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sixeyesonathiel · 3 months ago

Text

diet pepsi

pairing — brother’s bsf!satoru x fem reader

synopsis : satoru always saw you as suguru’s little sister—until you came back different, and dangerous to want. fighting it should be easy, but summer has a way of breaking rules. and some mistakes feel too good to stop making.

tags — childhood friends au, mutual pining, summer romance, beach setting, forbidden romance, brother’s best friend trope, fluff, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, public sex (car), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, pussy drunk satoru, overstimulation, virgin reader if u squint, unprotected piv sex, pull out method, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, possessive behavior, alcohol use, 13.9k wc. 18+ only, MDNI.

a/n : i tried dialogue heavy writing instead of my usual sensory and internalization on one bit and all i can say is im never doing it again it felt so icky im so sorry TvT art is not mine, i am in the middle of finding the source ><

five years vanish like smoke, curling into nothing.

summer presses heavy on the cracked asphalt, heatwaves shimmering like ghosts rising from the dunes. the pop-up ice cream stand sags under the sun’s relentless weight, its faded awning flapping lazily in the salty breeze.

satoru leans against suguru’s rusted truck, sunglasses slipping down his nose, a greasy bag of fries teetering on his knee. they’re parked beside the shack, the lull in customers letting them sink into idle chatter, cheap food, and the sticky rhythm of a beachside summer.

he’s mid-bite—salt and vinegar stinging his tongue, sweat trickling down his neck—when he hears it.

a laugh.

not just any laugh.

bright and sharp, it cuts through the cicadas’ drone and the surf’s restless crash like a blade through silk.

he looks up, annoyed first—who’s that fucking loud?—then stunned, breath punched out of him like he’s taken a fist to the chest.

you step into view like you’ve walked out of a dream he didn’t know he was having, framed by the blazing sky and the ocean’s glitter. alone, you drag a beat-up duffel bag, its strap slung over your shoulder, sneakers kicking up little clouds of sand. the sundress you wear—white, gauzy, catching the breeze—clings to your thighs, the hem flirting with every step.

a wide-brimmed beach hat sits tilted on your head, casting dappled shadows across your face, and your hair, sun-lightened and wild, spills down your back like it’s daring the wind to tame it.

you’re older. taller. you move with a confidence that scrapes at satoru’s ribs, leaves them raw and aching. you’re gorgeous in a way that feels like a hazard, like a spark too close to dry tinder. you shine, bright and untouchable, and he’s caught, staring, helpless.

his fry drops to the pavement, forgotten.

“yo,” suguru says, elbow jabbing satoru’s side, hard enough to rattle the truck. “you good, or did the sun fry your brain?”

satoru can’t answer. his tongue’s too thick, his heart’s lodged somewhere near his ankles. all he can do is watch you, the way your dress shifts with each step, the way your hat tilts as you turn your head, scanning the beach.

then you see them.

your face splits into a grin so bright it dims the sky, and satoru feels the ground tilt beneath him.

“satoru!” you shout, waving with a reckless joy that cracks the world open.

he pushes off the truck, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free, shoving his sunglasses up to hide the way his eyes are drinking you in. he hopes suguru doesn’t notice, hopes the heat crawling up his neck doesn’t betray him.

he saunters over, all false swagger, pretending his knees aren’t loose, pretending he’s still the same satoru who used to tease you mercilessly. “long time no see, squirt,” he drawls, flicking the brim of your hat. it’s a mistake—the hat makes you look too fucking cute, the way it frames your face, the way it dares him to keep looking.

you laugh, breathless and bright, and before he can brace himself, you throw your arms around his neck.

he freezes, arms caught mid-air, your warmth slamming into him like a wave. your body presses close—soft, real, burning through the thin fabric of his shirt. your scent, something sweet and sun-warmed, wraps around him, and he’s drowning, his hands hovering before instinct takes over.

he wraps you up, too tight, too desperate, your curves fitting against him like you were made for it. your fingers fist into the back of his shirt, a brief, greedy clutch, and he feels the tremor in your grip, the way it lingers one second too long.

then you pull away, leaving him blinking, bereft, his skin tingling where you touched.

suguru joins a moment later, his lazy grin in place, oblivious to the storm raging in satoru’s chest. “didn’t know you were back today,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug. “would’ve picked you up from the station.”

he ruffles your hair, that annoying big-brother move, and you swat at him, your hat tilting precariously. “someone needs extra hands at the stand,” suguru continues, slinging an arm around your shoulders, his fondness clear in the crinkle of his eyes. “and since you’re back in town with nothing better to do…”

he’s teasing, but there’s warmth there, a quiet pride in having you close again. satoru watches, jaw tight, as you lean into suguru’s side, your ease with him sparking something sharp and ugly in his chest. it’s not jealousy—not of suguru, never that—but something else, something that claws at him, hot and restless.

“figured you’d be perfect,” suguru adds, smirking at satoru now, like he knows something’s off. “plus, toru here was whining about being bored.”

“was not,” satoru mutters, kicking at the sand, heat climbing his neck. he’s lying, and suguru knows it—satoru’s been restless all summer, chasing distractions to fill the hollow in his gut.

you laugh again, sweet and effortless, sweeter than the cotton candy sold at the stand. it’s a sound that hooks into satoru’s ribs, pulls tight, leaves him aching.

“c’mon,” suguru says, already turning toward the road. “my treat. diner time?”

it’s tradition.

that shitty little diner down the road, with its cracked vinyl booths and milkshakes so thick you need a spoon. the three of you used to haunt it every summer, sprawled across a booth, stealing fries, laughing until your sides hurt. nostalgia hits satoru like a fist, sharp and sudden. he’s fourteen again, all knees and elbows, stomach hollow with a hunger he couldn’t name.

“last one there buys dessert,” you chirp, already jogging ahead, duffel bag bouncing against your hip, sneakers flashing white against the sand. your sundress flutters, catching the light, and satoru’s eyes linger too long on the curve of your calves, the sway of your hips.

he tells himself you’re off-limits, a mantra he’s worn thin over the years. you’re suguru’s little sister, untouchable, a line he’d never cross. but the air smells like salt and possibility, and you feel like a second chance he didn’t know he needed.

he’s marching after you before he can stop himself, pretending he’s still just satoru—your brother’s idiot friend, the guy who used to pull your pigtails and sneak you extra ice cream. pretending he’s not burning up inside, pretending the rules still hold when you’re close enough to touch, close enough to taste.

pretending he’s not already, irreversibly, fucked.

the diner sits like a time capsule at the edge of town, neon sign buzzing like a trapped firefly, its pink and blue glow flickering against the dusk. same warped menu boards, same cracked vinyl booths, same sticky linoleum floor that clings to your sneakers.

nothing ever changes here, and satoru both loves and hates it—loves the way it holds you in its amber, hates how it reminds him of everything he’s tried to outrun. it’s the backdrop to a thousand memories, all of them sharp with you and suguru.

you slide into the booth across from him, your sundress whispering against your thighs, beach hat tossed beside you like an afterthought. satoru’s hyperaware of his knees brushing the air just shy of yours under the chipped formica table, the space between you electric, too small.

suguru slips in next to you, casual as ever, but there’s a protective edge in the way his arm drapes across the booth’s back, fingers grazing the vinyl an inch from your shoulder.

“so,” suguru says, sliding a laminated menu your way, its edges curling like old paper, “college treating you okay?”

you shrug, lips curving into a half-smile that catches the diner’s dim light. “it’s just school. nothing as exciting as the beach.”

“she’s being modest,” satoru teases, forcing his voice to stay light while his pulse hammers, your nearness a live wire under his skin. “probably acing everything.”

your eyes flick to his, a hint of pink blooming high on your cheeks, soft and fleeting like a sunset. “hardly. nearly failed calculus last semester.”

“you? fail math?” satoru grins, leaning forward, the memory of you hunched over graph paper, explaining equations to him and suguru, vivid as yesterday. “impossible.”

“college math is different,” you protest, but you’re smiling, holding his gaze a second too long, your lashes casting faint shadows.

suguru glances between you, eyebrow twitching upward before he grabs a menu, oblivious to the way satoru’s heart stumbles. “food’s still exactly the same here. bet they haven’t cleaned the grill since we were kids.”

“that’s what makes it good,” you say, laughing, the sound bright and warm, like the clink of sea glass against the shore. “nothing beats greasy diner food after a day at the beach.”

the waitress appears, pen poised, her gaze lingering on satoru, lips curving in a way that’s too sweet, too practiced. “what can i get for you folks?” she asks, voice syrupy when it lands on him.

you straighten in your seat, fingers tightening on the menu’s edge, a flicker of something sharp in your eyes. “i’ll have a chocolate shake and fries,” you say, voice clear, pulling her attention like you meant to.

“double cheeseburger, extra fries, chocolate shake thick enough for a spoon,” satoru orders, not glancing at the menu or the waitress. some things never change—his order, this booth, the way his chest tightens when you’re close.

“you still get the same thing?” you ask, smile soft with nostalgia, like you’re seeing him for the first time in years. “you used to make such a mess with those shakes.”

“remember when he got chocolate all over your new white shirt?” suguru chimes in, grinning, leaning back with an ease satoru envies. “you cried for like an hour.”

“i did not cry for an hour,” you protest, cheeks flushing, a spark of indignation in your eyes. “maybe ten minutes. tops.”

“and then satoru gave you his hoodie,” suguru continues, smirk sharp now, “and suddenly the tears magically stopped.”

“shut up,” you mutter, kicking suguru under the table, your gaze skittering away from satoru’s.

he remembers that day like it’s burned into him—you, twelve, small and devastated, tears streaking your face over a ruined shirt. him, awkward and too tall, draping his oversized hoodie around your shoulders, your eyes lighting up like he’d given you something precious. the memory sits heavy in his chest, warm and aching.

“you kept that hoodie for years,” suguru adds, ignoring your glare, voice teasing but fond. “pretty sure i saw you packing it for college.”

“oh my god, can we talk about anything else?” you plead, face scarlet, fingers twisting the straw wrapper into a knot.

satoru’s heart lurches. you kept his hoodie? all these years? the thought blooms inside him, dangerous and warm, like a spark he can’t smother. he wants to ask, wants to know if it still smells like him, if you ever wore it and thought of him, but he swallows it down, terrified of what his face might give away.

“what brought you back this summer?” he asks, voice steadier than he feels, desperate to shift the focus before he betrays himself. “just break, or…?”

“internship fell through,” you admit, shrugging, the motion small, almost apologetic. “figured i’d come home, make some money at the stand if you guys needed help.”

“always need help,” suguru nods, stealing a sugar packet from the caddy, spinning it between his fingers. “tourist season’s crazy this year.”

“plus satoru’s been whining about needing days off,” he adds, smirking, tossing the packet at satoru.

“i have not been whining,” satoru protests, catching the packet mid-air, his grin masking the way his pulse spikes at your laugh.

“you literally said yesterday that if one more kid dropped their ice cream and cried, you were going to walk straight into the ocean,” suguru deadpans, folding his arms.

you laugh, bright and clear, and satoru’s heart does a stupid, reckless flip. god, he missed that sound—missed it like air, like something vital he didn’t know he’d lost until it’s here again, filling the hollow in his chest.

“sounds like you need me to save you,” you tease, eyes locking with his across the table, a flicker of softness there, warm and unguarded.

“maybe i do,” he says, too honest, voice low, watching the pink deepen on your cheeks, the way your lips part just slightly.

the food arrives, breaking the moment like a wave against the shore. you take a bite of a fry, eyes fluttering shut, a small hum of contentment slipping out that has satoru gripping his glass so tight he’s surprised it doesn’t crack. the sound’s innocent, but it lands like a spark, igniting something restless in him.

“god, i missed real food,” you sigh, dipping another fry in ketchup, the motion careless, perfect. “dining hall stuff is awful.”

“that fancy school doesn’t feed you right?” suguru teases, stealing a fry from your plate, dodging your swat with a grin.

“hey!” you protest, brandishing your fork like a weapon. “and no, it’s all kale and quinoa and weird vegan options.”

“poor baby,” satoru mocks, but his voice is soft, and when suguru’s not looking, he slides a few of his fries onto your plate, a quiet offering.

you catch it, eyes warming, lips curving into a private smile that feels like a secret stitched between you. your fingers brush the table’s edge, inches from his, and he wonders what it’d be like to close that gap, to feel your skin against his.

“remember that summer we practically lived here?” you ask, stirring your shake, the spoon clinking softly against the glass. “after suguru got his license?”

“and dad’s old pickup,” suguru adds, nodding, his eyes distant with memory. “we’d come every day after the beach.”

“you two would eat your weight in fries,” you laugh, the sound wrapping around satoru like a tide, pulling him under. “and then race each other back to the water like idiots.”

“while you timed us,” satoru recalls, grin tugging at his lips, the memory vivid—your small hands clutching a cheap stopwatch, shouting times as he and suguru sprinted, sand flying. “always the competitive one.”

“says the guy who insisted on best of three every single time he lost,” you counter, eyebrow raised, a challenge in your gaze.

“which was most times,” suguru adds, smirking.

“i let you win,” satoru protests, clutching his chest like he’s wounded, but his eyes are on you, drinking in the way you laugh.

“sure you did,” you say, not buying it, your eyes bright with that old, familiar spark.

suguru’s phone buzzes, shattering the moment. he checks it, sighs, and pushes his plate aside. “dad needs me to pick up stuff from the hardware store. you two good here? i can come back.”

“we’re fine,” you say quickly, waving him off, your hat slipping slightly as you turn. “i remember the way home.”

suguru hesitates, eyes narrowing as he glances between you, like he senses the shift in the air. “behave yourselves.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, voice too innocent, lips twitching.

“it means don’t let satoru convince you to do something stupid like that time he talked you into jumping off the pier,” suguru says, sliding out of the booth, his sneakers scuffing the floor.

“that was one time,” satoru defends, spreading his hands. “and she wanted to do it!”

“i was twelve and you told me it was totally safe,” you remind him, but you’re smiling, no bite behind it, just warmth.

“and it was safe,” he insists, leaning back. “you just can’t dive.”

suguru rolls his eyes, already halfway to the door. “i’ll be back in twenty. try not to burn the place down.”

the door jingles as he leaves, and the air shifts, charged, heavy with the weight of being alone with you for the first time in five years. the diner feels smaller, the hum of the neon sign louder, the space between you crackling like static.

“so,” you say, twirling your straw in your shake, eyes meeting his through your lashes, a hint of vulnerability beneath the tease. “did you miss me at all while i was gone?”

the question lands like a stone in still water, ripples spreading through him. he wants to say everything—how the stand felt empty, how summers dragged without your laugh, how he’s been chasing pieces of you in every distraction. but he can’t, not when you’re looking at him like that, soft and expectant.

“nah,” he says, breezy, then grins at your mock outrage, the way you puff out your cheeks. “maybe a little. the stand was too quiet without you dropping things.”

“i was not that clumsy!” you protest, laughing, the sound bright enough to drown out the diner’s hum.

“you knocked over an entire display of sunglasses trying to reach the top shelf,” he reminds you, smirking, the memory sharp—you, sixteen, stretching on tiptoes, cursing under your breath as plastic frames clattered to the ground. “twice.”

“because you and suguru kept putting things where i couldn’t reach them,” you counter, pointing a fry at him, your eyes narrowing playfully.

“it was funny watching you try,” he admits, smile softening, remembering the determined set of your jaw, the little huff you’d let out. “you’d get this wrinkle right here.” he taps between his brows, his finger lingering in the air too long.

your cheeks color, and you drop your gaze to your plate, lips twitching. “i can reach the top shelf now,” you say quietly, almost a challenge.

“i noticed,” he replies, the words slipping out, low and warm. too much, he thinks, but your smile—pleased, a little shy—makes it worth the risk.

“college has some perks,” you say, glancing up, your eyes catching his, holding them.

“like sukuna?” he asks, the name sour on his tongue, suguru’s earlier comment gnawing at him. he hates himself for it, for the way it slips out, sharp and unfiltered.

your smile falters, just for a second. “sukuna was just a friend.”

“a persistent friend,” satoru presses, leaning forward, unable to stop the edge in his voice.

“jealous?” you challenge, but there’s a hopeful spark in your eyes, a crack in your teasing that makes his pulse race.

“maybe,” he admits, surprising himself, the honesty raw, reckless. “or just protective. like suguru.”

“you’re not my brother,” you say softly, holding his gaze, the words heavy, deliberate.

“no,” he agrees, throat dry, heart pounding like it’s trying to break free. “i’m not.”

something shifts, a dangerous possibility curling in the air like smoke. you look away first, tucking hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling just enough for him to notice. your smile stays, small and secret, like you’re holding onto something fragile.

“anyway,” you say, voice lighter, “suguru mentioned you’ve been working on games?”

he grabs the lifeline, grateful for the shift. “yeah, indie stuff. nothing major yet, but i’ve got a few things published.”

“that’s amazing!” you say, eyes lighting up, genuine excitement in your voice. “you always were crazy talented with that stuff.”

“says the college girl,” he teases, but your praise sinks into him, warm and heavy, like a touch he can still feel.

“it’s just school,” you shrug, stirring your shake again, the spoon clinking softly. “nothing special.”

“it is special,” he insists, leaning forward, needing you to hear it. “you always were the smart one.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile’s pleased, soft. “says the guy who helped me pass physics senior year.”

“only because you helped me through lit,” he counters, grinning, the memory of late-night study sessions—your patience, your quiet focus—stirring something tender in him.

you laugh, the sound wrapping around him like the sun’s warmth. “we made a good team.”

“we still could,” he says, the words escaping before he can catch them, heavy with meaning he didn’t intend.

your eyes widen, lips parting, a flicker of hope crossing your face before you mask it with a laugh. “well, we’ll see how we do at the stand first,” you say lightly. “might get sick of me.”

“not possible,” he replies, too quick, too honest, his voice low enough to feel like a confession.

your smile turns shy, fingers fidgeting with your straw, twisting it into a knot. “you might be surprised. i sing in the mornings now,” you admit. “really loud, really off-key.”

“that’s not new,” he teases, leaning back, grateful for the lighter ground. “you used to screech taylor swift at the top of your lungs while restocking.”

“i did not screech,” you protest, laughing, your indignation bright and perfect.

“you absolutely did,” he insists, smirking. “scared away customers.”

“you’re such a liar,” you accuse, grinning, eyes sparkling like the ocean at noon. “you told me i had a nice voice.”

“maybe i lied then,” he suggests, voice dropping, playful but edged with something softer.

“or maybe you’re lying now,” you counter, leaning forward, your elbows on the table, closing the distance between you.

“guess you’ll have to sing for me again so i can decide,” he says, voice low, the words a dare, a pull.

your cheeks flush, but you hold his gaze, challenge sparking in your eyes. “maybe i will.”

the air crackles, five years of distance collapsing into this moment, this booth, this look. you’re not a kid anymore, and satoru can’t pretend he doesn’t see it—the way you’ve grown into yourself, confident, bright, a fire he can’t look away from.

“we should probably head back,” you say finally, glancing at your phone, your voice softer, like you’re reluctant to break the spell. “before suguru sends out a search party.”

“race you to the truck?” satoru suggests, grinning, a callback to countless summer days, his heart lighter than it’s been in years.

your eyes light up, competitive spark flaring. “loser buys ice cream tomorrow?”

“deal,” he says, already sliding out of the booth, his pulse racing for reasons that have nothing to do with running.

you grab your hat, fingers brushing the brim, eyes gleaming with mischief. “ready?”

and then you’re off, dashing through the diner, sundress fluttering like a sail, laughter trailing behind you like a melody. satoru follows, heart pounding, knowing suguru might kill him for the thoughts burning through his mind—your smile, your voice, the way you feel like home—but right now, watching you run ahead, he thinks it might just be worth it.

summer melts over the beach in thick, sticky waves, clinging to the chipped paint of the pop-up stand, to the sweat-damp curls at the nape of your neck.

you work the stand with suguru and satoru, slinging snow cones that bleed syrup, fries that glisten with grease, and cheap sunglasses that tourists snap up despite their complaints about the prices. they wilt under the sun’s brutal glare, faces flushed and shiny, while you move through the chaos with an ease that twists something in satoru’s chest.

it’s only been a week since you started helping out.

satoru tries to be normal. he swears he does.

but then there’s you, stretching on tiptoes to grab a stack of napkins from the top shelf, your tank top riding up to reveal a sliver of soft stomach, a tiny mole just above your hip that he’s never seen before. it’s a punch to the gut, that small mark, and he ducks behind the register, fumbling with keychains, pretending to sort them while his pulse hammers.

he’s not staring, he tells himself, but his eyes keep dragging back to you, to the way your skin catches the light, warm and alive.

there’s you, perched on a stool, slurping a cherry popsicle that’s melting faster than you can keep up with, your tongue darting out to catch the drips, lips stained red.

your eyes are half-lidded, lazy with heat, and your sandal taps a restless rhythm against the counter’s edge. every tap is a countdown, every slick of your tongue a slow execution, and satoru’s dying, his hands gripping the counter to keep from reaching out, from doing something stupid.

he’s fucking dying.

“dude,” suguru says one afternoon, lobbing a wadded-up receipt at satoru’s head, the paper bouncing off his temple. “your math is shit today.”

satoru startles, blinking at the till where he’s been staring for god knows how long, a customer’s change still clutched in his fist, coins biting into his palm. the tourist in front of him shifts impatiently, fanning herself with a crumpled map.

“whatever,” he mutters, shoving the coins across the counter, his voice rough. “it’s hot. i’m fried.”

“sure,” suguru drawls, slow and amused, leaning against the freezer, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. not suspicious, thank god, just teasing.

you laugh, swinging your legs where you’re perched on the counter, your denim shorts riding up to show the smooth expanse of your thighs, gleaming under the flickering neon “open” sign. you’re flipping through a gossip magazine, the pages crinkling under your fingers, your nails painted a chipped sky blue.

satoru nearly trips over his own feet grabbing a water bottle from the cooler, the cold glass slipping in his sweaty grip.

“earth to satoru,” you tease, crumpling a napkin into a ball and tossing it at his head, your aim perfect.

he catches it one-handed, tosses it back with a grin that feels too tight, too sharp, because you’re a fucking hazard, a loaded gun with your finger brushing the trigger, and you don’t even know it. your smile is lazy, your eyes bright with mischief, and he’s drowning in the heat of you, in the way you’re everywhere—your laugh, your scent, your warmth.

suguru cackles from the back room, sorting straws, oblivious to the storm in satoru’s chest.

“bet you can’t make another shot,” you taunt, grin wicked, leaning forward so your tank top dips just enough to make his throat dry.

“bet you i can,” he fires back, because it’s you, and he’s an idiot who can’t say no to you, not ever.

he grabs a plastic spoon, flicks it with a practiced snap of his wrist—it arcs across the stand, bounces off the freezer’s handle, and lands neatly in the trash can with a soft thud.

you whistle low, impressed, your lips pursing in a way that’s entirely too distracting. “show-off,” you say, but your smile softens, warm around the edges, like you’re proud of him.

later, you’re all sprawled in the sand behind the stand after closing, the air cooler but still thick, heavy with the day’s lingering heat. suguru strums a beat-up guitar he dug out of his garage, the strings twanging softly, his voice humming off-key to some old song.

you and satoru lie side by side, close enough that your arm brushes his when you shift, the contact sending sparks skittering across his skin. the sand is cool under his back, but he’s burning, every nerve attuned to you.

you doodle nonsense shapes into the sand with a stick, biting your lip in concentration, your brows furrowing just slightly. satoru watches from the corner of his eye, heart aching like it’s been bruised, the sight of you so close and so untouchable carving something raw inside him.

“wanna play chicken fights in the water tomorrow?” you ask suddenly, looking up at him, your eyes catching the last of the sunset, bright and alive.

“only if i get to be your ride,” he says without thinking, voice rougher than he means, the words heavy with want he can’t voice.

you grin, wide and blinding, and it’s like the sun never set, like you’re carrying it inside you. he almost blacks out, his breath catching, his world narrowing to the curve of your mouth.

“deal,” you say, offering your pinky, the gesture so familiar it hurts. he hooks his around yours, the brief press of your skin a vow he feels in his bones, sacred and binding.

he starts inventing excuses to stay after closing. restocking chips that don’t need restocking. double-checking the cash register he balanced hours ago. making sure you get home safe, as if the quiet streets of this town could ever hurt you. and you let him, every single time, your presence pulling him like gravity.

you let him linger, let him stand too close when you count the till, your fingers brushing his as you pass a bill, the contact fleeting but electric. you bump shoulders when you sweep sand off the counters, your laughter spilling into the night, loud and easy, hooking into his ribs and tugging until he aches. the string lights above buzz faintly, casting a soft glow over your face, tangling in your hair like a halo.

sometimes suguru’s there, tossing keys, joking about “kids these days” before bailing early to meet some girl at the pier, his footsteps fading into the dark. sometimes it’s just you and satoru, alone under the lights, the salty breeze stirring your hair, the beach stretching out endless and shadowed behind you, waves whispering secrets to the shore.

one night, after suguru ditches early, you and satoru ride home together. you slide into the cab of his truck, knees knocking against his in the cramped space, the scent of your sunscreen—coconut and sea salt—and the faint sweetness of sugar from the snow cones you snuck filling the air.

it’s suffocating, intoxicating, and he grips the steering wheel to keep his hands from shaking.

the windows are down, the radio humming a low, dreamy song, its melody weaving through the warm night. the wind whips your hair across your face, and you laugh, batting it away with a careless hand, your fingers catching the light from passing streetlamps.

he thinks about crashing the truck just to have an excuse to feel your hands on him, to pull you close and never let go.

at a red light, you turn to him, voice soft, lilting, like you’re sharing a secret. “you’re staring.”

he jerks his eyes back to the road, ears burning scarlet, heart thudding so loud he’s sure you can hear it. “am not,” he says, voice cracking, betraying him.

you hum, unconvinced, leaning your head against the window, a small, knowing smile curling your lips. “liar,” you murmur, so soft it’s almost lost to the music, but it lands like a dart, sharp and precise.

“whatever,” he mutters, flustered, his usual swagger crumbling under the weight of your gaze.

the drive stretches on, every stoplight a torture, every bump in the road vibrating through the cab, tightening the tension until it’s a living thing, thick and heavy.

you hum along to the radio, voice low and sweet, your fingers tapping the dashboard in time, a rhythm that syncs with his pulse. every so often, you sneak glances at him, quick flicks of your eyes that burn, that make him want to pull over and confess everything.

you point out a diner glowing neon against the dark, its sign buzzing faintly. “we should go sometime,” you say, casual, but there’s a thread of hope woven into your voice, delicate and bright.

“yeah,” he says, too fast, too eager. “yeah, totally.”

your smile breaks over him like dawn, warm and inevitable, and he’s helpless, caught in its light.

when he drops you off, you linger by the truck’s door, backpack slung loose over one shoulder, fingers twisting the strap. “thanks for the ride,” you say, voice feather-light, your eyes catching the moonlight.

he nods, swallowing hard, his throat tight with everything he can’t say.

you lean in, close enough that he can see the faint freckles dusting your nose, smell the sweet trace of your lip balm—strawberry, he thinks, dizzy with it. for one wild, reckless second, he thinks you’re going to kiss him, and his heart stops, his world narrowing to you.

but you just tap his chest with two fingers, right over his racing heart, the touch light but searing, like a brand. “see you tomorrow, toru.”

you bounce up the porch steps, pausing to throw him a wink over your shoulder, quick and playful, before slipping inside. the door clicks shut, and he’s left staring after you, the engine ticking softly in the warm night air, the ghost of your touch burning against his skin.

he slumps back in the seat, groaning into his hands, the sound raw and desperate. “off-limits,” he mutters, thudding his head against the steering wheel, each word a knife. “off. fucking. limits.”

he drives home on autopilot, your laugh echoing in his ears, the memory of your fingers against his chest a pulse he can’t shake. he dreams of you that night—soft, warm, impossibly close, your breath against his skin—and wakes up aching, the line between want and need blurred beyond recognition.

the next evening, satoru offers you a ride home again, his voice casual but his pulse anything but. suguru waves you off, barely glancing up from his phone, thumbs flying as he texts his latest fling about meeting at the bonfire later.

“don’t wait up,” he calls, a smirk in his voice, and satoru nearly stumbles, cheeks flushing despite the evening’s cool bite, the implication landing like a spark in dry grass.

outside, the sky bleeds watercolor—orange and gold streaking into deep lavender, fading to dusky indigo at the horizon. the air carries salt, the smoky tang of distant bonfires, the faint sweetness of wildflowers clinging to the dunes.

you slide into the passenger seat, kicking off your flip-flops with a clatter, the soles dusted with sand. you prop your bare feet on the dashboard, toes flexing, a silver anklet glinting in the fading light, and satoru’s chest tightens at how easily you claim the space, like the truck’s always been yours.

“air conditioning’s broken,” he says, wrestling with the crank windows, the handle sticking under his grip.

“who needs it?” you shrug, a carefree grin spreading across your face, bright as the last sliver of sun. you lean your head out the window, letting the sea breeze whip your hair into a wild halo, strands dancing like they’re alive.

the truck rattles down the coastal road, tires kicking up clouds of sand that drift in the orange glow. you fiddle with the radio, twisting the dial past static until a slow, dreamy track hums through the speakers, its bass vibrating deep in satoru’s bones, syncing with the thud of his heart.

your fingers tap a lazy rhythm against your bare thigh, the hem of your shorts frayed and soft, and he’s dangerously distracted, his eyes flicking to you when he should be watching the road.

“pull over,” you say suddenly, sitting bolt upright, pointing to a dirt path half-hidden by seagrass.

“what?” he blinks, hands tightening on the wheel.

“there. pull over. trust me.”

your excitement is a current, electric and contagious, and he’s turning the truck before he can think, tires bumping over the uneven path. the clearing opens to a view that steals his breath—an endless ocean, molten and shimmering, the sun sinking into it like a dying ember. the horizon burns, fierce and fleeting.

before he can ask what’s next, you’re halfway out the door, tugging your tank top over your head, the motion fluid, careless. “swimming, obviously,” you call over your shoulder, voice bright with mischief.

he stares, heart slamming against his ribs, the air in his lungs gone. you shimmy out of your shorts, revealing a plain black bikini—simple, unadorned, but devastating, the fabric hugging your curves like it was made for you. his throat goes dry, words dissolving on his tongue.

“we don’t have—” he starts, but you cut him off, flashing a cheeky grin.

“i always wear it under my clothes,” you say, winking. “just in case.”

just in case you decide to unravel him, to turn his world inside out with a smile and a strip of fabric.

“well?” you challenge, standing in the sand, barefoot and fearless, like a siren born from the waves. “you coming or what?”

common sense is a faint echo, drowned out by the roar of his pulse. he yanks his shirt over his head, the cotton catching on his hair, and follows you, helpless.

the water is warm, lapping at his skin, the tide playful, salt stinging his lips. you dive under a wave, your body sleek and sure, cutting through the current like you belong to it. you surface with a triumphant laugh, hair plastered to your forehead, water streaming down your face, and satoru’s caught, staring, the world narrowing to you.

“chicken?” you tease, flicking water at him, your grin sharp and daring.

he pushes deeper into the surf, muscles burning, fighting the urge to just float there, to watch you move. “race you to the buoy,” you say, pointing to a marker bobbing in the distance, its silhouette dark against the fiery sky.

“you’re on,” he grins, teeth flashing, adrenaline spiking.

you take off, a blur of motion, and he has to push to keep up, slicing through the water with long, powerful strokes, the ocean dragging at his limbs. by the time he reaches the buoy, you’re there, clinging to it, laughing breathless, your chest heaving. “not bad,” you concede, splashing water in his face, the droplets cool against his flushed skin. “for an old man.”

“old?” he splutters, feigning outrage, lunging for you.

you shriek, twisting away, but he’s faster, catching you around the waist, his fingers slipping against your slick skin. he dunks you under, the water swallowing your laughter, and you surface, sputtering, eyes blazing with mock fury.

you launch yourself at him, crashing into his chest, and the momentum sends you both tumbling under the next wave, limbs tangling, breathless and weightless.

when you surface, you’re wrapped around him, legs locked at his hips, arms looped around his neck, your body pressed so close he can feel the heat of you through the water. the ocean rocks you gently, the sunset bathing you in fire and velvet, your faces inches apart. he can see the flecks in your eyes, the faint salt clinging to your lashes, and his heart stutters, a painful, desperate thing.

“i win,” you murmur, voice low, triumphant, your breath warm against his lips.

his hands steady you at your waist, fingers splaying over your skin, slick and warm, and he’s drowning, every nerve alight. “cheater,” he rasps, the word barely audible, his throat tight.

your smile is slow, dangerous, your eyes flickering to his mouth for a heartbeat, and satoru feels the world tilt, gravity slipping away. he leans in, instinct overriding reason, drawn to you like a tide to the shore—

a wave crashes over you, tearing you apart with a roar of laughter and salt spray. you’re both gasping, grinning, the moment shattered but still humming between you.

you beat him back to shore, stumbling through the shallows, your laughter ringing like bells. by the time he catches up, you’re shivering, arms wrapped around yourself, the first stars blinking awake overhead, faint against the deepening indigo.

without a word, he grabs his hoodie from the truck, the fabric soft and worn, and drapes it over your shoulders. it swallows you, sleeves dangling past your hands, but you tug it tight, burying your face in the collar, and the sight of you in his clothes does something vicious to his chest.

“thanks,” you whisper, voice soft, nearly lost to the wind, your eyes catching his, warm and unguarded.

neither of you moves. the moment stretches, fragile as glass, strung between the stars and the restless waves, the air thick with salt and unspoken things. satoru’s heart hammers, every beat a confession he can’t voice.

“suguru would kill me,” he blurts, the words rough, desperate, a lifeline to keep him grounded.

you tilt your head, studying him, the wind tugging at your hair. “for what?”

for wanting you. for almost kissing you. for dreaming of you every night since you came back.

“for keeping you out too late,” he lies, voice scraping, hating how weak it sounds.

you laugh, soft and knowing, like you see through him, like you always have. “i’m not a kid, toru.”

he swallows, throat burning. “you’ve always been… different. special.” the words slip out, raw and unguarded, and he regrets them instantly, but your eyes soften, something tender flickering there.

you step closer, close enough that he can smell the salt on your skin, the faint coconut of your sunscreen lingering. “maybe i’m tougher than you think,” you say, brushing sand off his shoulder with fingers so light they feel like a dream, your touch lingering a second too long.

“maybe,” he croaks, voice breaking, his hands twitching to pull you closer.

you hold his gaze, long and steady, then sigh, stepping back, the space between you cold and sudden. “we should go,” you murmur, voice laced with something heavy, something he can’t name.

he drives you home slowly, windows down, the radio murmuring a low, slow song that weaves through the night. you curl up in the passenger seat, still in his hoodie, humming softly, your voice a thread he wants to chase forever. the road stretches, quiet and dark, the ocean a shadow to your left, its rhythm steady against the chaos in his chest.

at your house, the porch light glows, a soft amber pool, but suguru’s truck is gone, the driveway empty. “thanks for the swim,” you say, lingering with your hand on the door, your fingers brushing the handle like you’re reluctant to leave.

“anytime,” he says, meaning it too much, his voice low, heavy with everything he’s holding back.

you lean across the console, and his breath catches, time slowing as you press a kiss to his cheek—soft, quick, a fleeting devastation. your lips are warm, barely there, but they burn, a spark that could set him ablaze. then you’re gone, darting up the steps, pausing to throw him a wink, bright and teasing, before slipping inside.

he sits there, hand pressed to his cheek, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape. the engine ticks, the night presses in, and he’s alone with the ghost of your kiss, the weight of it heavier than the ocean.

“you’re fucked,” he tells his reflection in the rearview mirror, voice rough, eyes wide and stunned.

his reflection doesn’t argue, just stares back, helpless.

the next morning at the stand, suguru’s quiet, frowning over inventory lists, his pen scratching too hard against the clipboard. “you okay?” satoru asks, dread curling in his gut, the memory of last night still burning.

“late night,” suguru mutters, scribbling a note, his voice clipped.

relief floods satoru, sharp and dizzying, nearly knocking him off balance. “the bonfire girl?” he asks, forcing a grin.

suguru smirks, a glint in his eyes. “very flexible.”

normal. it’s normal. nothing’s changed.

then you appear, hair twisted into a messy bun, strands escaping to frame your face, wearing cutoff shorts and—satoru’s breath catches, a punch to the chest—his hoodie, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, the fabric loose but claiming you in a way that makes his head spin. “morning!” you chirp, dropping your bag behind the counter, the zipper jingling softly.

“you’re late,” suguru grumbles, mock stern, tossing you an apron.

“by like, five minutes,” you protest, rolling your eyes, your lips twitching with a smile.

“still late,” he insists, but there’s no heat in it, just the easy rhythm of family.

you catch the apron one-handed, sticking your tongue out at him when he turns away. satoru pretends to fiddle with the register, fingers clumsy on the keys, trying not to stare at you, at the way his hoodie looks on you, at the way it feels like a claim he didn’t mean to make.

but when you catch his eye across the stand, your smile slows, turns secret, full of promises he’s not sure he can survive. it’s a look that says you remember last night—the swim, the almost-kiss, the kiss that was—and his heart lurches, knowing he’s lost, knowing he doesn’t want to fight it, not with the annual bonfire party looming, its heat and chaos waiting to pull him under.

the bonfire party pulses against the darkening sky, flames clawing upward, casting amber and gold across faces slick with sweat and laughter. satoru nurses a beer, the bottle cool and slick in his palm, half-listening to a friend drone on about swell patterns and reef breaks. his attention frays, eyes slicing through the crowd, searching for you, a reflex he can’t tame.

when you appear, the world collapses to a single, searing point.

you step from the beach path, a peach sundress clinging to your curves, thin straps shimmering like liquid firelight, the hem teasing high on your thighs. your hair’s loose, wild from the salt air, curling against your shoulders like it’s daring the wind to try harder. you look shy at first, eyes darting through the chaos of bodies, searching for an anchor.

then you find him.

your eyes lock across the fire, and your smile—small, devastating, a curve of lips that’s both invitation and blade—cuts through him. it steals his breath, roots him to the sand, the beer bottle nearly slipping from his grip. his heart’s a traitor, pounding loud enough to drown out the music, and he’s terrified suguru’s nearby, that his best friend’s sharp eyes will catch the way satoru’s unraveling.

“dude, you even listening?” his friend asks, waving a hand in front of his face, voice tinged with annoyance.

“what? yeah,” satoru mumbles, not hearing a damn thing, unable to tear himself from you, from the way the firelight dances across your face.

a shadow moves beside him, and suguru’s there, beer in hand, leaning back against a driftwood log. “you’re zoning out,” he says, voice neutral, taking a slow sip. his eyes flick to the crowd, casual, but satoru’s stomach lurches—suguru knows him too well, reads him like a book, and satoru’s been anything but subtle tonight.

“just hot,” satoru mutters, tipping his beer back, the bitter fizz doing nothing to cool the heat crawling up his neck. he forces his gaze to the fire, to the sparks spiraling into the night, praying suguru doesn’t push.

suguru hums, noncommittal, and says nothing more, but the silence feels heavy, like he’s waiting for satoru to crack. satoru tries to play it cool—laughs at a half-heard joke, tosses a stick into the flames, watches it catch and burn. but you’re a tide, pulling at him, relentless.

the way your dress shifts with the breeze, tracing the dip of your waist; the bare slope of your shoulders, kissed by firelight; the glint of your anklet, a silver thread against your ankle. it’s torture, and he’s burning, every nerve alight with want he’s desperate to hide.

you drift through the party, a fleeting spark, never staying long. you laugh with girls from the rival stand, their voices sharp and bright, then pause to chat with a guy satoru half-remembers from high school—tanned, smug, standing too close.

you tilt your head back, laughing, throat bared, and satoru’s grip dents his beer can, the metal creaking under his fingers. the urge to cross the sand, to shove the guy back, is a live wire in his veins, but he stays put, jaw tight, because suguru’s right there, watching the fire, and one wrong move could betray him.

“you’re gonna break that,” suguru says, voice low, nodding at the can, his tone too even to be safe.

satoru sets it down, dragging a hand through his hair, the strands damp with sweat. “i’m fine,” he says, too sharp, and regrets it instantly, the words too defensive.

suguru raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t push, just takes another sip, his gaze drifting to the crowd. satoru follows it, and there you are, catching his eye again, your stare steady, unflinching. you take a slow sip of your beer, tongue flicking out to catch a drop on your bottom lip, and desire coils in satoru’s stomach, hot and heavy, his mouth dry as the ash at his feet.

he shifts, crossing his arms, trying to ground himself, to look anywhere but at you. suguru’s too close, too perceptive, and satoru’s walking a tightrope, every glance a risk. he forces a laugh at something his friend says, but it’s hollow, his focus fractured by the way you move, the way you exist, like you’re pulling the air from his lungs.

you’re there suddenly, standing before them, your sundress glowing orange in the firelight, sand dusting your bare ankles, a faint sheen of sweat on your collarbone. “hey,” you say, voice soft, a little breathless, like the crowd’s worn you thin, like you’re seeking refuge.

suguru shifts, patting the space on the log between them. “plenty of room,” he says, easy, tossing you a chip from the bag at his feet. “hungry?”

“i’m your only sister,” you point out, rolling your eyes as you settle onto the log, careful with the short hem of your dress, thighs brushing the rough wood.

you’re too close—satoru can smell your shampoo, coconut and sweet, weaving through the smoky air. your knee presses against his, a steady heat through his jeans, and he shifts, angling away, terrified of leaning into it, of suguru noticing the way his hands twitch.

you slip into easy talk, the three of you passing the chip bag, laughing at suguru’s tales of tourists losing sunglasses to the waves. but there’s a charge humming under it all, a current satoru can’t ignore.

he’s hyperaware of you—the way your fingers tuck a stray curl behind your ear, the soft hitch of your breath when you laugh, the way your eyes find his in the firelight, each glance a spark that could ignite him. suguru’s right there, sprawled and relaxed, but satoru’s nerves are a live wire, every moment a test of his restraint.

the speaker blasts a new song, bass thumping across the sand, and couples start dancing near the fire, shadows twisting against the flames. a guy approaches you—tall, cocky, hand outstretched, all easy charm. “dance with me?” he asks, grinning like he’s already won.

satoru’s jaw clenches, a spike of something hot and reckless surging in his chest, but you just smile, polite, shaking your head. “maybe later,” you say, voice light, and relief crashes through satoru, sharp and unearned, loosening the knot in his gut.

the guy shrugs, moving on, and suguru watches, finishing his beer in a long gulp, the bottle glinting in the firelight. he stands, stretching, his shadow long across the sand. “gonna grab another,” he says, voice casual, but his eyes linger on you for a beat, then flick to satoru, unreadable. “you two want anything?”

“i’m good,” satoru says, too fast, his pulse still settling, his hands gripping his knees to keep still.

“i’ll take another,” you say, holding up your empty can, fingers brushing the rim, a faint smudge of lipstick on the edge.

suguru nods, then heads off, weaving through the crowd, his absence leaving a void that hums with possibility. the fire crackles, music pulses low, and the silence between you and satoru stretches, thick with smoke and want, the air heavy with everything he’s fighting to hide.

“having fun?” he asks, voice rougher than he means, cringing at how weak it sounds, like a kid fumbling for words.

you smile, eyes on the fire, flames dancing in your gaze like they’re part of you. “yeah. it’s nice being back for the summer.” you turn to him, face half-shadowed, half-glowing, your expression soft, open. “better than i expected.”

“yeah?” he asks, heart hammering, the sound too loud in his ears, terrified suguru’s watching from the drink table, catching every slip.

you nod, holding his gaze, steady, unflinching. “yeah.”

the silence deepens, heavy as the tide, pulling at him. you take a deep breath, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress, tugging it down, and he can’t look away from the nervous bite of your lip, the way it shines, wet with beer and firelight. he’s drowning, and suguru’s absence is a dangerous freedom, every second a chance to break.

“actually, i’m feeling a little…” you trail off, glancing at the crowd, the laughter and chaos swelling around you. “it’s kinda loud. kinda crowded.”

“we can move down the beach,” satoru offers, instant, eager, desperate to keep this moment. “if you want quiet.”

you shake your head, lip caught between your teeth, a gesture that’s a fucking dart to his chest. “i was thinking… maybe you could drive me home?”

his brain stutters, blanks. “home?” he echoes, keys already burning in his pocket, his hands itching to move.

“if you don’t mind,” you add, quick, a blush blooming across your cheeks, soft and real, like you’re offering more than you’re saying. “i’m just… tired.”

he knows you’re not tired. knows it like he knows the pull of the ocean, the sting of salt. your eyes are too bright, too awake, the lie a fragile veil over something bolder. he’s nodding, fumbling for his keys, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the fire’s crackle. “yeah, of course. let me just tell suguru—”

“already texted him,” you say, holding up your phone, a shy smile curving your lips. “he says it’s fine.”

satoru’s pulse spikes, panic and want twisting together. suguru’s out there, somewhere, and satoru’s terrified he’s watching, that he’ll see the truth in his face, the way he’s crumbling under your gaze. but he stands, offering his hand, voice rough. “let’s go.”

you take it, fingers warm, slightly sticky from the beer, letting him pull you up. you sway, bumping his chest, and he steadies you, hands on your waist, the thin fabric of your dress no barrier to the heat of your skin. “sorry,” you murmur, looking up through your lashes, not stepping back, your breath a soft tease against his jaw.

“that’s okay,” he says, voice raw, barely holding it together. “i’ve got you.”

you weave through the crowd to the parking lot, your hand still in his, a tether he’s terrified to break. satoru spots suguru by the drink table, their eyes meeting across the sand. suguru’s gaze is steady, a small nod passing between them, no words, just an acknowledgment that feels like a warning: don’t cross the line.

satoru nods back, a silent promise he’s not sure he can keep, and guides you to his truck.

the drive’s quiet at first, just the engine’s low growl and the distant rhythm of waves. satoru grips the wheel, knuckles white, hyperaware of you in the passenger seat—your bare legs catching moonlight, the way your dress rides up, revealing the soft curve of your thigh.

you turn the radio on low, a sultry summer song with a bassline that matches his pulse, heavy and slow. your knee brushes his, stays there, a deliberate heat that sets him ablaze, and he’s fighting every instinct to keep his hands where they belong, to keep suguru’s trust intact.

“thank you,” you say, voice soft, cutting through the dark like a lighthouse beam. “for the ride.”

“anytime,” he says, and it’s a vow, heavy with everything he’s burying, everything he’s too afraid to let suguru see.

another mile hums by, the radio crackling low, a sultry bassline weaving through the dark. tires whisper against cracked asphalt, a secret shared between the truck and the night. the windows are cracked, letting in slivers of humid, salt-heavy air, thick with the scent of seaweed and distant bonfires. it does nothing to ease the heat coiling inside the cab, a fever that clings to your skin, makes every breath feel flushed, electric, like the world’s poised on a knife’s edge.

satoru feels it before he sees it—your gaze, molten and heavy, searing into the side of his face. the air shifts, sharp, trembling, a wire stretched to snapping. weeks of want, maybe years, spill over, uncontainable, a tide breaking against a crumbling dam.

“satoru,” you whisper, voice catching, raw with a need that slices through him. “pull over. please.”

he glances at you, and it’s a fucking mistake. your eyes glitter in the dashboard’s dim glow, wild and wide, lips parted, hands fisting the hem of your peach sundress, knuckles pale like you’re clinging to sanity. “what?” he asks, voice fraying, teetering on wrecked.

“please,” you say again, lip quivering, voice splintering under the weight of desperation. “i can’t hold it anymore.”

he doesn’t hesitate. the blinker clicks, sharp and urgent, the truck veering onto the sandy shoulder, ocean roaring below the cliffs, a primal pulse in the dark. he shifts into park, and the world catches fire.

“i can’t,” you whisper, eyes wide, pleading, like you’re unraveling. “i can’t pretend like you’re not everything anymore.”

he freezes, waiting for you to laugh, to take it back, but your hands are on him, yanking him across the console, your mouth crashing into his. you taste like desperation, strawberry lip gloss, and something achingly sweet, a heartbreak he can’t name. he moans, low and stunned, hands flying to your hips as you pour into him, a wave finally breaking, relentless and all-consuming.

your kiss is frantic, messy, teeth catching his lip, tongue sliding against his in a clumsy, starving dance. he’s drowning, your body pressing closer, like you could meld into him, erase every inch of space. “wait,” he gasps, pulling back, forehead knocking against yours, breath jagged, the air between you steaming. “baby, you’ve been drinking. i can’t—”

“satoru,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shirt, nails biting through cotton, dragging him back. “i know what i’m doing. i’ve wanted you since i was sixteen. please. just tonight. let me have you.”

the raw truth in your voice shatters him, every defense crumbling like sand. “oh, sweetheart,” he coos, teasing but hungry, kissing you again, deep and reckless, tongue chasing yours like he’s been starved for you. “we should—shit, we should find a bed, somewhere better—”

“no,” you cut him off, voice fierce, climbing over the console, straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. your dress rides up, thighs bare and warm against his jeans, and he chokes, breath hitching at the heat of you. “here. now. i can’t wait.”

he’s trying to be good, trying to think of suguru, of the lines he shouldn’t cross, but you’re too much—too pretty, too desperate, grinding against him, the friction making his vision blur. “backseat,” he murmurs, voice low, fraying with impatience, hands gripping your waist to lift you. “more room, pretty girl.”

you nod, frantic, and you both tumble out into the humid dark, clumsy with need, the night thick with the buzz of cicadas and the ocean’s restless crash. he catches you when your sandal snags on the doorframe, your laugh breathless, a sound that hooks into his ribs and pulls tight.

he shoves open the back door, guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back, firm but gentle, the leather seats gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

the backseat’s a tight cocoon, windows fogging, the air steaming with heat and lust. you climb in, pulling him after you, straddling him again, knees bracketing his hips, the seat creaking under your weight. your sundress is a crumpled mess, straps slipping off your shoulders, and he’s lost, staring at you like you’re a fucking vision, eyes glinting with want, skin flushed and alive.

“c’mere, gorgeous,” he coos, voice dripping with tease, but there’s a tremor beneath it, a hunger he can’t hide. he drags you closer, hands sliding under your dress, palms worshipping the smooth expanse of your thighs, the curve of your hips, the soft dip of your waist.

you gasp, grinding against him, and he feels himself, thick and aching, pressed against your core through his jeans, every roll of your hips a sweet kind of torture.

“you’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me,” he murmurs, breath hitching, hands trembling as he pushes your dress higher, exposing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate lace of your panties. his voice is all tease, but his eyes are dark, pupils blown, betraying the impatience clawing at him.

you giggle, wrecked and sweet, and he grits his teeth, your laugh a spark to his fraying control. “lemme touch you,” he pleads, voice low, edged with a need that’s almost painful, fingers itching to claim every inch of you.

“yes,” you breathe, thighs parting, a flower opening to the sun, offering him everything.

he traces slow, maddening patterns up your inner thighs, savoring every twitch, every shiver, the way your breath catches when his knuckles graze too close. his fingers brush the damp lace of your panties, and he curses, soft and reverent, the heat of you undoing him.

“soaked already,” he purrs, lips grazing your ear, voice thick with awe, a teasing lilt masking the way his hands shake. “such a good girl for me.”

he slips beneath the lace, and you choke on a cry, biting your knuckles, head falling back against the seat. “nuh-uh,” he teases, nipping your neck, a playful bite that stings just enough to make you gasp. “no hiding, baby. i want every sound. lemme hear you.”

he tugs your hand away, pinning it against the seat, his other hand working slow, deliberate circles over your clit, featherlight and cruel.

you whimper, high and broken, hips bucking into his touch, chasing the friction. he’s methodical, a tease—circling your clit with barely-there pressure, dipping lower to trace your entrance, then back up, dragging out every sensation until you’re writhing, grinding shamelessly against his hand.

“satoru,” you pant, nails scoring his shoulders through his shirt, leaving crescent marks he’ll trace later, proof of you.

“patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips dragging wet down your throat, teeth grazing the frantic pulse at your neck. “gonna savor you. make you forget anyone else ever touched you.” his voice is a promise, teasing but laced with a hunger that betrays his own impatience, and you shudder, thighs trembling under his hands.

he shoves your panties aside, tossing them into the backseat’s shadows, and spreads you open, pressing you back against the seat, the leather sticking to your sweat-slick skin. the angle’s awkward, the space cramped, but he makes it work, one knee braced against the floorboard, shoulders hunching to fit, his breath hot against your core.

“prettiest fuckin’ pussy,” he murmurs, eyes dark, pupils swallowing the blue, staring at you like you’re a banquet and he’s been starving for years.

he kisses up your thigh, slow, messy, lips smearing wet trails, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin, the faint musk of you driving him wild. his hands grip your hips, fingers bruising, holding you still as he edges closer, breath fanning hot over your core, making you squirm. when his tongue drags a long, languid stripe up your folds, you sob, arching off the seat, hands flying to his hair, yanking hard enough to sting.

he moans, the sound eager, vibrating through you, and dives in, ravenous. he’s messy, relentless—tongue lapping broad, greedy strokes, then sharp, teasing flicks against your clit, nose nudging you with every movement.

his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly, and you cry out, thighs clamping around his head, a vise he welcomes. he pries your legs wider, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and keeps going, tongue tracing every fold, every sensitive inch, like he’s mapping you.

“taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he mumbles, words slurred, muffled against your core, lips brushing your clit as he speaks. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance, and he slides a finger inside, curling it slow, deliberate, searching for that spot that makes your breath hitch. you keen, high and desperate, and he adds another finger, stretching you, pumping in time with the sharp flicks of his tongue, the rhythm maddening.

“satoru,” you wail, overwhelmed, hips bucking, chasing the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his fingers. his eyes flick up, meeting yours, and they’re wild—lids heavy, face flushed, glistening with your slick, utterly lost in you.

he’s trying to hold back, to keep some control, because you’re suguru’s sister, because he shouldn’t, but you’re too fucking perfect, grinding against his face, and he’s unraveling, impatient for more.

he shifts, the backseat too small, his shoulder bumping the fogged window, smearing the condensation. one hand braces against the door, keeping him steady, the other working you deeper, fingers curling just right, hitting that spot again and again until your thighs shake.

his tongue traces patterns—lazy circles, sharp figure-eights, quick flicks that have you gasping, trembling. he pulls back for a moment, just to spit on you, the wet heat mixing with your slick, making everything filthier, then dives back in, lapping it up, sucking harder, fingers pumping faster, the wet sounds lewd and intoxicating.

“so fuckin’ wet,” he coos, voice teasing, lips brushing your clit, but the undercurrent of hunger is undeniable, his patience fraying. “dripping all over me, baby. gonna scream for me soon.” he dives back in, tongue relentless, fingers twisting, and you’re a mess, thighs quivering, chest heaving, the leather creaking under your restless movements.

“please,” you whimper, voice breaking, hands yanking his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. “faster, satoru, please.”

“greedy little thing,” he teases, but he obliges, tongue flicking quicker, fingers pumping deeper, curling sharper. “love it when you beg. makes me wanna tie you up, keep you like this all night.” his voice is playful, but the idea’s a spark, and you shudder, the image of you bound and spread for him making you clench around his fingers.

he groans, feeling it, and sucks your clit hard, tongue swirling, fingers relentless. you’re close, he knows it—the way you tighten around him, the way your hips stutter, the way your cries turn hoarse, desperate. he doubles down, tongue sloppy, lips smacking wetly, fingers driving into you, chasing every gasp, every shudder. “c’mon, pretty girl,” he coos, words muffled, dripping with want. “cum for me. let me taste it. fuckin’ paint me.”

you shatter, a hoarse, sobbing cry tearing from your throat as you come undone, convulsing under him, waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body arching off the seat. he doesn’t stop, lips moving, tongue lapping, fingers pumping, drawing out every tremor, every aftershock, greedy for every drop.

you’re whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at his shoulders, but he’s too far gone, chasing the last of your release, his mouth slick and shining.

“satoru, fuck,” you gasp, voice broken, hands shoving at him, but there’s no strength, just a plea he ignores. he grins against you, sloppy and drunk, and licks another slow, deliberate stripe, making you jolt, a fresh whimper spilling out.

“one more, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, almost pleading, lips brushing your clit, teasing and soft. “you’ve got another for me, don’t you? know you do.” his fingers slide deeper, curling slow, coaxing, tongue flicking light, playful, drawing you back to the edge with a patience that’s more about his hunger than your comfort.

you’re a wreck, thighs trembling, breath hitching, but you can’t resist him, not when he’s like this—teasing, hungry, cooing like you’re his to unravel.

he adjusts, cramped knees creaking, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread, hooking your leg over his shoulder to open you wider. his tongue circles your clit, soft and teasing, fingers pumping slow, deep, dragging out every sensation until you’re whining, high and needy, hands tugging his hair again.

“look at you,” he purrs, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, his face a mess—lips swollen, cheeks glistening, chin dripping with you. “so fuckin’ perfect, falling apart for me. bet you’d let me do anything, huh?” he nips your inner thigh, a quick, sharp bite, and you gasp, hips jerking.

“satoru,” you plead, voice fraying, “too much.”

“too much?” he teases, tongue flicking your clit, light and quick, making you twitch. “thought you wanted me, baby. thought you couldn’t wait.” his fingers curl, slow and wicked, and you arch, a fresh cry spilling out. “that’s it, give me everything. love watching you break.”

he dives back in, tongue tracing lazy patterns, lips sucking soft, then hard, alternating to keep you guessing, keep you trembling. his fingers work deeper, stretching you, curling against that spot that makes your vision blur, the wet sounds filling the backseat, obscene and intoxicating.

he’s relentless, messy, eating you like he’s been denied for years, like every lick is a claim. his free hand slides up, cupping your breast through your dress, thumb circling your nipple, teasing until it’s hard, until you’re gasping, overwhelmed.

“wanna see you ride my face,” he murmurs, voice slurred, drunk on you, pulling back to catch his breath, his lips slick and shining. “wanna feel you grind, baby. c’mon, use me.” he doesn’t wait for an answer, just shifts, lying back on the seat, pulling you up, guiding your hips over his face, his hands firm but coaxing.

you hesitate, oversensitive, but he’s insistent, tugging you down, and when his tongue flicks your clit again, you’re gone, grinding against him, chasing the heat.

he groans, eager, hands gripping your ass, guiding your movements, his tongue relentless, flicking, circling, sucking. you’re a vision, dress hiked up, straps falling, hair a wild mess, and he’s lost, watching you use him, watching you fall apart again.

“that’s it, baby,” he coos, voice muffled, vibrating through you. “fuck my face, c’mon, give it to me.” his words are filthy, teasing, but the hunger’s raw, impatient, and you’re too far gone to care, hips rolling, chasing the edge again.

he sucks hard, fingers digging into your hips, and you shatter a second time, weaker but sharper, a cry ripping from you as you convulse, thighs shaking, his tongue still moving, still greedy.

he laps you through it, slow, deliberate, not stopping until you’re limp, gasping, hands falling loose in his hair. his lips are swollen, face glistening, eyes hazy, utterly wrecked. he presses one last kiss to your clit, soft, almost worshipful, before pulling back, panting, staring at you like you’ve rewritten his world.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes, voice raw, teasing but frayed with want, his hands still roaming your thighs, like he can’t let go. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“want you,” you whisper, dragging satoru up from where he’s still panting between your thighs, lips slick and swollen, the taste of you lingering on his tongue as you crash into him.

the kiss is filthy, all teeth and hunger, a clash of desperation and need. your hands claw at his shoulders, nails biting through his shirt, pulling him so close it’s like you’re trying to carve yourself into him.

he moans, a low, wrecked sound, hands frantic as he helps you tear his shirt off. the fabric snags, rips at the seam, and you both laugh—breathless, wild, the sound swallowed by the thick air of the backseat.

you pause, hands splaying over his chest, fingers tracing the lean muscle under flushed skin, the faint freckles scattered across his collarbone like stars he never noticed. he’s beautiful, carved but human, chest heaving under your touch, eyes dark with a want that makes your breath catch.

“fuck, you’re staring,” he teases, voice rough but laced with a shy edge, a flush creeping up his neck that’s got nothing to do with the heat.

“can’t help it,” you murmur, tracing the sharp line of his abs, feeling the shudder that ripples through him. “you’re too damn pretty, toru.”

he curses, soft and reverent, a quiet “shit” that’s more prayer than profanity, and shoves his jeans down, kicking them into the backseat’s shadows with a clumsy thud.

his cock springs free—thick, flushed, the tip glistening with pre-cum, and you whimper, thighs clenching, a fresh wave of heat pooling low. he’s big, bigger than you’d imagined in your wildest, most reckless dreams, and the sight of him sends a thrill through you, sharp and electric.

he hesitates, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and ragged, the air between you steaming with sweat and want. “baby, i don’t have a condom,” he says, voice tight, the words dragged out like they’re killing him, his hands trembling on your hips.

“don’t care,” you whisper, desperate, hands sliding to his hips, pulling him closer until his cock brushes your thigh, hot and heavy. “want you. all of you. please, satoru.”

he curses again, louder, a broken “fuck” as he drags his cock through your folds, slicking himself in your wetness, the head catching on your clit and making you gasp, hips jerking.

“last chance, sweetheart,” he coos, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown so wide the blue’s a thin ring, a man teetering on the edge of control. “you sure?”

“please,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer. “need you inside me. now.”

he groans, a sound that’s all need, and pushes in slow, careful, watching your face with a focus that makes your heart stutter. the stretch is intense, a delicious burn that has you clutching his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, leaving marks he’ll trace later with a grin. he buries his face in your shoulder, moaning, the sound low and frayed, like he’s coming apart.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he whimpers, voice shaking, a teasing lilt undercut by raw hunger. “squeezin’ me so good, pretty girl.”

he moves slow, rocking into you, letting you adjust to the fullness, each shallow thrust stealing your breath. it stings, but it’s perfect—the way he fills you, the way he’s careful but desperate, holding back just enough to keep from breaking you. “more,” you beg, rolling your hips, greedy, chasing the friction, the pressure. “harder, satoru, please.”

“greedy little thing,” he teases, a chuckle that’s all heat, hands gripping your hips so tight you’ll bruise, a possessive edge to his touch as he pulls back, then fucks into you deeper, harder, the truck creaking with the force. you gasp, head falling back, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails he’ll wear like a trophy.

“satoru,” you sob, overwhelmed by the fullness, the way he hits every spot, splitting you open in the best way. the backseat’s too small, his knees bumping the door, your elbow grazing the fogged window, but it’s raw, filthy—the cramped space forcing you closer, bodies tangled, slick with sweat.

the air’s thick, heavy with the scent of sex, salt, and the faint coconut of your skin, windows fogged so tight you’re a secret hidden from the world.

“feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he pants, finding a rhythm, deep and steady, his cock dragging against your walls with every thrust, the wet sounds obscene, filling the cab.

the distant crash of waves below weaves through your gasps, his groans, the leather creaking under you. his hands roam, possessive, one sliding up to cup your breast through your dress, thumb teasing your nipple until it’s hard, making you whimper.

“look at you, baby,” he coos, voice teasing but frayed with impatience, “taking me so well.”

“let me ride you,” you gasp, pushing at his chest, desperate to feel him deeper, to take control, to make him unravel. your voice is a plea, high and needy, and his eyes flash, something feral sparking in them.

“fuck yes,” he murmurs, wild and breathless, a grin splitting his face. “come take it, gorgeous.” he flips you in one fluid motion, maneuvering in the tight space with a grace that’s almost unfair, pulling you on top as he settles back against the seat, the leather sticking to his sweat-slick back. his hands tug at your dress, impatient, a low growl in his throat. “off. now. wanna see every inch of you.”

you nod, frantic, yanking the sundress over your head, the fabric catching in your hair before you toss it aside. your breasts spill free, no bra—because of course, you fucking minx—and satoru moans, loud and broken, hands flying to cup them, thumbs brushing your nipples, sending jolts through you.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, squeezing gently, rolling the sensitive peaks until you arch, grinding against him, a whine slipping from your lips. he leans up, sucking one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to sting, and you cry out, hips bucking instinctively.

“satoru,” you whimper, hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard, and he groans, switching to the other breast, lavishing it with wet, messy attention, his lips leaving a trail of heat. his hands roam—one squeezing your ass, urging you to move, the other pinching your nipple, making you shudder, your core clenching around nothing.

“ride me, baby,” he pants, pulling back, lips wet and swollen, eyes dark and hazy, pupils swallowing the blue. “take what’s yours. lemme see you fall apart.”

you sink down on him, trembling, the stretch deeper at this angle, a sharp, perfect ache that has you whimpering, pausing to adjust, your breath hitching. he fills you completely, the head of his cock kissing your cervix, and you grip his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, grounding yourself.

“that’s it, pretty girl,” he coos, hands steadying your hips, guiding you gently, his voice teasing but laced with a hunger that betrays his impatience. “fuck, you feel so good. so fuckin’ perfect.”

you move, hips rolling, clumsy at first, finding a rhythm that sends sparks up your spine. the leather sticks to your thighs, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the windows fogged so tight you’re a world unto yourselves. his hands help, guiding your hips, but his eyes are glued to where you’re joined, watching his cock disappear into you, slick and glistening, a low groan spilling from his lips.

“look at you,” he breathes, voice thick with awe, a teasing edge fraying with need. “so fuckin’ gorgeous, taking me like that.”

every roll of your hips is electric, your thighs quivering, the effort making your muscles burn, but it’s worth it for the way he looks at you—like you’re a goddess, like he’s worshiping you with every thrust.

he meets you halfway, thrusting up, matching your pace, the truck rocking with the force, creaking and swaying like it’s barely holding together. his hands slide to your breasts, squeezing, thumbs teasing your nipples until you’re moaning, loud and shameless, lost in the heat of him.

“mine,” he murmurs, pulling you down for a rough kiss, teeth catching your lip, biting just enough to make you gasp. “fuck, you’re mine, baby. always have been.”

“yours,” you sob, collapsing against his chest, hips still grinding, chasing the pressure building inside you, a coil winding tighter with every move. his hands are everywhere—gripping your ass, cupping your breasts, sliding to your clit, rubbing messy, desperate circles that have you shaking, so close you can taste it.

he shifts, adjusting the angle, one hand braced against the door to keep his balance, the other guiding your hips faster, harder.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he pants, voice wrecked, eyes locked on yours, a teasing grin fading into raw hunger. “gimme another. wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

his thrusts turn brutal, deep, hitting that spot over and over, and you’re gone, shattering around him, walls clenching tight, dragging a low, desperate moan from his throat as he feels you pulse, hot and wet. but he’s not done. you’re still trembling, riding out the aftershocks, when he grows impatient, his cock throbbing, the need to cum clawing at him.

“fuck, baby, you’re too slow,” he teases, but his voice is strained, fraying with lust, a man on the edge. his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in, and he lifts you, bouncing you on his lap with a strength that makes you gasp, the truck shaking with every movement.

“satoru,” you whimper, hands clutching his shoulders, nails scoring his skin as he sets a relentless pace, thrusting up into you, each slam of your hips against his sending shocks through you. the angle’s deeper, his cock hitting that sweet spot with every bounce, and you’re helpless, a ragdoll in his hands, your breasts bouncing, your moans spilling out, loud and broken.

“that’s it, baby,” he coos, but it’s dark, impatient, his eyes wild as he watches you, watches himself disappear into you, slick and messy. “fuck, you feel so good. gonna—shit, gonna cum if you keep squeezing me like that.” his hands tighten, bouncing you faster, harder, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding filling the backseat, obscene and intoxicating.

“please,” you beg, voice fracturing, overwhelmed by the intensity, the way he’s taking you apart again. “want it, satoru. want you.”

“fuck, say that again,” he groans, thrusting up harder, his voice teetering on desperate, the teasing gone, replaced by raw need. “tell me you want me.”

“want you,” you gasp, clinging to him, your lips brushing his jaw, his neck, as he bounces you, the friction driving you to the edge again. “want you so bad, toru. always have.”

he’s unraveling, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic, his breath hitching as he chases his release. “fuck, baby, you’re too much,” he pants, hands sliding to your ass, squeezing hard, guiding you down onto him one last time. “gonna—fuck, i can’t—”

he pulls out just in time, groaning loud and broken, spilling across your thighs, hot and thick, painting your skin as he slumps against you, panting into the crook of your neck, both of you trembling, spent.

for a long moment, it’s just the ocean’s roar below, the frantic thud of your hearts, the sticky heat wrapping you tight, the air heavy with the scent of sex and salt. he grabs his discarded shirt, cleaning you up with slow, careful swipes, his touch soft now, almost reverent, his fingers lingering on your skin.

“you okay, pretty girl?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, his lips warm, lingering, like he’s memorizing you.

“perfect,” you sigh, nuzzling into him, your body loose, sated, still buzzing with aftershocks, the leather creaking under you as you shift closer.

he helps you tug your dress back on, hands trailing soft, teasing paths over your shoulders, your collarbone, stealing kisses between every adjustment, his lips brushing your skin like he can’t bear to stop.

you’re curled together in the sticky heat, limbs tangled, the backseat too small but perfect for this—pressed close, hearts still racing, the fogged windows shielding you from the world. he checks his phone, and there’s one message from suguru:

you suck at hiding it. don’t get her pregnant, dumbass.

satoru groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck, a laugh bubbling up despite the mortification. “busted,” he mutters, half-amused, half-dreading the inevitable lecture.

“worth it,” you giggle, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, your lips brushing his temple, soft and warm, a promise in the touch.

tangled together under the heavy night, the world slipping out of focus—it’s just you and him, caught up in something quiet and reckless, something that feels too big to name.

a/n : ew i cant believe i had to mention sukuna but dw he got hit by a ten wheeler truck while the ending was happening. i scrapped the sorta aftermath of this which is one week later because it included risky beach sex.. lmk if y'all would want to see it ^_^

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lucidfairies · 6 months ago

Text

take a hit [e.w]

pairing: inexperienced!reader x dealer!ellie

synopsis: for the first time, you're interested in sharing a joint with Ellie, and she doesn't let the moment get passed up

warnings: intox, cnc, weed/smoking, head [r!receiving], fingering [r!receiving], strap [r!receiving], pet names (mama, baby, good girl, slut, pretty), unrealistic squirting, ellie uses reader to get off, lots of use of the word force and lots of ellie's thoughts that include force

wc: 2.5k

a/n: short n sweet! long time no see 💘 (ps this is kind of shitty until the last thousand words where it actually gets good lmao 😭)

“ellie?” you yelled from the bedroom, plopping down on the bed with a huff. she entered the room, leaning against the door frame and smiling. “do you have any weed on you? I think I might want to try some.” ellie was taken aback by the question. you were never one for smoking or drinking, let alone somewhere outside of a party environment, or for leisure.

you guys had been together for a while, but smoking together was something that ellie never thought she’d see. you made it very clear from the beginning that you would not be partaking in ellie’s ‘business’, as you called it. she hardly considered it that; ten or so customers did not make a business, just a side hustle.

“yeah I have weed baby,” you watched as she walked over towards the closet and pulled out a shoe box, cleanly organized with wrap paper, weed, grinders, and other things that you didn’t know or couldn’t name. she sat down across from you on the bed, pulling out her supplies and setting it up. “do you want me to roll it or do you know how?” she asked, but the paper was already in her hands.

“you do it,” you changed positions so that you were straddling the bed, shirt falling between your legs to cover your underwear. she was looking.

“I’m gonna put in a little more than I normally do to make it feel good, okay mama?” you nodded eagerly, her plan unbeknownst to you. she made it seem like that; like she just did it to make you feel good, but in reality, she overfilled it so that halfway through the joint you wouldn’t be able to see straight.

she got up, turning the bedroom lights down low to create a pretty ambiance. you slipped the joint between your lips, waiting for her to come over and light it for you, which she did. she had you sit in her lap, pulling the joint from between your lips between every hit, just so that you would know you were a princess.

after a few hits, the room was already beginning to spin. “els why aren’t you hitting it?” you asked, pouting as you tried to push her hand towards her face with little luck. she took a short hit to make you happy and keep you relaxed before forcing it between your lips again. she made you hit it over and over again until you were sure you were in outer space.

that’s when her plan unfolded. suddenly, her hands were running up the sides of your thighs and her hot mouth found your neck. you whined lazily, her touch feeling so much better than it usually did. “ellie what are you doing?” you slurred, not coherent enough to fight back as she grabbed your hips and forced you down onto her lap. an immediate gush of wetness filled your panties when your clit brushed over her bulge. “ellie,” you slurred again, whining into her neck as your hips rolled down again.

“shhh, it’s okay baby. you wanna be a good girl and hit this again for me?” she held the joint up to your lips once again, and like the good girl you were, you took it between your lips and sucked. “that’s it, that’s my good princess, isn’t it?” she cooed. she took the joint from you and sat it in the ashtray, flipping you so that you were under her. “god, you’re just so pretty, aren’t you? can’t keep my hands off you. you did this to yourself, baby, such a slut without pants on, huh?” you whimpered as her hand came up under your shirt and harshly pulled your nipple.

something about this felt wrong, but it also felt so right. you loved the way she took over and decided what was going to happen, you loved the way your body felt and reacted to her in your cloudy headspace.

you whined as her fingers ran gently over your cunt through your shorts. you were so wet and your clit was pumping so hard, you had to have her in you. Your hips jolted and ground down on her thigh and fingers, making her chuckle. “now we want it, don’t we? that’s all it took, baby, you just needed a few hits to let me take control.” you nodded your head frantically as she pulled your shirt over your head.

her mouth danced down your neck with sweet bites until she made her way to your tits. she took one in her mouth and the other in her hand, hitting just the spot to make you writh under her. she gave both just the attention they needed, leaving marks along the way, before continuing down your stomach, stopping at your pubic bone.

“before I fuck you, you’re gonna take another hit of the joint. how’s that sound, pretty?” the joint was still burning a little, almost out, but it was enough to take a hit, a long hit, because ellie held it to your lips and kept it there until she saw fit. once she decided you were ready, she tossed it back in the ashtray and immediately attached her lips to your clit.

you were so spacey and sleepy but it felt so good. nothing like what you were used to. every perfect flick of her tongue was like touching heaven. she rotated between flicking her tongue up and down, side to side, going in circles, and sucking, and she practically had you coming in seconds.

she didn’t care that you lousily came once within the first minute, she continued and traced your entrance with the tip of her finger, sending electric shocks through your system. the pads of her fingers were rough from her guitar, and you could feel the callouses as she teased you.

finally, she pushed her first finger in, wasting no time in crooking it up to the perfect spot. when she had you stretched out enough, she added another, and even another. the weed was relaxing you so much that you hadn’t even noticed the slight burn from the third finger, because you had never taken it before now.

“oh ellie,” you moaned, hands gripping the sheets as your head spun. “ellie I’m gonna cum.” you slurred as the pressure in your pelvis grew and bolts of pleasure started shooting throughout your body. her free hand moved from your hip to your tit, pinching your nipple once again.

you came for the second time, back arching and desperate for her to never stop.

“ellie I’m tired,” you pouted as she came up from between your legs and kissed you. you tasted yourself from her lips as her tongue grazed yours, she sucked gently and you moaned.

she pulled away, cooing at you. "if only we were done," she said as she stood to walk away, venturing into the closet to get, what she called, her 'strap box'. she thought it was funny to call it that.

she clipped her harness onto her hips and attached her favorite strap; it was forest green in color, nearing eight inches in length. she knew you couldn't always take it all, that's what made it fun for her. especially having you this way, where your head was in the clouds and your body was much more lenient to the things she wanted to do to it.

"flip over, ass up," ellie said, and you complied as she climbed onto the bed behind you. she pressed down on your lower back, deepening your arch. it was slightly uncomfortable, but the way she was looking at your pussy like a hungry dog made you forget the uncomfortability.

ellie never cared much for cleaning you up in between rounds, so when she ran the tip of her strap through your folds and down to your clit, your cum smeared all over your pussy. she almost came in her boxers at the sight of it.

rather roughly, ellie jerked her hips forward, pushing the first three inches in you. it didn't hurt like you anticipated, your body and mind were too lax for anything to hurt much. "today," ellie groaned softly as you took another couple inches. "you're going to take the whole thing. how's that sound?"

you didn't get a chance to answer before she was forcing another inch in you, only one to go before her hips pressed against your ass. your hands gripped the sheets, pressure gathering from the length in your abdomen.

ellie knew it would hurt if she put the last inch in, but she craved it. she couldn't resist the idea of you stretched out wide for her thick, cum soaked strap. she needed it.

she reached over you, wrapping her slender fingers over your mouth and pulling you up as she forced the last inch in you. you whined in pain, protests coming from your covered mouth, but she was too lost to listen. your head rested on her shoulder now, and she used this to reach around and trace your clit while she fucked into you.

she was going fast, slamming her hips into you as hard as she could. the harder the slam, the better it felt against her clit. since you had came twice already, she was focused on herself; meaning that she went as hard and as fast as she needed to to get herself off.

with a final harsh jerk, she coated her boxers and soaked through the inside of the harness. she released your mouth and clit and roughly pushed you forward, unrelenting as you neared your third orgasm of the night.

she grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it with every thrust, and just like that, the pressure from your stomach and bladder were releasing, and you were coming and squirting all over her.

she pulled out and flipped you onto your back, harshly slapping your clit. "such a fucking mess," she said slowly, with a slap between every word. tears streaked your cheeks from her brutal overstimulation and pain, and ellie lived for her. she wondered how many more times she could slap your sensitive spot between your legs before you begged her to stop, but she figured she would save that for next time.

once you were cleaned up and cared for, she left to acquire more weed. there was no way in hell she wasn't doing this with you again.

tags: @bvnfetti @kl1q @kaykeryyy @katemartinis @r3wbeef

#tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams smut #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie willams x reader #tlou1 #tlou part 2

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graciedollie · 4 months ago

Note

Can you do all the major milfs x reader and like we getting pass around like a drink. ☺️😵‍💫

Taker

pair: arcane!milfs x reader

summary: it was your usual day like any other in the brothel, dealing with usual customers and having to deal with their requests, though, that would change when you saw four new faces..

warnings: 18+ content, reader is a prostitute, strap-on usage, fingering, overstimulation, BRIEF shimmer usage (NOT A LOT I PROMISE), reader literally gets passed around…, rough (wo)manhandling, praise, degradation, and probably more.

a/n: hope you enjoy and this lowkey may be long!!! also I recommend listening to Life Of The Party By The Weeknd for this (obsessed with this damn song).

I'm so far gone and you are too

Show me how you go downtown

With the drugs in your body

Take that step, you're the life of the party

Know that step, you're the life of the party

It was a busy day at the brothel. Women and men, who worked there, were bustling with customers left and right—one lea, just for another to enter. It was busy, that’s for sure. With you, you had the same old customers, sometimes new faces appeared before you—other than that, it was just the usuals. It made money, yeah, but it was boring as shit sometimes.

That was until you saw four new faces.

Ambessa Medarda, fearless warlord, known for her power and resilience. Cassandra Kirammin, Piltover’s beloved council member, known to be quite the charming and strong woman. Sheriff Grayson, one of Piltover’s best sheriffs, very known down in Zaun and Sevika, pretty well known down here as well, known to be quiet ‘the scary lady’, but also holds a good loyal to her.

It was an odd arrangement, but you didn’t really complain since you knew that it would be good money—especially if they were from Topside. Though, it did make you wonder why they would all come to you out of everyone else, maybe because you just so happened to catch their eye? Who knew?

You tried not to think much of as you got yourself ready in your little booth. Putting on your mask and applying some lipstick that matched your baby blue lingerie set—leaving nearly nothing to be hidden. Eyeing yourself a couple times and spraying some perfume on before taking a quick breath of shimmer—amping you up a little, you finally made your way to the room where you found the four woman, looking over at you with a darkened gaze as you stepped in.

“So this is the one you’ve suggested, I suppose?” Cassandra would murmured lowly as she gaze you up-and-down look, taking in your stature—feeling quite pleased with the mere sight before her. “Mhm, quite the sight, yeah?” Sevika quipped back with a proud smirk, taking a puff of her cigarillo before stumping it out on the ashtray besides her.

Grayson and Ambessa just silently observed you with a predatory gaze, thinking of all the things that’ll go down this very night. A smirk crept along Ambessa’s lip as she stood up, stalking over to you with slow, heavy footsteps of her boot till she stood in front of you; grasping your chin firmly. “I take it you can handle all of us, child?“ God you nearly felt your knees buck as her peering eyes met yours, looking down at you with a sultry gaze.

You cleared your throat briefly as you nodded, “Of course, I can assure you that I’ll make it worth your time…” You trailed off with a sultry tone, eyeing the other three as you continued. “Each and everyone of you..” The other women shared looks between themselves before nodding in agreement, sharing a nonverbal thought before looking back at you with that same gaze, “Is that right?” Grayson soon spoke up, her husky and raspy voice sending chills up your spine.

Oh this was gonna be fun.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You found yourself seated on Ambessa’s lap while seated on the bed, back pressing against her ample chest as she bullied two fingers into your sopping cunt—earning whimpers and moans from you. For once, you felt embarrassed with how you felt exposed with the other women watching you closely—watching with that hungry glare. “Look at you…takin me all in so nicely. I bet you never did this with any other customer, have you, child? Never made you feel as good as this, hm?” All she was returned with was a whimper and a shake of your head.

She wanted a solid answer.

Her fingers slipped out of you to land a slap to your clit, making you cry out and squirm in her grasp. “I asked you a question. Do not make me ask again.” “N-no! Never felt this way…t-this good!” She hummed in approval and slipped the thick digits back into your welcoming cunt, cringing at the squelching noise.

Sevika eyes stayed stuck on yours, particularly on the way your expression was filled with bliss and ecstasy whenever Ambessa would thrust her finger repeatedly in that spongy spot that made you see stars. She and Ambessa shared a glance before Sevika made her way up to you, suddenly pulling you into a messy, rough kiss—moaning and groaning into the feverish kiss. Your fluttering eyes peered open to glance at the other, Grayson and Cassandra. The mere sight of them made you throb. Both women hands roamed over their bodies as their lips locked—sensing that they definitely had some sort of ‘fling’, but we keep that hush here.

Ambessa eyes watched the two of you share the messy kiss together, watching in pure satisfaction and pleasure as she watched your body jerked when her thumb strummed over your throbbing clit. “Quite responsive…how cute.” Sevika lips pulled from yours, panting heavily before she leaned to attack your neck with feverish bites and kisses—warning whimpers and groans from you. Your hips jerked and thighs twitched as you felt the fiery sensation burn in your stomach, “G-gonna cum…p-please..”

A small hum escaped Ambessa’s lip at your breathless pleads, practically relishing it all in. “Mm, should we let our precious cum or no?” She hummed to the others, all three exchanging glances before giving a knowing glare to her—this wouldn’t be the only you’ll time you’ll be cumming anyway, so she let you have it. Your vision blurred with spots of black and white, feeling your body lock up with a broken moan leaving you; feeling your body shudder with impact of the orgasm. It nearly left you utterly breathless.

Sevika lips finally pulled away from your neck, relishing your heaving chest and marked neck and jaw—the sight made her clit throbbed in her boxers. “Felt good, didn’t it, babydoll?” She murmured lowly, grasping your cheeks and cupping them to make your lips puff. You gave her a small nod, looking at her as if she held everything just with the palm of her hand.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s gonna get even better.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

“That’s it…”

Ambessa drawled out with that sultry tone as you licked feverishly at her soaked pussy, holding your head in place with a firm hand as your eyes fluttered up at her—never leaving hers. “Doing so well …” The praise of her felt absolutely heavenly, along with the way Sevika thrust were deep and rough, hitting that spot repeatedly with the faux dick. Your muffled moans vibrated against Ambessa’s soaked flesh, earning low moans and grunts from her. Your eyes teared up as Sevika placed her flesh hand on the small of your lower, pressing you deeper into an arch and allowing her to hit deeper.

“Yeah, there you go….takin it so good. Justttt like that, baby.” The way her voice flowed through your ears made your eyes roll back, whining and moaning to no end. Your lips latched onto the warlord’s clit as you suckled on it with steady licks, feeling her body tense and lock up as you watched her throw her head back—seeing the way her throat bobbed and jaw clenched. Tightly grasping at her toned thighs, you double down on your efforts. Your tongue slipped inside her and slurped messily and nosily, moaning and whining as Sevika’s thrust became more rough. “Don’t you think you’re bein’ a little careless with the girl, no?” That familiar voice rasped out, Grayson, who was nearly breathlessly after the little session between her and Cassandra. Sevika shared her a glance before chuckling lowly, suddenly slapping your ass and making you jolt, but Ambessa held you in place just for her.

“Course not. She’s a big girl.” She leaned down against your ear as her flesh hand snaked between your trembling legs and rubbing your aching clit in time with her thrusts, “I know she’ll take it anyway.” A small whine slipped from you at her whispered words, feeling that fiery sensation build up quickly. Ambessa’s thighs locked around your head as her body tensed up, feeling the taste of her gush into your mouth as her own body reached its limit. You followed shortly after. Your vision blurred with spots of white and black, cumming with a muffled cry as your thighs shook and trembled. Sevika pulled out a little, just to see the white ring coat her strap perfectly. “That’s what I wanted to see..” She groaned lowly before suddenly sinking back in, making you grasp Ambessa’s thighs tighter and body to jerk before she placed a hand on your lower back to keep you steady. “No, no—you can take it.”

You shook your head with protest as she slowly thrusted in and out of you, whining and whimpering as the rigged veins rubbed your sensitive walls and hit that certain spot. “I—oh fuck—I-I can’t…” Ambessa took hold of your chin, gazing into your teary eyes with a lustful glint. She pulled you from her thighs and close to a firm, feverish kiss—muffling your whiny protest. With each thrust, the base of the strap kept hitting Sevika’s clit over and over again; earning groans and low moans from her.

“Now, now, child. You’ll take what we give you.” Ambessa chided with a low tone as she pulled away from the kiss, seeing how your eyes were barely even able to focus on her.

She couldn’t have that.

Her palm came down on your cheek, sending stinging shivers to your cheeks, making you alert once more. “There she is..” Your teary eyes gazed up at the woman like a puppy begging for permission, making her smirk at the mere sight. “Ohhh…is Sevika being too rough with you?” She murmured with a low murmur, brushing her thumb over your tear-struck cheeks and smudged the runny mascara. “M-mhm! Y-yes—oh fuck—please!” Your whines and whimper spurred the women on, feeling how Sevika thrusts became more feverish and uncoordinated; making your head swarm. “S-shit…” Was all the woman behind you could groan out before her hips stuttered as the orgasm hit her, lazily rutting against you before she slowly pulled out—admiring the mess before being interrupted.

“Isn’t it rude to hog, hm?”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Your face was buried deep between Grayson’s thighs as she settled on your face, hungrily licking and sucking at her soaked core as Cassandra’s leg was thrown over yours, holding your leg around her waist as her clit bumped with yours in a rhythmic motion. Your head was swirling with the overwhelming sensation. Moans and groans filled the room of the three of you as the other two watched closely while openly touching themselves—it was definitely quite the sight.

Grayson fingers tugged at your hair as you held onto her thighs tightly, moaning into her cunt as she would grind against the velvety tongue, “That it…there you do, doin so—mgh—good..” Hearing the way her raspy voice filled your eyes made your clit throb against Cassandra’s clit, making her moan at the sensation. “I—oh god—think she likes it, dear…” Cassandra slender fingers trailed up and down your trembling legs, occasionally placing sweet kisses up and down the shaky muscle.

Your ears picked up the faint sounds of low moans and heavy breathing, peeking from Grayson thighs to look over and see the other women enjoying themselves—knuckles deep into their cunt, seeing how arousal coated the curly bush of hair.

The sight nearly made you cum right there and then.

Cassandra’s slender fingers slipped up to your breast, brushing over your hardened nipples with a gentle touch; making your hips jerk. “T-that’s it, lovely…just like that—ah!” Her head fell back as your husk bucked up to her, making your clits bump perfectly together in the perfect motion. A whimper erupted from your mouth at the shrill of electric shooting through your weary body.

Grayson settled further down on your mouth as you stopped briefly, “C’mon, love—there you go—shit…” A shaky breath fell from her lips as you resumed your ravenous pursuit to her clit, feeling the way her body tensed up and breathing became rigged.

Your thighs started to tremble with the way Cassandra started to roll and grind her clit over yours in a steady motion, feeling the slick run down to your ass—making a mess of the sheets once more. “Look at that. Such a dirty—f-fuck—girl, yeah?” Your ears picked up the sound of Sevika low tone, hearing the low moan that threatened to escape her mouth as you knew she was getting closer herself, along with Ambessa. Feeling the way Grayson thighs tensed around your head, you knew she wasn’t far either—nor were you or Cassandra as the pornographic noises became more louder. A low moan—nearly a shuddery breath—fell from Grayson’s mouth as her thighs locked up around your head.

And then it happened.

Hush of liquors spurred from her spasming hole as her thighs trembled alongside your head, weakly grinded against your mouth as she rode the waves of the organs out; breathing heavily as your bleary eyes looked up at her—seeing beads of sweat on her neck and forehead, the way her eyes fluttered with a daze, and how her breathing was shaky. Meanwhile, Cassandra rolled her hips with a quicker, but steady pace as she felt that hand in her stomach tighten—tighten—and tighten till she came crumbling down, letting out a soft moan that became louder as she continued to grind against you—making you whimper loudly as you suddenly felt that tingling sensation in you erupt.

Grayson slowly settled off you as you moaned and whined to no end, body convulsing with the intensity of the orgasm—leaving you feeling practically boneless. Cassandra’s face was flushed as a rose, panting heavily as her own thighs trembled, slowly moving off you before laying down beside you as the three of you panted like an overworked dog. You stared up at the ceiling with a dazed gaze as your ears ringed, slowly tuning back in as you started to slowly started to fall back in. Your eyes flickered over to the Sev and Bessa—seeing the complete between their thighs and pools of liquid dripping onto the floor.

Someone definitely gained some regulars.

hope you enjoyed bbys!!! (sorry ts took so long to publish UGHHH) <3

taglist 🏷️!! @supalcina @abbyslvrrr @zthebean27 @ivorydevil @halle5s @tqlepatia @jhyoos @haruko--bby @madewithsilk

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makeyuomine · 1 month ago

Text

wedding night

Summary: It’s your wedding night and Harry can’t wait to get his hands on you.

Type: Blurb

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The door shut softly behind us, sealing off the world we’d just come from—the music, the toasts, the chaos of the day—leaving only silence and us.

I stood in the middle of the honeymoon suite, hands twisting the delicate lace of my veil, still perched in soft waves over my hair.

The moment we stepped into our suite, his hands were on me, sliding under the fabric of my wedding dress.

The dress slipped off my shoulders and pooled at my feet, leaving me standing in nothing but the white lace lingerie set I’d chosen just for him. It clung to my skin like a secret, sheer and delicate—made just for his eyes and pleasure. The soft veil framed my face and cascaded down my back, the fabric making me feel both fragile and fierce.

He leaned against the closed door, eyes dragging over me like a slow burn. The black suit he still wore, tie loosened and collar unbuttoned, made him look dark and delicious, like sin wrapped in silk. His curls were slightly tousled from dancing, lips parted, eyes heavy with desire.

“Fuck me,” he whispered.

He took a step closer, his black suit sharp and almost too formal against the softness of my lace. His hands came up, trembling just a little, as they hovered before finally settling on my hips.

“You look…. You’re..” he was at a loss for words.

“Holy fuck…” he spoke again as he loosened his tie.

I swallowed hard, feeling the heat radiate off him, the tension thick enough to taste. I’d never seen him so flustered.

His hands were still on my hips, his gaze drinking me in like he couldn’t believe I was real. I ran my fingers down the lapels of his black suit jacket, smiling softly as I watched his jaw clench.

“I had it custom made,” I whispered, voice just barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “Just for tonight.”

His eyes flicked up to mine—dark, heated, hungry. That was all it took.

He crashed his mouth to mine, all restraint snapping. His hands moved up, one cradling the back of my head, the other gripping my waist with a desperation that made my knees weak.

The kiss was deep and filled with need. His tongue slid against mine like he was claiming me, just how I wanted. My fingers curled in his jacket as I melted into him, already trembling.

His lips were everywhere—soft, warm, and intentional. He started at my neck, slow and lingering, brushing kisses along my skin. I tilted my head back, moaning softly as his mouth found the hollow of my throat.

I shivered beneath him, fists tightening as his lips traveled lower, down the slope of my shoulder, across the delicate bone he exposed when he pushed the lace strap aside with his nose.

He kissed the top of my chest, right above the line of my bra, and whispered against my skin, “I’m gonna make you feel as good as you look, baby..”

I whimpered—quiet and aching—because I knew he’d follow through with his promise. He always did. I was already falling apart and he hadn’t even touched me properly yet.

I felt his hand trail down the curve of my hip, slow and deliberate, fingers hooking under the waistband of my panties. The lace dragged across my skin, and I lifted my hips instinctively, letting him slide them down.

He didn’t rush.

He kissed the inside of my thigh as he pulled them off completely, then balled the lace in his fist and looked me right in the eyes with a smirk that made my stomach clench.

Without saying a word, he shoved the panties into the pocket of his suit trousers.

My eyes widened. “Harry…”

He rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving mine as he led me slowly to the bed. In just a few steps, we were on the bed, Harry’s body pressing over mine in one fluid motion.

He touched me with such familiarity. He knew my body like no other, perhaps more than myself.

Tender. Rough. Delicate. Heavy.

He kissed down my chest, my torso, my thighs, and stopped at my center.

“Please… open your legs for me, Mrs. Styles.”

I moan almost immediately in response. I didn’t expect that. It felt so good.

Mrs. Styles.

I open my legs at a timid pace, never being able to kick that initial shyness. I think it’s because I loved the way he worked to draw me out of it.

He grins at my shyness, never kicking the thrill he gets from that.

His fingers trail lightly down the inside of my thigh, warm and steady, never rushing. He doesn’t push—he never does. Instead, he waits, kneeling between my knees with patience written all over his face.

I exhale shakily, biting the inside of my cheek.

He leans in and kisses the bend of my knee, soft and slow. Then the inside of my thigh.

He whispers something I barely catch, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

His hands slide up again, coaxing gently, his thumbs brushing the delicate edge of my hesitation.

And then I do it—not all at once, not without nerves—but I let my legs fall a little wider.

His smile is reverent, not smug. Like I’ve given him something sacred.

“Mmh,” I hear him moan at the sight of me.

His gaze lingers between my thighs like it’s something sacred, something he’s been waiting for, but never entitled to. The weight of it makes me shiver.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he says, voice low and rough now. His hands settle on my inner thighs, thumbs tracing idle circles like he’s memorizing me.

I swallow hard. “Show me, baby.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss right at the top of my thigh, so close I twitch. He notices.

“Still shy,” he whispers against my skin. “Still fucking sexy.”

Then he moves lower—mouth dragging lazy, open-mouthed kisses until he’s exactly where I want him. He doesn’t dive in. He waits. One hand stays on my thigh, grounding me. The other parts me even further with slow, practiced care.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, breath warm and maddening.

“It’s not,” I whisper. “It’s not enough.”

That’s all he needs.

His tongue slides through me with devastating precision, and my hips jump despite myself. I try to close my legs again—out of instinct, out of habit—but his hands catch me gently, holding me open.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Don’t hide from me. Not tonight.”

And something in me gives.

The shyness doesn’t vanish—but it melts into something else. Something hotter. He licks me again, slower this time, like he’s savoring me. I moan—quiet, breathless—and his grip tightens just slightly.

“That’s it,” he says against me.

His mouth is relentless, but never careless. Every stroke of his tongue is deliberate, tasting me like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. I can feel how much he wants me in the way he holds me open, the way his hands tremble just slightly against my thighs.

My breath catches as he sucks gently at that spot that makes my legs shake, and I gasp—louder than I expect. Embarrassment rises fast, but he pulls back just enough to look up at me.

“Don’t hold it in,” he murmurs, lips slick. “I want all of it—all of you.”

I reach down, threading my fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to tell him I need more. He smiles into me, groans low in his throat like my need is its own kind of reward.

But then he pulls back entirely.

He lines himself up, moving slowly, carefully—like he knows I’ll tense if he rushes. The stretch is real, thick and hot, and my breath hitches again as he starts to push in.

He groans—deep, guttural—like the feel of me around him might undo him on the spot. “So fucking tight,” he breathes. “Oh fuck.”

I can’t help the way my fingers clutch at his arms, digging in as he rocks forward another inch. He pauses, kisses my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.

When he bottoms out, we both just stay there—breathing each other in. He doesn’t move yet. He just lets me feel it, lets me adjust.

Then he starts to roll his hips, slow and deep, dragging pleasure out like a secret.

Every stroke pushes me open a little more. Every sound he makes coaxes another one from me. My shyness doesn’t vanish, but it no longer feels like something to fight. It’s just part of how he loves me—patiently, reverently, and with everything he’s got.

“Mmm,” I moan, fingers digging into his shoulders, “you feel so good.”

His eyes flick up to mine, like those words land harder than anything else. Like that simple truth is the thing that undoes him more than the heat, the moans, the friction.

“Yeah?” he breathes, his voice ragged.

I nod before pulling him to me and kiss him hard—needy, unfiltered—because there’s no room for pretending right now. He’s deep inside me, filling me completely, and I want him to know exactly how wrecked I am by it.

“You’re so good to me,” I whisper between kisses. “So fucking good, you don’t even know.”

His rhythm falters slightly, and I feel it—how much the words hit him. Not just the praise, but the truth of it.

He swallows hard. “Say it again.”

I hold his face in both hands, gaze steady despite the way my body’s shaking. “You’re good to me. You make me feel wanted. Safe. Insatiable.”

That last word comes out on a gasp as he thrusts deeper—rougher now, like I’ve lit a match inside him. His mouth crashes into mine again, desperate and messy and full of everything we haven’t said.

He’s already buried deep inside me, sweat slick at the base of his neck, breath hot against my collarbone. The rhythm is steady, controlled—but there’s tension beneath it, like he’s holding himself back.

I smile through the haze, tilting my hips up to meet him. “You fuck me like you’re made for me.”

“I am made for you, baby.”

His head drops against my shoulder, and I feel his entire body shudder. He groans—loud, needy—and then it’s like something inside him snaps.

He pulls back, just enough to look at me. His gaze is dark, intense, almost reverent.

I open my mouth to speak, but he moves before I can—grabs my thighs and pushes them up, deeper, tighter, until I gasp. His thrusts change, no longer slow or careful—they’re full, purposeful, desperate in the most delicious way.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice thick. “You love this? You love how crazy you make me?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “God, yes.”

He moans again—louder this time, rough around the edges—and he leans down, kissing me like he’s trying to climb inside me. His hips slam forward and I cry out, the pleasure rolling through me in waves.

I claw at his back, pulling him closer, dizzy from how good he feels. “Don’t stop. You’re making me—fuck—you’re making me feel…everything.”

His mouth finds my ear, and he groans right into it. “You should feel everything. You deserve that. I want you ruined by me—shaking and wrecked and knowing no one else could ever touch you like this.”

He’s still inside me when I shift, slowly, carefully. His hands instinctively guide me as I straddle him, knees braced on either side of his hips. We both groan at the change in angle, at the way it feels different like this—deeper in some places, more exposed in others.

His eyes drag over me, wild and reverent. “Holy fuck,” he breathes, chest heaving beneath me. “Look at you.”

I still wore my lace veil and bra.

I roll my hips slowly, testing, teasing, and his head falls back against the pillow with a choked moan. But it’s not just the pleasure that has him undone—it’s the sight of me.

He trails his fingers up my ribs, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me. His eyes have been locked on it for minutes now, distracted by the way it clings to me, how the fabric stretches over my curves.

He sits up, both hands now at my back, unclasping it with practiced ease—but he doesn’t rush. He holds the band for a moment, breath ghosting over my skin. Then, gently, he slides the straps down my arms, one at a time, eyes flicking up to my face to make sure I’m okay.

I am. More than okay.

The lace slips away like a whisper, soft against my skin, and he exhales sharply when my breasts are finally bare before him.

“You’re unreal,” he says, sitting up on one elbow, the other hand running up my stomach to cup my breast.

I arch into his palm instinctively.

Then he leans in—slow, deliberate—and kisses the swell of one breast, then the other. Soft, open-mouthed kisses that make me gasp and roll my hips again. He groans against my skin, like the feel of me is something he can’t quite handle.

His hands come up to cup both breasts fully, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I feel myself pulse around him from the sensation.

“You don’t know what this does to me,” he murmurs, voice muffled as he rubs his cheek against my chest, nuzzling me like he’s half-drunk on the feeling of skin against skin.

I cradle his head, fingers threading through his hair as he mouths at my nipple, sucking gently, then swirling his tongue over it again and again until my thighs start to shake.

I rock my hips slower now, keeping us both on that edge, and he swears under his breath again. His hands trail down to my hips, guiding my pace but never controlling it—letting me lead, letting me take him.

“I love watching you fall apart,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss his temple.

“Evil girl,” he grins before pulling me in for a kiss.

His hands grip my hips as I move over him, slow but steady, our rhythm deepening with every roll. The way he looks up at me—like I’m the most sacred thing he’s ever touched—only pushes me closer. His lips are still warm from where he’d been sucking on my breasts, now parted and panting, trying to hold back the storm building inside him.

“Just like that,” he groans, voice rough and reverent. “Don’t stop, baby—don’t stop.”

His hands slide up my back, then down again, like he needs to feel all of me—needs to anchor himself in the moment.

“Fuck,” he gasps, eyes locked on where our bodies are joined.

The tension between us sharpens, electric. Every movement, every breath is laced with need. His hips start meeting mine on instinct, thrusting up into me just right, just deep enough to make stars explode behind my eyes.

He’s still catching his breath beneath me, hands roaming up and down my thighs like he can’t stop touching me. But then he sits up, kisses me deeply, and murmurs against my lips, “I need you underneath me now.”

The way he says it — low, reverent — makes something pulse deep inside me.

He flips us gently, careful not to break the connection for more than a second, and settles between my legs.

His body covers mine completely, chest pressing against my breasts, his forearms braced on either side of my head. His hips nestle against mine, and when he slides back in — slow, deliberate — we both let out the kind of sound that comes from deep within.

His hips roll into mine with perfect rhythm — deep and slow, dragging pleasure out of both of us with every thrust. He kisses me through it, moaning into my mouth like the feel of me is driving him mad.

“Look at me,” I whisper, cupping his face.

His eyes meet mine instantly, glassy and dark, like he’s barely hanging on. He moans almost immediately.

His forehead drops to mine, and he starts to move faster, harder, chasing that last stretch of friction. Our breaths tangle, our bodies tense, and I feel it — the breaking point — approaching fast.

“I’m right there,” I gasp, nails digging into his back.

“Me too. Fuck, baby—me too,” he moans, driving into me with just enough roughness to tip me over the edge.

Pleasure crashes through me in waves, pulling a cry from my throat as I clench around him. He follows instantly, groaning my name as he spills inside me, his whole body shuddering against mine.

He’s still inside me, his weight more comforting rather than heavy, his chest rising and falling against mine.

His mouth finds my neck first — slow, open kisses that make me melt even more. Then my jaw. Then the curve of my cheek.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice low, careful.

“Mhmm,” I manage to say.

He kisses the top of my shoulder, then the spot just above my heart, then the length of my collarbone like he’s trying to press pieces of himself into me.

I could only guess how undone I looked in that moment.

I couldn’t stop the blush that rose as it hit me all over again — Harry is my husband. And I’m his wife.

#harry edward styles #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry x y/n #harry styles

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 1 month ago

Text

Better Than Fiction

where y/n picks Harry up from the airport and reveals what she does when she’s alone.

word count: 5.1 k

content warning: cursing. SMUT. Probably the smuttiest thing I’ve ever done.

You tap the steering wheel with your thumb, eyes flicking between the road and the dashboard clock. The sky is a soft blue-gray, the kind that only happens right before sunset, and the air feels thick with the kind of quiet that only comes when something good is about to happen.

You haven’t seen him in two months. Eight weeks. Sixty-something days—not that you’ve been counting, except you absolutely have. Every time you dropped your phone on your face watching his interviews in bed. Every time he sent a blurry backstage photo with a caption like “thinking of you.” Every time you climbed into your empty sheets and curled your body around the pillow he left behind like that would make any kind of difference.

Your stomach flutters as you take the exit for the airport, the big green signs snapping you back to reality. His flight landed about fifteen minutes ago. You know it’ll take time to get through customs and baggage claim, but still. You’re suddenly nervous. You check your reflection in the rearview mirror, smoothing your hand over your hair even though the curls won’t settle, then press your lips together to check for smudges. Natural. Low effort. Like you’re not buzzing in your seat just thinking about him.

You keep wondering what version of him you’ll get today. The soft one with sleepy eyes and heavy limbs who tucks his head into your neck and hums when he breathes you in. The quiet one who just wants to be close. Or maybe the cheeky one who teases you in the car the whole way home and can’t keep his hands to himself once the door clicks shut.

Either way, he’s here. Finally.

You pull into the short-term parking garage and kill the engine, heart thudding now. This is it. He’s just a few hundred feet away. Probably dragging his duffel bag behind him, scrolling his phone or yawning through his last wave of exhaustion. You sling your purse over your shoulder and head toward the terminal.

Your boots echo across the pavement. The air inside is warmer than you expected, and loud. Rolling suitcases, babies crying, someone’s name being paged overhead. You scan the arrivals board as if you don’t already know—Flight 202. London to New York. Landed.

He steps through the sliding doors like he’s walking into a scene that’s been waiting for him.

Loose brown trousers, soft white tee, sunglasses hanging from the collar. His hair’s shorter than when you last saw him, brushed back with that casually undone look that somehow makes it worse—makes your heart thud harder in your chest. There’s a little color to his skin, a post-tour flush like he’s been somewhere warm, somewhere you weren’t. His duffel hangs from one shoulder, hand gripping the strap, and he scans the crowd like he’s looking for something he lost.

Until his eyes land on you.

He doesn’t smile at first. Not really. His whole body just seems to pause, his gaze locked on yours like he forgot how loud the world is. You feel it like a pull—an ache that settles low in your belly, sharp and immediate. Because it’s not just recognition in his eyes. It’s hunger.

You don’t move. Neither does he. The space between you hums.

Then someone breaks it.

“Harry?” A man, maybe in his twenties, stepping hesitantly forward with a phone in hand. “Sorry, I know you just got in, but—could I get a quick photo?”

Harry blinks. Just once. Then turns to him with a practiced, polite smile.

“Yeah, of course.”

He poses without effort, one hand still gripping his bag. The smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

You watch him thank the guy, watch the fan beam as he walks away. And then Harry’s looking at you again, already moving toward you. Slower this time. Like he’s trying to stay calm. Like he knows he won’t be, not for long.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not at first.

He just lets the strap of his duffel fall to the floor with a quiet thud and steps into you, arms winding tight around your waist like it’s instinct. You barely have time to breathe before he’s pressing you close, his body all solid warmth and tension, chest rising fast against yours.

Then he leans in.

Not for a kiss—not yet. He presses his face into the side of your neck and just breathes. Long, slow, deliberate. Like he’s been holding off for this exact moment, saving it, needing it more than he let on.

You feel it before you hear it—the way his exhale trembles just slightly, the way his fingers grip a little harder at the small of your back. Like maybe this hit him harder than he was ready for.

“God, I missed you,” he mumbles against your skin, the words thick and barely there.

Your eyes flutter shut. Your hands slide up his back, curling in the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders. He’s here. He’s really here.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing the hem of your shirt where it meets your jeans. His eyes roam your face like he’s memorizing it again, slower this time, softer. His voice is a whisper, the accent heavy and real in a way you’ve only heard on the phone lately.

“Y’look so fuckin’ good, baby.”

Your heart trips. You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

He tilts his forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded, and smiles like he’s already thinking ten steps ahead.

“Been thinkin’ about you non-stop. Every night. Every bloody city. Drove me mad.”

You laugh, soft and breathless, and pull back just enough to see him clearly.

“I missed you too,” you say, grinning now, the weight in your chest finally loosening. “Even the dramatic part of you.”

He smiles like he’s proud of that, dimples deep and eyes flicking to your mouth like he’s thinking about kissing you again. But instead, he slips a hand into yours and starts walking, his duffel back over his shoulder, your fingers laced like they’ve never been apart.

Outside, the sky’s shifting to gold. The kind of light that softens everything, that makes moments feel like memories while they’re still happening.

As you make your way to the garage, you glance over at him. “D’you wanna stop for food before we head home?”

He doesn’t miss a beat.

“Nah,” he says, voice low, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Only thing I wanna eat is you.”

You choke on a laugh, your whole face heating. “Harry.”

“What?” he says, eyes wide like he’s innocent, but his hand tightens around yours. “I’m starvin’, love.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile as your stomach flips. Two months apart, and of course this is how he comes back. Cocky. Gorgeous. Starving.

And apparently, not for takeout.

The elevator ride to the garage is quiet, but only because his hand won’t stop wandering—thumb tracing slow circles into your palm, pinky brushing your wrist like he’s trying to remember every inch of you without making a scene.

Once you reach the car, he tosses his bag in the back like it weighs nothing and slides into the passenger seat, reclined and smug. His legs spread a little wider than necessary. You try not to look, but he catches you anyway.

“Eyes on the road, sweetheart,” he murmurs as you pull out of the garage.

You roll your eyes. “You’re the one sitting like you’re in a Calvin Klein ad.”

He grins, slow and wicked. “Don’t act like you weren’t lookin’. Missed that face of yours when you get all flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“You are,” he says, tipping his head against the headrest. “Little pink right there.” He lifts his finger and brushes it under his own cheekbone to show you. “Cute.”

You let out a sharp breath through your nose and flick on your turn signal. “Do you want something quick? Like drive-thru? Or—”

“I meant what I said,” he interrupts, voice a little lower now. “Didn’t spend nine hours on a plane just to ruin my appetite with fries.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

He hums like it’s a compliment. “Reckon I’ve had that dream at least five times. You. Couch. No clothes. Me starvin’.”

You grip the steering wheel tighter and do your best to keep your eyes on the road. It’s not going well.

“Harry,” you warn.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll wait till we get home.”

A pause.

“Probably.”

You glance at him, lips twitching. “Bold of you to assume you’re the one doing the eating.”

He turns his head slowly, that smug little smirk faltering as his eyebrows lift. “Yeah?”

You shrug, eyes back on the road. “You’ve had dreams? Babe, I’ve had entire scenarios planned. You don’t even know.”

He’s quiet for a beat, and when you look over, he’s staring at you like you just flipped the game on its head.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath, shifting in his seat. “I’ve been gone too long.”

You bite back your grin, suddenly enjoying how the air in the car feels thick now, humming with that delicious tension. Payback feels good.

He leans closer, voice like gravel against the warm press of sunset through the window. “Tell me one of ‘em. Just one.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“You can earn it.”

His head falls back with a groan, one hand dragging down his face. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re desperate.”

He lets out a soft laugh, low and turned on. “That I am.”

The car ride softens after that.

He reaches over and rests a hand on your thigh, fingers splayed warm against your jeans. Not moving, not teasing—just there. Grounding. You drive one-handed the rest of the way, stealing glances at him whenever the road lets you.

He looks more like himself now. Less performer, more person. His eyes are a little heavy, his curls ruffled from the headrest, his body sunk deeper into the seat like it’s finally catching up with him—how long he’s been gone, how much he missed this. Missed you.

You slow as you turn down your street. Familiar trees, familiar windows. The kind of quiet that tells you you’re nearly home.

He shifts beside you, eyes opening again as he recognizes the corner. “Flat’s still standing, yeah?”

You nod, lips tugging into a smile. “I only set it on fire twice.”

He grins, squeezing your leg gently. “Knew I could trust you.”

The car rolls to a stop outside your building. The sun’s dipping lower now, casting long shadows across the pavement. You don’t move yet. Neither does he.

There’s a beat of silence, heavy in a different way this time.

Then, softer—

“You sure you’re ready for me?” he asks, like he’s only half-joking. “Been thinkin’ about this for weeks.”

Your heart stutters, but your voice stays steady.

“Been ready since the day you left.”

The lobby is quiet except for the soft hum of the overhead lights and the echo of your footsteps on the tile. You feel him behind you—close, so close—his presence brushing up your spine like static. Neither of you says much. There’s nothing left to say, not right now. It’s all waiting just under the surface.

You press the elevator button. The light flickers on, then nothing. You glance at him.

His eyes are dark.

The elevator arrives with a slow chime, and you both step inside. The doors slide shut and it’s just the two of you now, standing side by side in the warm silence.

You can feel the way his fingers flex at his sides. Can hear the slow rhythm of his breathing. There’s a twitch in your own hands—an urge to touch, to reach, to give in already—but you keep still. Barely.

The numbers tick up. Seven. Eight. Nine. It’s excruciating.

He leans in, whispering just loud enough for you to hear. “This thing’s takin’ the piss.”

You bite your lip. “Almost there.”

When the doors finally open, you step out first. You don’t wait. Not this time.

You lead the way down the hall, heart pounding harder with every step. You reach the door, slide your key in with a hand that isn’t quite steady. The lock clicks.

Before you can even reach for the light switch, you hear the thud of his bag hitting the floor.

Then he’s on you.

His hands are on your hips, your back, your waist, pulling you into him as the door shuts hard behind you. His mouth finds your neck, warm and hungry, and your gasp fills the dark hallway. You don’t need the lights. You just need him—right here, right now.

He lifts your shirt slightly, lips brushing just beneath your jaw.

“Couldn’t wait another bloody second,” he mumbles against your skin.

And then he kisses you like he means to make up for every second he’s been gone.

Your back hits the door with a soft thud, the wood cool through your shirt, but everything else is heat. His hands are everywhere—one at your waist, the other sliding up your side beneath the hem of your top, rough fingertips skimming bare skin like he’s rediscovering you inch by inch.

His mouth crashes into yours before you can speak, and all the air leaves your lungs at once.

It’s not frantic. It’s not rushed.

It’s worse than that.

It’s slow. Intentional. Full of that maddening kind of restraint that only comes from someone who’s been imagining this in vivid detail for weeks. His lips move over yours like he’s tasting a memory—soft, then deep, then soft again. He kisses you like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

You melt into him without meaning to, hands sliding up under the hem of his shirt, fingers grazing the curve of his waist, the slope of his back. He shivers under your touch.

When you pull away just enough to breathe, his mouth doesn’t stop. He trails kisses across your cheek, down the curve of your jaw, to that spot just below your ear that makes your knees go weak. He knows it does. He lingers there, mouth warm and open, the scrape of his teeth just enough to make you gasp.

“Fuckin’ missed this,” he breathes, voice thick and rough, his accent slurring the edges of every word. “Missed you.”

You don’t even try to answer. You just kiss him again, harder this time, your fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.

He presses closer, slotting a leg between yours, the weight of him pressing into every line of your body. You feel the tension in his muscles, the way he holds back, jaw tight like he’s clinging to control by a thread.

And God, it makes you want him more.

His thumb strokes the underside of your breast through your bra, slow and teasing, while his other hand cradles the back of your head like he can’t bear to be any further from your mouth.

When he kisses you again, it’s deeper. Wetter. His tongue slides against yours and it’s all heat now, all need. You arch into him, breath catching in your throat.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers against your lips. “Yeah?”

You nod, eyes locked on his, and he presses one last kiss to your mouth—soft, like a promise—before guiding you away from the door.

His hand stays at the small of your back as he walks you through the flat, steering you gently down the hallway. The air feels warmer here, more still, like even the rooms missed him. When you reach the bedroom, he nudges the door open with his foot and leads you in like it’s something sacred.

He stops at the edge of the bed and looks at you, eyes dark and steady.

“Sit down for me, love.”

You do, heart hammering as you settle on the edge of the mattress, legs just barely parted, your eyes tilted up to him. He steps between your knees, fingers reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. Then both hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt.

“Arms up.”

You raise them without hesitation, and he peels your shirt off slow, knuckles grazing your skin as he lifts the fabric over your head. It drops to the floor behind him, forgotten.

He leans in again, mouth catching yours before you can speak. His kiss is deeper now, slower, hands resting just beneath your ribs as he presses into you. Every inch of him is warm. Grounded. Certain.

Between kisses, his fingers move to the button of your jeans.

You feel the faint pop of denim giving way, the soft drag of his knuckles as he works them open. He doesn’t look down. Doesn’t break the kiss. Just keeps kissing you like he’s starving, like you’re the only thing he’s craved since he left.

You lift your hips for him and his hands slide around to your thighs, easing your jeans down, dragging the fabric slow over your skin. The kiss never falters. His lips move with yours like he’s drinking you in, like nothing—not time or distance or fabric—should’ve ever been between you to begin with.

When he finally pulls back, your jeans are on the floor, your chest is rising fast, and his mouth is pink from how long he’s kept it on yours.

His eyes rake over you, voice low and ragged.

“Fuckin’ hell, look at you.”

You laugh softly, a nervous little sound that slips out without warning. He catches it right away, eyes narrowing like he’s just found a crack in the wall.

“What’s that for?” he asks, voice low but amused. His hands rest on your bare thighs, thumbs brushing lazy circles into your skin. “Somethin’ funny, sweetheart?”

You shrug, lips twitching like you’re trying to play it off, but he doesn’t buy it. Not for a second.

He leans in, mouth brushing just beneath your ear. “Tell me somethin’,” he murmurs, breath warm on your skin. “What do you do when I’m not here? When you’re feelin’ like this. D’you take care of yourself?”

You go still. Not because you don’t know the answer. But because you do.

His lips curl against your cheek. “You get shy on me now?”

“I don’t—” you start, then falter. Your voice is soft when you finally speak. “I don’t really do that.”

He pulls back just enough to see your face, one brow raised. “Liar.”

You flush.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’ve been gone two months. Don’t tell me you haven’t done a single thing. That’s cruel.”

You hesitate.

Then, barely audible—

“I read.”

His brow furrows, amused. “You read?”

You nod, eyes flicking down to his collarbone. “Stuff online.”

There’s a pause.

And then, his voice drops, accent thick with curiosity and something darker.

“Fan fiction?”

You nod again, smaller this time.

He stares at you like he’s just been handed a gift he wasn’t expecting.

“No fuckin’ way,” he murmurs, smiling now, a little breathless. “You read fan fiction about me?”

Your face burns.

He leans in closer, one hand cradling your jaw.

“Gonna need you to walk me through that, baby.”

Your eyes dart away from his, and your fingers fidget with the hem of your underwear, suddenly very aware of how little you’re wearing—and how close he is.

He watches you carefully, waiting. Patient, but barely.

“It’s just…” you start, then trail off, chewing your bottom lip. “Stuff people write. About you. About… you and someone like me.”

His brow arches. “Someone like you?”

You nod, embarrassed. “Normal. Not famous. Not anyone special. Just… someone.”

You feel his hand tighten slightly on your thigh, and when you glance up, there’s a glint in his eye. He’s not laughing at you. He’s fascinated.

“And what happens in these stories?” he asks, voice soft, coaxing. “You get shy? Or do they make you do filthy little things?”

You press your lips together, face flaming, but he can see it. The answer written all over you.

He chuckles, low and warm in his chest, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “You’re tellin’ me you’ve been sittin’ in our bed at night, readin’ about me fuckin’ you senseless?”

Your breath hitches.

He pulls back just enough to look at you again, eyes sweeping your face like he wants to see every flicker of reaction. His voice is husky now, rough with interest.

“That’s so dirty, love.”

You try to speak, but he’s already leaning in, pressing a kiss just below your jaw.

“And you just sit there with your little phone,” he murmurs, lips brushing your throat. “Readin’ things I haven’t even done to you yet.”

You swallow hard, eyes flicking down before you can stop yourself—and there it is. The outline of him, straining against his trousers, the fabric doing nothing to hide just how much he wants you.

Your breath catches. The sight makes your thighs press together involuntarily, a quiet ache growing where his hands haven’t touched yet.

He notices.

Of course he does.

His smirk deepens, dark and lazy. “Gettin’ worked up just from that, are you?” he teases, thumb brushing the inside of your knee. “Didn’t even have to touch you yet.”

You exhale shakily, your voice soft. “I want you to.”

He stills for a beat—just one. Then his expression shifts. The playfulness doesn’t vanish, but something darker, more focused, settles into his eyes.

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You lettin’ me take over now, baby?”

You nod, already breathless. “Please.”

That’s all it takes.

He leans in and kisses you again—harder this time, deeper, like permission unlocked something in him. His hands are on your hips, your waist, your ribs, sliding up until they’re cupping your breasts through your bra. He palms you there, slow and firm, like he’s been missing the weight of you in his hands.

“You’ve got no idea what that does to me,” he mutters into your mouth. “You, sittin’ all pretty, readin’ about me fuckin’ you just like this…”

His fingers reach around to undo the clasp of your bra, taking his time, letting the tension pull tight as elastic. When it finally falls away, he breathes you in like he’s starving again.

Then, without a word, he lowers himself to his knees in front of you, lips brushing your stomach, hands gripping your thighs.

“Gonna take my fuckin’ time with you,” he says, voice a promise against your skin.

He drags his hands up the backs of your thighs, thumbs brushing the crease where they meet your hips as he settles between them. You’re already trembling under his touch, legs slightly parted on instinct, eyes locked on him as he looks up at you from the floor like you’re something sacred.

“Lie back for me, love,” he says, voice rough and low.

You shift back onto the bed, elbows catching you for a second before you sink into the pillows, legs still dangling over the edge. His hands follow you the whole way—never losing contact—until he’s got your thighs open just the way he wants them.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and looks up again.

“This what you pictured when you were readin’?” he asks, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Me down here, beggin’ for a taste?”

You nod, breath shallow. “Yes.”

That’s all he needs.

He pulls your underwear down slow, eyes following every inch of skin he reveals like he’s memorizing it, storing it away. Once they’re off, he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then your thigh, then higher—trailing heat until your whole body’s drawn tight with anticipation.

Then his mouth is on you.

His tongue flicks over you gently at first, teasing, testing. Then he flattens it, licking a slow stripe up your center that makes your hips jerk and a soft cry spill from your lips. His hands slide under your thighs, keeping you open, anchored, at his mercy.

He groans when he tastes you fully, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Fuckin’ missed this,” he mutters, voice muffled against you. “Missed how sweet you are.”

He settles in deeper, his mouth working you in slow, steady movements—tongue swirling, lips sucking just enough to make your toes curl. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t let up. Just builds it slowly, deliberately, like he’s got nowhere else to be but here, worshiping you.

Your hand slides into his hair, gripping when his tongue flicks just right, hips lifting into him as the tension coils hard in your belly.

“You’re gonna come for me, yeah?” he murmurs against you, breath hot. “Right on my fuckin’ tongue. Let me have it.”

You’re close—so close it almost hurts. The pressure’s built tight in your belly, your thighs shaking around his shoulders, his name falling from your lips in broken pieces. He doesn’t let up. If anything, he gets hungrier, tongue working you with that slow, steady rhythm that undoes you completely.

Your back arches off the bed. Fingers tangle in his hair.

“Harry—fuck—Harry, I’m gonna—”

He groans against you like that’s exactly what he wants, like the sound of your voice wrecked and desperate is the only thing keeping him alive. And then you’re falling apart. The orgasm hits hard, flooding through you in waves, and he holds you right there, mouth never leaving you, like he wants every last bit of it.

You whimper as you come down, your body twitching from the aftershocks, chest heaving. He finally lifts his head, lips slick, eyes dark and blown.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Knew you’d be sweet for me.”

You’re still catching your breath when you reach for him, fingers curling into his shirt.

“Take your clothes off,” you whisper. “I need you to fuck me.”

That gets his attention.

He laughs softly, rising to his feet. “That desperate, hm?”

“Yes,” you say, no shame in your voice. “I need you.”

He leans over you, bracing his hands on either side of your head, his mouth ghosting just over yours. You can feel him, hard against your thigh, still fully clothed, and it’s maddening.

“Could keep you like this a while,” he says, teasing. “All needy and wrecked and beggin’ for it. Could make you wait.”

You whimper, hips shifting beneath him. “Don’t be cruel.”

He grins, dipping down to kiss you slow, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owns it. Then he pulls back just enough to whisper, voice low and hot—

“Then tell me how you want it.”

You open your mouth to answer, but he’s already moving.

“Don’t need you to tell me,” he murmurs, straightening up with that look in his eyes—confident, dark, completely in control. “I know exactly what you need.”

You watch from the bed, breath shallow, as he reaches for the hem of his shirt and peels it off in one fluid motion. His chest is golden from the sun, stomach tight, the familiar trail of hair disappearing into his waistband making your mouth go dry.

Your thighs press together without thinking.

Then he unbuttons his trousers. Slow. Deliberate. He holds your gaze the entire time, like he knows what he’s doing to you—like he wants you to see exactly what you’ve been missing. He pushes them down along with his briefs, and the second they fall, his cock springs free—thick, flushed, heavy against his stomach.

Your breath catches.

Precum glistens at the tip, already leaking, and he wraps a hand around the base with a low sigh of relief, stroking once.

“Been hard since the bloody airport,” he mutters. “Soon as I saw you. Didn’t even make it through baggage claim without thinkin’ about bendin’ you over the nearest flat surface.”

You moan, hips shifting against the sheets.

He steps between your legs again, stroking himself lazily now, eyes raking over your body like he’s trying to decide exactly where to start.

“You ready for me, love?” he asks, voice thick, teasing. “You want this cock inside you?”

You nod, desperate. “Yes. Please, Harry.”

He leans over you, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Gonna fuck you slow,” he says, kissing your jaw, your neck, the space just beneath your ear. “Wanna feel every fuckin’ inch of you.”

Then he pushes in.

He pushes just the tip inside, then stops.

Your hands clutch at the sheets. “Harry—”

“Shh,” he murmurs against your skin, brushing his nose along your neck. “Not yet.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your entrance, your clit, everything but what you need.

“Wanna know somethin’ first,” he says, voice thick with amusement, but his hips stay steady, cruelly patient. “You never told me what your favorite part was.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

“In those stories,” he murmurs, sucking gently at your throat. “The ones you read at night. About me. What’s your favorite part?”

You shake your head, breath catching as he presses in again—just barely—then pulls back.

“C’mon, love,” he says, his voice laced with a dark kind of sweetness. “I wanna hear you say it.”

You whimper. “I like when you talk.”

He stills, grinning against your jaw. “Yeah? When I’m filthy with you?”

You nod quickly, lips parting, breath uneven. “And when you—” You falter, heat blooming across your chest. “When you go down on her and don’t stop. When you say it’s yours.”

That breaks him.

“Jesus,” he groans, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He shifts his hips again, just enough for the head of his cock to push inside once more.

“Say it now,” he breathes. “Say you’re mine.”

Your fingers curl around his biceps, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m yours, Harry. I’m yours.”

His mouth crashes into yours again, and this time, he doesn’t hold back.

His mouth finds yours again, hot and hungry, and he sinks into you all at once—slow but deep—his cock stretching you open inch by inch until you’re full of him, breath caught in your throat. The moan you let out is pure instinct, helpless and raw, and it makes him groan right back, low in his chest like it physically knocks the air out of him.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, jaw tight, buried all the way to the hilt. “You feel—Jesus, baby—you feel so fuckin’ good.”

Your fingers grip his shoulders, your legs hooking around his waist, trying to draw him in deeper even though he’s already as close as he can get. He stays there for a second, not moving, just letting you feel it—letting himself feel it.

Then he pulls back slow, almost to the tip, before thrusting in again, harder this time. Your head tips back, mouth falling open with a gasp.

“There she is,” he growls, one hand sliding up your body to wrap around your throat—not tight, just enough to hold you there, eyes on him. “That the part you like, yeah? When I fuck you like I ownyou?”

You nod, whimpering. “Yes—Harry—”

“God, I missed this pussy,” he says, hips snapping into you again. “Dreamt about it. Woke up hard on the fuckin’ tour bus thinkin’ about you spread out like this.”

He’s moving now, really moving, fucking you slow and deep but with purpose, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your vision blur. Your body meets him with every roll of his hips, greedy, desperate, like it’s been waiting for him just as long as your heart has.

You moan again and his lips find your ear.

“That what you wanted, baby?” he pants. “Wanted my cock stretchin’ you out just like this? Bet none of those fanfics made you feel like this.”

“N-no,” you choke out, nails digging into his back. “Nothing like this.”

“Yeah?” His pace quickens slightly, his voice going rougher. “Tell me whose it is.”

“Yours,” you breathe, eyes wide and glassy. “Yours, Harry.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours—fuck—yours.”

He leans down and kisses you hard, messy, full of tongue and teeth and heat, his hips relentless now. He’s grunting with every thrust, sweat beading at his temples, his whole body working to bring you right to the edge again.

“I can feel you squeezin’ me,” he groans. “You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes—don’t stop—don’t—”

He slips a hand between your bodies, thumb circling your clit in tight, wet strokes while he keeps fucking into you deep and fast.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, voice cracked and wild. “Come on. Let me feel it.”

And that’s all it takes.

You shatter around him with a cry, your whole body pulsing, shaking, coming hard on his cock. He fucks you through it, eyes locked on your face like he wants to remember everything.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He pulls out at the last second, hand stroking himself twice before he spills all over your stomach with a groan so guttural it makes your toes curl. Thick, hot, and messy. He leans over you, breathing hard, eyes dark and wrecked, thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, slower now, sweeter.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when he leans back on his heels, eyes dragging over your body—sweat-slicked, legs still trembling, his release glistening on your stomach. There’s a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it’s not just cocky. It’s hungry. Like he’s already thinking about what comes next.

“Can’t believe I spent weeks in hotel beds with my hand wrapped ‘round my cock,” he mutters, one hand sliding up your thigh again. “When this was waitin’ for me.”

You open your mouth to respond, but then he’s dipping down again, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your stomach. You jolt, a whimper escaping your lips as his tongue drags through his own mess.

“Harry—”

He hums, like it’s nothing. Like the taste of you—of both of you—doesn’t drive him mad.

His tongue swirls over your skin, not in a rush this time, just savoring. Teasing. His hands slide back up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before he lowers his mouth again and sucks one nipple between his lips.

You gasp, arching into him.

��You still sensitive?” he asks, voice muffled against your skin. “That why you’re shakin’ like that?”

You nod, legs twitching around him. “Y-Yeah.”

He grins against your breast, mouth moving to the other. “Good.”

He slides a hand between your legs again, fingers pressing right where you’re still dripping, still open from him.

“‘Cause I’m not finished with you yet.”

He looks up at you, eyes dark and wild, fingers circling your clit again in slow, deliberate strokes.

“You’re gonna come again, baby. Just like in those stories you read. Over and over ‘til you can’t even say my name.”

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orphicsun · 8 months ago

Note

can you write a pit fighter vi smut fic where the reader works at a restaurant in zaun and vi comes in drunk and starts flirting with her pretty please 😼

Thank you sm for the request:3 hope you enjoy!

Content: 1.5k words, dub-con (Vi is drunk), casual sex, use of strap-ons (r! recieving), oral sex (r! receiving), slight overstimulation, this is rlly filthy blame anonymous for giving me the ammo to write this

Your hands are busy with several plates and your feet are sore in your shoes. Customers in Zaun have no decorum, either!

Being a waitress is not fun, especially not in a dingy restaurant like "The Sludge Pit." It's where most people are coming back from watching fights next door and want a cheap meal. To say that you hate you job is an understatement. But...money is tight, so choices are limited. It could be worse. You could be a prostitute at Babette's.

You've heard rumors that the fight tonight is going to be huge. There's a recently been a new fighter people have been placing bets on - a girl named Vi. You've heard the name before, of course. Jinx's sister, someone who was involved with a Piltie girl. You hated to get involved with all of the drama in Piltover, though; it was all meaningless. It was all just pointless drama that ended in another person in Zaun getting the short end of the stick or dead without a proper burial. Whatever happened was so hard to care about when it felt like an everyday thing.

However, something about the girl you've been hearing rumors about intrigued you. It is apparently often that this Vi chick is bulldozing men in the ring, getting drunk off her ass, and fucking Babette's whores. She got her heart broken, now she's all bitter, and you can't help but wonder what this girl is even like. What could she possibly be like when she's this well-known in the under-city?

It's around midnight. The fight is over because a huge crowd is occupying The Sludge Pit. You've got your poor hands full, tasked with scribbling down rude men's orders and serving them. Some are fucking creepy, too. You wonder if the Vi girl will be coming in tonight, but your curiosity is suddenly dashed when you hear the restaurant BOOMING with cheers from the main area.

When you walk out of kitchen, the first thing you see is the back left table seated with a black-haired girl. She's got no shirt on, just bandages that hug her body and a leather jacket. Her jeans are tightly fitted, sculpted onto her meaty things. The black pigment on her face is all messy. Next to her is a burly brunette man, facial hair covering most of his face. You've seen him before - "Loris."

When you approach Vi's table, she looks up at you and lets out a slight laugh. You look devourable, your hair back in two braids, fly-aways from the day's work. Your eyes are wide, and you look pretty terrified. Poor waitress. She's already decided that you're gonna be her next slut.

"Hi! I'll be your waitress today, what can I get for you-" Your voice is so shaky, oh fuck.

Usually, Vi wouldn't be so forward, but she just got back from the bar. There's too much liquid courage in her system, so now she's gonna get what she wants.

"Don't worry 'bout me, baby. Get my friend Loris here a burger."

You almost choke on your own spit.

Her voice isn't at all what you expected, not raspy or deep, but actually soft and persuasive. She's slurring her words slightly, but you're too focused on her eyes, the soft blue sparkle in them and the half-lidded, carefree look that is complimentary.

"Uhhh, okay! One burger coming right up!"

You soon come back with a shaky hand, plate in your palm. You set the burger down and look up down, adjusting your waitress skirt.

"One burger!"

Vi gives you a wide, lazy smile. Loris is just laughing, he's probably as drunk as her.

"Thanks, baby. How much will that be?"

"Ohhh....well, it's on the house. Since you won tonight, and all.." All rationale seems to leave you when Vi's calling you baby. Your boss is gonna chew you out for this, but the drunken giggle that leaves her mouth is so worth it.

"On the house? No, baby..c'mon, lemme pay."

You laugh and blow a stray strand of hair out out of your face. Her voice makes you imagine her throwing you around on your bed. "No, really, it's fine.."

"Hm..well, if you're not gonna let me use my money, why don't I pay you back in some other way?"

You stare at her for a second.

"What...?"

She chuckles at the cute but shocked look on your face. "Seriously. I wanna pay you back for the burger, since you're such a cute little waitress.."

She's got you in her twin-sized bed as she pounds into you at a pace you're surprised doesn't break the bed. You look utterly cock-drunk underneath her as her hips slam into yours: eyes practically rolled back into your noggin, whining on each and every thrust she gives your sopping pussy. Fuck, she's already obsessed with you.

Her hands are holding the back of your knees to keep you in position, and she pulls the cock halfway out of your pussy and slams back in, earning herself a wounded squeal from you.

"That's it, baby. Take all of my cock like a good girl," she coos, her eyes moving down to watch the hot-pink silicone disappear in your pretty pussy, and she's almost drooling at the sight.

"P-Please!! Please fuck me, oh my god!" You're screaming for her (soon you'll be creaming), and all Vi can think is how she wants to lick the cum out of your pussy when she's done plowing into you.

She laughs and spreads you legs back so she can hitch them around her own waist, still throwing sloppy thrusts into you. Your legs automatically wrap around her sides and she collapses onto your body, mouth wet and lazy on your throat. She's hardly thrusting now, just grinding up into your cunt like a dog in heat.

"Ohhh, fuckkk...this is the best pussy I've had in so fucking long, did you know that?" She's whimpering like she's not the one slinging strap..

You can't even answer with a proper response, only offering up a broken moan because in this position, the cockhead of the toy is bullying your sweet, spongey spot and making you see stars. By grinding into you, the base of the harness is catching on Vi's clit perfectly, making her her pace grow less and less composed She's fucking you like a touch deprived cave-man, for fuck's sake.

You hear feel her body tense up, and now she's pounding into you, each time your skin connects her body is pressing further into your, grinding her pussy against the harness, making you whine her name.

"You want me to cum inside you, huh? I bet you'd just love that. Wish I actually could cum inside this sweet little pussy." Her words grow more and more deranged the longer she's fucking you, and they send you right over the edge with a gasp and a cry out. For mercy, or for bliss, she isn't able to tell.

You poor legs are shaking around her waist and your voice is chanting her name like a prayer along with cute little cries of "I'm cumming for you, Violet!!" You indeed did cum, your face all flushed and your hips bucking up into hers, making her own cunt clench with need as she hits her own peak. She kisses you to swallow your sweet whines, tongue sliding against yours so you can taste the Vodka on it. She's just rutting into your pussy, and she swears she can feel your walls milking her cock like it's real. The alcohol in her system really does make her delusional.

When she's done, she pulls out of you and throws the strap-on somewhere in the floor, immediately moving down your body to suck the cum out of your tender hole.

You whine and protest, "V-Vi!! Too sensitive!"

She moves her lips to give your clit a firm suck and holds you legs open, "shh, just need to clean you up first.."

Her tongue moves to fuck your pussy as deeply as it can, filling you with the hot, wet muscle, and grazing your overstimulated g-spot until you're begging for mercy and she relented to go swirl around your previously neglected clit.

Her hands are groping your tits, your own tugging at her shitty dye-job as you buck your hips up in the air for more. She doesn't stop, giving you exactly what you want, sucking at your engorged clit and flicking it shamelessly with her tongue.

"Fuckk, V-Vi!! I'm gonna cum again!!"

Your juices paint her face so perfectly, mixing in with her black make-up and making an even bigger mess of your sopping cunt. She pulls back to see your face all red, soft little pants leaving your lips, and your chest heaving like you just ran a marathon. You look perfectly ruined, your hole still wrecked from the cock she fucked you with and your braids messed up into oblivion, but you look satisfied. She really paid you back for that burger, didn't she?

Safe to say, The Sludge Pit is her favorite place to find a meal at.

#vi x fem reader #vi arcane #vi x reader #arcane #requests

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sunflowerwinds · 8 months ago

Text

hers | s.a

summary: your bright personality unexpectedly draws in sevika and she can’t help but fall for you. when finn makes a comment that he can’t take back, sevika reminds him and you how much you mean to her.

pairing: fem!reader x sevika arcane

contains: mature language and content (18+), set sometime between act 1 and act 2 of season 1, established relationship, sunshine!reader, sensitive!reader, reader is described to wear more feminine outfits and makeup, finn being a WEIRDO to reader like omg, minor violence to men who deserve it, smut including — no foreplay, strap-on (hex-strap <3) r!recieving, sevika calls reader pet names such as sunshine, pretty girl, baby, sweet girl, angel, rushed ending.

word count: 4.4K

a/n: i’m ready to bear her children. a little treat before what we might endure in act 2. muah muah i love you angels <333 i am so sorry for posting this so late within the day. i had a hectic day at work but i pushed through for yall!

Sevika would never be described as a bright person.

Her position as Silco’s right-hand woman made her eerily unapproachable. She wore a poker face, gambled with ease, and was expertly skilled in combat. Fear struck in those who dared to try her.

Except, well, you.

When you first took the position as a waitress at The Last Drop, you were immediately drawn to the so-called scary woman. You heard whispers amongst the customers of her actions but all you saw was a tall, gorgeous woman.

Chuck, at least you assumed that was his name as the little 12-year-old girl with bright blue hair repeatedly called him in when she was lingering around, noticed your longing gaze at the woman. He warned you that someone as preppy as you is not someone Sevika would enjoy in her presence.

You were aware of your bubbly personality that, to most, was a bit overwhelming to be around. Your outfits drew attention as you enjoyed more frilly and bright things, always wearing jewelry or makeup or both to color coordinate with your outfits. It brought you joy and you weren’t ashamed of it.

You ignored him as you thought he was being ridiculous. How could she judge you so quickly without even getting to know you?

“I’m going to say hi!” You state with a nod to Chuck. “Do you know her favorite drink?”

You lean against the counter, beaming charmingly at the man. He hesitates as he doesn't want you to get yelled at or scoffed at for even trying.

“I-I don’t know. Sevika’s not… fond of being interrupted during her poker games.”

You blink as you turn back around to watch her shuffle the cards with one clawed and flesh hand, a cigar hanging from her beautiful lips. As much as you wanted to go over there and admire her up close; Chuck was right.

You didn’t want to be rude.

“I’ll just wait until she’s done then,” you nod to confirm.

And that’s what you do. You watch as her opponents angrily toss their forfeit onto the table, muttering curses at the woman. The larger woman keeps her cool composure, a winning smirk on her face. You grin happily at her now empty table, grabbing the drink Chuck had reluctantly handed you to deliver to the woman.

You control the pep in your step as much as you can as you didn’t want to spill the drink. Sevika gathers the coins into her leather pouch when you first approach her table.

“Hi!” You smile warmly.

Sevika, much to your surprise, doesn’t ignore you as Chuck made you believe she would. In fact, she sits back in her seat, her gray eyes trailing up and down your figure as you set down the drink.

“I thought I’d bring you a celebratory drink and introduce myself,” you beam as you clasped your hands behind your back. “You’re Sevika, right?”

And she was even more devilishly charming up close. That was a given but you were able to admire her little marks much closer now. You even noticed blue scars running up the side of her face, trailing down the side of her mechanic arm.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Sevika hummed as she moved her gaze to your awaiting eyes.

You nod, trying not to burst out with excitement so you wouldn’t scare her.

“I am! Just started a week ago, I think. I saw you when I first started and wanted to go say hi and Chuck told me not to,” you wave off like the man was ridiculous with a lovely chuckle. “Everyone says you’re scary but you don’t seem scary to me.”

Sevika’s eyes had flickered over to the bar where Chuck was avoiding her sharp gaze as you unknowingly ratted him out. She decides to let whatever he said slide and focus on the vision that is you right in front of her.

With one more once over your frame, Sevika actually grins at you.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to scare someone as pretty as you, angel.”

Sevika takes her cigar from her lips to blow out the smoke away from you and reaches across the table to grab the drink. You were obsessed with the way she called you ‘angel’, wanting to hear her voice on a loop forever.

“You think I’m pretty?” You swore your face was stretching due to how much you were smiling.

Sevika hums as she takes a slow sip from the slightly rusted glass.

“The prettiest,” she affirmed your question before leaning in close so she could look you in the eyes, admiring the shimmer over your eyelids. “I hope to see you around.”

You nod with an overwhelming flushed face, practically bouncing on the soles of your shoes. You left the table with an overwhelming amount of confidence. Sevika watched you walk back to the bar counter to gush to Chuck about how nice she was.

That was only the beginning of Sevika’s infatuation with you.

She tried to ignore the bubbling feeling of yearning for you but every time she came into the Last Drop, you were just the sweetest girl to her and never made her feel like just a crime lord. Every outfit you wore had her on the verge of begging on her knees for you to let her make you feel so good because that’s what you deserve.

You asked her random questions about her and her life when you would bring her drinks, slowly emerging into Sevika’s life. Sure, it was the bare minimum and you acted this way with most. But when you stared at her as she spoke, nodding to show you were listening and taking in every word with those lovely eyes, she knew she was fucked.

Within the first month of meeting, Sevika built up the courage to ask you out after your shift at the Last Drop. You, of course, were as sweet about it as ever. After that first date, everything shifted in the bond that you two had made over those weeks.

You quickly learned how obsessed and protective Sevika would be over you. Her arm — mechanic or not — would be draped over your soft hips, signaling to everyone that you were hers.

Word quickly spread about you and Sevika’s relationship.

It seemed like out of the blue the men and women would give you dirty looks and make passive-aggressive comments in the Last Drop became significantly nicer to you as well. When you would beam to Sevika how you all of a sudden started getting tipped more at work, she would congratulate you, showering you with kisses.

Little did you know it was because everyone was afraid to rub you the wrong way and that you would tell the intimidating woman. If you were upset, which was rare, you could guarantee Sevika would be just as upset if not more than you.

Just as she had treated you like the princess she saw you as you were just as loving to her. There was no shocker there as you didn’t seem to have one malicious bone in your body. When you weren’t at work, you were right next to Sevika. Whether it’d be at Silco’s office or helping her babysit Jinx, you’d happily be right by her side to help or just be there for support.

The little blue-haired girl would constantly tease Sevika about being a ‘big old softie’ when you came around. You thought she was the cutest thing and Sevika would simply tell her to shut it.

Like any other day, you were sitting on her lap during her poker games, leaning over her shoulder to stare at the hand she had. The opponents across the table were gawking and staring at you, clearly getting distracted by your beauty and outfits. Even after almost a year of being together, Sevika would get so flustered when you would place a kiss on her cheek or jaw when she won a match. She couldn’t — and would never even try — to hide her love and admiration for you.

She called you your good luck charm as if she hadn’t already become a pro at poker before you popped out of nowhere.

This particular match was different though. Her opponents were ones that you knew — Finn and Smeech. You had seen them a few times when you swung by Silco’s office to drop off some treats for your girlfriend and whoever wanted some as well.

You didn’t mean to but you made eye contact with Finn while you were simply gazing around the surrounding space. His bright luminescent green eyes catch yours and you immediately look away. Sevika notices the tension in your body and clears her throat, her strong arm settling around your waist to try and ease you.

“Your eyes are getting away from your cards, Finn,” Sevika quipped, eyes narrowing for a moment before focusing on your breathing that was picking up.

Her thumb rubbed at the revealed skin. You place a gentle hand on her larger one, trying to distract yourself. Most that were played against Sevika didn’t even dare to look you in the eyes; you were Sevika’s and they knew better.

Turns out, Finn was not aware of this.

“Well, something is distracting me, Sevika.” Finn’s off-putting comment made your stomach turn, looking at you with an almost predatory look.

Sevika’s nostrils flared for a moment, puffing out some of the smoke from the cigar dangling from her lips. Your hand tightened on hers, blinking and looking away from him.

“You sure picked a pretty one,” Finn continued and you looked up at him to see him wink at you. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You are taken aback by the question, glancing at Sevika as you mutter out your name. Usually, you were able to converse with the opponents to distract them from Sevika with your effortless charm but you wanted to do anything but talk to Finn.

“Focus on the game or get up from the table,” Sevika warns the man.

You hated seeing Sevika get angry as you knew her as anything but. Sure, she was grumpy and had a stone-cold face but she was the most attentive and loyal girlfriend to you.

“Sev,” you whisper to try and ease her clear anger with the man.

Finn chuckles at her obvious irritation with him. Sevika’s lip twitches at the sound and she sucks in a deep breath, glancing down at the hand of cards.

“Are you done or can we get this going?”

You look back at Sevika with an awkward smile. You felt like you were on display at an exhibit with his eyes on you and not in the way that Sevika looked at you.

No, she was so tender and loving with you.

“You know what? I, um, I forgot the muffins I made in the office. I’ll be right back, baby,” you pat her hand that was gripping onto your torso.

Sevika’s gray eyes found your gaze, watching as they anxiously darted from eye to eye. You were uncomfortable. Finn made you feel uncomfortable. From the moment you weakly smiled at her, Sevika knew she had to deal with him the moment you were out of her eye-line.

“Okay, sweet girl. Be quick. Need my good luck charm,” Sevika curtly nodded, plastering on a grin for your sake.

“I’ll be quick. I love you,” you ignore the obvious stares from the two across the table as you lean down to place a lovely kiss on her lips.

The taste of your lips fogs Sevika’s brain for a moment, reluctantly releasing your waist so you can leave her presence. “And I love you.”

You send her one more darling smile before keeping your distance from the two opponents as you make your way to where the office is located. You wave to Chuck as you pass by him handing a drink to Jinx at the bar in her signature cup.

You pat her on the head and flick one of her collarbone-length braids, watching her whip her head to find your awaiting grin. She leans forward to capture the straw between her lips, waving to you. You chuckle at her mean face before she realized it was you.

Sevika watched you walk away until you were completely out of sight before she reached over the table to grab onto the hair on Finn’s head and slammed it down thrice onto the wooden table. Her large hand held him down, watching him struggle to let himself up after the impact it had on his head.

The thud mixed with his pained grunt echoed, the few people within the bar pausing their movements. Objects clattered and chairs scooted to see where the sound came from. She uses her mechanic hand to take the cigar out of her mouth to rest it on the little ashtray that you sculpted for her.

“You really just couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut,” Sevika snarled at the man who was getting small splinters embedded into his skin from the old wood.

“He didn’t mean it,” Smeech proposed after being silent throughout the entire match up until now. Fucking coward, Sevika thought to herself. “We could… work out a deal to make this go away.”

Sevika scoffed as she started up her mechanical arm, the blade within it revealing itself and extending to push against the small jaw of Smeech’s fury face.

“A misunderstanding is all,” Smeech sputtered out, glancing at Finn’s smashed-in face.

Sevika stood up from her seat to grab onto Finn’s hair and ram him up against the nearest wall, head pounding against the tough wood. The man had yet to say a word about his over-the-line actions. A bloody smile was all he wore. Her hand held him up against the wall, her chest heaving from anger and her hand tightening to watch him writhe under her touch.

“Complete forfeit and that’s it. We’re gone. We’ll never look at her again,” Smeech rushed out

“And what would Silco say to this reckless behavior? We’re partners, you know?” Finn coughed out, spitting some of his blood out onto the ground. “Would not be too keen on that now would he?”

Sevika glanced over at Smeech’s trembling figure, carefully lowering her blade. He was right. As much as she wished she could beat his face until it was black and blue, nearing death, Silco would have more than a few words for her. She retracts the blade back into the arm and releases Finn from his throat, watching him pant and rub at the sore area.

“Leave the money,” Sevika grabbed the still-lit cigar and pressed it onto Finn’s free hand when he wasn’t paying attention. He gasped at the burn seeping into his skin, unable to react as Sevika grabbed him by the collar to push him toward the exit. “And get the hell out here.”

Smeech kept his distance as he nodded in understanding of Sevika’s anger. He released a frantic chuckle as he, along with Finn, left the building without looking back. Sevika shook out her hand and stretched a bit. When she takes a look around, the paused customers instantly continue their previous actions.

“Sev?” She hears you call from behind her, your footsteps growing closer. “Wait, what happened?”

Sevika shook her head as she turned to face your confused expression at the now-empty table. She glanced down at the small tray of muffins that you and Jinx made.

“They had places to be.”

“Aww. I was going to give them a muffin to try before they left. They’re not like ones that’d be up in Piltover but I think we did a pretty good job.” You motion to the berry muffins. “Have you tried one yet? I can’t remember.”

Sevika hums with a shake of her head before grabbing one off of the tray.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” She insisted with a hand out for you to take.

You nod happily at her suggestion, intertwining your fingers with yours as you leave out the door of the Last Drop.

Entering Sevika’s apartment, you rambled about the muffins you made. You were yet to notice Sevika practically undressing you with her eyes.

“I just think if you know if I was able to get a different kind of fruit,” you examine one of them in your hand, letting Sevika lead you by your hip around to the kitchen so you could set your muffins down on the countertop. “You know? Next time you have a transportation, can you stop by a fruit vendor or something up there so that I could—”

“Baby,” Sevika chuckles at your rambling as she rests her hands on your waist, squeezing the plush skin to grab your attention.

“Oh, right. Tell me about the rest of the poker game,” you shook your head and patted her bicep, looking up at her with a sweet smile.

Sevika could take you right there and then. She presses a loving kiss onto your lips before using her non-mechanic hand to cup the side of your face, keeping her hunger for you at bay for now.

“Did I ruin it when I left? Is that why everyone was gone when I came back?” You question, your face wincing at the idea that you may have altered the game. “I-I know I was… being distracting to Finn and I didn’t mean to.”

Sevika shook her head at your words, shushing your insecure thoughts creeping into your head.

“No. No, you did nothing wrong. Finn was the one out of line,” Sevika sneered, rubbing her thumb along the apple of your cheek.

“Are you sure?” You checked in one more time.

“Yes, angel. I mean it,” her voice is assertive but reassuring.

You nod, sighing as you lean into the comforting feeling of her palm. The feeling of discomfort from half an hour ago still lingered in your mind. You release an awkward chuckle, staring up at Sevika’s comforting gray eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just never felt that weird before.”

Sevika’s brows furrowed at your confession. Once you realize how depressing you sound, you shake your head as you reach up to cup her stern face, running your thumb over her blue scars. She wished she would’ve just finished Finn off right there and then seeing you contemplate who you are because of him.

“You… are perfect. Everything about you,” Sevika breathed out, leaning in to place kisses on the under of your jaw.

You gasp softly at the feeling, running a hand over the length of her shoulder. Her hand cupped at your neck, her thumb pressing underneath your to get you to tilt your chin upwards. You pant as her lips trail down the length of your neck, barely ghosting her lips to draw the neediness out of you.

It didn’t take much for you to get riled up for Sevika. Because, well, it was Sevika. She learned every spot that drove you wild and made it her mission to take advantage of that.

“I-I’m really okay, Sev,” you assure her but your slack jaw gave away how much you wanted this.

“Do you want me to stop?” She questions, pausing her movements but still heavily panting against your neck.

You shake your head rapidly, hand cursing up the back of her head into her hair.

“No, no. Please don’t.”

And how could she not give you what you want? Especially when you’re so sweet.

“Such a sweet girl, baby,” she breathed out before backing out of the comforting crook of your neck.

You preen at the praise, looking up at her with dazed-out eyes. Your hands were clamped down on the counter behind you, the ledge digging into your back. She traced the wet mark on your skin before delving back into your lips.

You ‘hmph’ at the attack on you but recover quickly, falling into a rhythm against her. Her hands settle back on your waist, her real hand sneaking up your top to run her fingers over your ribcage. You shiver against her, the sound of your lips smacking and the feeling of her tongue grazing over your bottom lip increasing your arousal.

“Wanna get up on the corner for me?” Sevika hums between kisses, her hands gripping at the meat of your thighs.

You nod with a hum, releasing the counter. Sevika lifted you with ease, hoisting you up on the counter. You couldn’t but giggle at the motion, still not being used to the fact that she was that strong. Her muscles were a constant reminder but when she was able to effortlessly move you around, you swore you were on top of the world.

“Need you, Sev,” you whisper against her lips, a smile creeping onto your lips.

Sevika's eyes shut at the sound of you asking for, needing her.

“Say that again, pretty girl,” she mutters as her grip on you tightens.

You smile against her lips as you peck them a few times before tilting your head up at her.

“I need you, baby. Please.”

Sevika released a near growl at your begging for her. She nearly knocks you back onto the counter as her lips find yours once again. Your bodies press up against one another, grinding your crotches. Your eyebrows raise at the bulge in between her legs.

You were not expecting her to be wearing the strap-on around. A pleasant surprise, nonetheless.

Sevika must've noticed you slowing down, pulling away with a slight smirk.

“You want it?” Sevika hummed, slowly grinding the bulge against you once again.

You nod again with greed, clawing at her back. With quick and hurried movements, you helped her move your panties down from underneath your rather short skirt. Sevika runs her hands up the plush of your thighs as her lips kiss your collarbones.

Growing impatient, you take matters into your own hands and reach for the button of her pants. Sevika hummed at the feeling, in fact pushing your hips into your hands to encourage the neediness. You took the strap out of her briefs, not wanting to take the time for foreplay.

You were positive that you were wet enough for Sevika to just ease into you. She chuckles at you angling your hips so she could line herself up to your aching pussy.

“Needy girl,” she teases.

You flush at the mocking, loving any sort of attention she was giving you. Your mind had completely blanked on why you were feeling so weird in the first place. Sevika was all that was able to make its way through your thoughts.

Her rough yet tender hands, her addicting lips, her toned waist, her ever-so-loving voice.

Just Sevika.

“Should’ve killed him for staring at you,” Sevika mutters against your skin. “For talking to you like that, angel.”

You shake your head at her words. “Just want you, Sev.”

Sevika nodded, knowing how much you hated seeing the violence. You, of course, knew it was a part of her job but when you saw people physically get hurt, you could feel it too. You would hate to know someone got hurt on your account.

“I’ll take care of you,” Sevika says out loud as if she’s trying to get herself back on track.

You were a waiting mess for her and she was thinking about killing that fucker. She blinked and looked at you, really admiring every curve of your body. Your hands were running over her broad shoulder, glancing down at the dildo in between you two.

Her hands push your legs apart, a smile growing on her face. You pant as your patience is wearing thin, watching her grab the base end of the strap to glide the tip through your folds. She was still teasing you, an evil smirk on her lips.

“Baby, don’t be mean,” you whine, looking up at her with desperation written all over your face.

Sevika whispers an ‘I’m sorry’, placing a kiss and soft bite underneath your dropped jaw. She held your hips still in place as she carefully inched herself into you. You gasped and moaned at the stretch inside of you. Sevika’s head tilts back as she curses under her breath.

You swore at times she acted like she really could feel you through the strap.

“Fuck,” she groans, humming as she bottoms out inside of you.

Your nails were digging into the scarred skin of her neck, emitting another moan from the woman. Without wasting another second, Sevika, once she was sure you were okay, began thrusting inside of you.

Your tits bounced with every thrust, nearly popping out of your top from movements. Sevika shamelessly watched your face twist in pleasure, your beautiful skin glistening with her saliva from her wet kisses and your sweat.

“Baby,” you moan out, shivering when she thrusts hard up into you.

Sevika grabbed underneath your jaw with her real hand, making you make eye contact with her as she fucked into you.

“My perfect girl,” she praises as her thrusts continue, slapping against your inner thighs.

You preen at the praise, wanting to look away but Sevika wouldn’t let you. Your stomach tightens at your overwhelming fast orgasm approaching. It was creeping up your spine, burning in the best way possible.

“Just like that, baby,” Sevika nodded as she released your face to focus on your soft hips.

Your breathy and whiny moans drive Sevika to speed up her thrusts into you. Your legs were hiked up around her toned waist, brushing deliciously at her v-line.

“Sev, please,” you beg.

For what? You weren’t sure anymore.

“Say you’re perfect. Say it for me, angel,” Sevika groaned as she continued her thrusts inside of you, one of her hands cupping underneath your jaw.

Your mind was foggy, barely able to focus on what she was asking you what to do. Your hips stutter as you try to match the pace of her thrusts.

“I’m… p-perfect.” You sputter through your heavy breathing, reaching and holding onto her strong forearm.

The metal of her mechanic arm made your skin shiver as she shifted your legs to somehow reach deeper into you. Your painted nails dug into her skin as you tried to adjust to the angle change.

“You’re my perfect girl. My angel, my sunshine,” Sevika praises you as her thrusts become sloppier, a shiver running down her spine.

Nothing, not even Shimmer, could compare to the euphoric feeling of being with you like this. Nothing was as addicting as you.

“Yours,” was all you could whimper out.

You were sure your makeup was smudged, most of your eyeshadow faded from the heat exuding from your body. Sevika wouldn’t let you even try to think about anything else but feeling good.

“‘M yours too, angel. Don’t you forget it.”

TAGLIST: @eilishxo @prettydeeryess @hauntedclaudio @maaaaaaaaaaari @prettysuplicant @twlaei @soodle-noup @xayn-xd @fict1onallyobsessed @lamiadrowned @asmrgirll @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @kissyslut @archangeldyke-all

#wlw #sapphic #sevika fanfic #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane league of lesbians #arcane sevika #arcane show #arcane #sevika

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dark-moonlust · 1 year ago

Text

A Vampire’s Lust

Pairing: vampire x fem human reader

Summary: You are washing your face in the bathroom wearing only a bra and panties when your vampire mate gets so aroused by it that he takes you against the sink, fangs sinking into your neck.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p in v sex, well-endowed 🍆, vampire bites, lots 💦.

This is the full one-shot. It was posted first on Patreon as my patrons get early access to my Tumblr posts!

Enjoy!! If it isn’t too much, I’d love to hear if you liked it! 🖤

Dressed only in a lacy black bra and matching panties, you leaned over the sink, washing your face. You rarely wore makeup but you were adamant about taking care of your skin. Your boyfriend was a vampire after all, so you had to keep up with his flawless complexion. The cool water felt refreshing as you rinsed away the remnants of soap. You patted your face dry then carefully applied your face products.

You smiled when you caught your boyfriend into the room, leaning against the doorframe, his red eyes studying you, lingering on the curve of your ass and the swell of your breasts. He always moved so quietly but, after two years of dating, you were almost used to it. Wearing only a black pajama pants, he looked ravishing. Tall, lean and muscular, with a symmetrical face and concave jawline. He had short dark hair and a bold captivating gaze.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he said as he approached, his voice a husky whisper. He pressed behind you, his naked chest against your back, his hands sliding around your waist to rest on your stomach. His lips brushed against your ear, then down your shoulder, kissing over the strap of your bra.

You shivered, your nipples hardening under the thin fabric of your bra.

“Aww, look at them,” he cooed, his fingers circling your buds over the lace bra. “They’re constricted. Poor babies. Let’s free them.”

With a skillful move, he unclasped your bra and tossed it away. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he cupped your tits, his big hands, feeling up their weight, thumbs toying with the hard tips. He looked at you through the mirror as his hands roamed over your body, caressing your curves and making you gasp.

Most vampires couldn’t see their reflections because mirrors were traditionally backed with silver and that revoked their images. But your mirror was custom-made and free from silver because your mate had a perverse delight in fucking you in front of it and watching your reactions.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” He leaned in, his fangs grazing your neck as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. “You’ve taken over my cold heart and fired it up.”

“You have taken hold of my heart, too,” you whispered, your head collapsing on his chest as he tugged down your panties. You wiggled your hips, shimming them off then gasped when a cool finger toyed with the seam of your pussy.

“Soaked for me,” he purred, his voice thick with arousal.

A gasp was torn from you when his thumb found your clit, rubbing it in slow, languid circles. Your hips bucked against his hand, desperate for more. But his hold on you was secure, his arms like bands around you, his eyes looking at you through the glass, dark with desire.

“Please,” you whined, trying to get more friction. “I need you.”

“I’ll fuck you, mate. Here in front of the mirror.”

“You horny vamp,” you teased, hands fumbling for purchase on the sink. “You do that almost every day.”

“I love watching you writhe and cum around my cock.”

To prove his point, he lifted your leg and took in the sight of your glistening cunt and his fingers teasing your plump folds. “Pretty cunt. Want to fucking ruin it.”

With a swift motion, he was bending you over the sink, sinking to his knees, his tongue eating out your cunt. You cried out, hands gripping the edge of the basin as he licked and sucked like a man possessed, loud moans and slurping sounds echoing in the small bathroom. His fingers added to the game, drawing apart your outer labia, his tongue finding the hood of your clit and flicking repeatedly.

“Ahn! Close… so close—”

You very nearly screamed when he stood up and slapped your ass. You heard clothes shuffling, then felt him slapping his thick cock against your soaking wet entrance. He leaned in, his body curling behind you, his fangs sinking into your neck as he thrust into you, filling you in one smooth glide. You saw stars and came hard, pleasure and pain blending in and driving you wild.

Snapping his hips, he fucked you through your orgasm, hard and fast. His fangs popped from your skin, his tongue licking up the blood. Your whole body rocked with his thrusts, pussy clenching with little aftershocks. Then he decided he wanted to change the view, so he lifted you up, his hands under your knees, his cock plugged up inside you.

“Feet on the sink, baby,” he instructed and you did so, even if you were dazed and pleasure-fucked. “Good girl. Lean back against me. Want to see you pretty pussy dripping all over my cock.”

You whimpered and leaned back, your legs spread wide, pussy fully bared to him. Planting your feet firmly— thankfully the sink was sturdy enough— you rocked against him. He gave steady upward thrusts, the angle intense, every thrust deep and toe-curling. Your tits bounced with every powerful pump and he immediately cupped them, pinching and tugging your poor nipples. His eyes remained locked on yours in the mirror, watching everything.

“Fuuuuck, look at you,” he breathed against your neck. “So fucking perfect. Mine. All mine.”

You could only nod, breathless and desperate to cum again. He was so big and powerful behind you, his cock stretching your pussy wide and coming out frothing with your juices. And you could do nothing but hold onto him, no match for his strength. The sight of him made you wild and you felt your second orgasm building, your pussy warming with pressure.

“Come for me,” he commanded, pounding into you. “I want to feel you shatter around my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a silent scream you came, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his girth, waves of pleasure assailing you. He growled and kept fucking you through your climax. Relentlessly fast and deep. Ripples of bliss traveled through your body. You could no longer use your legs to rock against him. Your knees were weak with pleasure, your pussy on fire.

Realizing that, he held you from under the knees, lifting you in the air as he moved you up and down on his rigid cock. You thrashed and whimpered when his fangs sunk into your neck, deeper this time. His cock buried to the hilt inside you, tongue suckling your blood as he flooded you with his cum. It was too much, it overflowed your cunt and dribbled down your thighs and on the tiled floor.

You could everything through the mirror. The sight was deliciously lewd.

For long moments, the only sounds were your soft whimpers and his ragged breaths. His fangs retracted and you sighed when he started kissing the bite marks on your neck. He was still holding you in the air, his cock still-hard inside you. And he didn’t seem inclined to let go of your warmth just yet. He carried you to the bed, like his little cocksleeve and pressed you down on the mattress, face down, ass up. He kissed your neck again and the marks he’d left there and resumed fucking you, slower this time.

It was a long night, filled with sex, moans and whispers of affection.

He took you in every position until you were a spent, pleasure drunk mess.

Only when you were bathed in his cum did he lull you to sleep, his possessive instincts abated.

#vampire x reader #vampire x human #vampire smut #vampire boyfriend #monster x reader #monster smut #monster lover #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster x you #monster fucker #monster romance #monster fudger #monster x female reader

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anglbunny · 1 month ago

Text

LINGERIE PRESENT

♡. reo mikage gets gifted something he could never buy, smut mdni, lingerie kink, birthday gift, based on this req

Reo was impossible to shop for.

He had everything. Designer clothes, custom watches, his own penthouse, cars you couldn’t even name. You’d asked his friends for ideas, and even Nagi had just blinked at you and said, “He already buys whatever he wants before anyone else can.”

So... you decided to give him something he couldn’t buy.

You.

In lingerie.

Wrapped in satin and lace and ribbon.

You’d spent days finding the perfect set—deep violet to match his eyes, strappy and delicate, barely-there lace hugging your hips and cupping your breasts. A garter belt, thigh-highs, heels. The works.

And now, standing in the center of his bedroom with only a silk robe on, heart hammering as you waited, you started wondering if you were insane.

But then you heard the door click open.

“Babe?” Reo called lazily. “You in here—?”

He stopped short.

You turned slowly, letting the robe fall open, one sleeve at a time… then down your shoulders, letting it slide off completely.

Reo’s jaw clenched.

He stared. Said nothing. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“What the fuck,” he murmured, “are you wearing?”

You bit your lip. “Happy birthday.”

A beat.

Then his voice, hoarse, “Come here.”

You took a slow step forward, but Reo closed the distance in two. His hands grabbed your waist, eyes scanning every inch of you—appreciative, ravenous.

“Fuck,” he whispered, thumbing the strap of your bra. “You planned this?”

You nodded shyly.

His thumb slid down, grazing your nipple through the lace. “You knew this would drive me crazy, didn’t you?”

“I hoped.”

He chuckled

“You didn’t hope. You knew. You’re a little minx.”

His mouth landed on yours hard—tongue, teeth, need. Then he backed you up until your thighs hit the bed.

“You wore this for me?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to unwrap you?”

“Yes.”

He pushed you back gently, fingers slipping under the straps, voice low against your throat.

“God, baby. You’re the best fucking gift I’ve ever gotten.”

The lingerie didn’t last long after that.

Not when Reo got on his knees and worshipped you—tongue between your thighs, fingers gripping the lace like he wanted to tear it.

Not when he pulled the bra down to suck your nipples into his mouth like a man starved.

Not when he finally slid inside you, muttering, “My pretty little present, all mine,” while you gasped and moaned beneath him.

Not when he came, moaning your name into your neck.

And definitely not when he whispered afterward, half-drunk on you

“Next year, I want this again. But in red.”

TL: @samm1e13 @demiitria @syleepy @chaoslibra @bontenxo @pinkymangacaps @riinniies @samthesimp1 @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @rinniebinniebay @ravenbc @kamelika @luvsymai @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @silverwings920 @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @yanderebluelockfan @valexqpt @bigclownshoes @rinniewinnie787 @satorella @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @mihyas-dieehefrau @ravenbc @greekyoghurtwithberries

A/n: im so tired, i have like 3 presentations due by tmr

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

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sunshinesfreckless · 3 months ago

Text

His Spoiled Doll

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Idol!Jeongin x fem!reader

Summary: The fashionable boy needs a doll to dress — and who better than his girlfriend, the one he already loves to spoil rotten?

Warnings: Backshots in a Bottega Veneta skirt. Jeongin loves having you as his. And idk, idk — just don’t read if you’re a minor.

A/N: I’m always so nervous writing for someone who isn’t in my bias line, because yes, I know them well — but someone who has him as their bias knows them better, so I’m always scared of mischaracterizing him…

I hope you Jeongin stans enjoy it! Remember, it’s just fiction hehe… or not.

୨ৎ Felix ୨ৎ Hyunjin ୨ৎ Bangchan ୨ৎ Seungmin ୨ৎ Han ୨ৎ Leeknow ୨ৎ Changbin

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

At first, it started with a jacket.

A simple thing—luxurious black leather, butter-soft, the kind of piece you could wear for a lifetime.

He held it up to her in the store, sharp-eyed, calculating.

“This one,” he said simply, draping it over her shoulders like he was crowning her.

When she tried to protest—it’s too expensive, I don’t need it—he just kissed her forehead and handed over his card without blinking.

After that, it never stopped.

Little by little, Jeongin rebuilt her entire wardrobe like he was rebuilding her.

Custom-tailored dresses that skimmed her body just right.

Cashmere sweaters so soft she blushed when they slipped against her skin.

Shoes flown in from Milan, still warm from the hands that crafted them.

He never asked her opinion.

He didn’t need to.

He knew exactly what would make her look irresistible.

Exactly how to dress her—

To own her.

It wasn’t about fashion.

It was about possession.

He wanted the world to see her and know—

That every inch of her, from her earrings to her heels, was his.

────୨ৎ────

When they walked backstage of the Award Show one day, her hand tucked neatly in his, the other members’ heads snapped toward them.

She wore a simple black mini dress, barely-there straps, the fabric gliding over her like it had been painted on.

Jeongin had picked it himself.

Paired it with thin silver jewelry, a tiny designer bag, and heels that made her legs go on forever.

The boys stared.

Not even subtly.

“Bro,” Seungmin muttered under his breath.

But Jeongin didn’t get jealous.

No—he thrived on it.

He wanted them to look.

He wanted them to ache for what they could never touch.

Because she didn’t just wear the clothes.

She wore him.

Obediently.

Perfectly.

Without even realizing it.

Every time she adjusted the hem like a good girl, shyly pulling it down over her thighs—

Every time she bit her lip, self-conscious because the neckline dipped a little too low—

He watched her.

Eyes darkening.

Heat curling under his skin, slow and lethal.

────୨ৎ────

Later, when they were alone, he pushed her up against the closet door.

Pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he whispered.

“You’re mine. Dressed by me. Made for me.”

His hands slipped under the hem of the dress he bought her, fingers teasing the sensitive skin of her thighs.

“You look so good it hurts,” he growled.

“You wear my choices, you are mine.”

And when she whimpered, clutching at him—

When she tilted her chin up, silently begging for his mouth, his hands, anything he’d give—

He laughed, soft and dangerous.

“Good girl,” he said, voice low.

“My perfect, spoiled little thing.”

────୨ৎ────

A necklace clasped around her throat—Bottega Veneta, delicate, understated, real gold.

Sneakers that appeared by the door just when her old ones started to wear out—Balenciaga, crisp white, her size memorized.

Jeongin didn’t spoil her loudly.

He did it the way he did everything—with thought, with precision, with a certain boyish pride he tried to hide behind nonchalance.

Perfectly tailored coats in muted creams and charcoals, arriving on rainy afternoons like he had ordered the weather too.

Silk shirts slipped onto her body, the buttons fastened by his own hands, because, “You deserve to feel expensive every day, baby.”

And then he’d kiss her temple and say, “Perfect. Now everyone’s gonna know you’re mine.”

────୨ৎ────

The soft hiss of the Zipper sliding down her spine, teeth parting like a sigh, while Jeongin’s fingers chased it lower, knuckles grazing bare skin.

She stood in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but the pale slip dress he’d picked out for her that morning.

Now it pooled at her feet.

And he stood behind her, still fully dressed—white shirt open at the collar, Bottega watch glinting on his wrist, eyes so dark they made her knees weak.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice thick with something that made her shiver.

She turned.

His hands found her hips first—steady, reverent—thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into the bone.

Then up, tracing her waist, her ribs, the delicate slope of her back.

Touching like he was redrawing her by memory.

When his mouth found her neck, she gasped—a soft, broken sound—fingers clutching at the front of his shirt like she needed something to anchor her.

“You know,” he whispered against her skin, breath hot, “every time I buy you something… it’s because I imagine unwrapping you out of it later.”

Her heart stuttered.

So did her knees.

He caught her easily, chuckling low under his breath, scooping her up effortlessly and carrying her to the bed without ever losing his mouth on her throat.

She landed among the sheets with a soft gasp, hair fanning out like a halo.

Jeongin stood over her, undoing the buttons of his shirt slowly, deliberately, letting her watch.

Letting her see the way his muscles flexed under the soft fabric, the way the veins on his arms stood out as he shrugged it off and dropped it to the floor.

When he crawled over her, his knee pressing between her thighs, she whimpered.

“Tell me,” he said, voice rough as velvet, “what do you want tonight, baby?”

She couldn’t find words.

She just grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand to her breast, arching into his palm.

“That,” she breathed. “You. All of you.”

Jeongin smiled—lazy, dangerous—and kissed her.

Kissed her until she forgot how to breathe, until the only thing she knew was the heat of his mouth, the slide of his hands, the grinding of his hips into hers.

And when he finally moved lower—kissing down her ribs, her stomach, the inside of her thighs—he didn’t rush.

Jeongin loved slow.

He teased the inside of her knee with his mouth, tracing lazy paths higher and higher, watching her fall apart bit by bit.

By the time his tongue flicked against her clit, she was already gasping, already writhing, already begging.

And he groaned—deep, guttural—like he could live on her pleasure alone.

Jeongin ate her out like a man starving.

No finesse. No performance.

Just pure hunger, pure need, pure devotion.

His tongue was slow at first—languid strokes that had her thighs shaking—then faster, harder, as he pinned her hips down and feasted.

Not just with his mouth, but with low, filthy moans that vibrated through her entire body.

Her hands clawed at the sheets, at his hair, at anything she could reach—

And when she came, sobbing his name, Jeongin didn’t stop.

He just licked deeper, slower, gentler, pulling every last tremor out of her like a man determined to drink every drop of her.

When he finally slid up her body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked down at her with a lazy, smug grin.

“You good, baby?” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead.

She could barely nod.

But she managed to pull him down for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips, feeling the way he shuddered when she wrapped her arms and legs around him and refused to let go.

“You spoil me,” she whispered, still dazed.

He laughed softly against her mouth.

“You spoil me right back,” he said.

“Every time you look at me like that. Every time you smile at me like I’m your whole world.”

She kissed him again.

Slower this time.

Softer.

Because he was.

He was hers.

And she was his.

And sometimes, love looked like Bottega heels and silk sheets.

But more often, it looked like the way he held her after—bare, worshiped, safe—and the way she fell asleep every night knowing she would wake up even more loved than before.

────୨ৎ────

The Skirt was halfway off.

Bunched at her waist, the silky fabric clinging to her curves, wrinkled where he had dragged it up with shaking hands.

“Fuck—” Jeongin groaned, voice rough, desperate.

The bra straps hung off her shoulders, useless.

Her necklace—delicate, glittering, his pick—swung wildly with every movement.

Even the lace panties he had bought her, the ones with his initials stitched into the waistband, were pushed aside, leaving her open for him.

Spoiled.

Claimed.

His.

He pressed her face into the mattress, hand firm between her shoulder blades, holding her steady as he drove into her from behind.

“Look at you,” he rasped, thrusts hitting deep, filthy sounds filling the room.

“Dressed by me. Fucking ruined by me.”

She whined under him, hips arching, begging for more without words.

Her body knew him too well now—

belonged to him in ways no amount of luxury could ever explain.

Every snap of his hips made the bed creak, the frame protesting, but he didn’t slow down.

He needed her like this—

Breathless, trembling, covered in the life he built around her like armor.

“Who’s pretty girl are you, baby?” he panted, thrusting harder.

She gasped, trying to answer, but the only thing that came out was a broken moan.

He smirked, leaning down to kiss the back of her neck, sweat-slicked skin tasting like heaven.

“That’s right,” he whispered.

“You’re mine. All of you. All this—”

His hand slid down her spine, over the dress, the jewelry, the faint marks he’d left earlier along her thighs.

“—everything you wear, everything you are. Mine.”

She shattered on him then, body clenching, sobbing his name into the sheets.

And Jeongin followed her, groaning low in his chest, emptying himself deep inside her like he was branding her from the inside out.

────୨ৎ────

Later, when they lay tangled together, the city lights painting the room in soft gold, she pressed her face to his chest.

Still wearing the necklace he’d given her.

Still breathing in sync with him like they shared the same lungs.

Jeongin stared down at her, hand smoothing her hair back, heart too full for words.

She could have demanded anything from him—

Cars, houses, a life of endless luxury.

And he would have given it to her without blinking.

But she never asked for any of it.

She never wanted the clothes or the jewelry or the life.

She wanted him.

Just him.

And that was enough to make the world stop spinning under his hands.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

@zenfries @inniesfanblog

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pathologicalreid · 9 months ago

Text

all we ever do is talk | s.r.

in which Spencer and wife!reader fear they're getting boring, so the BAU sets them up with a hotel suite for Spencer's birthday

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: i don't remember. hold on. oral (f and m recieving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, breeding but not like the primordial kinky type just like, having sex to get pregnant, drinking wine, this is like circa s11, not proofread i'm just a girl, david rossi being rich for the plot, i hate hate hate the word pussy but here we are, softdom!spencer. spencer reid certified gift giver! word count: 4.17k a/n: a fic based on a del water gap song? who's surprised? no one! anyways i blacked out toward the end of writing this one no clue what happens here also sorry about the breeding thing i really don't know where that came from

The robe you wore was luxurious, and the cumulative cost of every item in your hotel room likely cost more than you made in a year. Needless to say, you were starting to feel out of place in the room, your hair and makeup done to perfection as you waited for your husband to arrive.

Reaching into your pocket, you slip your phone out and check for notifications. JJ was your babysitter for the night, and even though she had insisted that everything would be fine, you had never actually spent a full night away from Eleanor. You had no idea how Spencer did it time and time again for cases.

You: Everything good? JJ: Shouldn’t you be with Spencer right now? You: He’s on his way. You: Everything good?

She responds with a picture of Nell, your sweet toddler, who was seemingly too focused on the bowl of mac n cheese in front of her to even look at the camera. You type out a reply to JJ before forwarding the photo to Spencer.

JJ assured you that Eleanor would be in good care with her and Will, and it’s not that you have any doubts, it’s that she’s your baby and this is your first time being away from her.

The door to the hotel room clicks, and you set your phone on the comforter, watching as Spencer walks into the room before returning the key card to his wallet. “Hey,” you greet from the bed, crossing one leg over the other.

“Hey, honey,” he says, striding over to you before pressing a soft kiss to your hairline, “You smell nice.”

You nod in the direction of the bathroom, “I got here early and took a bath.” Slowly, you take a better look at him, “You look good, I like that suit on you.”

He holds his arms out and looks down at himself, “I heard through the grapevine that you have a fantastic dress for tonight, so I figured I needed to pull out all of the stops.” Years ago, Rossi had gotten all of the BAU men custom designer suits, that must be the one your husband had chosen to wear tonight. It was fitting, seeing as Rossi was probably fronting most of the bill for your night.

“I’ve never heard Penelope referred to as a grapevine before,” you respond in jest, getting up from the bed before you make your way to the bathroom. “She helped pick the dress,” you inform him, shedding your robe before stepping into the dress. It was a short, black velvet number that clung to the contours of your body in a way that you hadn’t thought was possible. Instead of straps, two dainty chains went over your shoulders, leaving excess dangling over your back.

Spencer clears his throat, “So, how did the drop-off go?” He missed the big goodbye, which was probably for the best.

You sigh, “Nell was great. I was a mess.” You had only been given a few days to prepare for being away from her.

Carefully pulling the chains over your shoulders, you look at yourself in the mirror before slipping your heels on and stepping out of the bathroom. Spencer was standing in front of the windows, watching the sunset over the horizon, “For what it’s worth, I had no issue with the original plan for tonight.”

Initially, you had planned to celebrate Spencer’s birthday at home with Eleanor, and there was meant to be a party with the rest of the BAU tomorrow evening. Somehow, the team had gotten the idea that the two of you needed an evening out, so they chipped in to give you just that—some members more than others.

“I’m always alright with spending quality time with my girls, but—” his voice cuts off as he turns to look at you, “Never mind.”

You chuckle, “What?” Looking down at yourself, you smooth out the front of the dress with your palms.

His eyes wander as he unabashedly checks you out, “I’m finding with every passing moment that this might be my preferred plan for the evening.” He watches attentively as you go back to sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing a twisted strap of your heel while Spencer stands directly in front of you.

“When was the last time we went out on a date?” You ask, strapping your heel around your ankle.

He hums, fake thinking about your question even though he knows the exact date, “However old Nell is, add approximately ten months,” he answers.

You look up at him, your face warming in surprise, “Has it really been that long?”

Spencer nods mournfully, “Almost three and a half years,” he sits down on the bed next to you, placing his hand on your bare thigh and swiping at the soft skin with his thumb.

Holding your hands up to your face, you glance at Spencer with wide eyes, “Oh, Spence. When did we get boring?”

“We aren’t boring,” he insists, “We have a two-year-old. We work.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, “Other people do those things, and they’re not boring.”

He matches your look, “We aren’t boring,” he repeats. “Let’s make a deal,” Spencer offers, “Tonight, you and I won’t be boring.

“Right, so we’ll have a glass of wine at dinner tonight and then return to being boring tomorrow?” You say glumly, watching as he shifts on the mattress, adjusting his weight distribution.

“No,” he whispers, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips before sliding off the mattress, leaving him on his knees in front of you.

Blinking absently at him, your heart jumps at the sight of him in front of you, “You know we have dinner reservations, right?”

He gives you a slightly incredulous look, “You know it’s an open reservation, right? We have it until midnight.”

Your head bobs in acknowledgment, silently permitting him to part your knees, and you watch him come to the realization that you weren’t wearing any panties, “I didn’t want any lines to show under the dress,” you explain. There was also a part of you that hoped your evening would go in this direction.

Placing his hands on your hips, he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, rolling your dress up to your waist, leaving you bare in front of him, “You’re perfect,” he breathes, “I don’t tell you that enough.” His fingers carefully prod at your core, a ghosting of pressure as he sweeps his index finger over your folds, an array of goosebumps forming over your skin.

Your breath hitches when he grips one of your thighs, placing it over his shoulder in the way he’s done numerous times before, but it always seems to take your breath away. “You tell me plenty,” you say, the sensation of his breath on your wet heat affecting you in ways you haven’t felt in ages.

“That’s not nearly enough,” he scolds himself, craning his head forward to press a kiss to your clit, chuckling when you jump as a result.

Releasing a breathy laugh, you look down at Spencer, your heart racing as you await his next move, “Then tell me again,” you whisper.

Spencer hums in response, slipping his pointer finger inside of you as he murmurs, “You’re perfect.”

You let out a soft moan as his finger slowly starts moving out, taking it slowly as you lean back on your hands, careful not to mess your hair up too badly, “Spence,” you whine at the pressure.

“I know,” he tells you, “It’s been a while, huh?”

Closing your eyes, you nod quickly as he slips a second finger into your cunt, a gasp escaping your lips as your body stretches around his fingers, “It’s been too long,” you tell him, lifting one hand to your mouth and biting down on your knuckle to muffle your sounds—a habit you’d picked up since having a baby.

He hums, peering up at you through hooded eyes, “This is a honeymoon suite, angel. It’s engineered to keep sound in.”

Your hand drops obediently, falling back to the mattress as you ignore the implications of the BAU reserving the honeymoon suite for you and focusing on your husband, who was bending his neck down to suck your clit. His lips encircle the sensitive nub as you let out a low whimper, knowing what’s about to come making you apprehensively excited.

Steadily, Spencer works at you, thrusting his fingers while suckling at your clit, periodically using his tongue to apply pressure, and reveling in your high-pitched moans as he drives you closer and closer to what you’re sure will be your first of many orgasms of the night.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, moving one hand to the top of his head, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging at the strands.

He shifts on his knees slightly, coming up for air as he adjusts the angle of his fingers inside of your cunt, going back down on you as his fingers find a new pace. They curl inside of you, targeting the spongy button that makes your abdomen tighten and your thighs tremble.

Overwhelmed, you repeat his name like a prayer while you pull at his hair, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you cry, helplessly staring at the ceiling while Spencer keeps his motions going, his fingers relentlessly thrusting into you while he sucks at your clit, encouraging your orgasm.

Your walls clench around his fingers as your orgasm rips through you, your legs shaking as your husband remains buried between your legs, working you through your orgasm, “So perfect,” he pants, gently massaging your pussy as he withdraws his fingers, pressing soft, tender kisses to the insides of your thighs. “We don’t even have to go to dinner,” he says, looking at you hungrily.

You smile down at him, “We should go, Dave called in a favor to get us this reservation.”

Spencer straightens up and nods in agreement, holding his hand up to your mouth, “Open,” he says, looking satisfied when you poke your head forward, putting your lips around his two fingers and tasting yourself on them.

Sucking your own slick from his fingers, you focus on his eyes as you swirl your tongue around them, watching the dilation of his pupils because you know exactly what effect you’re having on him. He slips his fingers from your mouth before dropping a kiss on your lips, the entire exchange reminiscent of the time before you had Eleanor. You weren’t complaining.

Checking his watch, Spencer stands up straight in front of you, helping you stand, he holds onto your waist while you find your balance, “How are you feeling?”

You peer up at him through your mascara-coated eyelashes, “Most decidedly not boring,” you answer, following him into the bathroom so the two of you can clean up.

“C’mere,” Spencer beckons, looking at you from across the table. “You’re too far away,” he explains, the table at the restaurant keeping the two of you apart when you’ve already established that you want to be close tonight.

Taking your napkin off of your lap and setting it on the table, you grab your glass of wine and make your way to your husband. In the private room that had been reserved for you, “Here I am,” you present yourself to him, the privacy glass that surrounded you concealing the way his arm snaked around your waist, guiding you to his lap.

He smiles up at you, “That’s better,” he says, your legs latticed over his own.

Looking over your shoulder at the table, you hum an acknowledgment, “This table is almost comically large for two people.” You imagine it’s intended to be fancy, a long, glamorous table for a glamorous restaurant. You lean your head against Spencer’s, closing your eyes and appreciating your closeness, “Happy birthday, my love.”

“It’s not my birthday yet,” he murmurs, tipping his head back and kissing you softly, the taste of the wine that had been chosen for you was faint on his lips.

A soft giggle bubbles in your throat, “Then I’ll have to stay up until midnight so that I get to be the first one to tell you.”

Humming, Spencer settles a hand on your thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze, “The real challenge there is staying up until midnight.”

“I’m sure we can think of something to keep us up,” you grin cheekily, swinging your legs. “So, before you’re officially older,” you begin, “What do you want to do with your next year of life?”

“Finish the bathroom remodel,” he answers almost immediately, referring to your main floor bathroom that had been in disarray for months. The countertop that you had chosen was still on backorder.

You raise your eyebrows, “What do you want to do that will help us on our pursuit to become less boring?”

Spencer studies your expression, taking his time before answering, “I’d like to at least discuss having another baby,” he responds.

Admittedly, it had been on your mind recently. With Kate leaving the BAU to spend time with her baby and JJ announcing she and Will were expecting, considering having a second baby wasn’t out of the realm of imagination. “You want another baby?” Your question is soft, you look at him, studying the brown eyes that he had passed down to Eleanor.

He nods, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles on your bare thigh. “I know that you’ll bear most of the responsibility if we have another baby. I’ll still be around as much as work will allow, but there’s only so much room for variables in the BAU. I wouldn’t want you to feel alone in it, but I— I’d like for Nell to have a sibling.”

“Okay,” you breathe, not needing much convincing to come to a conclusion. Admittedly, you weren’t expecting this conversation tonight, but it wasn’t a conversation you’d ever had before. Eleanor was about as much of a surprise as a baby could be.

Spencer looks surprised at your reply, “What?”

Slinging your arms around his shoulders, you shrug, “Let’s have another baby. This time next year Nell will be three, so, now almost feels like a perfect time.”

“It takes most couples months to conceive when they’re trying,” Spencer tells you, “Only about thirty percent conceive in the first three months.”

You raise your eyebrows doubtfully, “How long does it take couples who have a luxury hotel room to themselves for the night?” Your loaded question easily slides off your tongue as you lift your hand to his chest, thumbing the silk fabric of his tie while you wait for his answer.

He led the way to the hotel room, luckily the hotel and restaurant were connected; you would’ve hated for a cab driver to see you dazedly staring at your husband with the promise of what comes next.

Pulling his keycard from his wallet, Spencer pushes the door open, dragging you in behind him before pressing you up against the wall. You shove at the lapels of his jacket, trying to get it off of him.

Haphazardly, you drop pieces on the floor, Spencer’s jacket, your heels, his tie, everything falling away as the two of you stumble to the bed. You yelp when you fall back onto the bed, Spencer catches himself above you and a fit of giggles erupts from your mouth. A sort of light, airy feeling goes through your head while you’re beneath him, the freeing feeling of knowing you’re about to have sex and you don’t have to worry about your toddler knocking on your door was overwhelming.

You kiss him while fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt, pulling the white fabric from where it was tucked before discarding that as well. “Wait,” you say breathlessly.

Spencer sits up, panting as he looks down at you, “What is it?” He asks, eyes searching for something wrong.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, “I bought lingerie for tonight,” you tell him, eyes flickering over to your overnight bag. The blue, lacy set was calling your name.

Hovering back over you, Spencer bows his head and presses a soft, unhurried kiss to your lips, “Show me later?”

Nodding, you watch him as he pulls his undershirt off, another bundle of fabric lost to the ground. Gently, you push at him, making it so his back is on the mattress as you place one knee on either side of his waist.

His hands tug at the hem of your dress, ruching the fabric around your waist as you slowly grind your hips over his. “Fuck, baby,” he hisses, already tightly wound after your earlier activities.

Understanding, you start to leave a trail of kisses down his chest, continuing to go lower until you’re unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly, placing your hand over his already hard cock and palming him on top of his briefs, “You’re so hard,” you moan, your mind thinking ahead to when he’ll inevitably fuck you.

In the interim, you tug his pants and briefs halfway down his thighs, leaving his length standing at attention for only a moment before you duck your head, licking a long stripe up the veiny underside of his cock. Spencer’s hips buck up from the mattress in response, and you take him in your mouth, using your hand to touch what you can’t fit in your mouth.

Pressing your tongue flat against the head, you moan with him in your mouth when he grabs a fistful of your hair. You were no longer worried about your appearance, only about driving him as crazy as possible.

“Angel,” he says, his voice strained, “I can’t— I need to be in you.”

You lift your head, moving back up to him and straddling his hips again, placing your bare pussy on top of his hard cock. Wiping drool from the corner of your mouth, you raise your eyebrows at Spencer, “Are you ready?”

He nods, mouth falling open when you lift yourself up and position his length at your entrance, “Oh, wow,” he breathes, gently rubbing at your clit as you ease yourself onto him, your walls throbbing around him. His hand settles on your hip as you take a moment to adjust.

Pulling at your dress, you tug it over your head, leaving it on the floor of the hotel room, “Ah,” you sigh, rolling your hips slightly to try and help your body adjust.

“Absolutely no lingerie necessary,” he says, his eyes studying your body as if he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “I’m so thankful for you, my girl,” he murmurs with lust-hooded eyes.

You hum in response, bending at the hips to put your lips on his, a whimper escaping your lips when his hips buck up from the mattress again, “Fuck, call me that again.”

“My girl,” he echoes, thrusting up into you again. “I’m not going to last very long,” he admits, groaning as you start to lift yourself up and down on his cock.

Small whines come from your lips with every movement, you shake your head, “That’s okay, we can…” your voice trails off, “I don’t think I will either.” The admission comes as a bit of a surprise to yourself, you hadn’t realized you had gotten so worked up.

Snaking his hand between your bodies, Spencer focuses his attention on getting you to your second orgasm as your movements grow unsteady, “You’re doing so well,” Spencer encourages you, knowing you aren’t usually on top.

“Shit, Spence,” you gasp, your resolve failing as your torso drops forward, giving him the freedom to continue lifting his hips up into you, “Oh,” your cunt clenches down around him, “I’m cumming,” you tell him, burying your face in his chest as you cry out. His thrusts start to overstimulate you as he chases his own orgasm, and eventually his movements falter.

You can feel the pulsing of his cock inside of you as his hot cum fills you, a tired sigh as his rigid body relaxes back into the mattress, “Oh, my girl,” he whispers, smoothing your hair back as you catch your breath on top of him, “Why don’t you stay up here for a little bit?”

Nodding, you look up at him, a pink flush splattered across his face as you watch him, “I love you,” you breathe, glancing at the clock, “Happy birthday.”

Spencer spares a glance at the clock, three minutes past midnight, “I love you too, angel. Thank you.”

You sigh, lifting yourself on shaky arms and grabbing a box from his bedside table, “This is for you.”

He releases a breathy laugh, obviously amused at the idea of opening a birthday gift while he’s still buried inside of you, “I got you something too,” he admits, sweeping a strand of hair from your face.

Tilting your head to the side, you frown, “It’s not my birthday.”

Shaking his head, Spencer agrees with you, “No, but I find I can’t resist giving you gifts.”

You inhale sharply when he twists to open the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a rectangular box and resting it next to him so he can start to open the gift from you.

“Oh, honey,” he says, opening the watch box. His old one had a damaged mechanism and needed to be replaced, but it wasn’t something he was likely to spend the money on for himself. Naturally, you did it for him.

You raise your eyebrows, “It’s engraved,” you explain. Watching him take the watch out of the box and look at the back, the dates that you had carved in being significant markers in your relationship. Your wedding anniversary. The date Eleanor was born. There was plenty of space to add more dates too, should the time come.

“It’s perfect,” he tells you, placing the watch back in the box to keep it safe, “Thank you,” he says, shifting under you as he reaches for the box.

Rolling your eyes, you accept the box anyways, “Now, why would you get me a gift for your birthday,” you tut, undoing the ribbon on the box before opening it. “Oh,” you breathe, “Oh, Spence,” you say, tears pricking your eyes.

Inside of the box was a necklace, and strung on the dainty chain was a teardrop-shaped sapphire. “It’s Eleanor’s birthstone,” he explains, “I saw it last time Penelope dragged me to the mall with her, and I thought it was perfect for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, moving to fasten it around your neck, the only other thing adoring your body being your wedding ring. You grin at your husband as you duck down to press a kiss to his lips, half-conscious of the way he’s kicking his pants off until he’s flipped you onto your back.

He hums as you moan, “You’re beautiful. You’re so, so beautiful,” he muses, burying his face in your neck and placing soft kisses along the column of your throat.

Opening your legs more, you invite him to come closer into you, “I would have agreed to have another baby a long time ago had I known I’d be treated so well,” you tease him gently, gasping as his lips attach to your breast, littering kisses all over you.

“I always treat you well,” he insists, taking a tentative thrust into you before taking you into his arms.

You whimper softly at the pressure on your pussy, “Spence,” you sigh, your sensitive cunt clenching around his cock. “Oh, god yes,” you mutter as he begins to find a pace, pressing his full length into you.

He drops a kiss to your shoulder, “I know baby,” he says, sticking to his rhythm and pushing your legs open wider, “I’ve got you.”

A curse falls from your lips as you screw your eyes shut, tilting your head back and gasping at the sensation, “I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you too,” he says, equally out of breath with you as he fucks into you with abandon, chasing a new high as you dig your nails into his back. “You’re so good for me, baby,” he hisses, “I’m gonna cum in you,” he warns, snapping his hips to yours.

A high-pitched moan comes from you as he paints your insides with his cum, the sensation of him filling you leading you to your third orgasm of the night as your walls pulse around him.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, waiting for someone to catch their breath as your eyes go wide. “Are you alright?” Spencer’s the first to speak, carefully pulling out of you and chuckling lightly when you whine at the empty feeling.

Nodding, you turn your head to the side, “Yeah, are you?”

He smiles, “I think this might be the least boring birthday I’ve ever had.”

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