking me so good, Clark. I could come like this, baby—just like this…”

“And when you make a mess—not if, but when—I’ll treat you like the prince you are. I’ll clean you up with my mouth, let you watch me lick every drop away with my tongue, and then I’ll kiss you, giving you a taste of your love for me.”

His skin, damp with the effort of his keen need to wreck you, left a trail of warmth and moisture as he pounded you, a strong, animalistic friction that made every touch feel more intimate and passionate, that made the current position of him mounting you and bending your knees till they touched your chest despite your condition well worthwhile and all the more rewarding.

It was a sound that matched the intensity of the connection between you both—no words needed, just the symphony of his sweaty skin meeting yours, and his cock hollowing you out until you two had made a permanent imprint on the mattress.

Clark’s breath hitched as he watched you, his eyes soft and filled with admiration contrasting with his hardened thrusts. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “Just… so perfect.”

His hand moved to your stomach again, evidently in love with the way you swelled from his cock, the weight of the moment sinking in with the aid of the bed creaking, and Clark’s sweaty skin slapping against you.

Every word he spoke, every gentle press of his lips, seemed to soften you, coaxing out of the cold that had been restricting you. It was as though you were being molded by his touch, the heat of his affection spreading through your veins, leaving you pliant, relaxed, and willing to give yourself entirely to him.

All sensation coursing through you was a tangled mess of pleasure and overwhelming intensity. Your body was on the verge of unraveling with every deep thrust of Clark’s. You could feel him swell, veins throbbing inside of you, his balls twitching as he was nearing his high just as you were.

Your eyes fluttered closed, the edges of your vision blurring the harder he pounded into you like an animal, like he was beating away at your cold, and you could feel yourself slipping into a blissful madness.

It was almost too much, yet it felt like the most real thing you’d ever known. Your body trembled from the weight of his body on you, from the girth that Clark was destroying you open with. Every muscle was tight with anticipation, yet you managed to hold onto a smile, the corners of your lips twitching despite the storm raging inside you, your cock throbbing and leaking in overdrive in warning.

“C-Clark..!“

Your hands instinctively found their way around Clark's neck, pulling him closer as if to anchor yourself in the moment. The kiss you pressed against his lips was desperate, full of need and grounding, a silent plea for him to steady you in the chaos as your balls tightened up into your core.

With each breathless press of your mouth to his, you found a sliver of control, a tether to the reality of his presence, even as the pleasure threatened to send you into pure blissful madness.

“I know—me too—“

Your smile lingered, your mind teetered on the edge, savoring every second, every touch, every thrust, and every heartbeat that connected you both, until the very moment where Clark’s name slipped from your lips in a breathless gasp.

“Clark—“

The tension had reached its peak, and when it finally broke, it was like a wave crashing over you, overwhelming and all-consuming. You came in a shared, fervent release. All muscles in your body was taut with desire, the culmination of your love for him unraveling in the form of thick white ropes shooting out of your cock, decorating your bulging stomach with layers upon layers, some splattering onto Clark’s body from the sheer amount of power and arousal.

Clark’s grip on you tightened, his body shuddering against yours as he gave into the same release, his breath ragged in the wake of it. His name left your lips in a soft, trembling sigh as he spilled his warm, thick seed deep inside of your raw hole. He left you breathless, thick, and steady, flooding you in ropes that seemed to never end. It was a powerful, consuming feeling, filling you completely, each pulse of his cock deep and unwavering, decorating your insides with a thickness that left you in awe of how much he had to give, like his body had held nothing back.

Your bodies moved together in those final moments, each thrust and touch sending shock waves through your system as Clark rode out his orgasm. You could feel every inch of him, raw and exposed. The warmth spread through you with each movement, the thick fluid of his cum filling you to the brim, a steady stream that didn’t seem to have an end leaking out of you that would surely have your flesh glued together with his.

Nothing else listed but the two of you—completely undone, unraveling together and leaving behind nothing but the sweet, tender echo of your love for each other.

The room was still, save for your breathing, as Clark’s forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath, tangled together in the beautiful, but sweaty aftermath.

“Are you… feeling better?”

His fingers traced along your skin, over the mess that you made of your stomach to let the sticky substance seep into his own palm, while he caught the remainder of his breath in the crook of your neck, fully collapsing on top of you.

“I…” You groaned, the lingering sensation of pleasure making it hard to find words. But despite the exhaustion, a sly smile tugged at your lips.

You rubbed his broad back in soothing circles, whispering in his ear, “I think I might need another prescription, Doctor.” Your voice was breathless, a mischievous glint in your eyes as the desire still simmered beneath the surface.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[pseudowho]

"Fushiguro, be honest--"

Yuuji stood in a freshly pressed suit, crisp and ironed and combed, and held his arms out for Megumi's appraisal.

"--would I make a good first impression in this?"

"No," Megumi intoned, without even looking up from his manga. Yuuji groaned, turning on the spot, his fingers tangling in his peachy hair as he whined, beseeching Megumi.

"Awww, c'mon Fushiguro...Nanami called me. Today's the day."

Megumi stopped reading, looking up with his eyebrows raised. A moment of genuine excitement ran through him as he leaned forwards from his pillows.

"Today? Are you serious? Are they sure?"

Yuuji fizzled, pacing and ruffling his own hair, alight with nervous anticipation.

"Yeah, they're positive-- it started in the night-- I can't stop looking at my phone--"

Megumi interrupted, flat and not to be argued with.

"I'll drive you to the hospital, when Nanami calls you."

Yuuji breathed out a shuddering puff of air, grinning, feet tapping.

"Yeah...okay, yeah. Thanks, Fushiguro."

Only Megumi's eyes softened, at the thrill running off Yuuji's skin. He looked at Yuuji, silently appraising.

While Yuuji had the body of a man, he had not the emotional maturity needed to truly fill the suit and weave it to his soul. A suit is so incongruous on one who is not yet a man. Still, Megumi continued, softer.

"You'll make a good first impression. Not that they'll remember it."

Yuuji's lip puckered up, watching the summer rain patter as he leaned on the windowsill.

"Yeah...but I will."

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"Yuuji." A low, tired rumble on the phone. Yuuji was breathless with anticipation, his heart thick in his chest.

"Da--...Nanamin, is...is it...?"'

"They're fine, they...she's here, it's over, it's...its finally over."

Yuuji felt tears prickle in his nose, having never heard Nanami Kento sound so broken and so complete.

Yuuji took one great sniffle, and nodded hard, grabbing a bouquet of flowers from his desk. Megumi stood, listening intently and grabbing his jacket and keys.

"I--I'll come, I'll be right there, Fushiguro...Fushiguro is driving--"

"Good. Great, I..." Kento's voice sounded thick, and Yuuji's stomach twisted, wishing he could reach through the phone and hold him. Nanami continued, his voice hoarse.

"...I'd be grateful for the company, Yuuji."

The drive took a thousand years. Megumi was smooth, flawless. He was closer to manhood than Yuuji was, but waited for him to catch up with an outstretched hand. When Yuuji jumped out at the hospital atrium with nary a goodbye, white-knuckled around his bouquet and smart suit, Megumi simply smiled, watching him go.

Claggy-tongued and numb footed, Yuuji made his way through the hospital, rendered dumb with nerves. Bowing, and bowing again as a midwife allowed him into the ward, Yuuji's heart squeezed again as he saw your room number on the wall; Ward Seven, Room Three.

He raised a hand, and in the half-second before knocking, Yuuji's life flashed before his eyes; every trial, every agony, every loss and every near loss, every tear and every smile and every embrace and battle and war and fear and pain and love that he had lost and love that he had won, hard fought, and he could only hope that it was enough that he could be enough to fill the suit because he sure as hell wasn't man enough to fill it yet--

Knock knock.

"Come in."

Yuuji swung open the door, his eyes wide, and stepped over the threshold into his formative memory of the moment he became a man. The sound of rain, the distant tiny cries, the smell of petrichor and new life. The edges of this new memory were rosy, flush with pink and gold.

You, sat in bed, tired and shiny-cheeked and exquisite, pressing one hand over your lips and about to cry for the boy you loved.

Kento, with his back to the door, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and his broad shoulders rendered gentle by the obsessive, adoring love that sunk into every fibre of his being. He held something precious in his arms.

When Kento turned, time stopped. A wee baby girl, just hours old, yawned a chubby-cheeked yawn against her father's chest. She scrunched and squeaked as she stretched against the blankets, and Yuuji uttered an involuntary 'oh'.

Yuuji dropped the flowers to the floor, stepping forwards, instinctually reaching out for such treasure.

Kento looped a hand out, pulling Yuuji in by the nape of the neck and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Yuuji...she's here. Your little-- if you want her-- little sister--"

Yuuji hiccuped. Gingerly, tenderly he accepted the warm, blanketed bundle pressed into his arms. He looked down, shaking and blinking away tears, placing one thick finger in a tiny hand. Nanami rubbed a hand down his jaw, another hand on his hip, and huffed a single wet laugh.

"Why...why the suit, Yuuji?"

"I just...I wanted to make a good first impression."

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Inspired by that old video of the guy wearing a suit to go and meet his new baby niece.

[tokkiwrites]

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗.

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part two • part three

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants.

tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, p in v unprotected, breeding kink.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ me writing angst?? wow could never imagine it. i hope you guys like this i dunno what came over me. almost 7k (oops) words of hurt confusion and a filthy finish to dry your tears. not proofread!!

The house smelled like home, like it always had. Fresh cut grass from the lawn, the faint scent of laundry detergent, and the crisp autumn air breezing in through the windows. But the warmth that had once filled it felt absent now, replaced by the coolness of change. A change you hadn’t been able to brace for. Your mother had finally met someone after years of being alone, and that someone was Joel Miller.

You sat at the kitchen table, your fingers trailing the edge of your mug, staring at the steam rising from your coffee. The engagement ring on her finger glinted as she poured a second cup of coffee, smiling to herself. You couldn’t take your eyes off it—the gold band, the small, delicate stone. Joel had chosen it.

"Can you believe it?" she said, laughing lightly. "I didn’t think I’d find someone after your father. But Joel... he’s good to me."

You swallowed hard. "Yeah, Mom. I can tell."

You knew he was good to her. You saw it every time they were together. The way he would brush his hand over her back when he passed her, the way he’d laugh at her jokes. The way she looked at him, like he was everything she had wanted but had never thought to ask for.

But that wasn’t what twisted the knife in your chest.

Joel had always been more than just a neighbor. You’d been only nineteen when you started noticing him, the way a girl starts to notice a man—how his shoulders would flex when he lifted something heavy, the rasp in his voice when he spoke to you, low and careful. He was rough around the edges, with that Southern drawl and hands scarred from years of work. A part of you had always wondered what those hands would feel like on you, against your skin, but you never let the thoughts go far. He was older, after all, and back then, it had been nothing more than an innocent crush. But now he was here, in your life in a way you hadn’t imagined, not as some distant neighbor or a fleeting thought, but your mother’s fiancé. The reality of it made your stomach churn, and you hated yourself for the way your heart still skipped a beat whenever he came around.

"I’m glad you like him," your mom continued, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. She took a seat across from you, her eyes soft with affection. "I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about this, but... it means a lot to me that you’re okay with it." You forced a smile, the tightness in your chest growing. "Of course. I just want you to be happy." She reached out and touched your hand. "I am."

You wished you could say the same.

The days stretched into weeks, each one bringing you closer to the wedding. The house buzzed with preparations, your mother caught up in a whirlwind of joy and excitement. You tried to blend into the background, to stay out of the way, but it was impossible. Every time you turned around, Joel was there, a steady, looming presence.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the yard, helping your mom plant some new flowers along the fence. The sun was high in the sky, the heat beating down on your skin. You wiped the sweat from your forehead, focusing on digging the next hole. "Need some help?" Joel’s voice came from behind you, making you jump. You turned, finding him standing there with a shovel in hand, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. He was wearing a faded flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sinewy muscles of his forearms. His hair was streaked with gray at the temples, his face lined with years of hard work and sun exposure, but he was still undeniably handsome. Too handsome.

"No, we’re good here," you replied, keeping your voice steady as you turned back to the soil. Your mom looked up from her spot, grinning. "Actually, Joel, I think we could use a little extra muscle." He chuckled and came over, kneeling beside you, close enough that you could smell the scent of earth and sweat on him. His presence was overpowering, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your mind from drifting.

"So," he said casually, his voice low as he worked beside you, "you’ve been quiet lately. Everything alright?" You felt his gaze on you, but you didn’t look up. "Yeah, 'm just busy."

"Busy, huh?" He tossed a clump of dirt aside, his tone teasing but not unkind. "You don’t strike me as the busy type." You shrugged. "Things change." Joel paused, his fingers still in the dirt. "That they do." There was a weight to his words, the way he said it, something that settled deep in your bones, like he knew what was deep beneath your facade. You risked a glance at him, and when your eyes met, the air around you seemed to thicken. His gaze was too intense, too knowing, and it made your heart pound in your chest. "Joel, could you help me with these pots in the back?" your mother called, oblivious to the tension that had been steadily growing between you and him.

Joel blinked, breaking the moment. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Yeah, sure thing." As he walked away, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You couldn’t keep going like this.

Temptation lurks.

The engagement party was held at your house, the backyard filled with neighbors, friends, and family. You had helped set everything up, stringing lights across the trees, setting up tables with white linen. Your mother had been glowing all day, her happiness contagious to everyone but you.

You were standing near the bar, sipping on a drink when you saw him. Joel was talking to your uncle by the grill, his hand resting casually on the back of your mother’s chair. You watched as he laughed at something your uncle said, the sound of it rumbling low in his chest. He looked so at ease, so comfortable in this life he had built with your mom. But there was a crack in the facade, something that only you could see. The way his eyes flickered to you, even when he was mid-conversation. The way his smile faltered just for a moment when your gaze met his.

he feels it.

"You look lost in thought." You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. Joel was beside you now, his presence like a shadow that followed you everywhere. You forced a smile. "Just thinking." He leaned in a little closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Care to share?" You shook your head, setting your glass down on the bar. "It’s nothing."

Joel’s hand brushed yours as he reached for his own drink, the touch so brief and fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. He must have felt it too because he hesitated for a moment, his fingers lingering a second too long before he pulled away. "You seem different, sweetheart." he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to figure you out. sweetheart. it sounded so natural, meant just for you. "Not like yourself." He continues. You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "Maybe I’ve changed. Or maybe you don't know me that well."

"Maybe," he said, his voice quieter now, more serious. "But I think I know you better than that." Before you could respond, your mother appeared, smiling brightly as she slipped her arm around Joel’s waist. "There you are!" she said, looking between the two of you. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."

Joel’s eyes never left yours. "Just catching up."

You excused yourself quickly, retreating inside the house, your chest tight with frustration and confusion. You needed air, space, anything to clear your head. But no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t escape the way Joel made you feel. The way you wanted to feel, despite everything.

everything beneath the surface.

The weeks leading up to the wedding were a blur. You kept your distance from Joel as much as you could, but it was impossible to avoid him completely. Every time you saw him, the tension between you grew stronger, pulling you in even when you wanted to push it all away. One evening, after a particularly long day of wedding planning, you found yourself alone on the back porch. The sky was dark, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. You sipped your drink slowly, trying to let the cool night air calm your nerves.

"You okay?"

You turned to find Joel standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. You hadn’t even heard him come out. You straightened up, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m fine. Just needed some air." Joel stepped onto the porch, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, his hands in his pockets as he looked out into the yard. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. "You’ve been avoidin’ me," he said quietly, his voice low and rough in the quiet night. Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t deny it. "It’s not like that."

"Then what’s it like?" You sighed, setting your drink down and standing up, needing to put some space between you. "Joel, this... it’s complicated. I can’t—"

"Complicated," he repeated, his tone tinged with frustration. He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "It wasn’t complicated before, was it?"

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they were true. It hadn’t always been complicated. Before your mother, before the engagement, there had been something between you and Joel that had lingered, unspoken, for years. Maybe it had been innocent at first, just a crush you’d had on the older man next door. But it had evolved into something else—something dangerous.

"Joel," you whispered, shaking your head, trying to regain control of the conversation, but he was already too close. His presence overwhelmed you, drowning out the rational part of your brain that screamed for you to walk away.

"You feel it too, don’t you?" His voice was almost a whisper now, and the way his eyes bore into yours made it impossible to look away. "I’ve seen the way you look at me, baby." You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "This isn’t fair," you managed, your voice breaking. "You’re marrying my mom, Joel." He winced, as if the words had physically hurt him, but he didn’t back away. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Goddamn it, I tried not to. But I can’t help it, baby, Iㅡ" You took a step back, trying to create some distance, but Joel followed, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached out, brushing your arm, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "Don’t—"

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his hand dropping, but his eyes were still fixed on you. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. Should've been ya."

"Then why did it happen?" you asked, your voice breaking with the weight of the question. "Why are you doing this, Joel? Why are you marrying her?" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not what you think."

"Then tell me," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. "Tell me why you’re with her when—"

"When I want you," Joel finished for you, the rawness in his voice making your heart ache. The admission hung between you, heavy and undeniable. You wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard it, that it didn’t mean anything, but it did. It meant everything.

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him, the world tilting on its axis. You felt the pull between you, that magnetic force that had always been there, but now it was more dangerous than ever. It wasn’t just some unspoken tension anymore. It was real, out in the open, threatening to tear everything apart. "Joel, this isn’t right," you said, your voice trembling, even though your heart screamed at you to move closer to him. "It can’t happen. Not like this."

"I know," he said, stepping closer, his voice barely a rasp. His hand reached for yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "But that doesn’t change how I feel." You pulled your hand away, the loss of contact almost painful. "You have to stop," you whispered, your throat tight. "You have to marry her. You can’t do this to her." The agony in his eyes was unbearable. "You think I don’t know that?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your pulse racing. "Then why are you doing this?"

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, like he couldn’t bear to face the truth. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost broken. "I thought I could love her the way she deserves. I thought... if I just tried hard enough, I could make it work." Your heart ached for him, for your mother, for yourself. "But you don’t, do you?"

His silence was answer enough.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay strong. "You need to go through with the wedding, Joel. My mom... she loves you. She’s happy."

"I know," he murmured, the weight of his guilt evident in his voice. "But what about you? What do you want?" The question hung in the air, suffocating you. What did you want? You wanted him, but not like this. Not in a way that would destroy everything around you. Not in a way that would hurt your mother, who had already been through enough pain. "I want my mom to be happy," you said finally, even though the words felt like they were tearing you apart. "That’s all." even if it was a lie.

Joel stared at you, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Me too." He stepped back then, creating the distance you desperately needed. "I’ll do the right thing," he said, his voice low and resolute. "For her." he wouldn't believe himself either.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice to say anything else. The weight of the moment settled over you both, heavy and oppressive. Without another word, Joel turned and walked back into the house, leaving you standing alone on the porch, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was all ready to collapse.

The wedding day approached faster than you had anticipated, each moment feeling like a countdown to an inevitable disaster. You tried to bury your feelings, to focus on helping your mom with the final touches, but the weight of what had been left unspoken between you and Joel hung over everything. You hadn’t spoken to him since that night on the porch, and the tension gnawed at you.

The morning of the wedding was bright and warm, the sun filtering through the lace curtains in your bedroom. You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the soft fabric of your bridesmaid’s dress, trying to shake the growing sense of dread that settled in your chest.

You wanted to be happy for your mom—she looked radiant, glowing in her wedding dress, and she deserved this moment. She deserved love, peace, after the years of struggle she’d endured. But underneath your forced smiles and quiet congratulations, you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. About his eyes when he looked at you, about the unspoken words still hanging between you.

Downstairs, the house sung with excitement, guests gathering for the ceremony. You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and music, the clinking of glasses as the day unfolded. But it all felt so distant, like you were watching it from the outside, detached from the joy that filled the air.

Just as you were about to head downstairs, there was a soft knock at your door.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. You already knew who it was before you even opened the door. Joel stood there, looking as conflicted as you felt. He was dressed in a suit, but the usually rugged man looked uncomfortable in the formal attire. His hair was neatly combed, but there was still that familiar edge to him—rough, worn, and undeniably Joel.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you, his dark eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. "You look beautiful."

"You shouldn’t be here," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But I had to see you. Before—"

"Before what?" you interrupted, your hands trembling. "Before you marry my mom?" Joel’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice barely audible. "For all of this. For... for everything I’ve put you through." Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "You have to go through with it, Joel. You promised her."

"I know," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But I can’t stop thinking about you." The rawness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to stay strong. "You don’t get to do this now," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Not today." Joel’s hand reached for yours, but you pulled away, stepping back. "Don’t," you warned. "Please don’t make this harder than it already is." He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes filled with regret, before he finally nodded. "I’m sorry," he said again, his voice breaking. "I’ll... I’ll go."

You watched as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall, each one like a nail in the coffin of what could have been.

Unbeneath.

The wedding was beautiful. The flowers were perfect, the music soft and sweet, and your mother’s face glowed with happiness as she walked down the aisle. Joel stood at the altar, looking handsome and calm, the picture of a man ready to commit to a life with her.

But you saw the cracks beneath the surface. You saw the tension in Joel’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as your mother approached him with a radiant smile. You knew he was trying to hold it together, trying to play the part of the perfect groom. But deep down, you could see it—he wasn’t entirely there.

Standing as a bridesmaid near the altar, you forced yourself to smile, to focus on your mother’s joy. But it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. The weight of what Joel had said to you that morning still clung to you, heavy and suffocating. As the officiant began to speak, your heart pounded in your chest. The words felt hollow, echoing in your mind. The vows of eternal love, of commitment, of being faithful—it all felt like a lie. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stay focused, trying to hold on for your mother’s sake.

But then Joel glanced at you.

It was brief—just a flicker of his eyes in your direction, but it was enough to make your breath catch. His gaze was filled with conflict, guilt, and something else you couldn’t name. And in that moment, you knew—he was thinking about you. Even here, even now, when he was supposed to be pledging his life to your mother.

Time seemed to slow as the officiant asked Joel to recite his vows. He hesitated for just a second too long, the pause so subtle that no one else seemed to notice. But you did. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between doing what was right and doing what he wanted.

"I, Joel, take you—" His voice caught, barely noticeable, but you saw it. He cleared his throat, trying again. "I take you, to be my wife."

Each word felt like a stone dropping into a bottomless well.

Your mother smiled at him, tears of joy in her eyes. She was completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. She believed in this moment, believed in the future they were about to share. And you hated that you couldn’t give her that same belief, that you couldn’t share in her happiness.

When the ceremony ended and the guests erupted in applause, you clapped along with them, your hands numb and mechanical. The celebration carried on around you—people laughing, clinking glasses, congratulating the happy couple—but you felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath you.

At the reception, you stayed at the far end of the garden, away from the crowd. The string lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow on the scene, but the beauty of it all felt distant, unreachable. You sipped your champagne, staring blankly at the dance floor where Joel and your mother swayed together. They looked perfect, like a picture from a magazine. But you knew better.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Joel came up beside you, his presence like a storm cloud looming on the horizon. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

"You disappeared on me," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the music and chatter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes on the dance floor. "Just needed a moment." He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean for things to get this way. Please believe me, I didn’t knowㅡ didn't know she'd fall." You finally turned to face him, the rawness of his words cutting into you. "Well, they are and she did so.."

Joel looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache, the same look he’d had earlier that morning. "I can’t stop thinking about you, baby." he repeated softly, his voice rough with emotion. "Even now. Especially now."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. "You need to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. "You made your choice. You married her. I don't even know what your plan was."

"I know," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I know what I did, but that doesn’t change what I feel. It doesn’t change this." He gestured between the two of you, his eyes pleading. "I never wanted to hurt you, or your mom. But... I can’t pretend anymore. Not with you." Your chest tightened, the pain almost unbearable. "You have to pretend, Joel. You have to. For her." He stared at you, his expression torn between guilt and desire. "And what about you? What about us?"

"There is no us, Joel. Never was." You said the words like poison in your mouth. "There can’t be." Joel’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing your arm, and the familiar spark shot through you, the one you’d tried so hard to ignore. His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled away, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"You’re right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There can’t be." But the words felt like a lie the moment they left his lips because despite everything, despite the weight of his new vows, you saw him lean in closer. His breath mingled with yours, and his eyes-filled with guilt, longing, and desperation bore into you. His lips inched toward yours, the world around you fading into a blur of muted colors and distant laughter. People were far enough to not see you, but that didn't make it any easier. Your heart pounded, your breath shaky as you felt the warmth of his body close to yours. You knew this was wrong, that you should push him away, but your body betrayed you. The yearning, the suppressed need that had lingered between you for years, finally pushed through the cracks.

With one last glance into your glassy eyes, as if seeking permission-or maybe forgivenessㅡ Joel closed the distance.

His lips intertwined with yours, soft and rough at the same time, filled with everything that had been left unsaid. You froze for a moment, the shock of it crashing through you like a tidal wave. But then something snapped inside you, and you kissed him back. All of the restraint, the pain, the buried feelings surged to the surface, spilling into that one kiss.

His hands cupped your face gently, his touch tender despite the intensity of the moment. The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and Joel, a stolen moment in a sea of impossibilities. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if both of you knew this would be the only time you'd have. As if the kiss had to say everything words couldn't

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your chest heaving. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Finally, Joel stepped back, his face hardening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I’m sorry," he muttered, though you knew the apology wouldn’t fix anything.

You watched as he walked away, back to the party, back to your mother—the woman he had chosen. The woman he was supposed to love. Your heart broke all over again as you realized that no matter what you felt for him, no matter what he felt for you, it would never be enough to change the reality of the situation.

And so, you stood there, the cold night air brushing against your skin, watching as Joel rejoined the celebration. The sounds of laughter and music filled the garden, but all you could hear was the silence between you and the man you could never have.

Was one night really that important?

You stood there, alone in the shadows, the air growing colder around you. The question gnawed at you, refusing to let go. What harm could it do? One night. One moment where none of thisㅡ none of the guilt, the secrecy, or the heartbreak mattered. No one would know. No one had to.

Would it really hurt?

The thought was reckless, dangerous even, but it lingered, growing more persistent with each passing second. Your mind kept replaying the way Joel had kissed you, the heat and desperation in his touch, the wayyou had kissed him back without hesitation, as if your bodies knew what your hearts refused to admit. You hadn't wanted to stop. And he hadn't either.

Your breath quickened as you thought of him, standing there, so close you could still feel the faint echo of his warmth, his scent, the way he had made you feel as though the world had disappeared, as if nothing else mattered but the f you, in that moment.

No. You couldn't. You couldn't do this to your mother. You couldn't betray her like that, not even for one night, no matter how desperately you wanted him. But the longing was still there, a dark ache deep in your chest, making it harder and harder to ignore. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath and looked back toward the reception toward Joel, who was now standing by the bar, talking with a few guests. The smile he gave them was easy, practiced, but you could still see the shadows under his eyes. You could still see the guilt that gnawed at him from the inside.

What if nobody knew? What if this one mistake, this one selfish moment, stayed just between the two of you? What if you could find a way to make it work-just for one night, just to feel what it was like to truly have him without the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders?

You swallowed hard. you could still taste his kiss on your lips. You could still feel the burn of his fingertips against your skin.

But then, you remembered your mother's face. Her warmth. Her trust. She was so happy, so completely in love. The thought of betraying her, even just for a moment, tore you apart. Could you really live with that kind of guilt?

No.

Butㅡ

You closed your eyes and exhaled, trying to quiet the storm inside you, trying to remind yourself of what was right. This wasn't a fleeting desireㅡ it was a devastating disaster waiting to happen

And yet, your body ached with the need to be close to Joel again. The yearning, the intensity of that single kiss and one pathetic touch, it was too much to ignore. You had given in once, but you couldn't go down that path again.

You took a step away from the garden, retreating into the shadows. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe one night wasn't worth it. But then you heard his voice, low and familiar, cutting through the noise. He was closer than you expected.

"Hey."

You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Joel. His voice was all too familiar now. He stepped into the shadows with you, the dim light casting sharp lines across his face, making him appear even more worn, more conflicted. "Iㅡ" He hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn't have kissed you earlier. I know I shouldn't have."

You didn't say anything. You couldn't. You didn’t regret it. You wish it never ended.

Joel's gaze softened, and he stepped closer, but you kept your distance. He seemed to notice the space between you, the invisible barrier that neither of you wanted to cross but couldn't help but feel. "I don't know what to do anymore," he said. "I just know I don't want to lose you." His words shattered what little resolve you had left.

And in that moment, everything that had been building between you, the unspoken, the impossibleㅡ became undeniable. It was wrong. It was selfish. But here he was, standing before you, asking you for something you both knew you could never truly have. And for a moment, it didn't matter that it was wrong

You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely a whisper. "One night," you murmured. "Just... one night."

Joel froze. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, it seemed as if he might say no. But then his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you toward him, his lips catching yours in a kiss that was deeper this time, hungry, urgent. There were no more words between you, just the frantic need to close the distance between your hearts, to feel something real, even if it was only for one night.

As his hands wrapped around you, pulling you closer, there was a fleeting moment of clarity,a brief flash of the consequences. But it was swallowed up by the heat of the kiss, the intoxicating feeling of finally giving in to the desire that had been burning between you for years,

It was wrong. It was a mistake

But as Joel's lips moved against yours again, you forgot about everything else. Joel’s hand slid to your wrist before you could pull away, a firm, steady grip that tugged you gently toward him, toward the quiet behind the chaos. The party’s laughter and chatter were left in the distance, fading as you followed him, the night air thick with tension.

"We should go to a room," he whispered, his voice hoarse and urgent, almost pleading. "The party still has a few more hours before it ends. Don't worry, baby. It'll all be okay. She won’t even notice we're gone." You looked at him, heart racing, mind reeling, torn between the gravity of his words and the electric heat still burning in your chest from the kiss. He was leading you, his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you through the garden, toward the back of the house where the guest rooms lay hidden behind thick foliage and shadows.

You followed, not because you were sure, but because the pull between you was undeniable. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and maybe you didn’t want to. His pace quickened as he sensed your hesitation, his breath hitching, more desperate now, as though he needed you to understand. "We can’t keep doing this," he said, his tone a mix of anger and longing. "We can’t keep pretending like we don’t feel it. This—" he glanced back at you, "this is what we've been needing for so long."

You could barely catch your breath as you stepped into the hallway of the house, away from the party. The muffled noise of music and chatter was barely a memory now. The quiet was heavier, more intimate. And when you finally stopped, your back pressed against the closed door of a guest room, you both stood there in the dim room, hearts pounding like they were about to burst.

His hands were still on you, strong but gentle, but this time, they didn’t move to pull you in. Instead, he lingered, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your arms as though he was afraid of breaking something fragile—something that might never be repaired.

"Joel..." Your voice was soft, porcelain, and it trembled in the stillness of the room. "Please.." you can hear him mumble a soft 'fuck' before his lips crash onto the exposed skin on your neck, his hands roaming your body like he's been waiting to do this for a thousand years. he quickly manages to discard the jacket of his tuxedo and unzip the back of your dress, your hair that was neatly pulled up now down on your shoulders. "You're so beautiful, baby. Always have beenㅡ god, I was so stupid not doin' this earlier." Your mind reeled, cunt pulsimg. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath, trying to steady your pulse. the fire between you crackled and burned hotter, and for tonight, you gave into it.

"Joel, please, justㅡ touch me, please.." he nods his head. "fuck, yeah, okay. You sound so pretty when you're desperate." you shudder at his words, a soft moan slipping from your lips. " 'm gonna fuck you tonight 'n make up for all of the nights i didn't." that was a promise.

you were now almost fully naked, the only thing covering your body was a soft, laced, white set you had on. "Pretty girl." he begins to discard those items from you too, but removes only the bra, leaving the white panties on. you look up at him, his presence swallowing you whole. without words you reach our hands out, promptly placing them on the hem of his pants and starting to unbuckle the belt he had on. you fingers fumble from the tension, but you finally do it. you trail you fingers onto his abdomen, drawing small hearts before you hear him growl. he picks you up swiftly and throws you on the bed settled in the middle of the room. his pants come undone so he pulls them off fully. "Spread your legs, baby." you do, your pussy spilling over the lace that barely covered anything. his rough fingertips trace your clothed folds, making you look away. "Look at me. Look at me, tell me what you want."

"Want you, Joel.." he hums. he pulls the panties to the side, eyes fixed on the way your cunt glistened under the dim light. its not long before he gets on his knees between your legs. "sweet girl. been dyin' to know what's inside that pretty head of yours when you look at me like that." His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. "you know how much i had to hold back? wanted to ravage you, toㅡ" he trails "to destroy you. make you beg for me to stop..." joel leans down, his rough beard tickling your neck, drawing a soft moan from between your lips.

"Sure you want this, darlin?" Nipping at your bottom lip, he waits for your signal. "So sure." This is it, the moment you had only dreamed of. that's when his lips crashed against yours again, his mustache pricking your skin. you kissed back, hungry, so hungry like you've never felt before.

"want that pretty pussy wrapped around my cock." you whimper pathetically at his dirty words. dirty. dirty like his touch that left your skin tainted, dirty like how you know you'll feel after all of this is over.

but you like dirty. you love dirty.

joel pressed himself against you, his briefs now fully off. fuck, he was huge. his leaking tip was pressing against your folds. "so wet, baby. all this for me? c'mon, let me hear you say it."

" 's all for y-ou, Joel ㅡ" you choked back a moan, pushing yourself back onto his bulge. he laughs, tilting his head to the side slightly. be drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down again and again, as if he didn't make you wait long enough for it. after he thinks its sufficient, he starts to push inside, causing you to bite onto your forearm and shut your eyes as tears welled up in them. "atta girlㅡ you can take it. you're a big girl, ain't ya?" he teased. "My little girl, takin' my cock so well."

by the time he was fully inside, you were a mess, tears stained your cheeks, drool at the corners of your mouth covered in smudged lipstick ㅡ you were in a dream for sure. joel moves, at first, slowly as to let you adjust. he's patient. praises trail onto you as he kisses little pecks on the small of your back. "That's it, darlin'. take it all." your body trembles from every breath and touch of his.

his pace picks up, skin hitting yours roughly, fingers tangled in your hair and his other palm flush against your belly. "feel me there, sweet girl?"

"I- yes, yes, please, p-please ㅡ " You were hanging on the mattress for dear life, your brain foggy. nothing made sense but this. Joel buried deep inside of you. he fucked you hard, and deep, your stomach churning at every hit. his calloused hands gripped tightly at you hips, his moves now more ragged.

"shitㅡ whish I married you, baby.." he says through grunts, palms still gripping your hips. "Wish it were you there in that dress. 'm sorryㅡ" you cry a little louder as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. "let me put a baby in you, sweet girl, we can run away andㅡ fuck, run away and be happy. have our own little family." your eyes roll to the back of your head. "Joel, Iㅡ"

"You'd want that? imma make you a mommaㅡ my pretty wife, god."

" 'm s-so close, Joel, please "

"I know, baby, I know. Y-You go ahead." With a few more snaps of his hips, you're both coming, bodies writhing, as his head falls upon your chest. For a long, heavy moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish. All that was left was the two of you, in that silent little room.

Joel pulls out, making you moan. He watches intently as his seed drips out of you, licking his lips as a palm rubs your lower belly. He hopes it'll stick.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE- L. HOWLETT

Pairing: Possesive! Boyfriend! Logan x Fem! Reader (grumpy x sunshine)

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Logan is always possesive of you, making sure the whole world knows you're his. He especially makes it known when any man tries to flirt with whats his.

Warnings: SMUT, possesivness, size kink, pet names, daddy kink, mocking? kink, dom Logan, mirror sex, swearing, implied violence/ death

"heartbreak is one thing, my egos another- i beg you don't embarass me motherfucker.."- please x3, sabrina carpenter

“Please Logan. Please, please, please just behave tonight.” you begged, pouting your lip as you gazed up at him with puppy dog eyes. It wasn’t often you had to beg Logan for anything.

He always gave you everything you wanted, no questions asked.

New purse? Chanell bag was waiting for you on the table when you arrived home. New shoes? He helped you pick them out, making you walk over to him seductively before perching you on his lap.

Anything you wanted, you got. Except for Logan behaving himself.

The older man was not known for being… caring.

To anyone but you, of course.

Where the sunshine lingered over your head like a halo, his stormcloud trailed behind at an arm's distance.

He was jealous… no, possessive. If a man stared at you for a second too long, he was no longer a man, but a boy sprawled on the ground with blood gushing out of his nose, ears and eyes. A violent, cold shouldered man with a harsh military past, but to you he would give the world on a silver platter if he could.

Which is exactly why he was dressing up for an event he very much did not want to go to- for your sake.

You stood on your tiptoes to adjust his tie, smoothing out his crisp, white undershirt that highlighted his strong arms. You wanted to kiss them.

“That's all I’m askin baby.” you pouted again, placing a gentle kiss to his neck as he bent down to your level.

“Now would I ever embarrass my girl?” he asked teasingly, brushing a warm, calloused thumb across your cheek, careful not to mess up the makeup you had so delicatly applied sitting on the bathroom vanity for hours.

“Hmm. Well sometimes someone gets a lil possessive..” you trailed on, his eyebrow cocking in amusement.

“AmI not allowed to protect my princess? There's so many terrible men out there you know baby.. That just wanna take my girl away from me.” he mocked your pout, guiding you around to face the standing mirror adorned with little lights around it, to “highlight your beauty” he had told you.

They glowed softly, pulsing against your skin as he leaned down, placing a kiss on your neck- the same place you had to him- only his tugged at your skin, just a little longer.

“And we don't want that now do we?”

Your panties damped at his condescending tone. God, why did his posessiveness turn you on so fucking much? You were adding fuel to the fire.

“No, but it's just a gala Lo. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“I’m always protecting my girl.” he snarled, hands gripping your hips, giving them a squeeze over your velvet red dress, draping across your body like a Greek goddess. It was one of Logans favourites. Of course, he said that about everything you did, and did not wear.

You thought it was fitting for the event, supposedly just a “mingle and drink” was what Charles had said. A good way to connect with other mutants from other parts of the world. It was important to him, so you wanted to make sure it ran as smoothly as possible.

“You look so fucking beautiful. Fuck.” he murmured, running his hands up and down your body, tickling your skin. “You make me think such dirty, dirty thoughts princess.”

“Oops.” you giggled, feeling a bulge against your backside, rubbing against the fabric. You hated to leave him high and dry, but Charles would kill you if you were late.

It would cause Logan to be on edge even more so then he was, but if he had it his way, you’d constantly stay in his bed.

“Now we gotta go. Oh- and, no guns, no claws.” you scolded, shimming out of his grasp to snatch up your handbag, stuffing the contents that had spilled out back inside messley.

“Hgmp.” he grumbled, reaching for your outstretched hand, trailing after you to walk into his own personal internal hell. If it meant he could support you, and even just see you- he would do it.

Not without a slight fuss though, to make you pity him.

“Don’t think about it Lo. Charles wants this to go perfectly… and I’m just-”

“Hey. hey, I’m just teasing you baby. I promise, I’ll be on my best behaviour, I wanna be there for you. But if any man tries it…” He stopped you, turning you back against the doorframe, his palm in your cheek, stroking it lovingly.

You met his eyes, soaking in their gentle gaze he only revealed to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You just want an excuse to show off your hot date.” you teased, smiling softly.

He laughed, squeezing you close to his chest. You breathed in his cologne, smelling strongly of whisky and pine needles. It made you drunk, intoxicating you like white wine.

“You caught me there.” 

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

“Fashionably late” is what Logan called it, when you strolled into the ballroom of the old, castle-like manor, nearly twenty minutes past. You had urged him to pick up the pace, but he had distracted you with his lips whenever you tried to protest.

He had listened to you however, when you begged him not to mess up your makeup, only tugging on your lip with teeth instead of smearing it with his thumb.

Smiling meekly at Charles with your hair slightly out of place, you wiggled your way through the crowd, familiar and unfamiliar faces poking out at you.

You waved to Storm, smiling as she flirted with a mutant from out of town. Soaking in her shimmering silver dress, you gave her a big thumbs up, mouthing “you look so good!”, earning a stifled giggle from her as the man continued his conversation.

Logan watched you like a hawk from the side of the room, acting as a bodyguard. He seemed to sneer at anyone who you didn’t know get too close to you, even if they were just passing by.

He had showed up for you, so you let him sulk. It was the least you could do. You paid him no mind, occasionally looking over to see him nursing a whisky on the rocks in a fancy glass, adjusting his jacket as Rouge talked to him.

Giving him a little soft wave, you turned, bumping right into an unfamiliar face.

“Oh, my apologies- I should’ve watched where I was going.” you reassured, giving a curt nod and smile. You took a step, Charles popping into view- only an arms reach away.

“Hey, no worries. I hope I didn’t mess up your beautiful dress.” the stranger smiled, eyeing you up. It made you shiver in discomfort. “Oh thank you.” You tried to be as polite as you could be- hoping the conversation would end as quickly as it started.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “Oh- uh… Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m-”

“She doesn't care who you are.” a low voice growled, Logan slipping in front of you, shielding you from the stranger.

You could see the back muscles ripple through his tight jacket, threatening to tear in two. He must have sniffed out your immediate discomfort. You were grateful for it, as the hungry stares the man gave you made you uneasy.

“Woah bud. Chill out, I’m just saying hello.”

“You’re making my girl uncomfortable. And anyone who makes my girl-” he emphasised those two words. “-uncomfortable, gets fucked up.”

You felt Charles stare at the back of your head, and you frantically tried to pull him back before he threw a punch and made a scene. “Lo- let's go, lets just let it go.”

He snarled at the man, making him tremble slightly, trying to hide his discomfort the same way you had just done for him.

“I would listen to your girl.” he mocked.

“You shut the fuck up.” you snapped, stepping out from behind your guard dog of a boyfriend- finger right in his face. “I shouldn't even give you the time of day, you perv. I know what you're thinking about- and I would never be with you. Never in a million years.” you spat, turning sharply on your heel, not looking to see if anyone followed.

You felt heads turn as you strutted out of the ballroom, Charles being one of them.

He was a pervert. I’m getting some air. You telepathically told Charles, stomping towards an empty office down the hall- letting the door slam behind you. I understand, and I’ll take care of him, if Logan doesn't before me. He murmured, voice slipping from your mind as quick as it came.

You leaned against the mahogany desk, taking a deep breath. Trying to compose yourself, you unzipped your dress just a tad, to give yourself more room to take deeper breaths.

A moment later, you heard loud footsteps stomp down the hall, Logan appearing from behind the closed door he opened. His eyes glinted with anger- a hunger and possessiveness that had you squeezing your thighs together.

The lock clicked, and within two strides he towered in front of you. “Lo-”

He kissed you so hard you swore you tasted coppery blood coat your bottom lip, and you moaned into his mouth. Melting into his touch, his hands held your neck- not letting you go anywhere, before hiking you up in his arms.

Office supplies were pushed to the side clattering to the ground as you were perched at the edge of the desk, legs wrapping around Logan tightly.

“Youre so fucking hot when you get like that. So worked up, letting that lil cat out to scratch.”

He growled in your mouth, hand slipping down to grab your ass, smacking it hard. “Mghm f-fuck Logan, he just made me so angry… and you protected me like always..”

“That man is not gonna make it tomorrow when I’m done with him.” he promised, and you felt heat rise in your cheeks at his claims.

“You’re mine. Mine, and fuck I’m gonna make sure you leave this room with everyone knowing that princess.”

“Lo- need y’so bad..” you whined, hand slipping down his chest to tug at the button of his dress pants. His bulge taunted you, and a hiss escaped from his lips as you grazed it through the fabric.

“Ya? You need me baby? Come and take me then, my big, strong girl.” he murmured, letting you pull him out of his confinements, the sheer size making your mouth water.

You never got tired of him, never got over how big he was. You struggled to tug your dress fully off, and he chuckled at the sight of you.

“So desperate hm? Need help?”

“N-no.” you mumbled, finally finding a way to shimmy it down. You wasted no time with the extras- simply pulling your thong to the side, as you guided him near your entrance.

“Your hands are so tiny on my cock baby. All of you is just so tiny, you need to be protected, hm?”

You nodded mindlessly, sighing in relief as he slid his cock up and down through your soaked folds, before sliding in and hitting home. Your mouth popped open with an O- as he never fully slid fully in without guiding it in slowly first.

He was needy tonight. You both were.

“Oh fuck baby. Fuck.”

You squeezed your legs around his waist, pulling him in tighter, trying your best to fuck yourself on him. It wasn't as good as what he did to you. You needed him.

“You poor lil thing. You need some help, you need daddy to fuck ya princess?”

You nodded, moaning as his hand found its way around your neck, squeezing softly as he pulled out, then back home- hips snapping at a rough pace that had you seeing stars.

You couldn't help but let the noises escape you- trying so hard to stay quiet but they slipped out, mixing with the slap of skin.

“Yeah let it all out baby. Let them all hear how good I fuck you. How you're mine, and no one else's.”

You looked into his eyes widely, as they started to fog over with pure pleasure. He hugged your gummy walls like a glove, his grunts and praises spurring you on. You couldn't help but look down, watching the way his cock slid deep inside you, the outline poking through your stomach.

“Lo- you’re so big.”

“And you're so tight, baby. You like lookin at how well you take me? Look over there.” he nodded his head over to the right, where a full length mirror stood.

You turned your head, watching as he rammed into you, pushing your legs up across his big, beefy shoulders, bending you to his will. His eyes met yours in the reflection, a cruel smirk forming on his lips as you gasped and whimmered his name as he fucked you.

“Such a pretty princess.” he whispered, hoping everyone could hear you.

Knowing those noises you made were because him- for him, and only him.

[thef1diary]

I just watched the f1 never have I ever video and Charles says that he has missed a flight and it was his fault that he missed it so can you write a smut piece where he was with reader and he lost track of time? 😉😏

Dangerous Distraction | C. Leclerc

Summary: Charles misses his flight because of you

warnings: 18+ smut, oral (fem receiving), slight overstimulation

pairing: charles x fem!reader

wc: 1.4k

masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

“never have I ever missed a flight?”

CL: “I have, more than once”

“was it your fault?”

CL: “oh yeah, yeah”

You were sprawled out on the plush bed, wrapped in a soft comforter as you watched Charles packing his suitcase with a determined focus. He moved around the room, trying to neatly fold his clothes before placing them in his suitcase. As time went on, his crisp folds turned into a pile of rumpled clothes that will surely have creases when he would unpack them on the other side of the world.

He couldn't maintain his focus on the mundane task; his gaze kept drifting toward you, especially when you shifted in bed, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of your bare legs.

"Need any help?" you teased, your voice soft and inviting.

Charles paused, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes locked onto yours. "You're a dangerous distraction," he murmured, abandoning his suitcase to walk over to the bed.

You smiled, reaching out to grab his hand and pull him closer. "Maybe you need a break," you suggested seductively.

Charles climbed up onto the bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, intoxicating kiss. Moaning into his mouth, you could taste a mix of mint and something uniquely Charles. His hands moved to the edge of the comforter, pulling it down to reveal more of your bare skin.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze trailing down your body. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered, watching goosebumps rise on your skin as he trailed his fingers down your chest, hardening your nipples with a delicate touch.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, the warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, and you responded eagerly, your hands roaming over his chest and back.

"You're impossible to resist," he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and filled with desire.

"Then don't resist," you replied, your voice a husky invitation that he didn't think twice before accepting.

Charles eyes darkened with lust as he lowered himself beside you, his hands exploring every inch of your body. He kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours as his fingers traced a path down your side. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he found all the places that made you shiver with pleasure.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze intense as he looked at you. "I should be packing," he said, though his voice lacked any real conviction.

You smiled, running a hand through his hair. "You have some free time."

He hummed, "and I plan to make the most of it." He trailed featherlight kisses down your throat, not leaving an inch of skin untouched.

He claimed your lips again in a passionate kiss, his hands roaming all over your body with a sense of urgency. You melted into his touch, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him even closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more fervent as the minutes ticked by unnoticed.

He pulled back to quickly strip off his clothes before pressing a kiss to your stomach. Charles' hands parted your thighs as he settled between them. Licking, sucking, and kissing your inner thighs, he teased you mercilessly, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

"Charles," you moaned, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He glanced up at you, his eyes dark with desire, before finally giving you some relief by directing his attention to your pussy. His tongue flicked out to taste you, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

He took his time, alternating between gentle licks and firm strokes. His lips and tongue drove you wild, your hands clutching at the sheets below you and your hips arched off the bed as he brought you closer to the edge.

"Please," you begged, your tone barely higher than a whisper.

Charles smiled against you, his tongue working faster, more insistently. You felt yourself teetering on the brink, every nerve alight with sensation. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he spread your folds using two of his fingers and licked up a final stripe before sucking hard on your clit, sending you spiralling into a powerful orgasm.

You cried out, your body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you. Charles didn't stop, his mouth continuing the relentless movements while he slipped his fingers inside your pussy. The dual sensation was almost too much to bear, leaving you torn between pulling away and arching into the overwhelming pleasure.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you with a skillful rhythm, curling them just right to hit the sweet spot deep inside. Each thrust of his fingers were accompanied by the tantalizing flicks of his tongue against your overstimulated clit. The combination drove you wild, your hips bucking against his hand as you sought more.

"Charles, baby," you gasped, your voice a breathless moan as you felt the tension building again, faster and more intense this time. Your fingers tangled in his hair again, pulling him closer as you rocked against his mouth.

He responded with a low moan of satisfaction, his fingers moving faster, more determined to push you over the edge. His free hand lifted your leg up over his shoulder while he added a third finger in your pussy, stretching you perfectly.

His tongue worked in harmony with his fingers, and you felt yourself climbing higher and higher.

"Yes, oh god, yes," you panted, your body trembling as you reached the precipice of another orgasm.

Charles didn't let up, his fingers curling inside you, mouth sucking and licking with a precision that drove you insane. You felt the wave building higher until it crashed over you with a devastating force. You cried out his name, your vision blurring as the orgasm tore through you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

He continued to work you through it, his fingers slowing but never stopping, his mouth still pressing gentle kisses to your throbbing clit while lapping up all your cum. Finally, when you were utterly spent, he withdrew his fingers and moved up to cradle you in his arms.

He made a show of licking his lips before humming in delight. "You taste amazing, mon amour," he whispered before pressing a soft kiss to your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You smiled, still catching your breath, your body humming with the aftershocks of your release. "Was that your parting present?"

Charles chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I think I can do better than that," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

Just as he leaned in to kiss you again, his eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand. His expression changed instantly.

"Merde!" he exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. "I completely lost track of time."

You followed his gaze to the clock and your eyes widened. "Charles, your flight!" you gasped, the reality sinking in.

He scrambled off the bed, grabbing his phone to see a couple missed calls from his manager. He quickly dialled back, pacing around the room until the line was connected.

"I'm so sorry, I got... distracted," he explained, hurriedly casting a sheepish grin in your direction.

You couldn't help but giggle as he spoke, realizing this was the first time Charles had potentially missed a flight because of you. You knew you should feel guilty, and perhaps you would later when the consequences set in, but in that moment, basking in the post-orgasmic bliss, you wouldn't have had it any other way.

Charles hung up, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. "Looks like I'll have to catch the next flight," he said, a hint of frustration in his tone knowing that he wouldn't be able to fly with any of his team members.

But then, his gaze softened as he looked at you, a small smile spreading across his face. "Not that I regret a single second."

You laughed, reaching out to pull him back to the bed. "Guess you'll have to stay here with me a little longer," you teased, running your fingers down his chest.

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. "You're insatiable," he murmured, his eyes filled with playful affection.

You grinned, your fingers tracing lower. "You've used your fingers and your tongue, but not your cock yet," you replied, your voice dripping with desire.

Charles' eyes darkens with lust at your words. "Is that a request?" he asked, his voice husky as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin.

"More like a demand," you whispered, pulling him in for a deep, hungry kiss.

Taglist: @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @tellybearryyyy @nikfigueiredo @jointhehunt67 @bokutos-babyowl @sya-skies @charlesleclercsonlywife @dreamingonbed @wonnou @heylookwhoitis

[enha-stars]

Do It For Me ; L.HS

beg me to stop, i promise i’ll love you if you do it, so do it for me

Pairing: Advisor!Heeseung x F!Princess!Reader

Synopsis: To all the subjects, all the servants, and all other royalty, you’re next in line for the throne. You’re a Princess, their Princess. However, in the depths of the night, far away in another tower, you’re nothing but a filthy, sluty, whore. Master to all, servant to one.

Warnings: porn with plot (little plot), SMUT, p in v, MDNI, fluff, minor angst, lowkey (highkey) master/servant/ownership themes, learned new things about myself tbh, unprotected sex (don’t), switch!heeseung, switch!reader, lots of kissing, genuine trust, all consensual, both are freaks, praise & degradation, abuse of authority (both into it), minor exhibitionism, choking, oral (both), sweat kink, mentions of death & hell & religion (brief), reader has big boobs bcuz i do (not sorry), biting, spit (lots of it), reader has hair long enough to pull, brief lactation kink, crying, overstimulation, 11.9k words

A/N: Well. I didn't think my comeback would be linked to a five second hentai scene I stumbled across, but alas, here we are. This is for my girls, my freakhoonz, who have been so patient with me. I'm pretty proud of this one, actually.

The morning sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows of the castle’s grand dining hall, painting the ancient stone walls with golden hues. The air was crisp, the faint scent of lavender from the nearby gardens carried in on the light breeze. 

Despite the magnificence of the room–the high, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes, the crystal chandelier that sparkled like captured starlight–it felt eerily empty. 

You sat at the center of the impossibly long mahogany dining table, a gown of soft ivory silk pooled around you, delicate lace cuffs brushing against your wrists as you reached for your teacup, the scent of chai wafting through the air. The delicate porcelain looked almost fragile in your hands, a stark contrast to the quiet stiffness in your posture. 

You glanced up briefly at the empty seats surrounding you, expression unreadable. The solitude of the grand room seemed to weigh heavily but you bore it with practiced grace, familiar with the chilling quietness that had long seeped into your bones. 

Behind you stood your advisor, his figure tall and shadow-like in the glow of the morning light. He remained still, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his brown eyes watchful. “You’ve hardly touched your breakfast, Your Highness,” he said, his voice low, measured. 

You sighed softly, setting your teacup down with a faint clink. “I’m not that hungry,” you replied, tone polite but distant. You toyed with the edge of your napkin, gaze drifting toward the massive windows. Beyond them, the lush gardens stretched endlessly, the vibrant colors of the blooms concentrated well with the muted grays and browns of the castle’s interior. 

Servants moved quietly around the room, their footsteps muffled by thick rugs. A maid approached with a tray, setting down a plate of freshly baked pastries. You nodded in silence acknowledgement before the new, baby pink she was adorned in caught your eye. She barely noticed as she bowed, silently walking away. 

You stared at her departing figure, intrigued by her outfit. It was new; with a white, crisp blouse with a lace trim on the collar, the baby pink apron consisted of a full bib that had covered her chest with wide straps that criss crossed along her back, the skirt of the apron was pleated as it rested on the petticoat. In sum, it was beautiful. You had half a mind to call her back, just so you could simply admire the subtle embroidery that you were sure consisted of different floral patterns. 

Heeseung stepped closer, his voice softening. “The day ahead will demand much of you, Princess. Perhaps a few bites, if only to sustain yourself.” 

Instead of answering him, you pointed to the empty space that the maid had retreated to. “What was she wearing, Heeseung? Has mother changed their uniform once again?” 

Heeseung nodded, and although you could not see it, you felt it. “Yes, Your Highness. The Queen suggested something that would lighten the castle. They have just arrived from Japan.”

“Hm,” you hummed. You leaned back in your chair, picking at a sugar cookie. Expression laced with something unspoken and a faint smile, you tilted your head in question. “What do you think?”

“About what, Princess?”

“The maid outfits. Poor things have to wear them all the time, don’t they?” 

Heeseung narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, the sides of his lips twitching at the faux sympathy in your voice, hiding your intrigue. “They are certainly prettier than their older garments. As long as they look good, I believe the Queen will remain satisfied.” 

Wiping your fingers with your napkin, you folded it in half and set it beside the tray. “You think so? Mother is hard to please.” 

“For the sake of the maids, I hope so.” 

The faintest laugh escaped you, so quiet it might have gone unnoticed if not for the way his lips curved ever so slightly in response. Despite the coldness of the wide room, the warmth that Heeseung’s honesty provided you was enough, unusually so. 

Interrupting the moment, Heeseung stepped forward, placing a folded parchment on the table beside your plate. “The morning reports, as you requested,” he said, his tone reverting to its usual professionalism. 

You glanced at the parchment but made no move to open it. Instead, your eyes flickered to his retreating hand, catching the faintest twitch of his fingers. You knew that if you turned back, you would have caught his expression, sure of the soft hesitation that would have lingered. 

Instead, you smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Heeseung.” 

Before you could pick it up, his voice brushed against your ear. “Would you like me to read it to you, Princess?”

“Would you, Heeseung? I’m not quite in the mood.” 

He stepped forward, fingers brushing against the paper before he picked it up. “Of course, Princess. Anything for you.”

His words weren’t unique, they had been uttered a few times an hour daily, but they were different when he said them. There was a certain…genuinity to them, a quiet promise just for you.

You loved it.

Reveled in it, even.

Sighing, Heeseung pushed open the large wooden door to his quarters. He was lucky enough to be liked by the King to receive his own space, no matter how minimal it was, it was his. He could do whatever–whoever–he wanted to.

Rolling his shoulders, he dragged his feet and stretched his neck, rubbing at the knot he was sure was forming. His dark blue tunic was crinkled by the bottom and all he wanted to do was take a warm bath and wash away the dirt of the day. 

He pushed his bedroom door open, ready to sink onto the floor when a familiar, too familiar, irritated voice called out to him, draining the tension from his body and igniting a fire in the pit of his stomach. 

“Finally!” You stood across from Heeseung, arms crossed. “What took you so long? I requested for father to let you leave the meeting early.” 

“Princess?” Heeseung slammed the door shut, pressing his back against it, mouth agape. He was staring at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. He clutched the neck of his tunic, as if his panic was clawing at him. As if you hadn’t found yourself in his bedroom, many times before. 

“Well?” You raised your eyebrow. “What kept you?” There was a certain edge to your voice, one Heeseung had heard in meetings and gatherings, the voice of royal blood, companding, booming, and oh so luring. 

His throat dried up immediately, blinking once, twice, before you tilted your head and he straightened. It didn’t matter that you stood in front of him in one of the new maid outfits, all tangled and mismatched, strings undone and pieces folded, he still had to answer to you, still a subject. 

“The King,” he began, trying to even out his breathing and push all the darker thoughts back into the depths of his brain, “he wanted new territory lines drawn.”

Still standing in the middle of the room, you were a masterful figure, illuminating his room better than the few candles that were littered around his room. “And did you? Help him? Advise him,” you whispered, mocking his discomposure. 

Heeseung swallowed, slowly pushing himself off his door. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

Instead of answering him, you simply smiled at him, and his legs almost wobbled at the sight. It was different here, seeing you so close, face to face, when he often spent time behind you, deciphering your moods and expressions by the twitch of your ears and stiffness of your shoulders. Like this, with you standing before him, he almost couldn’t handle it.

You were the prettiest in the land, the most beloved jewel of the kingdom, but standing in the dim light of his flickering candles with disheveled clothes and a curved smile, one just for him–he thought you had never looked more beautiful. 

He was almost completely undone. 

“Your Highness,” he stepped towards you, “what are you doing here?” He knew. He knew. But he wasn’t bold enough to want it, not yet. 

Grinning at his question, you spread your arms and motioned towards your body. “I wanted to try this on. It looked so pretty.”

“Yes,” Heeseung nodded, “it does. But why here?” You were always bolder than him, at least in the beginning. 

Your eyes shined with something sinister, something lustful, something he could have been hung for, and he wanted it. He wanted to taste it. He wanted to drown in it. 

“To show you, of course. But I seemed to have done this wrong.” You pouted, a bit frustrated at yourself for failing to put on a maids outfit. Surely you were more capable. 

Heeseung sucked in a sharp breath at your words, his heart beating loudly in his head. He had an inkling, the smallest of feelings that you would pull something like this but he hadn’t thought about it, hadn't gone as far as to want it, in case he was wrong.

He rarely ever was. 

“Help me, will you?” You stepped towards him and smiled softly, peering up at him with shiny eyes. “Help me put this on.”

Heeseung held his breath for a second, looking for any hesitation, any sign that would immediately push all his sinful thoughts out of his mind, but all he saw was pure, unfiltered trust in your eyes. You wanted this, whatever it was, you wanted it completely. 

He’d give it to you. Of course he would. He’s never denied before you. 

“Of course, Princess.” He reached out and gently brushed his fingers against your arm, igniting a raging fire in the pit of your stomach, and he knew he had you. He maneuvered you closer to his bed, closer to the candles so he could see you properly, before he began undoing the laces and straps of the apron, his nimble, long, and veiny fingers gently ghosting over your skin but never touching. 

Breathing in his scent, the mixture of musk, old wood, and his sweat made you want to bite into his skin. You stood still as he moved around you, towering over you as he undid the mess you had made of yourself. His fingers brushed against your skin, nails barely grazing your clothed body, and it was almost enough. 

When he got to your chest, you felt him hold his breath and you purposefully pressed further into him, forcing his fingers to graze your erect nipple. You had abandoned your corset, letting your breasts press freely against the cotton material. As he shifted the apron to cover your chest–or as much as he could–you tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck. 

Heeseung wanted to lick the exposed skin but he bit his tongue instead. He had to be patient. Right now, he was still your subject. You were still his master, he was yours to command.

After a few moments, he tied the final bow in the back and breathed down your neck for one, quick second before he stepped back.

“There you are, Princess.” 

Slowly, you turned around and tilted your head in that endearingly dangerous way and smiled at him, shiny eyes staring up at him. “How do I look?” 

Like I should be on my knees worshipping you, he wanted to say. 

Instead, he whispered, “Beautiful. You always look beautiful, Princess.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from giggling at his wondrous expression. 

“Beautiful enough to serve you?” You fluttered your eyelashes, licking your lips in delight.

Pupils blown wide, Heeseung swallowed his tongue.

“Pardon?” 

Smiling at his dumbfoundedness, you moved towards him, grinning when he stepped back. You continued to step towards him until the back of his legs hit the edge of his bed and he fell back, staring up at you like he was afraid you’d eat him at the first sign of weakness. 

Before Heeseung could find proper footing, you were sinking to your knees and he suddenly couldn’t breathe all over again. You found a comfortable position between his legs, resting your cheek against his thigh, staring at him as if he was the only thing you wanted to focus on. 

Holding himself up by his arms, Heeseung tried to control his breathing. “Princess,” he gasped out. “What are you doing?” He let out a strangled breath when you brushed your smaller, delicate hand against his growing bulge. 

“What does it look like, Heeseung? I’m serving you.” You twisted the threads of his trousers before undoing them. His hand landed on yours, almost fervently. He squeezed once and you glanced up at him.

“Tonight,” you whispered against his inner thigh, “I serve you. I’m yours to command.” Pressing a soft kiss to his thigh, you trailed your fingers all over his pelvis.

“My master.” 

Heeseung couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t breathed in quite some time and he was surely never going to breathe again. Despite your words, the soft shift of power, he knew that like this, between his legs, you had all the control.

You tapped the waistband of his trousers and in less than a second, he had pulled them off. They pooled between his legs, sinking to the floor and you gathered them before pulling them right off, leaving him completely naked from the waist down.

You started at his ankles, fingers pressing down on his sun-kissed skin, fingernails grazing upwards, watching in fascination as goosebumps erupted on his skin. Reaching his thighs, you spread his legs further, swallowing the whisper of a whimper he released, and kissed his inner thigh until it was littered in little red marks, fading quickly. You kissed his other thigh, licking and nibbling the skin, acutely aware of the way Heeseung had begun to shift under your hold. 

Once you were satisfied with the constellations you had etched onto his skin, you lifted your head and almost gasped at the way he was leaking, his tip red and veiny. Mesmerized, you leaned forward, but before you continued, you shifted your eyes to his and found nothing but darkness staring back at you. His bambi eyes, the ones you loved so dearly, had been replaced by something predatory. 

Yet, you could see the softness threaded into the crinkles of his skin, the way he refused to move, to touch you, unless you made it clear that you wanted him to. You rested your cheek against his inner thigh and smiled up at him. 

“Can I?” Your voice was low, a mere brush of air against his skin, but he heard you. “Please, Hee. Can I?” 

Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded. You blinked up at him, unmoving. Swallowing the lust that had clawed its way to his throat, Heeseung tilted his head forward. “Go ahead, Princess.” 

His rough, almost choked voice vibrated against your heart and you slowly lifted your head and shifted as close as you could get to him, knees scraping against the wood of his bed. He didn’t know what to expect, unsure of your next moves. He hated being so disheveled, so not-in-tune with you, but he couldn’t complain, not when you leaned forward and pressed your nose against the base of his cock. 

Jerking forward, Heeseung barely had enough time to cry out your name before you licked a long stripe from his base to his tip, circling your tongue around him once before you repeated the action once more. All his empty words died in his throat as he released a shaky breath at the feeling of your warm mouth taking him in, engulfing him completely. 

Pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, you could taste the salty taste of his sweat and precum. It took over your senses and you shifted upwards, circling your tongue around his tip before sucking, the taste of him took over your senses. Pooling some spit on your tongue, you let it drip down his length as you wrapped your hand around him, using his own precum mixed with your spit as lube, jerking your hand up and down as you continued to press soft kisses around his tip. 

Heeseung groaned, his breathing getting heavier as his legs spasmed around you. You put a bit of pressure on his legs with your arms so he wouldn’t move too much, needing the taste of him down your throat more than you needed anything else, so you sucked on his tip harder, slopplier without stopping the motion of your hand. 

“Y/n,” his broken voice moaned out. 

Your name on his lips made your legs quiver and you looked up to the sight of his eyes screwed shut, head thrown back. His face had flushed pink and a thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead, his hair half brushed back and half sticking to his skin. His chest was rising rapidly and he looked so beautiful, hands clenched tightly as his legs flexed continuously. 

Without stopping, you used your free hand, the one that had been pressing into his skin, to grab his fisted hand. His eyes opened at the touch and he watched with amazement as you uncurled his fingers and guided them to your hair. Instantly, they curled around the strands and you hummed in satisfaction, making his cock twitch in your mouth. 

“I’m–Oh, fuck,” he whimpered out, his voice cracking, and you pushed him further down your throat, ignoring the burn because the sound of his broken voice was addictive, it was sweeter than the honey farmed in your land, and it satisfied you more than any of your fingers ever could have. 

His grip on your hair tightened and you wanted to giggle when he slowly began controlling your movements, pushing your head down until the tip grazed the back of your throat and you gagged around him, squeezing your own legs together. 

“That’s it, Princess,” he whispered. He pulled at your hair a bit, trying to give you the opportunity to breathe but you didn’t want to, so you licked along one of his veins and you glanced up at the exact moment his eyes rolled back into his skull and he moaned, loud and raspy and so broken. 

Your free hand trailed his skin, sliding up his tunic and you felt the way his abs flexed, the way his thighs shook as his head slowly fell back, the pleasure overwhelming. His grip on your hair loosened further and you licked at the tip once more before kissing his balls, your hand still wrapped around his length, tight and warm. 

Heeseung was close to crying, he was gasping and he could feel the coil in his abdomen tighten further as you licked and sucked on his balls, seeing stars and almost losing feeling in his arms when you nibbled at one of them. His chest rose rapidly, almost as if he was a man in his last moments of life. He could feel it, the way every muscle in his body had flexed, constricted against his will. 

“Fuck, I can’t.”

Choosing to fondle his balls instead, you licked up his shaft only to suck on his tip, staring up at him, fascinated at the way his adam's apple bobbed painfully against his skin and the way his skin had flushed even more. 

When the pleasure became too much, too blinding, Heeseung threaded his fingers back into your hair, and pulled. “Stop.” He pulled until it hurt, until he had pulled you off his dick and it rested against your cheek instead. “Enough.” His voice was guttural, vibrating against your teeth. 

You blinked up at him, mouth agape. His eyes fluttered shut at the sight of you; hair a matted mess, lips plump and bruised, eyes blown wide, and his precum and your own drool dripped down the sides of your mouth. He could have cummed at the sight alone, but he wanted to be inside you. 

He had to be inside you. 

Slowly, his hand slid from your hair to your face. He cupped your cheek, eyes smiling softly when you leaned into his hand. He wiped the drool off your lips with his thumb only to bring his finger to his mouth. You felt your pussy flutter around nothing and he didn’t have to hear it to know you almost whined. 

He brought his hand back to your face, trying to ignore the urge to push his cock back into your mouth, and wiped away your tears. You looked surprised, not even realizing you had begun to cry. 

“How did I do?” Your voice was hoarse, a bit broken, and his cock twitched. He rarely had the chance to ever hear it like this. He brought his other hand to your face, cupping both your cheeks and forcing you to look into his eyes. 

“Perfect. Always so perfect, Princess.” He could see it in your eyes, the need. So he gave it to you. “Serving me so well. You take such good care of me.” 

Your eyes lit up at the praise and he almost cooed, despite being on the urge of cumming. If he had this, if he had you like this, he wanted to enjoy it. And, above all, he wanted you to enjoy it. 

He was good at giving you what you needed, not just what you wanted. 

“Stand up for me, Princess.” He brushed his fingers against your neck. “Stand up.” 

Immediately, obediently, you managed to stand on shaky legs. Heeseung’s gaze traveled from your skirt to your apron, eyes focused on your nipples poking through. Despite fixing your attire earlier, it was all twisted and wet now. He loved it. 

You looked at him expectantly and he almost gave it up, almost begging for you to take him, to have him anyway you wanted him, but he couldn’t. A bigger, more selfish part of him couldn’t. 

“Strip for me.” When you began pulling at the strings, he coaxed out, “Leave the apron.” 

Your fingers paused before quickly pulling off the blouse, biting your lip when the cold air brushed against your skin. You pulled down the skirt and kicked it all to the side until you stood in nothing but the pink apron. It barely covered your chest and left your entire backside exposed, but you loved it; loved the way Heeseung’s eyes drank you in, eyes becoming impossibly darker. 

“Come here,” he motioned. You moved towards him, stepping between his legs. At once, he was gripping your hips and pulled you in, his face pressing into your stomach. He breathed you in, trying to burn the memory of you like this into his soul, hoping that when he goes, you’d greet him to the gates of hell like this, ever so enticing, so perfect. 

Even though he hadn’t given you permission, your hands found home in his long, shaggy black hair. You brushed your fingers through it, loving the length. He looked up at you and you almost, almost, wanted to ring the local church, wanted to tell them they had it all wrong because one of their angels, one of the sinful devils was here with you. 

The look in Heeseung’s eyes had changed. You could see it, feel it in his gaze. The way he looked at you now was anything but sweet. He wanted to eat you whole, in pieces if he had to. 

“Want to please me? Make me cum?” He spoke against your stomach, the cloth of the apron muffling his words but you heard him. Your knees weakened in response. You nodded, “Yes.” 

You could feel the curve of his smile against your skin as he pressed soft, open mouthed kisses to your stomach. You hadn’t noticed his trailing hand until it landed on your ass and he squeezed hard. You almost yelped at the feeling and jerked forward, his other hand steadying you. You held onto his shoulder, his hair, as his hand grazed your backside, fingers drawing circles on the fat of your skin. 

At once, Heeseung shifted and lifted his head, looking up at you. His eyes met yours and you both stared at each other, millions of unsaid words, thoughts, filling the minimal air between you both. The way Heeseung looked at you now, like he was staring up at the starry night sky, absolutely bewildered by the stars that littered the sky, it was better than anything else anyone could have ever given you. You’d trade all your fancy dresses, all your jewels, every single piece of gold you could get your hand on for him, just for him to look at you like this for the rest of your life, like you’re something precious, something beautiful, more than just the blood that ran through your veins. 

The weight of your look was too much for him, too terrifying, so he caught your wandering hand instead and rested it on his cheek. He leaned into it and you soothed the skin under his eyes, noticing for the first time just how strained it was. Heeseung kissed the edge of your palm before he pushed himself upwards on the bed until his back rested against the headboard. 

You watched him closely, watching the way his length still stood hard and tall but he paid it no mind. His eyes were on you. They had and always would be on you. He spread his legs, his muscles flexing before he patted his lap. “Come, Princess.” 

Obeying him immediately, you hastily, ungracefully, crawled towards him and his hands, his large, needy, hard working hands, grabbed you, caressing your skin softly as he settled you on his lap, the apron bunching up between your bodies. He paid little attention to his throbbing dick and more to the warmth of your cheeks, the bashfulness he could see in your eyes. 

Like the good girl you were, or wanted to be, you kept your hands to yourself and waited for him. Heeseung smiled at your patience and squeezed your hips once before he rested against the wood, ignoring the way it pierced his skin. You were soaking, knowing that your own wetness coated your thighs, making the apron stick to you in all sorts of uncomfortable ways. 

“Take off my tunic, Princess. Undress me.” There was something menacing in his soft voice, a slight tease at her, at her skill. Surely a maid like her, a servant, could undo a simple tunic, his voice had said. 

You nodded and reached for the tightly done threads, fingers trembling as you slowly pulled and loosened his collar, keeping your eyes on his chest. If you had lifted them, you’d see the way Heeseung was lazily resting against the headboard, the way his hair was a mess, the glint in his eyes that promised demise. He’d kept himself at bay for now, towing the power between himself and you, but when he took it again, completely and unruly, he’d have broken you tenfold. 

Once the neck of his tunic had loosened, you grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled up, smiling briefly at his immediate compliance, lifting his arms. You tossed his shirt to the side somewhere, solely focused on his skin, his solid, glistening chest. 

“Go ahead,” he smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. “Touch me.” 

Gingerly, you lifted both your hands and settled them on his chest. Heeseung’s eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of your cold hands on his burning body, the way you were gentle as you grazed his toned abs, the way your fingers paused on all the cuts and scars that littered his body. 

“Can I?” You didn’t lift your eyes, focused on a new scar right above his heart. Heeseung’s hand travelled from your hip to your stomach and he pushed down.

“Yes.” He swallowed. “Please.” 

Gently, like he was fragile, you leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the scarred tissue. His breathing hitched, his grip on you tightened, and he was a complete goner when your kisses became heavier, sloppier, and soon, his entire chest was littered with the remnants of your saliva. 

Pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Heeseung lifted your head, his gaze almost scoldering. He looked between your eyes, trying to find any hesitation, before he glanced down at your lips. Unconsciously, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, a habit you had yet to grow out of. 

Sliding his thumb upwards, he coaxed you to release your lip and when he did, he pressed down and you shifted on his lap, his length brushing against the apron and he winced, a mixture of pleasure and pain shadowing across his face. 

“I’m going to kiss you, Princess.” Heeseung was already breathless, unsure if he was warning you or asking, only wanting your plush lips against his. 

“Please,” is all you managed to whisper out. If the kingdom could see you now, begging and writhing on top of Heeseung, a man not of royal blood or even any land. They’d never understand, you decided.

What it felt like to be wanted like this. 

Sliding his hand up from your waist to your throat, he wrapped his fingers gently enough to entice you. Your hands laid flat on his chest and you could feel the rapid pace of his heart, knowing he wanted this just as much, if not more. 

Pulling your head down, he tilted his chin to meet your lips in the middle. His lips, plush and pink, brushed against yours and you tilted your head, trying to chase him. His grip on your throat tightened and he kept you where he wanted you. He brushed his lips against yours once more, smiling against your pout. 

“Pretty thing,” he cooed. “You’ll take what I give you.” 

You whimpered against his lips, keeping your eyes on his. You knew he was being generous, knew he was being kind and sweet, the version of him you loved, but it wasn’t the one you needed. You needed him to abuse the power you had easily surrendered. 

“How bad?” He asked against your lips, brushing his lips against your chin, nose, cheek. “How bad do you want this, Princess?” 

“Very,” you whispered against his lips. “Please, Heeseung.” 

“Fuck,” he groaned, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of your chin. “Begging for me like this. What would your mother say?” 

At the mention of your mother, the Queen, you shifted on his lap once more, his length brushing deliciously against your soaked core. His grip on your throat tightened just for a second before he composed himself. 

Unsure whether or not he wanted an answer, you parted your lips to say something, anything, and he interrupted you by crashing your lips against his, swallowing your surprised gasp greedily. His lips moved roughly against yours, so perfect, as one of his hands slid down to your ass, gripping tightly as he moved your hips against his, not caring for the way the apron you had on had been completely soaked by now. 

His grip on your throat tightened once more and you moaned into his mouth, moving your lips feverishly against his. Heeseung slipped his tongue into your mouth, tracing the crevices of your teeth and gums before sucking on your tongue, guiding your hips so your cunt rubbed against the side of his cock. 

His eyes almost rolled back at the lack of air and he pulled back, mesmerized by the string of spit that connected both of your lips. He pulled further away, just to see how far he could stretch the glistening string before it broke, surging forward to lick it from the edge of your mouth. 

He licked and kissed down your throat, his hand sliding downwards until both his hands were focused on the bow on your lower back. He pulled it apart as he nibbled and sucked your neck, only pulling away to pull the apron off your head. His lips immediately reattached to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone and your head fell back, trying to pry yourself open for him. 

Heeseung bit down on the skin just above your collarbone and you cried out, hands flying to his hair, gripping for dear life. He grinned against your skin and pulled at your own hair, making you arch for him so he could reach your breasts better. 

He began kissing down your body, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to the skin between your breasts, licking and sucking, swallowing the taste of your sweet sweat, knowing he’d fight a war for the taste. 

You were a mess above him, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your lips as you pulled and scraped his hair and the nape of his neck. Your entire body was on fire and you almost couldn’t breathe. 

Under a trance, Heeseung pressed a soft kiss on one of your breasts, his fingers brushing the nipple of the other. He kitten-licked your swollen, aching bud before latching on, sucking and kissing, circling his tongue as if he could have convinced your body to submit to him completely, as if he could milk you dry. 

His other hand pinched and squeezed your other nipple, before he released your swollen and wet nipple with a pop, not even breathing as he latched onto the other one. All of your senses were going crazy, overwhelmed to the point of hysteria and tears. Heeseung jerked his hips upwards, pulling you impossibly closer and flush against him, his cock sliding perfectly between your soaked folds. 

Once he’s sure that he’s marked every inch of you, every inch of your supple skin red and pinched, he pulls away and revels in what he sees. You’re gripping onto him tightly, grinding yourself against him, head thrown back as a sheen layer of sweat coats your throat. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. 

His voice breaks the trance you seem to be in and you slowly halt your movements and tilt your head forward, eyes locking on his. He pushes himself up, resting his forehead against yours as both of your chests heave. You lean forward and press a swift kiss to his swollen lips, licking his bottom lip. He lets you have it because he captures your lips again, heart beating rapidly against your chest as his arms circle your waist. 

“Ready to make me cum?” He asks, voice unbelievably gravelly and hoarse. He knows that if you simply touched him, simply grazed his tip with your fingers, he’d cum like he never has before. 

“I need to,” you tell him. “Please, Heeseung. Use me.” You’re so earnest in your words, the way your eyes shine with trust and lust, like he could do anything to you and you’d let him. 

A darker, sinister part of him wants to know how far he could go before you stop him. 

Heeseung grins at you, a curve of his lips, teeth on display as his hands slide up and down your exposed thighs. “Ride me, Princess.” He watches the way your eyes widen, he can feel the way your pulse quickens, and he wants to be the only person to ever see you like this. He wraps one of his hands around his hard, leaking cock and slides up and down once. “Ride me like the good, pretty little slut you are.” 

Your pussy flutters at his words and he can feel it against his legs. He almost, almost, loses it right there and then and has half a mind to flip you over but he needs to prolong this. So, instead, he brushes the back of his hand against your cheek, looking as sinful as ever. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you held onto his shoulders with trembling arms and slowly lifted your knees. Like the saint he could sometimes be, Heeseung gripped the underside of your thighs, helping lift your body. 

Exhaling a short breath, you gripped his cock and lined him up with your entrance. The soft scrape of his tip against your pussy was almost enough, but you wanted more, needed more. With his red tip positioned at your entrance, you slowly sunk down, moaning loudly. 

The satisfying tightening and burn of his veins against your gummy walls made you both moan in unison, your body falling limp into his as you sunk down completely, the base of his cock hitting your core. The stretch felt amazing, so good, and all you could do was tuck your face into the crook of his neck, biting back a sob. 

“Fuck,” he groans out, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping your skin. “Fuck, so fucking tight.” You press a soft kiss to his neck and he jerks his hips upwards, filling you to the brim, his tip reaching parts of you only he had discovered. 

“Move,” he ordered, weakly. “Fuck yourself on my cock, Princess. Just like you said you would, like you want to.” 

Your head fell back onto his chest and you bit his shoulder, holding onto his neck tightly as you used all your strength to move. He twitches inside you, against your sensitive walls, and you almost cry out. As if sensing your distraught, one of his hands grips your waist protectively and he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head. 

Lifting your legs, you slowly moved on his lap, sliding him in and out of your pussy. His hold on your waist helped lift you up and down, guiding you to a delicious pace. Once you find your rhythm, Heeseungs hands slide from your waist to your ass, resting there. 

He throws his head back when you begin to jump on his cock, his balls slapping against your ass. Your grip on his shoulders is piercing, he can feel his skin breaking as you dig your nails into his skin, the creak of his bed is loud in the room filled with your moans. 

You slow down, pressing down on his length to catch your breath. Grinding on his lap, his cock brushes against all your sweet spots, stretching your walls with a familiar enough burn. As you wriggle around on his cock, Heeseung’s eyes fly open and he stares at you with a heavy lidded gaze. 

“Tired already, Princess?” He chokes out, trying to be amused but his voice breaks. You don’t answer him, you can’t answer him, so he cooes at you instead and slides his hands up your sweaty body until his hand rests on your throat and he grips it, forcing your eyes open when he presses down with his thumb. 

Your eyes fly open and there are tears in your eyes as you try to push him to the brim, needing him to cum inside you before you lose your mind. “Heeseung,” you breathe out, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 

“I got you, Princess,” he whispers against your skin, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I got you.” 

He kneads the flesh of your ass before he grips on tightly and thrusts into you. He begins fucking into you at an unsteady pace, your jaw going slack as his tip presses against your cervix with each thrust, making your eyes roll back. 

You could feel each and every vein bulging against your walls as he pounded into you, your hands flying to the headboard when his pace became rougher, more animalistic. 

“Wanting to serve me,” he mumbles against your throat, licking and biting your skin. “Can’t even fuck herself on my cock for long,” he chastises, spreading your ass so he could fuck into you harder. He bites into your skin sharply, almost breaking skin, and you tug at his hair, whimpering loudly. 

He can’t stop his rough movements, his thrusts never faltering as he brings you both closer to your release, abdomens twisting and churning. You felt your ears ringing when he pulled your hair, exposing your neck to him. His lips found home on your breasts, licking and biting as his cock continued to slide in and out of you at an abusing rate. 

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Imagine if others saw you like this.” At his own words, his pelvis jerked upwards, grazing that gummy, sensitive part inside you. He’d kill whoever saw you like this. But the thought of his Princess, the Princess, being dumb and sloppy for his dick for an audience made his legs burn.

“Don’t–” You started, voice breaking when he pinched your nipple.

“Don’t want what?” He asked, glancing up at you. “Tell me.”

“Don’t want others to see me,” you whispered. You looked down at him and smiled hazily, eyes unfocused and spit coating your lips.

“Just you.” 

Desperation clawed at Heeseung and his thrusts became erratic as he pushed your body flush against him, forcing your hips to match his bruising pace as more slick poured from your legs and onto his lap and sheets, your needy moans mixed with his broken ones. 

“Close–I’m, oh,” you stuttered out, eyes closing when Heeseung’s fingers grazed your clit, his own eyes shutting for a second when your walls squeezed him impossibly tight as he pressed his fingers against your clit. He could feel it, the dizzying feeling of euphoria building in his chest, the way it was running through his veins. He could tell you felt it too by your breathing, the way your pussy was weeping for him. 

Stars danced around in your vision and he knew his own vision mirrored yours, the tightness in his core was almost unbearable and he tipped his head forward and pressed his lips against yours, smiling briefly when your hold on him tightened. “Go ahead, Princess. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock,” his voice was sweet, borderline crazed. 

You fell limp in his arms when he thrusted into you once, twice, right against your cervix, and you had come undone for him, release washing over you, body weak as your legs shook on top of Heeseung’s. His hands were all over your body, caressing your skin to comfort you as your body convulsed for him. 

His lips were littering soft kisses to any skin he could reach, and when your walls tightened completely, coating his cock in your cum, he softly cried out your name as warm ropes of his cum filled you to the brim. 

You could barely blink, senses still overwhelmed as he kept kissing you, kept cumming, filling you up so well, until you could almost taste him. Quiet praises filled with love and encouragement were whispered against your skin as he remained buried up to the hilt in you, his hips still pushing his cum into you, almost as if he had no control over himself. 

Your entire body was shaking and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbing your back gently until your whimpers turned into heavy breathing, until all you could mumble was some variation of his name. He forced his hips to still, forced himself to breathe deeply. 

Bodies sticky and sweaty, he ran his hands up and down your back, nails grazing your skin to ground you. He was sure he was still cumming but if he could distract you, keep your attention on anything other than your overly stimulated, stuffed pussy, he’d do so. 

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed lovingly, kissing the shell of your ear. “I got you.” He smiled when he felt you nod in the crook of his neck. “Did so well for me, Princess.” You simply hummed in response, unable to form any sentences at the moment. Heeseung rested his cheek against your head, fighting the urge to grind his hips against yours. 

You breathed in Heeseung’s scent slowly, head safely tucked in the crook of his neck. The way he held you now, so soft, so lovingly, had your heart settling. You still could barely feel your legs, moaning lightly when his cock twitched inside you. Wrapped around his body, you pressed an open mouthed kiss to his neck, sucking softly when he tilted his head to give you more access. 

Your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck and he shuddered. You could have fallen asleep right there and then, with his cock stuffed safely in your pussy, sticky wetness fusing your both together.

But, as you should have known, Heeseung had other plans. Gently, oh, so gently, he coaxed you up. The movement had you both hissing but he was quick to steady you, quick to brush your hair from your face. You stared at him and his legs wobbled at the look in your eyes. You brought a hand up to his face and traced the length of his eyebrow, brushing your fingers down his nose, and along his nose. 

“Pretty,” you mumbled, and he leaned forward and kissed you softly. 

It was different, slower, more intimate as he cupped your cheek and tilted his head, lips plush against yours. You moaned into his mouth at the intimacy of it; the way his cock was still buried inside you, the way your mixed juices still leaked out of you, the gentle caress of his hand as he whispered loving praises into your mouth. 

Your hand trailed down his face until it rested against his throat. In a surge of confidence, a sudden flicker of realization, you pushed down on his adam's apple and he moaned into your mouth, tightening his hold on you. 

Before you could indulge yourself, take back the power you had so easily given way, Heeseung was lifting you, he held you close as he pushed up on his legs and you held onto him tightly as he guided you to fall back on the mattress, his cock still buried deep within you. 

You stared up at him in bewilderment and he grinned, a wicked look in his eyes as he leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your nose. Your legs had naturally lifted and he rested them against his shoulders, needing the access. He grinded his hips against yours and smiled devilishly when your walls clenched around him. 

“Not so fast, Princess,” he nipped your chin. He dragged his lips down your throat, leaving a trail of saliva. “You’re still here to serve me, aren’t you?” His breath was hot against your ear, voice tantalizing. 

You nodded and wriggled under him, needing any sort of friction. He gripped your hips and halted your movements. “Behave,” he mumbles. Just when you’re relaxing against his hold, shoulders loosening and back straight on his mattress, he tightens his hold on your hips and pulls you forward, pelvis’ meeting as his tip digs deeper into you. 

Crying out, you clutch his arms, digging your nails into his skin. He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside of you, cock twitching in sensitivity, to catch his breath. He glances up at you and breathes out a quiet laugh. 

At the sound, you open your eyes and glance up at him, smiling at the sound. He leans down and kisses your lips softly before peppering small kisses down your neck. He slowly guides your legs back down, settling on either side of him as he kisses down your body, licking and nibbling. 

He slowly shifts his body downwards, coming to lay between your legs. When he pulls his cock out of your seeping hole, he watches in absolute amazement as his seed drips out of you. He watched until it stopped, blowing onto your folds just to watch them flutter. 

You lay there, mind on overdrive as the immense pleasure from all your muscles begged to lull you asleep. Instead, you dug your hands into his hair and ran your fingers through the matted threads, needing to ground yourself. 

Heeseung takes his time as he reaches your breasts, kissing around them both softly before he sucks on each nipple interchangeably. When you moan out his name, he continues on, kissing and licking down your stomach. He presses a wet kiss to your belly button and despite the sensual environment, soft laughter erupts from your throat at the feeling and Heeseung rests his forehead against your stomach at the sound. 

He lifts his head and rests his chin on your stomach, simply staring at you. You’re looking down at him, eyes shiny with a small, bright smile on your lips and he can’t help but smile brightly at your joy. He almost says it, almost begs you to accept his devotion, but he simply presses a kiss to your hip. 

“I’d go to war for it,” he whispered against your skin. 

“For what?” Your hand is in his hair again and your nails scrape against his scalp. “I’d never ask you to go to war, Heeseung.” To get your point across, hoping he could see the mirrored devotion in your eyes, you pulled at his hair so he’d look at you properly. “You’re not going.” 

“I would, though,” he responded. He traced different shapes into your skin before kissing you again. “For your laugh? I’d go.” 

Before you could reply, before you could forbid him, he shifted downwards and pressed his nose against your cunt, holding down your hips as your legs twitched. You cried out and pulled at his hair but he was adamant, ignoring the pain and pushed your legs further apart. 

You squirmed under him as he stared at your cunt before blowing warm air on it, finding your agony humorous. Even now, you could have said that you couldn’t take any more, but he knows you’d be lying. 

He spread your legs even further before he kissed your pussy softly. “Such a pretty pussy, Your Highness,” he praises, a twinge of mockery in his voice. He meant it, he loved it so dearly, almost as much as he loved you, but there was something unforbidding in his words. 

Here he was, treating the next in line for the throne as his own personal servant, using her until she begs to stop.

Heeseung smiled against you, knowing you’d never ask to stop, even if you needed to. Nothing he could do would warrant such a reaction. 

“Hee,” you whispered. 

“I know, baby,” he nodded, his nose brushing against your slick folds. “Such a good little thing you are,” he mumbled, the vibrations going straight to your core. “Letting me have my way.” 

“Please,” you begged. “Please.” 

Instead of giving you what you wanted, he brushed two of his fingers through your pussy, holding your hips down with one arm as he coats both fingers in a mixture of both of your releases. Once he’s pleased enough, Heeseung lifts his fingers to your mouth and raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Suck.” 

Like a man starved, you latched onto his fingers. He watched with dark eyes as you sucked on his fingers, twirling your tongue around them, cleaning them completely. Just as you’re about to pull his fingers out, he presses down on your tongue, making you gag. The taste of yourself mixed with him has you rutting against his nose. 

At that exact moment, he licked a harsh stripe of your core, holding you down as you writhe under him, still gagging on his fingers. 

He presses his face closer to your cunt as his tongue pushes in and out of your sopping hole, licking and sucking as if you’re his last meal. You might as well be, knowing what could happen if you’re discovered. That thought urges him to drag his tongue along your pussy, fucking it into your cunt before sucking on your clit. 

Tears are gathering in your eyes as Heeseungs fingers remain in your mouth, you’re sucking and licking but he’s still pushing down on your tongue, drool tipping over the edge of your lips. 

He traces his name, his devotion, into your gummy walls, his nose pressing against your clit. You moan out a broken, gagged version of his name and arched your back as his nose digs further into your clit, rubbing it until he’s sure you’re all he’ll smell for weeks. 

And he will. He won’t clean himself as well, hoping the scent of his sweat and your juices mixes into his skin and it becomes his new scent. It’ll waft through the air of the castle, enticing all, but only he would know the truth. 

Heeseung pressed his face even closer to your cunt as his tongue licked and suckled, lapping up all your juices. The taste of himself mixed in with yours has his eyes rolling back, knowing he’d never taste anything that would compare. 

The sounds of slurping and his lips smacking around your clit made your legs shake as you tried pulling his fingers out of your mouth, if only to get another taste of your mixtures. He tilted his even further, pushing his tongue deeper within you and you moaned. 

He curled the tip of his tongue upwards and you almost screamed, tears falling down your cheeks at the pleasure. “Yes, yes,” you chanted, words muffled by his fingers. 

Lifting his eyes, Heeseung hummed at the sight of your pleasure, the way tears prettily fell down your cheeks, and lifted his fingers from your tongue. Before he could bring his hand back towards him, you grabbed it and settled it on your chest. His wet, dripping fingers pinched your nipples, teasing the sensitive skin. 

Needing more, you began moving your hips feverishly against his face, grinding down on him. Heeseung groaned into your cunt, making your insides vibrate, as you smeared all your slick over his face, his chin dripping with drool and arousal. 

Your sweet scent and taste overwhelmed his mind and he began losing it, rutting against the mattress like a schoolboy, his lips latching onto your clit as he pushed himself closer to your dripping cunt, nose rubbing deliciously against your bud as he slid his tongue in and out of you. 

“Seung,” you cry, eyes barely open as you watch him suck you dry. His hand shifts from your chest to the one in his hair. He threads your fingers together and squeezes once, twice, before your legs are pulsing erratically and your walls clench around his tongue. “I’m close, baby, please.” 

Heeseung’s brain short-circuited at your words, at the term, and he spread you open wider and licked at you harsher, his tongue inching towards your anus, licking long strips as he teases your clit with his nose. 

“Cum, pretty thing,” he edged, lulling you closer to your orgasm.

“Cum all over my face, Princess.” 

His words were enough to break you and your vision blurred as you moaned, your stomach coiling and uncoiling as your orgasm washed over you like cold water, soaking you completely. 

Throwing your head back, Heeseung continued to push his tongue into your gushing pussy, lips coaxing all your juices down his throat, not wasting a single drop. He licked and sucked harshly, even as you mumbled incoherently about it being too much. 

He knew it was too much, it was taking all his power to hold you down, but he needed this more than he needed life. More than he needed anything else, more than even the King could offer him. He needed every last drop you had to offer in his mouth, he needed to imprint the taste to memory, the velvety of your juices healed him, he could feel it, the way his heart had mended and his scars had healed and he was perfect and worthy of you. 

His tongue continued to lap up everything that dripped out of you, including his own drool, as you breathed harshly, chest heaving up and down as you tried to pry yourself from his hold. You didn’t really want to break free, you just wanted his mouth on yours so you could taste a bit of yourself again. 

Once he was sure he had sucked you completely dry, cleaning your inner thighs with his tongue, leaving nothing but warmth in his wake, he pressed a soft kiss to your clit. You watched him with half lidded eyes as your body twitched with sensitivity. 

“So good,” he whispered against your skin. “Such a good girl, cumming for me again.” 

He looked up at you and your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight of him; eyes wide and hair wild as your cum and slick coated his face, his sun-kissed skin glowing with sweat as he smiled at you with swollen lips. 

He looked so pleased, so completely, irrevocably and ardently in love with you. 

He kissed up your thighs and you threaded your fingers in his hair and tugged. He let you drag him up, let you bring his face to yours and he grinned at the fucked out look on your face, the way your pupils had been blown wide, lips swollen, tears staining your cheeks. 

Pulling him down, you looked up at him, his warm gaze meeting yours and you could have sworn you saw a shooting star in his eyes, or, perhaps, it was one outside. Regardless, you knew your wish. You tilted your head up and kissed him, pressing your lips flush against his, licking his bottom lip, slipping your tongue into his mouth. 

You groaned into your mouth as the taste of him and yourself flooded your mouth. Shifting his body weight, he cupped your cheeks and deepened the kiss, pouring all of his love and all of the unspoken promises he’d keep for you. 

You nipped at his lips and his legs wobbled. Resting an arm on either side of you, he held himself up as you kissed him sloppily, teeth against teeth, before you nipped at his top lip, pulling until he whined.

Pulling away, you smiled as you kissed down his throat, needing him. You licked and sucked, nibbling down his throat. With shaky arms, Heeseung tried his best to stay upright, tried his best not to crush your body. 

When you kissed his adam’s apple, his hold trembled. When you licked a long stripe of his neck, sucking his adam’s apple until it was red, he collapsed on top of you, his cock leaking against your stomach once more. 

You welcomed the weight of his body. He felt so warm; so real, so attainable, you could feel the weight of his muscles against yours, the weight crushed the lingering loneliness that had crept into your bones. 

Wrapping your arms around his body, you scratched his back and pulled at his hair as you littered his throat and jaw with kisses. He held onto you just as tightly, afraid that if he let go, he’d be back in that barn all those years ago and you’d be in your tower, and he’d never get to hold you like this. 

You both breathed deeply until your breathing synched and everything was alright in the world, you decided. Nothing else really mattered, not to you. Heeseung was here, in your arms, pressed warmly against you and that meant everything would be alright. 

You kissed his earlobe, pulling at it with your teeth, reveling in the small moan that vibrated against your chest. It cleared your mind a bit, opened your eyes. Your nails began to dig deeper into his skin, leaving marks. 

“Had your fun?” You questioned him quietly, your words nothing but a mere whisper. 

Unbeknownst to Heeseung, your lips twitched upwards when his whole body froze. You felt the way his breathing paused, the way his length twitched against your stomach. He could hear it in your voice, in the way you had sucked all the warmth out of the room. 

Slowly, as if he was beguiling a predator, Heeseung slowly lifted himself off you, legs still intertwined. His chest peeled off yours and he kept some space between your face. You looked up at him and he glanced down at you, a gentle plea in his eyes. 

Cupping his cheek, you rubbed your thumb across his cheek. “Well? Did you?” 

There it was, he shivered. Gone was your breathy, submissive voice. The one you loved to use and the one he found so much pleasure in. But this, the slightly deeper, authoritative voice, the one that bounced off the palace walls and negotiated with Princes, this voice could ask for his life and he’d give it. If it asked for his heart, he’d rip it out of his own chest and hand it over. 

Hesitantly, Heeseung nodded. “Yes, Princess. I did.” He swallowed and tried for a smile, trying to show how much he didn’t enjoy this, the sudden switch of power, hoping to conceal the way his cock was leaking onto your stomach. 

“So polite,” you teased. You trailed your hands up and down his chest, brushing your fingers against his nipples, a knowing look in your eyes when he flinched. 

“Your Highness,” Heeseung begins, ready to beg, but you press down on his bottom lip and he loses his footing. Tangling your leg with his, you push him to the side as you flip over, sitting in between his legs as he stares at you with wide eyes. 

You smile at him, the laughter in your eyes not matching the way you grab his length and shuffle forward, incredibly close to him. His breathing hitches and you brush your thumb against his tip, bringing it to your mouth, staring directly at him as you suck it clean. 

“You’re so good at it, Heeseung.” Your voice is soft, genuine. One of your hands rests on his inner thigh, too heavy on his skin. “So good at taking care of me. At giving me what I want.” 

Heeseung swallows, eyes starry and abs flexed at your movements. “Anything for you, Princess. You know that.” He was pleading. Have mercy on me, he was yelling. I’m not as strong as you, he wanted to cry out. 

“I do,” you agree. “Tell me,” you leaned down, “do you enjoy having me at your mercy? Is it arousing? Being my master? Being the only one to control me?” 

Your voice was too casual, too sultry, he couldn’t handle it. He wanted to cry but his hard on twitched in your hand and you grinned down at him. “Answer me.” 

“Yes,” he breathed out. “I do. It’s liberating and I love it.” You, he almost said. I love you. 

Your eyes darkened and you nodded, licking your bottom lip. “Me too.” You have me, she could have said. I love you. 

“Will you let me take care of you, Hee?” You squeezed the base of his cock and he arched his back, gasping at the feeling. He was so incredibly sensitive, ready to blow at any recond. 

He nodded before he spoke. “Yes, yes, Princess,” he mumbled, “Anything you want. I’m yours to use.” His eyes beseech you and you can’t help but loosen your hold on him. 

“Mine?” It’s a question you ask every time, every time you find yourself in his bed, in this room, you ask him without fail, and everytime, his answer is the same, genuine and honest. 

“Yes. Always.” 

A small, soft smile twists onto your lips and Heeseung exhales a sigh of relief. You tilt your head at him and he matches your gaze, staring at you with nothing but adoration. You lean forward and he pushes himself up, meeting your lips halfway. 

The kiss is soft, despite the fire behind your eyes. He’s soft as he kisses you, letting you control the pace. Your hand is still sliding up and down his cock, using his precum as lube, getting it ready for you. 

You pull back and to remind him that you’re as devoted, you press a soft kiss to his cheek and he falls back with a smile on his face. 

You move your hand a few times, enjoying the way his whole body twitches, how hard he tries to keep still for you, before you turn around and you miss the way Heeseung’s head falls back, knowing what’s coming. 

Shifting back, you use one hand to line him up with your entrance and your other hand is on his thigh, holding you up. “Beg,” you whisper. 

“Please,” his voice immediately breaks out. “Please, Princess. Use me, fuck me.” 

His words shoot straight to your core and you drip all over his cock, glad you had turned away, knowing you would have trembled if you had the chance to look into his big, shiny eyes. 

Slowly, you sink down on his cock, hissing at the familiar stretch. It's different than before, burns less than before, but it’s still too much, still enough to knock your head back as he bottoms out, filling you up to the brim. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles behind you, eyes twisted shut. His arms are behind him, gripping the headboard because he knows, knows you’ll tell him when he can touch you. Right now, you were in control. You needed your royal blood to pump through your veins, regain control over your composure. 

“Oh, God,” you moaned out, grinding down on his cock. Your pussy was greedy, sucking him in as if wasn’t filled to the brim only a while ago. Steadily, you pushed yourself up, biting back a groan when his veins brushed against your walls. 

Heeseung willed his eyes open, needing to burn the memory of you fucking yourself on his cock, your ass slaming into his pelvis as you used him like he was nothing but a slave, into his brain. He wished he was artistic so he could paint this picture a thousand times and keep them all for himself. 

Instead, he writhed and gasped under you, wishing he could see your face. He wanted nothing more than to run his fingers along your skin and kiss your lips but he had to behave, had to listen, had to just take it, because you asked him to. 

Heeseung watched as your movements began to slow, as your shoulders trembled and your toes flexed every time you had to lift yourself. Biting his bottom lip, his eyes glinted with something primal, something possessive as he waited, and waited, and waited, and then, he heard your choked sob. 

“Heeseung,” you cried, drained of all your energy. 

At once, like it was practiced, like he was made for it, Heeseung gripped onto your hips and pulled you backwards, flush against his back as he began to slowly rock his hips forward, fucking his cock into you. 

Back arched, you moaned when his hand travelled to your throat and he held you firmly against him, tilting your head backwards as he applied just the right amount of pressure to your jugular veins, making you lightheaded as he slid in and out of you at a bruising pace. 

He smiled when you whimpered, teeth grazing the side of your throat as he bit down, pressing your ass flushed against his pelvis, the tip of cock brushing against your cervix, making you see stars. 

“T–‘S too much,” you babbled, tears lining your waterline as you tried to breathe. 

“When will you learn?” Heeseung whispers into your ear, fucking you fiercely. You don’t recognize the sound of his voice, a mixture of his sweet, advising tone mixed with something more predatory, something that has you seeing stars. “Princess to all, but a whore for me,” he breathed out. 

You almost couldn’t understand what he was saying, not with the way his thrusts grew blinding. His other hand slid down your body until it slapped your cunt, making you cry out further, arching your back, trying to get away, but his grip on your throat was strong and he kissed your neck softly.  

“I got you, Y/n. I’m the only one who ever has,” his tongue licks away your tears, “who ever will.” 

He rubs your clit, pushing down randomly and changing his speed as he continues to fuck you, aware of the way your body had given up to him completely, the way you could only mumble his name. 

He felt the way you squeezed his cock, making it almost impossible for him to slide down, the way your legs trembled, and he bit your earlobe.

“Cum.” 

You moaned as you squirted and came all over his cock, your walls clenching around his walls hard enough to pull his own orgasm, moaning loudly as he cummed inside you, hand still rubbing your clit. 

You continued to cum and he emptied himself inside you, the squelching sound becoming louder and louder as your juices mixed and he fucked into you with the same crazed pace. 

You babbled a string of words he couldn’t decipher and continued to pump into you, lost in your cunt, unable to stop. You were crying, overstimulated and emotional, and ready to fall back against him. 

When he was sure he had emptied himself completely inside you, he slowed his pace and pressed kisses all over your neck and shoulder, slowly halting the movement of his hips. You fell into a slump against his body and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, mumbling quietly to you. 

“Baby,” he whispered after a pregnant moment. “Princess.” 

You hummed, eyes too tired and droopy to open. He rubbed your stomach soothingly, trying to ground you before he moved. “Are you okay, beloved? Did I hurt you?” 

“Okay,” you mumbled, unable to turn to face him. “No.”

“Okay,” he responded. He stayed in that position for a while more, waiting until your breathing had evened out and your body had begun to respond to his light touches. Once he was sure that you were okay, not as stimulated, he tapped your arm three times. 

“I have to pull out, my Princess. Can I?” His voice was sweet again, honey and silk against your skin. 

You opened your eyes and nodded against his chest. “Yes, pull out.” 

Gently, Heeseung pulled out of your sopping cunt, biting back a hiss. He shifted his weight and maneuvered your body until you were laying in his arms, your back pressed against his chest. He knew he had much to clean up, but your eyes still fluttered shut occasionally so he put it off, knowing you needed him more. 

He ran his hands along your arms and then your shoulders, pressing into your skin occasionally to remind you that he was right behind you. You snuggled into him, back pressed flush against his chest and he wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“Tell me you’re okay,” he asked, quietly. “Tell me three things you can see.”

Licking your lips, you opened your eyes and rested your own arms over his. “I’m okay, Heeseung. I promise.” You lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I see… your hand, the candle I made you, and your bookshelf.” 

Heeseung released a breath of relief and kissed your shoulder.

“Come, lovely, let me run you a bath.” 

“Later,” you said. “Later.” Before he could protest, you slowly shifted in his arms until you were face-to-face, chests pressed together, hearts beating as one. 

“Just hold me, please?” 

Tilting his head down, Heesueng brushed his nose against yours and kissed your lips softly. 

“Always and forever, Princess.”