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domjaehyun · 2 months ago

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the need to know (l.dh) —part one

PAIRING. sneaky link!fwb!haechan x fem!reader GENRE. smut, fluff, mild angst, some humor CONTENTS. mentions of marijuana, explicit smut (unprotected sex, oral (receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, dom!haechan, switch!reader, breast play, nothing too crazy in this fic dw) WORD COUNT. in total, 40.4k, 13.5k in part one SUMMARY. you and haechan have undoubtedly had tension for the majority of your friendship. what happens when you act on it? PLAYLIST. the need to know (feat. sza) - wale // notice me - sza NOTES. i hope you enjoy! if you’re subscribed to my patreon, this fic is already published in full over there :) the next part will be up on wednesday, december 11th! :) friendly reminder that leaving nice feedback is incredibly sexy and very appreciated!

“I feel like we’ve been in line for these bumper cars for twenty minutes,” Haechan groans.

You check your phone and roll your eyes. “It’s been eight.”

“Well, eight too many! What’s taking so long?” he complains, standing on his tiptoes to peer over the numerous heads in front of you.

“Patience is a virtue,” Jihyo chimes in, and Haechan huffs.

“Well, I’m running out of virtue.” he mutters, and you snort. He looks over at you with a small grin. “You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah, that was kinda funny.” you admit, and his smile widens as he turns fully to face you.

“Well, you know what they say about funny guys,” he muses, and you look off into the distance thoughtfully.

“I don’t think I recall.” you say after a moment, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“They say funny guys are dangerous. They’ll make you laugh and chuckle and then they’ll make your knees buckle.” he announces proudly, and you shoot him a look.

“Literally who is saying that?”

“They are!”

“Who’s ‘they,’ Haechan? I want names and receipts, because I feel like you made that up.”

“Well, I don’t have names or, like, timestamps, but—”

“You have nothing to back you up, is what I’m hearing.” you reply with raised brows, and he scowls at you.

“You’re no fun. Why are you my favorite?” he mutters to himself, and you laugh.

“I’m your favorite?” you coo, leaning onto him with a smile, and he looks over at you with a smile he tried and failed to restrain.

“Unfortunately.” he grouches. “Hey, look, we’re moving!”

“See how time flies when you stop complaining?” you say as the eight of you move up. Shifting slightly behind you, Haechan steps on the back of your shoe, making your heel slip out of your sneaker. “What is your deal?”

“What are you talking about?” He’s the face of innocence, if you ignore the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You did that on purpose.” you point out.

“What’d he do?” Jiwoo asks curiously, and you turn to her with a pout.

“He stepped on my shoe so it came off.” you complain, and Jiwoo rolls her eyes in Haechan’s direction.

“I did not!”

“You’re a bad liar.” Mark points out, and you smile, satisfied that your friends have your back.

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” he replies, maintaining his innocence, and you huff, glowering at him before turning back around. When the line moves up, he does it again, and you growl under your breath, whirling around to face him once more. “Hi.”

“Shut up.”

“Ouch?” He places a hand over his heart like he’s been wounded, and you roll your eyes dramatically. “Words hurt, you know.”

“Not nearly as much as I wish they did.”

He gasps, loudly and obscenely, and points at you accusingly. “You want to hurt me?” He looks you up and down with budding intrigue. “Why is that kind of hot?”

You sigh loudly, resting your hand on his shoulder as you fix both of your sneakers. “You’re insane, and you’re a nuisance, Haechan.”

“Only to you,” he coos, and Renjun clears his throat pointedly from his spot in front of you two.

“Not true. I also find you to be a nuisance.” he adds.

“I thank you for the support, Renjun, but you find most things to be a nuisance… so that’s not really a surprise.” you say carefully, and his brows knit together thoughtfully before he shrugs, nodding in agreement.

“Fair point. On the bright side, we’re almost at the front of the line,” he points out, and you shift to Haechan’s side as you all step up.

“Aw, you wanted to stand next to me?” he teases.

You blink at him. “You can’t fuck with me if I’m standing right next to you.”

“Is that a challenge? It sounds like a challenge.”

“And if I throttle him?” you announce to your friend group.

“He’d probably moan,” Jaemin says regretfully, and Haechan nods, eyes wide with glee as he presents you with his neck.

“I definitely will. Go for it.”

“Have you no shame?” Jaemin remarks, scandalized, and Haechan pauses to think.

“No.”

“Lovely. Great.” Jaemin mutters to himself, and Haechan smiles, pleased. “Can this line move so I can hit Haechan with my bumper car?”

“Agreed,” Jihyo says.

“Amen,” Mark chimes in.

“Retweet!” Jiwoo adds.

“Period.” you agree.

“Damn, even you?” Haechan exclaims, looking at you with a frown.

“Do you have short term memory loss? Did you forget how you deliberately made my shoes come off, like, two minutes ago?” you ask incredulously, and he rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I’m going to harm you physically.”

“Maybe come stand next to me,” Jihyo offers, gently pulling you forward in the line towards her.

“Yeah, and you come here.” Jeno suggests, yanking Haechan backwards in line by the collar of his jacket.

“I don’t wanna stand next to you!” Haechan complains. “You smell like weed.”

“I took an edible today.” Jeno remarks plainly, and Haechan wrinkles his nose.

“The stench is embedded in your clothes.”

“I washed this jacket yesterday.” Jeno answers flatly.

“Well, in my defense, how was I supposed to know that?” Haechan huffs.

“Can you shut up and move up? We’re next, I think.” Jeno pushes Haechan forward in the small of his back, and Haechan crumples with a wail, stumbling forward to clutch onto you.

“He stabbed me!”

“Poor baby,” you coo, embracing Haechan as he clings onto you.

“I cannot, for the life of me, make sense of you two.” Jihyo chuckles with a shake of her head, and you shrug, the movement difficult due to Haechan holding onto you.

“He’s cute when he whines.” you answer, and Haechan coos at you fondly, nuzzling his nose into your neck affectionately.

“I think you’re the only person who thinks that,” Jeno chuckles, and you shrug again.

“Don’t listen to him,” Haechan mumbles, words muffled by his face being squished against your neck. “He’s mean. He stabbed me.”

“I poked you.” Jeno sighs with a roll of his eyes.

“You jabbed me!” Haechan counters, and you stroke Haechan’s hair, shushing him gently.

“It’s okay,” you hum soothingly. “You’re safe over here as long as you don’t get on my nerves again.”

“I’ll be such a good boy,” Haechan promises, and your eyes widen in surprise, your sharp intake of breath catching in your throat and making you cough for a second.

“Did not expect you to say that,” you mutter when you recover, and he chuckles, tilting his head up to look at you.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he teases, and you blink down at him blankly.

“Shut up before I make you stand with Jeno again.”

“Shutting up.”

Finally, your group moves up to the very front of the line, the attendant briefly going over the rules. The eight of you agree to follow the guidelines and he lets you in, all of you scurrying to get in a car. You spot a cute, baby pink bumper car and get in that one, strapping yourself in and quickly familiarizing yourself with the controls.

The attendant hits the buzzer to begin the timer for your session, and you all start to drive around the course, quickly getting the hang of the controls and maneuvering the small vehicles.

You’re careening down the course when you’re bumped from the side, sending your car veering into the guards on the wall. You glare over at the culprit, Haechan grinning flirtatiously as he surges forward, repeatedly bumping your car closer and closer to the corner and more off-course.

“Haechan, pick on someone else.” you complain, and he scrunches his nose as he shakes his head.

“You’re so fun to mess with, though.” he says with an attractive pout.

“God, you’re lucky you’re cute.” you mutter, missing too late the way his eyes flash with satisfaction and budding mischief.

“What was that?” he calls over to you, placing a hand behind his ear.

“I didn’t say anything.” you huff, and he raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad? Not my problem.” you reply with a shrug, and he narrows his eyes.

“Don’t make me come over there.”

“How are you gonna come over here when we can’t leave our bumper cars?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

“I’ll get out and come over there and climb right onto your bumper car.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Jeez—” you mutter, huffing and puffing before admitting, “I said, ‘you’re lucky you’re cute.’”

He grins widely and runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it up casually before he speaks. “How lucky am I, hm?”

You shoot him a wary look. “Haechan, what are you talking about?”

“I wanna get lucky tonight.” he says slowly, wiggling his brows, and you blink at him, waiting to see if he’s serious before an incredulous scoff-laugh escapes you involuntarily.

“I suggest you get real acquainted with your hand, Haechan.” you chuckle, starting to drive forward and bump him out of your way.

“You’re cruel,” Haechan laments. “What happened to me being cute?”

“You’re still cute,” you assure him, blowing him a kiss. “Just not that lucky.”

“Next time,” he calls out to you as you drive away, and you wave him off dismissively.

You half-wish you hadn’t brought up the image of Haechan touching himself, because now it’s all you can think about; his hand gripping himself, the way he might stroke—fast, slow, tight, with a flick of the wrist—

“Pay attention, girl!” Jihyo laughs, bumping into you as she drives by. Rapidly blinking out of your reverie, you realize you’ve been slowly veering in towards the center of the rink, your car riding along the guard rails, and you do your best to clear the Haechan-induced fog in your mind.

The rest of the bumper car session passes fairly quickly, with shrieks and giggles of delight and Haechan repeatedly bumping into you “by accident.” When you get out of the bumper cars, your legs are a bit wobbly, but the light, bubbly feeling you have in your heart more than makes up for it.

“Can we please go on a roller coaster next?” you say hopefully, and Jihyo frowns instantly.

“Those make my stomach drop… I’m gonna pass this time.” she says apologetically, and you nod in understanding, although your face falls a bit.

“We just ate corn dogs and funnel cake, like, right before the bumper cars, and if we go on, we might blow chunks.” Jeno explains, gesturing between himself, Mark, and Jaemin.

Jiwoo looks over at them in confusion. “When did you have time to get food?”

“We snuck off,” Jeno admits sheepishly. “Well, I snuck off… Mark and Jaemin just followed me.”

“You just sensed corn dogs and funnel cake so you wandered off?” Jihyo snorts, and Jeno looks even more embarrassed now than he did earlier.

“I smelled them…” Jeno admits quietly, and you blink, surprised.

“Okay, bloodhound.” you joke, and Jeno snorts in amusement. “So Mister Super Sniffer and his greedy nosy companions are out, Jihyo’s out… I can tell by the look Renjun’s giving me that he’s also out…”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Jiwoo? Haechan?” you ask hopefully.

“I’m sorry, girl, I’m just—I’m kinda scared.” she admits quietly, a small frown on her face.

“Aw, okay,” you reply sympathetically, squeezing her hand gently. You look over at Haechan hopefully, and to your relief, his face softens into a fond smile. “That’s the smile you give me when I’m about to get my way,” you say excitedly, and he chuckles, something warm and inviting in his eyes.

“I’ll go with you.” he agrees, and you squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck for a hug. “Careful, now, before I ask you to ride something else.” he murmurs in your ear suggestively, one hand moving to clutch at your waist, and you gasp, releasing him instantly.

“You’re gross.” you scold him.

“What’d he say?” Jiwoo asks curiously, and you narrow your eyes at Haechan before waving your hand at her dismissively.

“You don’t want to know. Let’s go, Haechan!” you chirp, grabbing his hand and pulling him after you to the biggest, baddest roller coaster you can find.

When you get in the line, Haechan sighs loudly as he looks at the numerous people ahead of you.

“We’re gonna be in this line forever, you know.” he complains.

“Worth it if I get to ride this thing.” you say, looking at the rollercoaster lovingly.

“You are so cute.” Haechan coos, squishing your cheeks until your lips pucker out.

“Can you unhand me, you fiend, you?” you huff, pushing his arms until he releases you with a frown. “You like being treated like a baby; I don’t.”

“Oh, really?” he asks, brows raised in a challenge. “So if I offered to hand feed you and tie your shoelaces and coo at you all the time, you wouldn’t like that?”

“Oh, I’d love that. But that’s being pampered, not being treated like a baby.” you say, and Haechan rolls his eyes.

“Same thing.”

“Nuh-uh! Pampering is treating me like a princess, not a baby.”

“Is that right?” he muses thoughtfully. You nod, and he chuckles, continuing on to say, “So I’m dealing with a little pillow princess, huh?”

“Hey!” you exclaim, looking over at him in surprise.

“Relax, I happen to love pillow princesses.” he assures you, and you eye him warily. “I do! Something about the idea of a pillow princess lying back and letting me do whatever I want to you…” he trails off with a dreamy smile, and you blink rapidly in alarm.

“Her?” you suggest, and he looks over at you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Huh?”

“You said ‘you’ instead of ‘her,’” you point out, and he nods slowly, clearly not getting your point. “The way you said it made it seem like you were fantasizing about… doing that… to.. me…” you say, trailing off slowly as his brows lift as if to confirm what you’re saying. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he copies you, stepping closer with a grin. “Now what, hm? What’s so wrong with me thinking about you like that?”

“We’re friends, Haechan. Friends don’t typically fantasize about their friends.” you remind him.

“Friends should be allowed to fantasize about their friends,” he counters, “as a treat. Especially when their friends look as good as you do.”

“You’re such a flirt.”

“You know you’re lowkey into it.” he replies confidently, and you hate that he’s right.

“Move up, I think we’re gonna be in the next group.” you say, deliberately shifting the topic.

Haechan eyes the moving line ahead of him and looks back at you with a smile that says he knows exactly what you just tried to do, but relents and moves forward regardless.

As he turns to move, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, realizing that maybe, just maybe, Haechan’s a bit more serious about his flirting than you thought he was, and you have yet to determine how you feel about that.

The smell of cheese and pepperoni pizza fills the bowling alley, almost a pleasing enough aroma to mask the faint but still present smell of sweaty socks and shoes. You sip your diet Pepsi and look around the room; there are birthday parties for children, teenagers congregated by the fountain soda machine, and a smattering of tired parents sitting in the chairs by the bowling ball dispensers—and then there’s your group of friends, eight twenty-somethings far more rambunctious and chaotic than the younger age groups present.

“You’re up,” Jihyo calls to you, nudging you gently, and you sigh heavily before setting down your drink and standing up, making your way to the bowling balls.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you announce loudly to your friends, and you pick up a sparkly pink ball, walking over and just rolling it down the lane with no thought towards strategy or physics or anything of the sort.

To your surprise, you manage to hit three of the corner pins, your ball coming dangerously close to landing in the gutter, and you hear Haechan snicker behind you.

“Laugh it up, Haechan; not everyone is good at bowling. Some of us have other strengths.” you huff, glowering at him, and he raises his hands in defense.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!”

“You laughed. That’s arguably worse than saying anything.”

“Maybe you should stick to the influencer thing… live life on easy mode, you know?” he says with a wry grin, and you watch as Jiwoo freezes, Jaemin audibly gasps, Mark smacks Haechan on the arm, and Jeno and Renjun exchange a look of disapproval.

“Oh, that’s not–” Jihyo starts, but you hold up a hand to silence her.

“Haechan, do you have any idea how difficult my job is? Just because I don’t spend my days learning the intricacies of Cobra—”

“Python,” Haechan corrects.

“Whatever! Just because I don’t have to submit pages upon pages of technical jargon to my boss, that doesn’t mean I have it easy.” you huff, placing your hand on your hip as you stare him down.

“How hard can it be to be an influencer?” Haechan says with a dismissive roll of his eyes. “I have to submit a code to my boss by midnight, and you have to, what? Do a TikTok?”

You glower at him. “You’re horrible. My job comes with the constant pressure of maintaining public approval, and you know how they have hive minds on TikTok! One day, you’re good, the next week, you could be nothing and everyone’s in your comments talking about, ‘Oh, you fell off,’ or, ‘Not you flopping.’”��

Haechan levels his gaze at you, raising an eyebrow. “You get to go on social media and shake your cute little ass for a living… stop whining.”

You blink at him for several beats, processing which part of his statement to address first. “...Did you just call my ass little?”

He rolls his eyes and stands up from his spot, walking in the narrow space between you and the bowling ball dispenser. “More importantly, I called it cute.” he points out, and you can’t help but smile. “Personally, I think your ass is perfect.” He murmurs in your ear, and you hum softly in acknowledgement.

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you spend so much time looking at it?” you ask, and he grins.

“Absolutely. How else do you think I made such an astute observation?” he chuckles, picking up an emerald green bowling ball and lifting it in the air. You watch as his forearm muscles tense with the strain of managing the extra weight of the ball and do your best to hide your staring. “Why? Does that bother you?” he wonders, raising his eyebrows handsomely.

You think about it for a second. “It probably should, huh?”

Haechan grins brilliantly. “Does that mean you like it?”

“I never said that.” you reply, shooting him a look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

He chuckles and turns from you briefly to bowl, the ball rolling down the lane in a perfect straight line before it hits the center pin and subsequently knocks every other pin down. He turns back to you, smiling smugly, and says, “It’s all in the subtext, baby.”

“Baby?” you echo incredulously.

“Yes?” he answers as if you’ve called him, eyes glinting with mischief, and you roll your eyes with an undeniable smile growing on your lips.

“You’re too much.” you mumble, laughing softly, and he smiles at you, his eyes twinkling.

“Can’t handle it?” he murmurs in your ear as he passes by you, heading back to his seat.

“Never said that, either,” you say as you walk over to him and sit beside him. “Just think it’s kinda crazy to call me ‘baby.’”

“Why is that crazy?” he hums, reaching behind you to rest his arm on the bench behind you, his fingertips grazing your shoulder. “Should I call you something else? Honey, baby girl, angel, babe—”

“Shh!” you giggle, reaching to cover his mouth, but he dodges your attack smoothly, eyes alight with mirth as he joins in on your laughter.

“What? Pretty, gorgeous, cutie, sexy—” he continues, dodging your attempt to silence him again and grinning cheekily. “I could do this all night.”

“Please don’t,” Mark and Jeno pipe up in unison. You look over at them with a slight jump, having temporarily forgotten you and Haechan aren’t even remotely alone in this building.

“Killjoys.” Haechan mutters mostly for your ears, and you laugh quietly, covering your mouth to remain inconspicuous. “It’s your turn again,” he points out with a jerk of his chin at the lanes as he pops a piece of gum in his mouth, and you manage to tear your gaze away from his jaw and the attractive way it moves as he chews for long enough to stand up and walk over to the lanes again. “Want them to put up the rails?” he teases, and you turn back to glare at him. “I’m just trying to help you out,” he says, hands raised defensively, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Maybe you should come show me how to do it, then.” you suggest with a small smile, and he chuckles before rising to his feet and striding over to you.

He’s quick to place his hands on your sides, squeezing gently before carefully repositioning you. It doesn’t take long for his hands to slide down to your hips, pulling you back against him so close you can feel his chest rising with every inhale he takes.

“You wanna start with your feet like this,” he murmurs in your ear, manually moving your legs by holding under your thigh just above the back of your knee until he’s satisfied.

“Like that?” you muse softly, looking over your shoulder at him, and he sucks in a breath before chuckling to himself under his breath and nodding.

“Just like that.” he assures you, but the way his voice dips when he says it leads you to believe there’s a suggestive meaning to his words. “Next, you’re gonna bend your arm like this and hold the ball just a bit in front of your shoulder.” he instructs gently, and when you do as he says, he smiles, pleased. “That’s it,” he encourages you, his voice dropping to a deliciously low pitch with that same suggestive lilt. “Bend your knees a little bit and put the foot that’s gonna slide slightly behind the foot that’s gonna stay still.” You do, looking back at him for approval, and he nods proudly. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” you say confidently, and he squeezes your hips slightly before releasing you. You send the ball rolling down the lane in a perfectly straight beeline for the center pin, the ball knocking it and all the pins behind it over, and you squeal with excitement, wrapping your arms around Haechan’s neck and pulling him in for a hug. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer, and just like that, the vibe of the hug shifts, his touch electrifying you as he tucks his face in your neck, breathing in deeply.

“Good job,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, lips grazing your skin ever so slightly but making you shudder nonetheless.

There’s a loud, obscene retching noise from behind you two, and you both break apart in alarm, turning to look at the source of the noise, Renjun sitting with a very displeased expression on his face and his arms crossed.

“Can we help you?” Haechan asks slowly.

“Yeah, you can get a room.” he says with a grossed-out scowl, and you remove your arms from around Haechan’s neck sheepishly, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

Haechan doesn’t release you just yet, though, still maintaining a firm grip on your waist and the small of your back until you clear your throat gently and his gaze shifts from glowering at Renjun to looking down at you with a question in his eyes. Your throat dries, not expecting his full attention so suddenly, and he lets out a tiny chuckle, lips quirking up into a smile before his eyes drop to your lips.

Your lips part subconsciously, and his grip on you tightens slightly before Jeno clears his throat pointedly, garnering your attention once more.

“Yes?” Haechan asks impatiently.

“A room. Get it.” Jeno remarks with a grimace, and you carefully pry Haechan’s hands off of you, since it seems like he won’t be doing it himself.

“Don’t be a hater,” Haechan remarks with a huff. “It’s not a good look on you.”

“Desperation isn’t a good look on anyone, either, but here you are.” Jeno counters, and Haechan frowns before he looks back at you with a pout.

“He’s so mean,” Haechan whines dramatically, pulling you to stand in front of him. He points at Jeno accusingly. “He hurt my feelings.”

“Don’t worry, Haechan,” you coo, turning to face him. “I happen to think you look very cute when you’re desperate.”

He grins. “Thanks.” His brows furrow in thought a second after, and you wait patiently, eyebrows raised expectantly, for the rest of the sentence to kick in. “Wait—hey!”

“There it is.” you chuckle. “For a software designer, your processing is surprisingly slow.”

“You’re mean, too.” he laments, pouting in a way that’s somehow both cute and handsome. “You’re lucky I kinda like it when you’re mean.”

“Oh, do you?” you muse thoughtfully, reaching up and running your hand through his hair. His eyes flutter shut and a blissful smile makes its way onto his face. “Do you prefer it when I’m mean or nice?”

“Nice, for sure.” he sighs happily as you repeat your motions of playing with his hair. “I like when you dote on me.”

“Is that why you’re such a whiny baby?” you chuckle, and he nods.

“Only for you.”

“Aren’t I lucky?” you drawl sarcastically, and Renjun snorts.

“I’d consider the rest of us deeply unlucky for having to witness it.” he chimes in, and you look back at him.

“Then close your eyes.” you hum dismissively, and Renjun gasps in disbelief.

“I think they’re worse when they’re on the same page.” he remarks to Jeno, who nods.

“They’re definitely worse together, if you ask me.” he agrees, and Haechan opens his eyes to narrow them at Jeno.

“Good thing I didn’t ask, then.” you reply, and Haechan grins at you.

“That was hot.”

“Down, boy.” you warn him playfully, and he wets his lips slowly and deliberately, grinning when your gaze drops to his mouth. “What did I just say?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.” he says with a cheeky grin. “Got distracted.”

“By what?”

“Take a guess.” he suggests, raising an eyebrow pointedly as he looks you up and down.

“There’s, like, no hope for you, is there?” you laugh, and he shakes his head.

“No, ma’am.”

(You ignore the way the term of respect makes something tingle inside of you.)

“Guys, I think Deadpool tickets sold out,” you say worriedly as you enter the movie theater.

Jihyo looks over at you, confused. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, it says ‘Deadpool sold out’ right under the movie time listings, so… that kinda gave me a hunch.” you explain, pointing right at the sign, and Jihyo frowns.

“Maybe that’s an old sign,” Haechan says, striding over to the front desk confidently. “Hi, can we get eight tickets for Deadpool, please?” You don’t get to hear the woman’s response, but you do see her point behind herself at the sign you very much just pointed to. Haechan’s shoulders slump slightly and he walks up to your group once more. “They’re sold out.”

“Gee, how unfortunate. If only there was some way we could have known… some sort of sign, perhaps… maybe one that your dear friend already pointed out…” you lament sarcastically, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Oh, I can. Not only can I, but I will.” you retort, and he scrunches his nose at you.

“Well, can you two stop doing that weird foreplay banter thing you do so we can pick a new movie to watch?” Mark asks, and you splutter, surprised.

“That is not what we’re doing—” you start to defend yourself, but Haechan cuts you off.

“No, no, no, that is what I’m doing.” he says, and you slowly turn to look at him in disbelief.

“You shut up.” you huff, crossing your arms. “What are we gonna watch now?”

“We could watch The Texas Chain Saw Massacre,” Renjun suggests. “They’re re-releasing it.”

“How about we not?” Haechan says instantly, brows knitting together in distaste.

“No, I think it’d be fun!” Jiwoo chirps.

“I��d rather actually be able to sleep tonight, thanks.” you disagree, shifting to stand next to Haechan.

“Well, how about we just split up and see what we want?” Jihyo suggests, and you shrug, looking over at Haechan.

“Wanna see a romcom or something?” you ask him, and the corner of his lips quirks up into a smile.

“Sure thing.” he replies, and Renjun gags.

“Can we go get the tickets now?” he half-requests, half-pleads. “I can’t bear witness to whatever these two have going on for much longer.”

“You dramatic ass whiny baby.” you scoff, and Renjun glowers at you.

“You call me a whiny baby, but when Haechan goes on his whiny baby tirade, it’s all ‘poor Haechan,’ and ‘poor baby;’ what about me?!” he complains, and you raise an eyebrow in amusement.

“Renjun, if you want me to baby you, you could just ask.”

“No, you can’t,” Haechan cuts in, taking your hand and pulling you towards the ticket booth.

“Wh—Haechan!” you laugh incredulously.

“I’m the only one you can dote on,” he huffs petulantly at you before turning his attention to the attendant at the ticket booth. “Good evening; could we get two tickets to, uh…” he looks over at you and you roll your eyes with a smile before scanning the movie listings briefly.

“We Live In Time,” you finish, and he nods resolutely.

“We Live In Time,” he echoes, and the attendant smiles and nods, typing something into the computer.

“That’ll be $20,” she says, and Haechan reaches into his back pocket and pulls his phone out, tapping it to the card reader.

“Ooh, and you paid? What a gentleman,” you pretend to fawn over him, and he chuckles.

“You know I’ve got you, baby.” he remarks casually, and his sincerity stops you in your tracks.

Why was that so attractive?

The attendant prints out two tickets and hands them to Haechan, who takes them with a smile and a “thank you” before looping his fingers with yours once more and leading you further into the movie theater.

You want a snack from the concession stand?” Haechan asks as you two walk by it, and you look over at him.

“Maybe? Why; are you buying?” you half-laugh, not expecting him to agree.

“Yeah, come on.” he urges, leading you over to the snacks. “What do you want?”

“Sour Patch Kids,” you answer, pointing at the box. “The strawberry ones.”

“Good choice,” he remarks, amused as he takes the box from the display and hands it to the guy behind the counter. “Can we also get a large popcorn?” He turns back to look at you. “You want something to drink?”

Taken aback by but admittedly attracted to this energy from him, you nod—obediently, even. “Sprite, please—no ice.”

“Large Sprite, no ice, and a large Mountain Dew, please?” he finishes the order and you step forward to stand beside him, trying your best not to look at him with hearts in your eyes.

When you two get to the theater where they’re showing your movie, Haechan gestures for you to lead the way, so you do, picking a spot close to the back of the theater and sitting down.

He sits down next to you, setting the popcorn between your seats, and drapes an arm over the back of your chair.

“How smooth,” you drawl sarcastically, and he grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“You know you like it.” he replies confidently, and you try to hide your smile as you focus your attention on the screen as the trailers start to play.

It’s about thirty minutes into the movie, and paying attention is harder than you thought, considering Haechan’s doing everything in his power to make you focus on him instead.

At one point, you reach for popcorn, startling yourself when instead of feeling a buttery popcorn kernel, you feel the warmth of Haechan’s fingers.

“It was fate,” he coos sweetly at you, and you narrow your eyes at him playfully.

“Move your hand or I’ll throw popcorn at you.” you threaten, and he laughs, tipping his head back in mirth.

“You’re so cute,” he sighs in delight, eyes twinkling as he watches you fondly. “Fine, I’ll move my hand—”

“Great.”

“But you have to feed me a piece of popcorn.” he says with a smirk, and you blink at him incredulously.

“You’re really something, you know that?” you chuckle, picking up a piece of popcorn and bringing it to his lips. “Open.”

He obliges, sticking his tongue out flat, and you place the fluffy popped kernel on his tongue, trying the whole time not to think about how nice his tongue looks, glistening in the light from the movie screen.

“Thank you,” he hums, chewing happily, and you snap out of it, clearing your throat and returning your attention to the movie. “What a coincidence that it’s just the two of us,” Haechan remarks quietly, and you turn your head to look at him. “Are you sure you didn’t just want a chance to be alone with me?”

You sigh. “Haechan, this movie was my idea. You followed me in here.”

“Watch that cute little mouth of yours before I revoke your snack privileges.”

“You touch my snacks and I’ll make you wish you were at the mercy of that Texas Chain Saw Massacre killer.” you promise him, and he exhales quietly through his nose in amusement.

“Don’t worry, baby; I wouldn’t actually dream of getting between your snacks and your little sweet tooth.”

“Good.”

“Actually,” Haechan muses, and you turn to look at him again. “That’s probably why you and I get along so well.”

It’s your turn to exhale through your nose in a quiet laugh. “Why, because you have a sweet tooth, too?”

“Because I’m sweet.” he answers plainly, like it was obvious, and your snort of amusement is loud enough that someone else in the theater shushes you.

“Is that what your mom tells you?” you tease, and he glowers at you.

“Hey! I’m a delight!”

“Didn’t say you weren’t,” you reply with a smile, and he matches it, leaning a little closer as his eyes drop to your lips.

“Wanna see how sweet I can be?” he asks softly, and you find your breath hitching as he leans even closer.

His lids drop slightly in preparation for the kiss, but you press a Sour Patch Kid treat to his lips instead, smiling innocently when he opens his eyes with a slow flutter.

“What was that for?” he whines slightly, and you raise your eyebrows.

“You seemed like you wanted to taste something sweet.” you hum, and he frowns handsomely at you.

“You know what I wanted.” he huffs, and you shrug, returning your attention to the movie.

“Pay attention to the movie.”

“I’d rather pay attention to you.”

“And as much as I love attention, I’m trying to pay attention to the movie, which I am struggling to do with your repeated attempts to put the moves on me.”

“Oh? I’m distracting you?” he murmurs, a smug smile audible in his voice. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you say as he pops a piece of popcorn in his mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath, promptly choking on the piece of popcorn and making you whip your head around to look at him in alarm.

He glowers at you as he recovers, your eyes bright with amusement once you’ve assessed that he’s in no real danger. “That was evil.”

“I’m evil.”

“That’s hot.”

“Haechan?”

“Yes, baby?”

You roll your eyes with a chuckle. “Pay attention.”

“Maybe I could if you weren’t flirting with me.”

“Get real, Haechan.” you snort.

“Baby, there’s no one realer than me.”

“Baby,” you say, stressing the pet name, “pay attention and stop flirting with me before I stuff more popcorn down your throat.”

“Damn, that’s kinda hot.”

“Haechan!” you whisper loudly, laughing in surprise and incredulity, and several voices shush you from around the theater.

“Can’t help it; you’re kinda hot when you’re bossing me around.” he defends himself, and you roll your eyes.

“Get a hold of yourself.” you huff, and he frowns.

“I’d rather get a hold of you instead.”

“I’m sure. Too bad.”

“God, you’re a tease.” he sighs dreamily, and you shoot him a funny look out of the corner of your eye.

“Sure, if that’s what’ll make you shut up.”

“I kinda love it.”

“Shut up before you get us kicked out!” you whisper insistently, your cheeks warming at his incessant flirting.

“Mm, yes, ma’am.” he groans, the sound so suggestive you whip your head around to look at him in surprise, scandalized. “I like when you’re bossy.”

“I’m ignoring you now.”

“You can try.”

“I will succeed.”

“You’re already failing,” he points out with a grin, and you scowl at him, pointedly looking forward at the screen without another word.

Even with the music filling the room and the numerous bodies in between you two, Haechan’s staring is getting harder and harder to ignore. His eyes bore into you from all the way across the room where he stands talking to Jeno and Mark, and it’s so intense it’s almost palpable, prompting you to meet his gaze with a raise of your eyebrows.

He grins, flicking his eyebrows upwards, and you chuckle, turning your attention back to Renjun’s rant about his neighbor.

“...and then he had the nerve to tell me to ‘keep my music down’ as if he’s not up at the asscrack of dawn doing construction in his apartment!”

“What a hypocrite,” you say with a grimace, and Renjun nods vigorously, relief written all over his face.

“I’m surprised you even heard any of that,” Jihyo remarks, raising an eyebrow at you as she sips at the straw sticking out of her drink.

You shoot her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Well, with all the eye-fucking you and Haechan keep doing, I figured you were a little preoccupied.” she comments, and you narrow your eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, turning your nose up with a sniff.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t lie to me.” she says with a playfully stern look. “Now, what’s going on with you and Haechan?”

“Yeah, what is going on with you and Haechan?” Renjun asks curiously, leaning forward in anticipation to hear you better.

“Nothing!” you say defensively, and Jihyo arches an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah? Then why is he coming over here?” she asks with a knowing smile that only grows when you subconsciously fix your hair as, sure enough, Haechan approaches, eyes on you the whole time. “Hi, Haechan.”

“Hey,” he replies distractedly, tilting his head to the side as he regards you. “Hi,” he says to you, his lips quirking up into a smile.

“Hi,” you answer, mirroring his expression.

There’s a beat of silence before Renjun speaks. “‘Hi, Renjun. How was your day? I totally see you standing to my right, and I’m definitely not ignoring you like a piece of lint—’”

“Hi, Renjun.” Haechan says with a laugh, and Renjun glowers at him, muttering something under his breath about going where he’s appreciated before stalking off, presumably to subject another one of your friends to his tirade about his neighbor. “You having fun?” he asks you, and you nod, prompting him to smile widely and puff out his chest slightly before saying, “More now that I’m here, right?”

“Sure, Haechan,” you reply with a small laugh, and Jihyo just raises her brows at both of you.

“I’m gonna go find Jiwoo,” she says, shooting you in particular a secretive smile before disappearing into the crowd of people.

Haechan immediately steps into the space she occupied, now much closer to you, and his smile widens even more before he speaks, murmuring, “I like your top. You look so good tonight, but I’m sure you knew that.”

“I did,” you confirm, and he snorts. “But thank you. You look good, too.”

“Oh, yeah? We’re kind of matching.” he points out, gesturing to your black lace up top and his dark gray Nirvana t-shirt.

“Are we? That’s gray.” you reply with a growing smile.

“Dark gray and black are practically the same color.”

“But are they actually the same color? No.”

“Why are you being difficult?” he says with narrowed eyes, and you shrug.

“It’s my specialty.” you answer with a beguiling smile, and he rolls his eyes, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips even as he feigns exasperation.

“Anyway,” he stresses the word, shifting the conversation. “Do you wanna get some fresh air with me?”

“Mm, not really; it’s kinda cold outside.” you say with a small pout.

“You can wear my jacket,” he offers, and you pause, thinking about it.

“Maybe later. For now, do you wanna come with me to the kitchen? I want a snack.” you ask, and he smiles at the invitation before nodding.

“Lead the way, baby.” he coos, and you roll your eyes with a smile as you do just that, reaching back to link pinkies with him.

“So we don’t get separated,” you explain.

He beams. “Good idea.”

You two make your way through the throng of bodies and into the kitchen, where you promptly start raiding the cabinets.

“I love Jeno and Jaemin to death, but their snack selection is shit.” you huff in disappointment, turning back to Haechan to see that he’s propped himself up against the kitchen counter, watching you with amusement and intrigue.

“Jeno went on a snack purge the other day,” he reminds you. “Said something about overly processed foods and saturated fats.”

“Well, sorry if I like my foods overly processed and my fats saturated.” you gripe, and Haechan laughs, pushing off the counter to walk over to you.

“I think they have fruit in the fridge,” he says, leaning into your space to open the refrigerator door. He pauses before he pulls back, eyes trained on your lips and his own lips part in a soft sigh, tongue poking out to wet them.

“The snacks?” you remind him with a growing smile, unable to resist glancing at his very tempting mouth.

“I’m looking at one,” he breathes, and you burst out laughing, pushing him back gently.

“That was very cheesy.” you giggle, and he shrugs shamelessly.

“It made you laugh, so I consider it a win.” he says with a soft, fond smile.

Your cheeks flare with warmth, not used to the gentleness and sincerity in his eyes, and divert your attention to the now open fridge, picking out a container of grapes that you hope are washed as you pop one into your mouth and chew. The burst of sweetness is very welcome on your tongue, and you lean back onto the fridge, closing your eyes in bliss.

“Better?” he chuckles, and you nod.

“Want one?” you say, offering him a grape, and he nods, leaning in to eat it from your fingers. Before he pulls back, he looks at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his sultry gaze too much for you at the moment and making you return your attention to the container of grapes with an urgency that doesn’t go unnoticed by Haechan.

“Cute.” he murmurs softly, and you huff, trying (and failing) to hide your budding smile at the compliment.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” you say, carefully extracting yourself from the small space he’s got you cornered in.

His eyes twinkle with amusement as he raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Was that an invitation?”

“It most certainly was not.”

“Aw, man. Next time?” he asks hopefully, and you snort.

“Don’t count on it.”

You do your best to hold your breath as you make your way through the hallway, stopping by the window for a moment before sticking your head out and breathing in the fresh air gratefully. After a moment of relief, you decide to open the window wider, climbing out and sitting on the windowsill, feet carefully resting on the fire escape attached to the side of the building.

It’s quieter over here, you note, pleased with your newfound situation as you scroll through your phone. Sure enough, when you open Instagram and tap on Jeno’s story, you see two boomerangs; one of him and his friends sitting in a circle around his bong, and one of him blowing smoke out of his mouth.

You tap the heart for both posts before footsteps pull your attention away from your phone, making you turn your head to see the newcomer.

Haechan stops about a foot away from the window, leaning against the wall. “I thought I’d find you out here. Thought you said it was too cold?”

“It is, actually, but this air doesn’t reek of weed.” you explain, and he nods in understanding.

“Mind if I join you?”

You wordlessly scoot over to make room for him, and he smiles, climbing out and sitting beside you. The side of your leg presses against his as he makes himself comfortable, but you don’t really want to move it.

So you don’t, and you just silently appreciate the warmth radiating from his body as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, and he smiles at you, nodding.

“The city looks so pretty like this,” Haechan sighs, and you direct your gaze straight ahead of you, taking in all of the city lights in the nearby buildings and the bridges in the distance. “It’s almost as pretty as you,” he says, nudging you with a cheeky grin, and you exhale through your nose in amusement.

“It is pretty,” you agree. “Someone’s feeling flirtatious, I see.”

“Can you blame me? You show up tonight looking as good as you do and expect me not to want to be all over you?” he snorts, and you raise your eyebrows, slightly surprised by how forward he’s being.

“‘All over me?’” you repeat, and he nods, looking you directly in the eyes. “Like… all over me?”

“You interpret it however you want to, baby.”

“You’re gonna have to stop calling me ‘baby,’ by the way; it’s starting to confuse me.” you tell him, and he raises an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“I think I kinda like it,” you confess, and his gaze drops to your lips instantly, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Oh, really?” he murmurs suggestively, running one finger around one of the rips on the thigh of your jeans, and he chuckles softly as you shiver slightly, goosebumps raising on your arms. “Cold?”

“Something like that.” you reply evasively, and he snorts, his smile widening.

“Back to what you were saying… about liking when I call you ‘baby,’” he quickly returns to the previous topic, and you roll your eyes slightly in amusement. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Friends don’t typically call each other ‘baby.’” you point out, and he shrugs.

“Maybe we can be special friends.”

“Oh, yeah? Special how?”

“Maybe we call each other cute names… touch a little bit… kiss a little bit…” he trails off, and you look over to see that he’s watching your lips again, a small grin on his lips.

“Mm, that could get messy though.” you murmur, and he gazes at you, longing openly written all over his handsome features.

“Life is messy.” he points out.

“This doesn't have to be.” you reply, gesturing between the two of you. Haechan links his fingers with yours and sets your linked hands on top of your touching thighs, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “That feels nice,” you sigh, leaning against him slightly.

“I bet I could make you feel even nicer.” he muses suggestively, and you snicker.

“Won’t lie and say I’m not a little curious.” you admit, and he sucks in a sharp breath of surprise.

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs. “I don’t particularly feel like holding back right now.”

“Oh, is that what you usually do?” you reply, speaking as soft and low as he just did.

He nods. “You always tempt me, actually—I’m just not feeling like beating around the bush right now.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise and—you won’t lie—intrigue. “And what’s making you feel like that right now?”

“A number of things,” he replies. “How unbelievably good you look tonight, the way I can see the goosebumps on your skin when I touch you, and,” his voice gets even softer but carries an urgency you don’t believe you’ve heard from him before, “the way you’re looking at me.”

“And how am I looking at you?” you question, tilting your head to the side curiously.

“The same way I’m always looking at you.” he answers, and you don’t need him to elaborate.

“So if that’s all true,” you muse, regarding him carefully, “then why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

“I like what we have,” he says in reply, and you smile. “Wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

“And what if I said I kind of want you to ruin it?” Your words are quieter than ever, tentative even, but by the way the fire in Haechan’s eyes intensifies, you know he heard you all the same.

“What did I just say about tempting me?”

“It wasn’t a temptation,” you say carefully. “It was an invitation.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “You know, I’ve never been one to ignore my urges before,” he admits. “If I want something, I get it.”

“Oh, yeah?” You can’t even try to hide the arousal building in you as you watch his lips with uninhibited longing.

“Yeah.” His gaze matches yours, unbridled desire swimming in his eyes as he slowly leans in, and you find yourself mirroring him, the two of you moving painfully slowly as you get closer and closer.

“And what is it that you want right now?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“I bet you can guess,” he murmurs as his lips brush the corner of your mouth.

“Give me a hint.” you reply, and he grins, turning your face towards him gently and bringing his lips to yours.

It starts slowly, his lips gently moving with yours, before he pulls back ever so slightly, your eyes opening to see him watching you carefully.

“Good?” he murmurs.

“Good,” you confirm, and he smiles before leaning back in to close the gap between your lips. This kiss is much less tentative, his lips parting to suck gently at your bottom lip, and when you whine softly, he pushes forward, reaching up to cup your cheek as he captures your lips with his over and over again, each kiss more dizzying than the last until his mouth is moving fervently against yours, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth with a quiet groan.

Your hand finds its way to his thigh, and as soon as it makes contact, it’s like a switch flips in Haechan, his lips leaving yours to kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek and along your jaw before finally settling comfortably on your neck, mouth kissing, sucking, and licking at your pulse point.

“Haechan,” you whimper, and he hums against your neck, but you can tell he’s not really listening. “Haechan,” you sing-song softly in another attempt to get his attention, but he just slips his hand under your thigh farthest from him, scooping your legs up and moving them to drape over his lap. “Haechan,” you whine urgently, and his kisses finally falter, the male pausing but not moving away from you as he waits for you to speak. “Can we go somewhere more private and… less chilly?”

He pulls back, lips deliciously puffy from kissing, and nods with a dazed look in his eyes. “Jaemin’s room?”

You don’t even have it in you to be considerate of your friend, the lust clouding your mind and doing away with your judgment as you nod. He grins and ducks back into the apartment, helping you do the same before leading you to Jaemin’s room, never once letting go of your hand.

When you two get to Jaemin’s room, you’ve barely cleared the doorway before Haechan shuts the door and pushes you up against it, kissing you ardently and clutching your waist to drag you closer to him. He nips at your bottom lip briefly before kissing down your neck and sliding his hands up to cup your breasts, squeezing them and looping his finger in the string tying your top together.

“Why don’t we take this off, hm?” he murmurs, slowly pulling the string with a growing grin as the bow—the one Jiwoo so carefully tied for you earlier this evening—comes undone, leaving no resistance when Haechan pulls your top over your head.

He eagerly returns to kissing you, hands groping at your chest as he traces circles around your slowly hardening nipples. He pulls back from the kiss slightly and moves like he’s about to kiss down your neck, only to whine and bring you back in for another kiss, panting against your lips, “I wish I had more mouths.”

“You what?” you say, bursting into giggles so strong that you can barely manage to kiss him back, and he joins you in your laughter.

“Stop, I’m being serious!”

“I know—I think that’s why it’s so funny,” you say through your laughter, and he growls in lighthearted frustration before whirling you around and all but shoving you onto the bed. You squeal in surprise, giggling still as you bounce on the bed, and he rolls his eyes, climbing on top of you. “What kind of eldritch horror are you thinking of becoming? Like how many mouths and where?”

“Can we just—forget I said that?” Haechan whines, and you shake your head with a gleeful giggle.

“I don’t wanna,” you say with a pout, wrapping your legs around his waist, and he groans in exasperation. “I’m kind of a monsterfucker, so you saying that really got me going.”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” you ask, looking up at him, and he slowly shakes his head—whether it’s in disagreement or in disbelief, you’re not sure, but when his lips start trailing down to your collarbone, you’re not entirely sure it matters anymore.

“I’d want mouths on the palms of my hands,” he grunts, cupping your breasts again through your bra, “so I can kiss you and suck your tits at the same time.” Before you can respond, his wet, swollen lips fall to your chest, tongue trailing all over your exposed skin before he’s tugging the cup of your bra down and taking your nipple into his mouth.

A whimper escapes you, spurring Haechan on further, and he wraps one arm around you, pressing between your shoulder blades to bring your chest closer to his mouth. His tongue is warm and wet as it flicks at your nipple, Haechan groaning as he swirls it around and around your stiffened bud.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he mumbles around his mouthful of your breast, and his other hand trails down your body to settle between your legs, Haechan delivering two gentle pats to your inner thighs in a wordless request for you to spread them. When you oblige, he smiles around your nipple before wetly licking and sucking his way from one breast to the other. His fingers quickly and deftly unbutton your jeans, barely yanking them down before his hand slips into your pants, stroking along the seat of your underwear, pressing down harder when you whine.

“Haechan, please,” you moan, running your fingers through his hair and tugging gently when you reach the ends.

“Mm, what is it, pretty? What do you want?” he teases with a quiet laugh, looking up at you as he pushes your underwear aside and trails two fingers up your slick folds, hissing in delight. “Is this what you want?” he asks, dipping his fingers into your entrance slightly and relishing the groan of frustration you let out.

“Yes,” you moan, tugging his hair a bit harder in retaliation for his teasing.

Finally giving into your demands, he pushes his middle and ring finger into your core, lapping at your nipple as you whimper loudly in relief. “Shh, shh, shh—I know, baby, I know.” he soothes you in a hushed murmur, slowly starting to pull his fingers out before pushing them in deeper.

“Feels good,” you exhale shakily, and he coos in understanding.

“It’ll feel even better in a second,” he promises, starting to move his fingers in and out of you. “Just gotta open you up first.” He releases your nipple, giving it one last lick before moving back up to hover above your face, gazing down at your pleasure-filled expression in wonder before he’s leaning down to kiss you, silencing your cries of pleasure as he starts to twist and scissor his fingers inside of you. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet. All this for me? Hm?”

“No, it’s for Renjun,” you huff sarcastically, breaking the kiss momentarily to glower at him. “Of course it’s for you, dummy.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “There is a time and place for your sass, and it’s not when my fingers are literally inside of you. Besides,” he says, curling his fingers inside of you and making you gasp in pleasure, “why would you be mean when I’m making you feel so good, hm?”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer as his curled fingers massage at your inner walls in search of your g-spot, which he finds quickly, eliciting a sharp whimper from you as you clench around his fingers. “It’s all for you,” you confirm breathlessly, and he grins before kissing you again.

“Good girl. You’re gonna have to make it up to me, though.” he murmurs against your lips, and you pout, prompting him to coo fondly and kiss you again. “Even with that cute little pout.”

“I said sorry,” you complain, and he shrugs, fingers quickening their pace inside of you.

“I’m sensitive.” he replies simply, kissing down to your neck and sucking and biting at various spots until you’re sure there are marks blooming all over your skin. “It’s okay, though—I know how you can make it up to me.”

“H–How?” you ask warily, voice catching as the pleasure builds inside of you, his repeated stimulation of your g-spot bringing you closer and closer to climax as your insides tighten in anticipation.

“Cum for me?” he grunts, and you can’t tell if it’s a request or a stated demand, but you nod, breath hitching and your cries escalating in pitch as you start to do just that, your climax washing over you as your abdomen tenses repeatedly, your body curling in on itself as much as possible given that Haechan’s practically pinning you in place.

“That’s it, baby,” he purrs, coaxing more of your climax out as he keeps fucking you with his fingers, milking your orgasm for everything he can get, your entrance drooling clear evidence of your arousal all over his fingers and into the seat of your underwear. “Making such a pretty little mess for me,” he breathes, kissing you again as his fingers urge the last convulsions of your climax out of you.

You’ve barely recovered before your hands reach for his pants, fingers clumsily unbuckling his belt, undoing his button, and yanking down his zipper. He chuckles fondly and pushes them down to his knees, your eyes locking in on the imprint of his length in his boxers as he palms himself through his underwear.

“You like what you see?” he teases, and you furrow your brows.

“Your underwear’s in the way.” you grouch, and his eyes brighten with amusement, thumbs hooking into his boxers and pulling down until his length springs free. “Much better,” you hum, pleased as you rest your head down on Jaemin’s pillow.

“Look so pretty laying like that.” he grunts as he slowly fucks his fist. “Wish I could take a picture and keep it forever.”

“I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully.” you say, and he raises a brow expectantly. “Please fuck me.”

The brightness in his eyes remains, but now there’s a heavier, darker edge to his gaze as he leans over you, lips teasing yours apart.

“Did you just beg for me?” he coos tauntingly, and you sigh.

“I did not beg. I asked nicely.”

“Sure, baby. I’ll give you what you want,” he promises, lining the head of his cock up with your entrance and slowly pushing into you, making your breath catch in your throat. He exhales deeply and dips his head down to your neck, latching onto your skin and sucking as he starts to drag his length out and back in, building a teasingly slow rhythm.

“So full,” you gasp, and he chuckles, kissing up your neck to your lips.

“You feel so good, pretty girl. Tight little pussy keeps sucking my cock back in; you like this that much?” he coos, one hand groping your breast.

“Don’t tease me,” you huff, and he grins widely.

“How are you gonna stop me?” he counters smugly, choosing that moment to speed up the movements of his hips until the sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, each thrust punctuated by a whimper from you. “You’re not going to do anything about it; you’re just gonna lay here and take this dick nice and deep in your little pussy until you cum all over it.”

“Fuck, Haechan—” you mumble, dazed by his thrusts and even more by his filthy language.

“You love it, don’t you?” he teases, capturing your lips in a filthy kiss where he plays with your tongue almost lazily.

“Uh-huh,” you can barely manage to get out, and he hums in satisfaction.

“Show me how much you love it.” he urges, rolling his hips against yours sensually. When you start to move your hips against his, rocking up into his every thrust into you, he rewards you by sucking on your bottom lip and flicking your nipple back and forth with his thumb. “Fuck, that feels so good, pretty girl, keep doing that.”

You fuck him back to the best of your ability, that familiar tightening sensation in your stomach alerting you to your impending climax. “Haechan, think I’m gonna cum—” you warn him, and he nods, pinching your nipple just enough to make you squeal.

“Cum, baby; wanna feel you clench around my cock.” he purrs, and your climax hits a moment later, a cry slipping from your lips as your back arches, your hand clutching his arm for something to ground yourself as your body curls in on itself involuntarily. “That’s it, pretty girl—doing such a good job—squeezing my cock so tight, baby, fuck—”

By the time your climax has passed, you’re still trembling slightly as aftershocks of pleasure travel through you with every thrust from Haechan, and you’re so wet you can hear his length moving in and out of you, hear your pussy sucking him back in as it hugs his length tightly, and heat rises to your face.

“My turn, baby; think you can take my load?” he grunts, and you nod instantly, clenching around his length every time he bottoms out in you. “That’s my good girl,” he coos fondly, his brows knitting together as he starts to release into you. “Milking me dry, baby, fuck—” he hisses, and you smile in satisfaction as he shudders, lowering himself to kiss you as he fucks the last bit of his cum into you.

Finally, when his length stops throbbing inside of you, he pulls out and lies down next to you, both of you breathing heavily.

“Hey,” he says, turning his head to face you.

“Hi,” you reply with a smile, and his lips curl into a matching smile.

“You okay?” he asks gently, and you nod.

“Better than okay.” you assure him, and he sighs, relieved. A thought comes to your mind and you nudge his leg with your knee. “Hey.”

“Hi?” he answers curiously, and you roll onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“If you had multiple mouths—”

“Please let it go, it was silly—” he interjects with a half-chuckle, half-groan.

“I like silly!” you counter, and he looks over at you skeptically, his features relaxing when he reads the sincerity in your face. “If you had multiple mouths, would you have them anywhere besides your hands?”

He thinks about it for a moment before he nods. “I’d have one on each thigh… so while I’m kissing you, I can grope your tits with my hand-mouths and have you sit on my thigh so I can eat you out, too.”

You shudder slightly, and he raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I got a little excited.”

“You’re joking… damn, you’re kinkier than I thought. That’s hot,” he grunts appreciatively.

“I think we should get up before Jaemin comes in here and chops our heads off.” you say suddenly as the reminder that this is not somewhere you want to be caught fucking dawns on you.

“You’re so right,” he agrees, sitting up and helping you off of the bed. You both hurriedly redress, Haechan stumbling as he pulls his pants up and making you both giggle. “Ready?” he says finally, fully redressed.

You ruffle his hair, messing with it until it’s back in place, and hold the strings to your top out to Haechan. “Tie it for me?”

He smiles fondly and steps closer, tying a cute bow into your top and leaning back to inspect his handiwork. “You’re good, baby.”

“Thanks,” you say sincerely, opening the door and heading back to the party. You two give each other a knowing look before you enter the living room and go your separate ways, Haechan heading for Jeno and Renjun while you head for Jiwoo and Jihyo. “Boo!” you say from behind them, and Jiwoo whirls around, clutching her chest.

“Shit!” she exclaims. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” you reply without a hint of remorse.

“Where’d you go?” Jihyo asks curiously.

“I was on the fire escape,” you explain, deciding to tell a half-truth. “I didn’t want to smell Jeno’s weed.”

“Ah, fair.” she answers with a nod.

“Hey, your bow is different.” Jiwoo points out, pointing at the bow on your shirt that Haechan tied. “Did you take your top off or something?” she snorts, amused with her little joke, but Jihyo looks over at you carefully, shrewd gaze scanning your body for anything else out of place.

“No, I just had to re-tie it because one of the strings got caught on one of the screws on the fire escape and it looked all wonky,” you lie, and Jiwoo nods in understanding.

“Copy that. Well, I’m hungry; wanna go raid their fridge?” she offers, and you start to nod, but you freeze when you feel something drip out of your core.

“I am totally in, but I have to use the bathroom first.” you say, clasping your hands together in a pleading gesture. “Wait for me?”

Jihyo’s still staring at you like she’s silently interrogating you, and you won’t lie and say you’re not unnerved. “Earth to Jihyo?”

She blinks slowly before focusing her gaze on you once more, eyes now softer and less scrutinizing. “Sorry, I was just… thinking. Yeah, we’ll wait for you.”

“Cool,” you say, relieved, before making your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up. You make quick work of peeing and sorting yourself out, washing your hands and drying them before heading back to the living room where Jihyo and Jiwoo and, to your surprise, Haechan stand. “I’m back!” you chirp before looking over at Haechan. “You weren’t here a minute ago.”

“Jeno and Renjun started bickering about something, so I left.” he replies with a shrug. “You don’t mind if I join you guys, right?” he shoots you a knowing look with a secretive smile, and it takes everything in you not to start giggling like a schoolgirl.

“I guess you can,” you say nonchalantly, and he beams at you.

“Great! Where are we going?” he asks curiously, and you point towards the kitchen.

“To find snacks!” Jiwoo says eagerly, and you all walk to the kitchen, you and Haechan starting to fall to the back of the line until he’s side by side with you.

“You already said their snack selection was garbage,” he remarks, confused, and you shush him.

“Yeah, but I’m not getting a snack; Jiwoo is. So we’ll let her figure that out for herself,” you explain, and he nods in understanding.

“I see,” he hums thoughtfully. “Well… did you tell them? About earlier—”

“No,” you answer, and he sighs in relief. “Don’t worry, it’s our little secret.”

“Copy that,” he chuckles, fingers brushing against yours before they intertwine and he squeezes your fingers gently. When you look down at your linked hands and back up at him, he smiles cheekily. “So we don’t get separated,” he says with an upwards flick of his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes but pull him forward, finally entering the kitchen in time to see a cranky Jiwoo.

“Their snack selection is ass. What am I, a rabbit?” she laments, and you smile in amusement.

“They’re great at house parties, bad at refreshments.” Haechan says, and Jihyo looks over at you two before her gaze drops down to your linked hands, an eyebrow raising in suspicion.

You carefully and casually let go of Haechan’s hand by running your fingers through your hair, and Haechan fixes his mouth to complain before he looks in Jihyo’s direction and seems to understand, relaxing slightly.

Between Haechan’s need for attention, your inexplicably magnetic attraction to each other, and Jihyo’s deeply suspicious and perceptive gaze, you know you have quite a night ahead of you.

The following morning finds you back at home sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through your phone and checking your engagement before a text banner notification drops down from the top of your screen.

haechan [10:08am] good morning 😌 did you miss me? you [10:10am] sorry……who’s this? haechan [10:11am] you’ve GOT to be joking 😟 you [10:13am] i very much am 💖 good morning haechan ☀️ haechan [10:15am] don’t play with me like that i almost crashed out haechan [10:15am] can i come over? i have a question for you you [10:16am] haechan what are we doing rn haechan [10:17am] ….talking? you [10:17am] right… and would you consider talking a synonym for ‘having a conversation’ or no? haechan [10:18am] ……….yes……….. is this a trick question you [10:20am] so if we’re already having a conversation, by your definition….. why, pray tell, can’t you just ask me NOW 🤨 haechan [10:22am] *Message sent with Invisible Ink* maybe i just wanted a reason to see you ☹️ you [10:24am] oh… well that’s cute actually haechan liked your message “oh… well that’s cute actually” haechan [10:25am] awesome…… so can i come over? 😁 you [10:26am] ofc you can 💖 haechan [10:27am] great can you let me in 😁

You tilt your head, confused by his message, but a knock on your door makes you practically jump out of your seat. You make your way to the front door and look through the peephole, barking out an abrupt laugh when you see Haechan sporting a cheesy grin on the other side of the door.

“You are insane,” you laugh as you open the door for him, inviting him inside. He enters, still sporting the playful smile, and shuts the door behind himself.

“In, like, a cute, hot, sexy way, though, right?” he asks hopefully, and you roll your eyes with a smile before shrugging and nodding, watching as relief floods his features.

“Your question?” you ask, getting straight to the point, and he visibly balks, the normally shameless Haechan becoming quiet and shifty. “Haechan?” you call his name with a tinge of worry in your voice.

“Did you have a good time last night?” he asks, and you raise your eyebrows.

“That’s your question?” you question, in disbelief.

“I’m building to it,” he explains. “Now: did you have a good time last night?” he repeats, and you blink at him impassively before sighing in slight defeat.

“I did,” you answer, not sure if he meant the party or… well, the sex… but you had a good time regardless of which he meant. “Did you?”

“I had an amazing time.” he says sincerely.

“Great,” you reply, just as sincerely. A small silence passes before your impatience gets ahold of you. “Haechan…”

“Yes?” he responds, nervousness creeping into his voice.

“Your question?”

“Right,” he mutters, clearing his throat as he prepares to speak. Meanwhile, you move to sit back down in your chair, swiveling around in the seat as you wait for his question. “Um—look—I really enjoyed last night. It was amazing, actually, and—I’m talking about the sex, by the way.” he stammers, his sudden clarification at the end making you giggle, regarding him fondly.

“I figured, yes.” you assure him, and he nods, somewhat relieved. “Go on,” you urge him gently, and he swallows visibly.

“I would love to, um… do that again… but I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship right now. I’m still getting used to juggling my job and my social life, and I really don’t want to fuck up our friendship—”

“And you want to be friends with benefits,” you finish for him, and he pauses, body tense as he rapidly tries to read your reaction.

“...Yes?”

“Okay,” you agree, and he just about crumples with relief, leaning against the kitchen island for support. “I’m down. But if we don’t want it to ruin our friendship or the friend group, maybe we shouldn’t tell them?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he sighs, significantly more relaxed than he was a moment ago. “Plus, it could be kinda fun, y’know? Us… sneaking around… together…” he says, gesturing between the two of you with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.

“I couldn’t agree more.” you say sweetly, and he beams at you, all traces of his earlier nerves gone. “Do you think we should have some ground rules? So we don’t complicate things?”

“Sure, yeah,” he agrees instantly, and you smile, patting the chair next to you invitingly as you pull up the Notes app on your phone.

“So we want sex with virtually no emotional connection, right?” you clarify, and he nods, his reaction a second too late to process as casual. Ignoring it politely, you continue on. “So, maybe ‘no cuddling’ should be a rule.”

“No cuddling?” he laments, and you nod resolutely.

“Cuddling encourages emotional intimacy.”

“Fine,” he sighs, frowning slightly. “Can I still hug you?”

“Hugging and cuddling are… not the same thing, so yes.” you answer with a laugh as you type the first rule, and he smiles, chuckling lightheartedly.

“Maybe… we shouldn’t spend the night after we have sex?” he suggests, and you nod, typing it into the note you’ve made.

“Is this, like, exclusive?” you ask, gesturing between the two of you, and he tilts his head thoughtfully.

“I guess not…” he says, an air of reluctance to his words that makes you pause and look at him carefully.

“Haechan, speak now or forever hold your peace.” you warn him, and he nods firmly.

“We don’t have to be exclusive if you don’t want to be. It’s up to you.”

“How about we leave that part open-ended for now, but make the next rule ‘no jealousy?’” you offer as you type in the next rule.

“Okay, that sounds good.” he says, nodding slowly in agreement. “Next rule?”

“Um, no romantic gestures? Like, no buying each other special gifts you wouldn’t buy for another friend, no flowers, no making each other romantic playlists—stuff like that.” you say, and he looks off into the distance pensively.

“What about pet names?” he asks warily, and you half-sigh, half-laugh.

“Haechan, I think you would pop a blood vessel if you had to restrain yourself from calling me pet names.” you state, and, eyes wide, he nods vigorously in agreement, making you laugh.

“It’s true!” he insists, and your laughter grows.

“I know! That’s why I said it,” you giggle as you type in the next rule, and he starts to chuckle before joining in on your laughter. “So pet names are fine, but—”

“But?” he asks hesitantly.

“‘No PDA’ should definitely be a rule.” you suggest. “It’d definitely blow our cover.”

“Okay… agreed.” Haechan says slowly, his subsequent nod more confident than his words.

You type in the new rule and sit back, regarding the list carefully. Haechan peers over your shoulder at your phone screen, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Does this look good to you? Do you think we’re missing anything?”

“No, I think it’s perfect,” he says, sounding sure of himself, and that’s enough to comfort you.

“Well, great!” you say, taking a screenshot of the list and texting it to him. His phone pings on the kitchen table with your incoming text, and he looks at it briefly before tucking it into his pocket. You rise to your feet, Haechan straightening back up as you stand, and turn to face him, extending your hand. “Wanna shake on it?”

He takes your hand with a small smile, lips quirked up in amusement before he looks up at you and tugs gently, pulling you against his chest. “Honestly? I’d rather kiss on it.”

You blink twice, stunned slightly by the sudden intimacy, but you nod. “We can do that.”

He grins, tilting his head and nudging your nose with his gently. “Good,” he breathes before he kisses you. It doesn’t take long for his hands to move, one hand cupping your jaw and the side of your neck while his other arm wraps itself around you, resting on the small of your back as he pulls you in close. His lips mold with yours so smoothly that it’s like you’ve been doing this for a lifetime, but every nip and suck from him winds you up even more than you thought possible, making for a beautiful combination: all of the comfort, no stilted awkwardness, with all of the excitement.

When you two finally break apart, it’s for air, your hand gently resting on his chest, still clutching his shirt—you don’t even know when you started doing that—as you both attempt to catch your breath.

“Good talk,” you pant, and he grins.

“Great talk.” he agrees breathlessly. “I actually have to go home to work on a code for this new program we’re building, but I’ll see you? Hopefully before our trip to Fire Island with everyone else, but if not, then I’ll text you?”

“It’s kind of criminal that you have to do work on a Sunday when you have actual work days to work on stuff.” you say with a pout, releasing his shirt and gently smoothing out the small wrinkles you caused. “Yeah, I’ll see you for the Fire Island trip.”

“I know.” he agrees with a frown. “Alas—not all of us can make it in life by being cute and likable.” he teases, and you shoot him an empty glare, making him laugh. “But I’ll see you soon, pretty girl.” he says, thumb carefully brushing your cheek.

“Okay,” you hum, trying your best to avoid leaning into his touch and closing your eyes.

“Later,” he says, reluctantly releasing you and walking backwards to your front door until he bumps into the corner he has to go around, a sheepish chuckle escaping him as he waves once, turning and exiting your apartment after you wave back.

Now alone, you look at the list you two compiled, carefully reading over each word.

1. No cuddling. 2. No sleepovers after sex. 3. No jealousy. 4. No romantic gestures. 5. No PDA.

They seem like simple enough rules to follow; straightforward and to the point, carefully designed so you don’t blur the lines too much between platonic and romantic.

But, given the way he embraced you earlier and the way you so badly wanted him to stay longer, you can’t help but wonder if the lines were already blurred to begin with.

tada!!! i hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for part two, coming out on wednesday, december 11th!

DON’T WANNA WAIT? parts two and three are currently posted on my patreon here :)

#haechan smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #donghyuck smut #donghyeok smut #lee donghyeok smut #lee haechan smut #lee donghyuck smut #haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #donghyeok x reader

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tojicide · 3 months ago

Text

⠀⠀ BOO! ☆ SYLUS QIN.

summary. the ruby wedding ring your ex-husband gave you should hold no meaning by now, so that was why you wore it on halloween night as an accessory to your costume. it shouldn’t be a big deal… right?

warnings. fem! reader. established history, pet names, jealousy, mutual degradation, spitting, fingering, oral ( fem. receiving ), unprotected p in v. wc. 3.2k.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⟡ masterlist | request

Dressing up as a vampire was a stroke of genius if you do say so yourself.

A black floor length dress with a mighty high leg slit with your makeup done to the nines…

After being showered with compliments and approached by men who fawned over you like their lives depended on it, you were almost inclined to believe that being this sexy should be punishable by law.

Luckily for you, it isn’t, and that’s exactly why you’re a free woman who is able to enjoy this wonderful Halloween night.

Strobe lights fan over the sea of people you’re currently floating in, the smell of alcohol and the musk of sweat and cologne swarming you entirely. Music blared over loud speakers, rendering you practically deaf to your surroundings, and perhaps that was why you hadn’t noticed your ex-husband approach you from behind.

“Boo,” he purrs into your ear as he dips his head just enough for his deep voice to be heard, his large hand snaking around your waist to spin you around.

Your smile immediately falters upon seeing the white-haired man who seems to make it his life goal to ruin any ounce of fun that you have without him. “Sylus,” you deadpan.

“Why, excuse me,” he replies through a dark chuckle. “I had no idea we were going to be so brash. Had I known,” he raises his hand to twirl a strand of your hair around his finger, “I would have tugged on these pretty locks of yours to get your attention instead.”

You raise your hand to pull his hand away from your hair, and that’s the moment when he sees it.

(Your ring. He’d recognize it anywhere, of course, he had it designed just for you.)

Sylus takes your hand in his, brushing his thumb over the garnet jewel that you loved so much. “Hm. What’s this?”

You hate how easy it is for him to pick up on such minuscule details about you. It makes you feel flattered, which is absolutely disgusting. You don’t want to feel flattered, not by your ex-husband of all people.

“A ring,” you reply, sliding your hand from his grasp. “An accessory to my costume.”

Sylus shortly hums, his red eyes giving you a once over as he pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Is it necessary to wear it on that finger in particular? You know the implications of such a thing.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s just a ring. It hardly means anything anymore.”

He bristles at that, raising a brow at you. It stung to hear, but he knew that you didn’t mean it. You knew how he was when it came to things of sentimental value—nothing ever lost its touch with him, especially when it came to you.

“Oh, how quickly you dismiss our love. Such a cruel woman you are,” he says, his voice dropping in octave as a smirk tugs on the corner of his lips.

“Cruel?” you repeat with a scoff. “Please.”

“Cruel indeed,” he insists, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back as he lures you closer to him. Perhaps he should have dressed as the vampire with his red, hypnotic eyes and all, but instead, he dressed as a boxer. “Although, I can’t say I dislike the idea of you parading around in my ring. Wards off the men.”

You can’t help snort at that. “Oh, right, because something as trivial as a ring would deter a man from a face as beautiful as this,” you muse, raising your hand to place a few smacks on his cheek. “In your dreams.”

Sylus chuckles at that. He truly should’ve known you and your sharp tongue wouldn’t be able to resist chuckling a few jabs his way. “I see you in my dreams as is, sweetie. I don’t need the sentiment.”

You scoff. “What you need to do is get a grip. I don’t know if you’ve lost your mind, but we are divorced. D-i-v-o-r-c-e-d. Divorced. Do you know what that means?”

That word hardly meant anything to him. He still wore his wedding ring and addressed you as his wife. He did it shamelessly.

“Such nasty words from such a pretty mouth,” he says through a sigh. “And no, I don’t know what that means. Pray tell.”

“It means that we leave each other alone,” you’re quick to reply. “I don’t want you anymore, Sylus.”

Sylus doesn’t like that idea, not one bit. He doesn’t care if he sounds like a broken record, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone. Perhaps he enjoyed pestering you, watching as that cute expression of annoyance etched across your face every time you ran into one another.

“You’re so pretty when you lie,” he murmurs.

You shortly huff. “You’d be prettier if you knew how to shut up.”

Sylus feigns offense, placing his hand over his chest. “You wound me.”

But he does take notice of the fact that you hadn’t denied his words. If anything, it stirs something within him. He isn’t sure what it is exactly, and before he can figure it out, you’re already walking away.

“Sweetie—”

“Don’t call me that,” you reply. His call out to you doesn’t deter you from your path, and before long, you’re already swimming in a sea of men who look like they want to devour you.

Sylus can’t blame them for their incredibly good taste in women, but what he can blame them for is their attraction to his wife.

He tries to obey your wishes, and he leaves you alone for a good… seven and a half minutes. And yes, he’s been counting, because each second that passes where you give another man your undivided attention is a second that he wants cut off from his lifespan.

He does his best, truly, he does. He even sent Luke and Kieran to fetch him a drink. He’s… partying. Yay.

It’s no use, though. Nothing could ever distract him from your presence. Hearing your laugh from across the room is like music to his ears, his favorite song that he cannot bear to part with.

But suddenly, everything shifts.

You’re… holding hands with another man. Not just any hand either.

And when you turn to make eye contact with Sylus, he’s already well on his way to you by the time that bastard’s lips lean in to press a kiss on your left hand, just below his ring.

You’re thrown over his shoulder before you have a say in the matter, and his stiffened arm gets sent into the strange man’s chest. He hadn’t meant to push him very hard, but evidently, his jealousy piqued the moment his hand made contact with him.

“There you are, my gorgeous wife,” he quips, laying a playful smack on your ass.

“Jesus, Sylus! What the—” you exclaim, watching as the man you were talking to falls to the ground.

Before you know it, you’re being carried into the bathroom and spun around, your front facing the mirror while he presses against you from behind.

You really shouldn’t be turned on by this, but you honestly can’t help yourself.

“My, my, sweetie, I knew you were a liar, but I didn’t take you for a whore too,” he says, his voice low and almost rasped. “Nearly allowing another man to kiss the hand I’ve claimed? Tsk tsk.”

You roll your eyes at him, but that only earns you another smack on your ass. It was firmer that time, too.

“You know, you don’t have to have a dick measuring competition with every man I talk to all because of a ring,” you huff, planting your palms on the bathroom counter.

Sylus chuckles at that, his hands sliding over your hips before he splays his palm on the curve of your back, forcefully pushing you over the counter. “Please, you know there isn’t any competition there.”

You hate it when he’s right, and right now, he was definitely correct. You can feel the truth in all of his glory, the outline of his cock pressing against your backside through the fabric of his shorts as he keeps you bent over for him.

You grumble a low, “oh, fuck me,” that you thought went unheard, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“I never thought you’d ask,” he says, laying another smack on your reddening ass.

You narrow your eyes at him through the mirror. “You’re an asshole, Sylus.”

He hums, working to bunch your dress up around your hips to give him a nice view of your cherry red asscheek, and God, is it beautiful.

“I’m aware,” he says as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “Such pretty panties. You know these are my favorite, you dirty woman.”

Your eyebrows furrow as he disappears from the mirror’s reflection, and before you can think it over, you feel your lace panties be pulled to the side.

Great. Now he knows you’re a wet mess. Just fucking great.

“You really have some nerve,” you scoff, though there’s hardly any bite to your words.

You feel his large hands spread your cheeks apart, and a gasp leaves you when you feel his tongue dart out to swipe along the crack of your ass.

“Oh, absolutely, know I do,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your ass cheek. “The nerve I have.”

He dips his head a bit lower, and you’re honestly left stunned as he licks your pussy from behind. He moans into your cunt, bringing his fingers up to swipe along your sopping slit.

And when you glance over your shoulder, you see him suck his two fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widen in genuine surprise, and a huff of laughter leaves your lips.

“Don’t give me that look, baby,” he preens, giving your ass cheek another open-mouthed kiss before he spins you around. He then taps your thigh. “Lift.”

And you do just that, raising your thigh as he lifts you up onto the bathroom counter from his kneeling position on the floor. He drapes your thighs over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to your sensitive skin as he does so.

“You know, your mouth says the most horrible things to me, but your pussy seems to say the exact opposite,” he muses, licking his lips as he gazes up at you. “Always so pretty and wet for me. You sure you don’t want to apologi—”

“Nope,” you’re quick to say, sliding your fingers through his white hair as you push his face into your pussy. “Yeah, just shut up. Perfect.”

His words are swallowed up by your heat, but he doesn’t mind it, not one bit. He closes his eyes as he greedily laps at your cunt, tasting the sweetness that he’s missed far too much. It was so sweet, just like you usually were towards him, but it seems like he’ll have to fuck this attitude out of you before he can see that side of you again.

He doesn’t mind that. More of your smart mouth, more of your pussy… win-win.

By the time he opens his eyes to look up at you again, you can already tell that he’s drunk on you.

“God, you’re so easy, it’s disgusting,” you say through a whine as his tongue curls up and down, stimulating that beautiful pearl between your legs.

Sylus chuckles at that, but he doesn’t let up. His tongue begins to fuck into you now, a groan leaving his mouth as he watches you writhe above him. He’s never seen you look any more beautiful.

(The only exception to that was your wedding day, of course. He wept like a baby at the sight of you.)

He sucks harshly into your clit before he releases it with a pop. “I love it when you’re mean to me, baby. Makes me want to fuck you so nice, wipe that smug smile right off your face.”

It was true. His cock was rock solid in the confines of his shorts, and even if he wasn’t eating you out like a madman, he’s sure your words would have led to the same fate. He loved it when you dished it back to him because you were just so sexy when you were angry.

You’re quick to shut him up, pushing his face back into your heat, but this time, you’re fucking yourself on his tongue. He doesn’t mind it at all. If anything, he prefers it, because whatever his wife needs, she gets.

“Yeah,” you pant, your head leaning back against the mirror. “Yeah, stop fucking talking.”

Sylus grins against your heat as you make a mess of him—his nose, his mouth, his chin—everything. But he doesn’t give a damn.

He slurps up your slick, drinking it as if he were stranded in the middle of a blazing desert and your pussy was his only means of survival. Though if he were to be honest, he’d just ask you to sit on his face and suffocate him with this sweet cunt of yours if he ever found himself in that dire of a position.

(He’s already made up his mind—that’s how he wants to go out.)

Soon enough, he grasps firmly onto your hips, preventing you from grinding against his tongue.

“Now you’re just being greedy,” he says through a breathless smile, licking his lips. “Wearing your wedding ring, parading around in this beautifully slutty costume of yours, giving your attention to other men. What has gotten into you?”

You whine as he pulls his mouth away from your cunt, but his words give you a much better idea. Your hand is quick to replace his tongue, stimulating your clit while he watches with starry eyes. “Dunno. You can get inside of me right now, though.”

He huffs. “Playing with this pretty pussy right in front of my face? Have some class.”

You can’t help but chuckle out loud, and he smiles at the sound of your laughter but also at the view of your fingers circling that swollen clit of yours.

“You can talk to me about class when you aren’t kneeling in front of your ex-wife’s pussy like a puppy begging for a treat,” you joke.

Sylus hums at that, spitting onto your cunt to give you a bit more lubricant as you play with yourself. Slowly, he rises to his feet.

“I don’t have to beg for this pussy, baby,” he tells you, “It’s mine, after all.”

“Mm, whatever. Me next.”

And when his eyes meet yours, a wicked grin stretches across his face. You stare at him with your mouth open, you tongue lolled out between your lips, begging for him to spit in your mouth.

“You’re filthy,” he rasps, grasping onto your jaw to tilt your head at the perfect angle before he spits into your mouth, watching with hazy eyes as you swallow it. “Absolutely nasty. You’re so beautiful, sweetie.”

His degrading and his praise are a dangerous mixture for you, but you’re loving every second of it. This reminds you of the good times you two shared, and you feel a surge of nostalgia wash over you.

Sylus taps the sides of your thighs, and you wrap them around his waist without question. He lifts you up from the bathroom counter, pressing you against the wall to allow himself better access to you.

His lips find your neck, and a string of mewls and sighs leave your lips as he works to free himself from the confines of his shorts. And when you feel the tip of his cock smear pre-cum along your slit, you honestly feel like you’re really in for it now.

Your smart tongue has gotten you here, and you aren’t sure if you should thank it or curse it. But when you feel the tip of his thick cock begin to prod your entrance, your answer is made clear.

You claw at his back through his shirt, a sharp gasp leaving your lips. “Sylus, wait— I… go slow please,” you stammer out.

It has been awhile, and you weren’t exactly used to his size anymore. He gives you a nod of understanding, his eyes softening as he looks at you.

“Of course, baby, I hear you,” he whispers, his voice suddenly much gentler. He hooks an arm beneath you as a means of holding you up while his other hand tucks your hair behind your ear. “We don’t have to do this, honey. I don’t want to see you in pain.”

You shake your head, leaning in to press a kiss on his lips. “No, no… I want to. Just… slowly please.”

Sylus nods his head, pressing a sweet peck on your cheek as he slowly begins to push his cock deeper inside of you, keeping his eyes on your face to read your expression.

“I’m okay,” you say, answering the question that you know is swirling in his head right now.

He was a stretch, but it wasn’t too bad. And now as he slowly begins to build up a pace of thrusting inside of you, you’re feeling pleasure above anything.

He leans in to press another sweet kiss on your lips before he quickly returns to being the same asshole he was before, his smirk returning as he fucks you against the wall.

“You’re awfully bratty for someone who can hardly take my cock,” he purrs, trailing his lips along your jawline as he thrusts himself even harder inside of you.

The sound of slapping skin and your shared breathy moans engulf the room, and it’s the most lewd and beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

“I can take it, you asshole,” you grumble, tugging on his hair as his length reaches a particular sensitive point of your walls.

He chuckles against your neck, drawing his tongue out to taste your skin. “Mm, I know, baby. You take it so nicely. Just giving you a hard time.”

You sigh, leaning your head back against the wall, only for one of his large hands to cup the back of your head. You thought it was sweet how he was bracing you from the impact of how hard he was slamming your body against the wall with each thrust.

You mewl as you feel the heat in your belly pooling, your glassy eyes staring at the reflection of you two in the mirror, watching with blown eyes as he fucks you into oblivion.

He buries his length into you, keeping you pressed against the wall that way while your leg lock around his hips keeps you stable. He grasps onto your left hand, pressing a kiss on your ring.

“Do me a favor, baby,” he whispers, brushing his thumb over the jewelry. “Never take this off again.”

And within seconds, you’re nodding. “I won’t.”

Sylus chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss on your cheek as he begins to thrust inside of you again. “Who’s the easy one now, sweetie?”

This wasn’t how you expected your Halloween night to go, being fucked by your ex-husband in the bathroom of a party.

Well… this is what you get for being so sexy, you figure.

note. i was too lazy to think of some more banter between sylus and reader so i decided to give y’all the traditional ‘fade to black’… in the most untraditional sense. anyway!!! i tried something new with this and i’m not sure if it’s working for not so pls interact if you enjoyed! ik it was kinda nasty at some parts but hey… i had to do it to em. :3 TY FOR READING!!!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⟡ masterlist | request

#♥︎ tojicide #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus qin #sylus #lads sylus #sylus x y/n #sylus x you #l&ds sylus #sylus smut #love and deepspace #lads #love & deepspace

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wandassweetheart · 26 days ago

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WET WRATH!

pairing - bf!trevor x fem!reader

warning! - 18+ mdni, smut, shower sex, unprotected sex (avoid the dread, cover your head)

a/n - some fluff at the end where reader says “i love you” for the first time 🥹. also guys, this was my first time writing smut?! there’s defo more to come. anyways, enjoy!

“shit…” trevor drawls out as the water creates a wet, glistening look for your tits. his tits. he’d always prided himself when it came to your body, he worshipped it like it needed to be, because quite frankly in his eyes you were a goddess. and goddesses are worshipped aren’t they?

so now, as you both stood beneath the running shower head, his hands coursed around your waist and he coiled down so that his lips could reach the slip of your neck. his hard cock pushed against your back, the closer he pulled you towards him. steam clouded your vision as you rested your head back on trevor’s shoulder to give him more space to go further down your body. his one hand remained steady on your waist whilst the other snaked its way up to grope your tit as he still remained locked onto your neck. your hands find its way to his buzzed hair as you softly run them up and down, causing a groan from trevor.

the hand that was initially on your waist slowly slid its way down to your dripping, wet pussy. trevor lets out a low murmur, “see how much this body reacts to my fingers? haven’t even touched you with my cock yet, baby,” he mused. his fingers continued to slide down in between your folds, a quiet whimper escaped your parted lips, encouraging him to rub his fingers along your clit. his other hand progressively got rougher against your tits with every rub of your clit.

“inside, trevor… please?” you tried to form a coherent sentence, mind blank from the upcoming orgasm you were about to receive. “why don’t i give you my cock instead, baby? how’s that, huh? only for my girl ‘kay?” his fingers suddenly stop, making you whine from the sudden seclusion. instead, he picks you up and presses your back against the cold shower wall, you automatically wrap your legs around his lower abdomen and his hands reach your ass to steady the both of you. without another second wasted, he pushes his cock deep into you making you shriek with pleasure and him groan against your skin.

“your pretty pussy ‘s always so tight for me.” trevor lets out a shaky breath before thrusting his hips back and forth into you. “fuck, trevor!” you cry out and his thrust become more fast paced. both your breaths were hot and heavy disguised by the vapour the hot water let out. “y’like that, huh baby?” trevor let out in between deep kisses. “yes,” is all you could manage to whisper as your eyes rolled to the back of your head from the intense pleasure. trevor’s stamina wasn’t giving in but soon enough it was going to let out. his hands now started to knead your ass, you could feel the bruises starting to form but all you could think about was how good he was making you feel. you’d never had anyone like trevor.

“shit, trevor. i’m gonna cum…” you moan out, your head hits his shoulder as you prepare for the oncoming wave of pleasure. “me too baby, hold on f’ me, okay?” trevor quickens his pace even more which you didn’t even know was possible. “c’mon baby, y’ ready? cum for me.” trevor gives you his permission and with that your body spasms beneath his, your legs start shaking from the immense satisfaction. “shit, shit, shit!” trevor yells out. his thrusts become sloppy and slow as he gives one final push and you can feel the warm fluid heat up inside you.

trevor slowly sets you down, yet still holds onto your fragile, shaken body and lets out a soft chuckle after turning off the shower. “y’ okay, baby?” he asks, as you both step out and he wraps a fluffy towel around you. “i’m okay,” you reply with a tired mumble. he starts to dry you off carefully, setting you down on the counter. “love you, trevor.” you say quietly, not having really said those words to anyone. trevor is taken slightly aback but then smiles down at you.

“love you too, baby.”

#trevor hellraiser #trevor x reader #trevor hellraiser smut #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #hellraiser #smut #reader is female #obx au #obx oneshots #rafe x reader #fluff #after care #wandassweetheart

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minswriting · 7 months ago

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No Higher Being Than You - Spencer Reid x Reader

about: for all my girlies who love munch spencer, here is a one shot about spencer worshipping you like you’re a god

warnings: NSFW content, minors do not interact, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, religious comparisons, not an accurate depiction of religion whatsoever.

word count: 0.6k

Ever since Spencer was a young boy, he had never really believed in a higher power. His mother was a paranoid schizophrenic and his father was never really around. Religion was never a topic of his childhood. How could it be? Spencer had to raise himself. And by doing so, he read many books, one of them including the Bible. When he read the Bible, he didn’t believe any of it to be true. It was all fictitious, nothing of real value that could explain how the world came to be. The scientific theories about the world had always made much more sense than a silly book. So it was safe to say that religion was not something Spencer believed in. He was a man of science.

Until he met you.

When you had walked into the coffee shop that Spencer frequently went to before work, he was completely mesmerized. The Boy Genius didn’t care for beauty most of the time. He wasn’t really too interested in people as a whole until he had met Maeve. But as he saw you, took in your appearance, he couldn’t help but thank the Lord above for blessing him with such a sight. And he had thanked the Lord once more when you had given him your number that exact day.

And ever since then, the two of you had clicked.

Not only were you the most beautiful person Spencer had ever laid eyes upon, you were the kindest and sweetest person ever. Your smile radiated the room each time you walked in, your laugh was music to Spencer’s ears. You were a mixture of funny, sarcastic, intelligent. You truly were a divine being. Spencer was completely and utterly enamored by you. He never failed to make sure you were shown just how much he adored you. Especially right now.

Spencer’s tongue lapped around your cunt, taking in the sweet essence that were your juices. You tasted magical as though derived from the Garden of Eden. The forbidden fruit that was worth every drop. Spencer took his time eating you out, savoring each and every moment. His nose rubbed against your clit as he tongued your hole. If premarital coitus were truly a sin, God wouldn’t have made it so lovely.

You were whining and moaning beneath him, your hand tugging his brown curls. Your sounds were beautiful, everything Spencer could’ve dreamed of. The hitch of your breath, the arching of your back, the curling of your toes, all because of Spencer’s touch. It was a blessing to be with you and his reward was making you feel good in any way he could.

“S-Spencer!” You moaned, tugging at his hair.

Spencer replied with a moan, burying his face deeper into your cunt. The vibrations of his voice sent tingles into your pussy, causing you to whine in pleasure. He moved his mouth to suck on your clit, swirling his tongue around the nub. You let out a high pitched moan, relishing in the pleasures Spencer was giving you. And Spencer could tell just how close you were.

You were his muse, his higher being. If God were real, you were it. You were the divine entity from the Heavens, blessing the Earth with every fiber in your being. When you came, thighs clenching around Spencer’s face, he felt praised by the skies. And he didn’t stop there. He made sure to make you cum multiple times.

Spencer Reid isn’t a religious man. But meeting you had given him a new meaning of religion. You were his higher being, his one true God to worship. And you absolutely knew it.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #criminals minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds reactions #spencer criminal minds

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lightcreators · 5 days ago

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There was an renmant of discomfort who remained each time subject returned towards his own specific appareance. Gratefully, with ghosts, it was simpler --- he could playfully bouncing back about how he belonged as one of them, without having the impression to bring his direct connection with the Underworld … Nevertheless, it remained an remembrance about words he was usually receiving from other mortals, from Jackson, from everyone who managed to get close to him … Though, reason of why he destroyed himself and considered himself unliving inside a strange representation of the term remained silent. He desired once more having the only constant he knew of his life back. He desired passing time with the last renmant of his known family. He didn't wanted to be alone. He couldn't remain alone. From an mortal perspective, he experienced an homeless existence for a while, without taking the Underworld as his casual home --- yes, he had Camp Half-Blood he could go if he wanted, but he was far too much uncomfortable on there, and number of other half-bloods that cared about him was pretty much limited … During that second of even thoughtfulness upon himself, there was an immediate mental rejection. ❝ Nah, it's me described me that manner. ❞ He answered in return, showing his black shirt with that skull symbol. ❝ I honoring the black color every day in my life, and never would want to wear that orange shirt that can await for me somewhere. ❞

Be called explicity an emo kid given an immediate confirmation inside his gaze. It was an compliment, he couldn't deny it. He was breathing emotionality in an dangerous manner. ❝ In an dramatic sentence, I am breathing grief ! ❞ Basically --- he would need a long-term session of therapy, and passing a long time to overcome bad habits he took for surviving his grief, in which he suffered a bit an identity crisis … but well, his invisible protector seemed also an expert of it, how he reacted was treated as fine. Nevertheless, concerning the millennial thing, there was some associated frown. ❝ Yeah, I eat it every day on my life --- ❞ He didn't know how to bring whole timeline thing. ❝ I'm older than I look like, even though I never grew older during that decades. As much some education has been made in middle of the 2000's in theory, I'm not from here. " He finally admitted, as once more, timeline issue. Honestly, he only realizing it at that moment. With ghosts, he never cared if there were coming from past, present or future … but him visiting the future and overlooked that detail was another story. ❝ I hope you don't judge me. ❞ He commented with an childish pout. ❝ Anyways, what do you expect from an Hades kid ? A pink tutu dress dancing swan lake? ❞ He bounced back playfully once more, in which gestures around him generated confession he wasn't yet accoustumed.

Friend. It has been when that word was expressed there was another realization none of his thoughts ever expressed that single term. Something new, something himself wasn't accoustumed to have --- Ghosts came and go, and usually, his relationship with them was less close, without that possibility to create long-term friendships. He could force them to listen to him, and used them, meanwhile other wanted to carry on his education. He had still many things to learn inside the Underworld himself. With Mapplethrope, even be the Ghost King wasn't somthing he planned to just showing off about --- It would be rude. It would be useless. He wasn't here to bring trouble. He was here as little light inside darkness. He smiled brightfully at the realization came clearer inside his mind. Though, as much that smile born, slight expressions of panic showed up when he was touched on his shoulders, reassured it went fine. He passed an hand upon Mapplethorpe hair in return. ❝ An devoted friend that will always showing up once in a while ! ❞ He confessed amusingly. It has been the following affection who making him froze in place. Immediate expression blushed, as it has been the most closest thing he experienced with someone else, with another boy … There was consciousness he would be questioned about it. Still, that doesn't sounded … Removing the word of his thoughts, he blushed further. ❝ It was nice … ❞ He admitted slowly, as he didn't wanted that single sentence took in the wrong nice. ❝ If you don't want to be considered as your therapist, consider me as your darknest lighting shoulder ! ❞

mapplethorpe knows what it's like to be an outcast. he had been an outcast for the majority of his life. it seems that, finally---....after his own death, he had become accepted. it's kind of sad, in a way. local outcast finally finds love and acceptance after dying a traumatic death. it really was some sick and twisted stuff, wasn't it? though, thankfully, mapplethorpe didn't see it that way. in fact, after the trauma of facing his own death and letting go of his best friend that was very much so still alive, he was pretty happy. "now, i didn't call you a goth," he said, rather matter of fact. he's quick to jump to his feet, pacing in front of the other. "in fact, you look more like an emo kid. which is like, such a millennial thing. like, i bet you lived and breathed my chemical romance. no judgement, of course." he says this, putting his hands up in mock defense before he stops in front of nico.

oh, the demigod had no idea how thankful mapplethorpe and the other's were for him. with violetta bringing them things was useful, nico seemed to have a little more pull than a mortal teenage girl. nico had a lot more pull. mapplethorpe plops down next to nico once again, gently placing his hand on his shoulder and giving it a little rub. "again, you aren't just a delivery boy. you're our friend," to make it more known, mapplethorpe leans forward and places a big, wet kiss to the other boy's cheek. yeah, his love language is physical touch. sorry, nico. "and therapist? pfft, i don't need therapy," oh, that's a lie.

#coastercrushed #ic :: nico di angelo #verse tbt.#long post /#have so much muse you receive a reply !

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mggslover · 1 month ago

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How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed.

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age.

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them.

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. But the most disturbing part wasn’t the carnage—it was their faces. Each of them wore a grotesque, unnerving smile, painted onto their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with smiling family photos were now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed the family’s history, piece by piece.

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.”

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking.

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied.

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up.

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your voice softer now, more honest. Usually, Spencer never had to press. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?” His question was quiet, but his concern was clear.

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words, soft and sincere, made your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to look at him, noticing the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered on you.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. The brain processes trauma in complex ways, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This flood of chemicals can lead to acute emotional responses, such as anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you.

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” you said softly, the words simple but your voice full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised, a reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat.

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he said, his voice low but insistent. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick darkness around you.

Alone now, you scanned the area. Everything was still and silent, save for the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Curiosity nudged you forward, and before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peer inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, low and dangerous, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

The tension in his voice was unmistakable. You could feel his rage, his plan disrupted by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted.

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable.

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice quiet, tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, memories—both regrets and cherished moments—flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold.

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed you softly, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips.

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again.

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin.

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more.

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure.

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth.

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder.

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips.

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.”

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you.

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart.

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for reassurance. He gave a soft nod, his smile encouraging.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—and there, nestled inside, was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,�� you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he said. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in.

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added, his eyes soft with sincerity.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were soft, full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces.

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

510 notes · View notes

whocaresstillthelouvre · 1 month ago

Text

Fifteen Months

Din Djarin x Cam Girl Reader AU

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: You've known and loved Din for Fifteen Months. Here's a glimpse into your life with him. Warnings: Smut, unprotected p in v sex , oral (m and f receiving), fingering, voyeurism, fucking on camera, cum eating, lap dance, sex work, din carries you, duck pond emotions, a spray painted mandalorian helmet, goats!, farm life. Words: 8,700

Fifteen Masterlist Masterlist

—-

“Morning,” a rumbly voice says against your forehead with a kiss. “We have two new kids.”

Your eyes open wide, your heart leaping with excitement as you jump out of bed quickly. Din hastily backs away with a grin on his face.

“She had them?!” you ask as you pull on a pair of pants and grab your robe.

“She did. She’s doing good,” he says, smiling at your excitement. “The babies are healthy and happy, already nursing and everything.”

You run down the steps, Grogu at your feet. Boba’s waiting at the front door, standing guard, his tail wagging in greeting when he sees you.

Din leans over and kisses you as you throw your jacket on and step into your boots.

“Oh, good morning, by the way,” you chuckle as you throw the door open and feel the early morning chill of spring in the air.

You wrap your jacket tighter around you, your boots squishing in the dewy grass as you follow Din to the little shelter on the side of the main goat pin.

Dorothy looks up at the sound of the gate creaking. Your favorite goat looks peaceful as her two new babies are cuddled close to her.

“Hi, sweet girl,” you coo, softly stepping towards her before kneeling down to pet her head. “Look at your babies. They’re perfect.”

“Were you up all night with her?” you turn and ask Din.

“Just about,” he yawns.

“You could have come and got me,” you say, rising and dusting the straw off your knees.

“I wanted you to get some sleep,” he replies, his eyes heavy with fatigue but a little brightness, too. “Besides, I wanted to surprise you.”

Din steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you back against him.

“They’re so perfect,” you muse, watching the little kids stand on wobbly legs and find their footing in the new world.

“They are,” he admires, tightening his hold. “Cobb’s on his way. He’s going to take care of everything since I was up all night.”

—-

As the weeks turned to months together, the long-distance from Din almost became unbearable, it kept getting harder and harder to leave Din and his farm every time you’d visit him.

So, you sold the townhouse you had worked hard to pay for on your own and moved across the country to live with Din. The idea of being separated any longer had become too much to bear, so you left behind all that was familiar to be with him.

That was five months ago. Dorothy, your favorite goat, started showing signs of her pregnancy only a couple of weeks after you moved in.

Wicket the rooster's crow is now your alarm clock, waking you up every morning in Din's arms, his handsome face only inches away. It’s hard to pull yourself away from his warm arms and soft lips, but the farm chores are waiting for both of you.

Together, you tend to the herd, milking the nannies and bottle-feeding the playful kids who frolic in the pasture. Din's gentle patience for you and all of his animals never fails to fill your heart with love.

During the afternoons, while Din takes care of the farm repairs and building projects, you tend to the garden–your hands buried in the rich soil as you plant and nurture fruits and vegetables that will eventually grace your table.

Evenings are spent in cozy domesticity with Din and your dogs, curling up next to him on the porch swing to watch the sunset paint the sky as Din’s fingers caress your skin.

At night, after all the chores are done, you still do your webcam shows, but no longer for private customers–a decision you made on your own once you left Din’s home the first time.

Din always helps you set up the equipment and watches off-camera, his heated gaze watching your every move.

You’ve embraced Din, his farm, and his life—much like he embraced you and your choice of career. You could never imagine your life without him. This life, with its simplicity and authenticity, is everything you never knew you needed, a blissful escape from the hectic pace and superficial trappings of your old life.

And you couldn't be more grateful for it all.

—-

“Din,” you whisper in his ear and leave a kiss against his cheek. “Cobb just left. It’s almost time for my show.”

Big brown eyes blink open, a smile lights his tired face.

“Hey,” he yawns. “Can’t believe I slept that long.” His hand reaches out and grabs your hip, pulling you into bed with him. His stubble scrapes against your skin as he rolls you onto your back and kisses you. His hands run along your body, slipping under your shirt to caress your soft skin. You melt into his touch, fingers tangling in his messy curls, and you sigh against his lips.

He trails kisses along your jaw down to your neck, his tongue tracing lazy patterns on your skin. You can’t resist him, arching into him, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer. His broad body covers you like a warm blanket.

His hand slides lower, hooking into the waistband of your pants. Just as he starts to tug them down, you very reluctantly break the kiss.

“Hold up,” you pant, struggling to catch your breath. “Ugh, the show…”

He groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “I knooow,” he grumbles.

You laugh softly, soothingly running your fingers through his hair. “Want to help me tonight?”

He lifts his head, an eager and mischievous glint in his eyes. “I do.”

“You want to pick what I wear?”

Without a word, he rolls off you and strides over to the dresser, rifling through your collection of lingerie. After a moment of deliberation with his eyes studying two different bodysuits, he puts them away and grabs the same blush pink lingerie you wore the first night he and you slept together.

“Really?” you arch up an eyebrow. “That one?”

“Call me sentimental,�� he smirks. Tossing you the soft, silk outfit. “Put it on pretty girl.”

“Sentimental, huh?” You grin as you shed your clothes, Din’s eyes darkening as he follows your every move.

The silk slides over your skin as you remember the first night you stayed with Din - the nerves, his declaration of love, the tenderness of his touch, and the realization that he meant everything to you.

You smooth your hands over the fabric, straightening the straps and admiring how it fits.

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

You heat under his intense gaze. “Come on, we need to set up,” you say, grabbing his hand and leading him to your studio.

—-

You’ve noticed a change in Din since you moved in with him. He’s no longer the solitary man—quiet, reserved, and focused solely on his work. As your love blossomed and you grew closer, he began smiling more readily and laughing more freely, his eyes always sparkling at the sight of you.

He used to be guarded—even a bit gruff—but soon, you saw beneath that exterior, sensing a tender heart. Now, you see that tender heart every day. The way he gently cradles a newborn kid in his strong hands. The way he kneels down on the floor to pet and hug his dogs every morning. The way he always makes your tea the exact way you like it every evening.

He’s actually playful, sometimes chasing you across the house before capturing you and ‘attacking you’ with his mouth, or dipping you for a kiss in the middle of the kitchen.

Sometimes he’ll surprise you while you’re outside hanging laundry, sneaking up and wrapping his arms around your waist before gently tackling you onto the grass. His strong arms enveloping you as he pins you beneath him, his eyes twinkling with love.

“Caught you,” he rumbles before pressing his lips to yours.

You love seeing him like this, happy and carefree. He was once your customer in a dark box, just a curious stranger, and now he’s everything to you.

—-

You check the lighting and adjust the camera tripod while Din settles into his usual spot just out of frame, putting on a pair of headphones, close enough to be heard but not seen.

You take your familiar position on the bed, knees bent to your side, with one hand supporting your weight as you lean back. As you pout your lips and adjust the strap on your top, you nod at Din, signaling that you're good to start.

“Ready?” he asks, his finger hovering over the button to start the stream.

Taking a deep breath, you slip into your online persona. “Ready.”

The red light blinks on and you smile at the camera. “Hi everyone, thanks for joining me tonight…”

As you interact with your audience, you can feel Din’s eyes on you. You steal glances at him between poses, noticing how his breathing quickens whenever you arch your back or run your hands along your thighs.

“What should I do next?” Your question is directed at your viewers and yet you know Din can tell you’re asking him.

He grins, lifting his hand into view, his finger curling in a beckoning motion.

“Yeah? You want me closer?” you purr. The chat explodes with messages of excitement.

You lean forward and crawl slowly towards the camera, risking a glance at Din, sitting in his chair shrouded in darkness, his brown eyes turning almost black when you wink at him.

Your hands trail sensually over the silk fabric of your tank top. “What should I take off first?” you ask temptingly.

“The top,” Din’s voice rumbles from off-camera. “Slowly.”

A shiver flows through your body at Din’s voice, this is the first time he’s ever spoken while you’re performing. You reach for the buttons on your shirt, teasingly undoing them one by one. The silk falling open to reveal your bare skin underneath.

The chat goes wild.

“Like this?” you ask, shrugging the garment off your shoulders and letting it fall to the mattress.

“Perfect,” he growls. You can see him palming himself through his sweatpants out of the corner of your eye.

You bite your lip, fighting every urge inside you to look directly at Din. The camera and your customers demand your attention, but you can only feel his eyes on you.

“What next?” you ask breathily.

Din’s voice husks through the air. “Touch yourself,” he commands in a low tone. “Slowly.”

Your hands slide down your body, tracing delicate patterns across your stomach before dipping lower. The silk of your shorts feels smooth against your hand as you tease and rub yourself through the fabric.

“Feels so good, when your hands are all over me,” you moan into the camera. “Feel how wet you make me? I’m so fucking soaked for you baby.”

Din grunts from the darkness as you arch your back and press your breasts together.

“Should I take these off?” you ask, pushing down the waistband of your shorts.

The chat dings with responses, but you wait for Din’s command.

“Yes,” breathes out from his lips.

You slide the shorts down inch by inch and toss them playfully towards Din’s direction before spreading your legs wide, your hand slipping between them, stroking yourself slowly. You moan as you work your fingers in small circles, your hips rocking against your hand.

You hear Din’s breathing grow heavier.

“Mm, it feels so good,” you purr. “But chat… do you think I should have some help?”

He leans forward, his brows rising in surprise. You’ve never asked Din to join in your cam sessions before, but seeing him in the background, watching you every time has become too much. You want him to be a part of it now.

Your audience sends a wave of thumbs ups and enthusiastic messages.

“Baby,” you say breathlessly, “come here.”

He hesitates for a moment before standing up and moving to the side of the bed, just out of frame. His brown eyes are wide with surprise and desire as he reaches his hand out towards you. The chat goes wild as his hand comes into view on camera, trailing up your leg.

His touch is warm and reverent as his fingertips finally brush against your wet folds. “That’s it, touch me,” you moan, relishing in the feel of Din as your customers watch.

His fingers explore you slowly, spreading your wetness and tracing lazy, soft circles around your clit. You lock eyes with him as he slips a finger inside you, momentarily forgetting about the hundreds of viewers on the monitor.

Din nods his head towards the screen, reminding you that you’re at work. You look back at the camera, as Din slowly fucks you with his thick finger.

“Fuck, you feel so good inside me,” you pant for your viewers, losing yourself in Din’s touch. His thumb finds your clit, brushing softly against it. “Just like that.”

He smirks as he watches you unravel beneath his touch. Your back arching as you push your breasts together and tug at your nipples.

“More,” you gasp between moans, your body beginning to tremble as the chat goes crazy watching you lose yourself under Din’s touch.

He responds immediately, adding another finger and stretching you. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he says, his voice thick with lust.

Your hips lift to meet his hand, seeking more pressure, grinding your pussy against his palm. "Talk to me baby, they want to hear you talk to me,” you beg.

His brows furrow in thought, his thumb brushing circles against your clit while his fingers fuck you deeper. “Let it go baby. You’re gorgeous, you like my fingers?”

“Yes, god yes,” you moan as his hand worships your cunt.

“Cum for me baby, show them how I can make you cum.”

“Oh god,” you cry out, your head falling back onto the mattress as you surrender to his touch, breathing hard as your hips cant against him. “I want you,” you beg, leaving the thoughts of your hundreds of viewers behind.

“I’ll give you what you want soon enough,” he promises. “Keep going for them.”

The pressure is building within you, your heart racing and when Din angles his fingers up, that familiar heat pools in your core, every nerve ending dancing and tingling across you.

“Gonna—” you whimper.

“Just a little longer,” he urges, his voice low. “I want them to see how much I love making you feel this way.”

You nod, breathless, your body set alight. You can hear the distant sound of notifications and gifts pinging from the chat, but all you can focus on is Din and his thick fingers.

"I'm so close," you gasp as his thumb presses firmly against your clit. He quickens his pace, fingers moving faster and deeper until your body can't take it anymore.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Cum. Cum for them.”

Din pilots you closer to your peak. Your thighs quaking around his hand, your cunt clenching his fingers as your body begins its ascent towards bliss.

“Oh god,” you moan.

“Cum for me baby,” he growls. “Let go.”

The world explodes around you, stars floating through your eyes as your entire body convulses. Your breath hitching, the world narrowing to just you and Din as you orgasm, gone are your viewers, gone are the dings from the speakers.

“That’s it baby,” he coos. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are. You’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum.”

Your body trembles in the aftershocks as he brings his soaked fingers to his lips, eagerly tasting you. Only you can see how his eyes close in pleasure as he licks his fingers clean.

“You did so good for me—and them,” he praises, his own breathing ragged as he pulls down his sweatpants.

"Thanks for tuning in chat, now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get fucked by my helper,” you say winking before clicking the DISCONNECT button.

Din pounces on you, pinning you to the bed with his muscular body. "Be careful!" you yell. “The equipment!”

Din grins widely as he kisses you. “Don’t worry about the equipment, I’ll set it back up later,” he growls against your lips. “Right now, I’m going to take care of you.”

With one smooth motion, he flips you over onto your stomach. You gasp in surprise as his strong hands grip your hips, pulling you up onto your hands and knees.

He kneels behind you, his hardness pressing against the cleft of your ass. You moan and push back against him, wanting to feel more of him. He chuckles at your eagerness and gives your ass a playful smack that makes you yelp.

“Guess you liked helping me?” you breathily ask.

“I did,” he runs his hand down your spine. “You want my help again?”

“Always,” you breathe, arching your back to present yourself to him.

He groans at the sight of your glistening pussy, swollen with desire for only him. He leans down, placing a tender kiss at the base of your spine. “Look at you, all ready for me, pretty girl.”

His strong thighs brush against yours as he lines himself up with your aching cunt. The broad head of his cock teases your folds as he coats himself in your slick. You moan and push your hips back as you try to take him in.

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as your pussy accepts him into your tight heat inch by inch.

He sheathes himself fully inside you, filling and completing you. A low groan rumbles from DIn’s chest as he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your ass. “You feel incredible,” he rasps, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips.

“I’m yours."

“Yeah? You’re mine? This tight, wet pussy is all for me?” He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he nuzzles into your neck. His stubble scrapes across the sensitive skin. “Mine,” he hisses possessively. “My beautiful girl.”

He fucks into you faster and harder, the bed you use to touch yourself for your customers now creaking and thudding against the wall from Din’s power. You fist your hands in the sheets, holding on as Din pounds into you. You feel another orgasm in your orbit, the stars beginning to show behind your eyes.

“I’m close,” you whimper. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” Din pants. “I’ll never stop loving you, taking care of you, making you feel this good…”

His words makes your orgasm rocket through you, your pussy clenching rhythmically around Din’s cock as you see a galaxy across your eyelids.

Din keeps thrusting, grunting with exertion as he fucks your soaked cunt, chasing his own release.

“Fill me with your cum,” you urge breathlessly.

“Fuck, I love you. I’m gonna—” his hips stutter and with a deep thrust, he buries himself inside you. A warrior’s moan tears from his throat as his cock pulses, painting your walls with his cum.

Your arms give out, and you collapse onto the bed, Din follows you, lying down next to you. The two of you lay together, panting for air, a tangle of sweaty and sated limbs. Din wraps his arms around you, pulling you close against his heaving chest. You nuzzle into his neck, planting soft kisses along his jaw.

"That was amazing," you murmur. "Having you with me on camera like that. God, it was so hot."

"Mm, it was," he agrees, his voice a low rumble.

"Maybe we should make it a regular thing. I'm sure my viewers would love it."

“As long as I don’t have to show my face, I’d love nothing more. I love watching you, but being able to touch you in front of your audience. I can’t believe I used to be one of your customers.”

You chuckle softly, snuggling closer against him. "And now look at us. I know way more about goats than I ever thought possible and you know way more about live streaming sex shows than you ever thought possible.”

He laughs and tilts his head down to leave a kiss against your forehead. “I never imagined I could be this happy. This farm feels like a real home now, with you here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

—-

As the warm, late spring weather rolls in, your days on the farm become even busier. The goat kids are growing bigger and braver, exploring more of their surroundings each day. Your nights are spent performing shows for your many viewers, the addition of Din’s hands and voice have driven you watcher views up. You both notice more gifts and chat messages from female viewers, it empowers the two of you to put on even more of a show for them. With a bit of ingenuity and a can of silver spray paint, you’ve come up with the perfect solution for him to not show his face.

Din sits in his office, going over invoices and the calendar as you saunter in wearing one of your favorite dresses.

"Din," you catch his attention.

He turns in his chair, an adoring smile lighting slowly spreads across his lips. "Yeah baby?"

“I thought of a solution for you to not show your face,” you say with a small smile. “Close your eyes.”

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, giving you a curious look before he obeys and shuts his eyes.

You quickly open the closet and pull out the surprise, placing it in his hands.

“Okay, open now.”

He opens his eyes to find a silver helmet in his hands.

“So, that one dude you like from that space movie? I ordered one of his helmets…”

He admires it, turning it in his hand.

“The bounty hunter “ he muses quietly. "My favorite."

“I was worried about copyright soooo I painted it silver instead. But this way… you can be on camera with me without anyone seeing your face.”

His dark brown eyes look up at you, a wicked smile spreading across his lips.

“Put it on Din.”

His handsome face is slowly covered by the silver helmet.

“It even modulates your voice a bit…”

Din sits clad in his black sweat pants and black t shirt now with the silver helmet atop his head, making him look even larger and more intimidating. His shoulders sit higher, giving off an aura of power and dominance.

“How’s it feel?” you ask, staring at your bounty hunter disguised boyfriend.

“Good, just fine” his voice comes out different from the speaker. A little more tinny, crinkling with feedback—just like how you first heard him through your computer speakers. You’re ridiculously turned on by it.

“You look… good," you admire. “Really good baby.”

His posture shifts as he leans back, resembling a king with the helmet on… like it was made for him.

"Then, come show me how good I look, pretty girl."

You saunter over and kneel down in front of him, placing your hands on his knees slowly sliding them up his strong thighs as you look up at the expressionless helmet. Your heart races, imagining his eyes watching you behind the visor.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, fingertips grazing the growing bulge in his sweatpants.

“You know exactly what I want,” Din’s modulated voice responds, sending goosebumps across your skin.

You lean forward, nuzzling your face and placing a kiss against the softness of his inner thigh. Your hands move to the waistband of his pants. “May I?,” you ask, tugging gently. He lifts his hips, helping you slide them down.

His cock springs free. Your hands wrap around the base before you give it a firm stroke as you look up at the helmet.

“I love how you look in this,” you muse, before leaning into give the tip of it a kiss. “My bounty hunter.”

The sound of Din’s breath hitching is distorted through the helmet’s speaker. Slowly, you take him into your mouth, savoring the familiar taste of him on your tongue.

You hum around his cock at his praise, taking him deeper into your mouth. You know exactly how he looks under the helmet now. No longer your black square mystery. You can picture his eyes squeezed shut, his bottom lip captured in his teeth, the middle of his eyebrows creased in pleasure.

“Fuck,” he grunts. The modulator gives his voice an extra edge, an extra growl.

Your tongue swirls around his sensitive head already leaking for you, imparting the bitter, salty taste of him against your lips.

“Look at me,” he softly commands.

Your gaze lifts to meet the dark visor of the helmet, imagining the deep brown eyes behind it.

“That’s my pretty girl,” you can hear the smile in his voice.

Your cheeks hollow as you suck him harder, his hips softly thrusting into your mouth.

“So good,” his voice crackles through the speaker. “Always so good to me.”

You take him deeper, choking on the length of him as you relax your throat. His breathing grows heavier, punctuated by grunts of pleasure and your name.

“Hold on, hold on,” Din says suddenly, gently pulling you off him. “Come here baby.”

He helps you rise to your feet, before pulling you onto his lap, your chest meets his. His strong arms wrap around you.

You straddle his lap, the heft of his hard cock presses against you through the thin fabric of your panties. His hands roam across your body, caressing you with reverence and adoration. The cool metal of his helmet brushes against your cheek as he leans in close to you.

“I want to feel you,” Din’s modulated voice rumbles through you.

You nod, lifting your hips as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down in a swift motion and tossing them aside.

A gasp leaves your lips as you sink down on him. You begin to move on him, rolling your hips in steady waves. Your hands grab his broad shoulders, relishing in the warmth of his body.

His voice comes low and husky through the helmet. “Take what you want pretty girl.”

“You feel so good,” you moan. “So big inside me. Just perfect baby.”

Din’s hips thrust up to meet you, his cock hitting deeper inside you.

“Din,” you moan, resting your forehead against the cool metal of his helmet. The rapid beat of his heart thuds against your hands when you place them on his chest. Pulling back, you look into the helmet, unable to see his face, but knowing the exact intense look of concentration he always has when he’s close.

He slides his hand between your bodies, and finds your clit, swirling it in sweet circles against it. A gasp escapes your lips and you smile at the pleasure coursing through you. Your hips instinctively buck against his hand, craving more of him. The pressure builds as his thick cock and skilled finger make you move more frantic. Your hands move up his neck to grip the base of his helmet.

“I…want to kiss you,” you whimper as you lift the helmet, exposing his handsome face.

The sweat across his dewy skin makes it glow even more golden. His plush lips are slightly parted as he looks at you with his big brown eyes. Leaning in to kiss him, the helmet slips from your hand and lands on the floor with a thud.

God, you’ve missed seeing him. Your fingers tangle into the soft, dark curls of his hair as you lean forward. “I love you,” you breathe out against his chin, kissing your way down to his neck, licking the slight salt of his sweat and tasting him.

Din's thumb increases its pressure on your clit as he thrusts up harder into you. "I love you, so much," he pants, his voice rumbling against you with desire and adoration.

Your core tightens, the familiar tingle that only Din can give you washes over your body. You trail your tongue up to his mouth and kiss him hungrily.

"Din," you gasp, breaking the kiss as your orgasm lights through your body. Shuddering in his arms, clenching around his thick cock. You lean back, letting him fuck into your slickness as your muscles grow loose.

With a guttural groan, he thrusts his hips against you, his movements stuttering as he follows you over the edge. His thick cock pulsing inside of your walls as he cums. You feel his warm breath on your neck as he buries his face in the crook of it.

For a moment, you both stay still, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms and trying to catching your breath. Din's hand runs soothingly up and down your back as you come down from your high.

"You're incredible," he murmurs, voice thick with reverence and awe. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"I'm the lucky one," you whisper back, reaching up to cup his jaw. "You've given me everything I never knew I needed.”

“Maybe I should wear the helmet—for your next show?” he asks, his eyebrow tilting up.

“I think you should,” you smile, guiding his face down to yours, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss. “I’ll let the fans know to expect something different.”

—-

As the weeks pass, you notice Din spending more evenings out in the old barn on the edge of the property. He always kisses you sweetly before heading out, promising he won't be long. But the hours stretch on, and on some nights, he’s out there long past bedtime.

Curiosity gnaws at you, but you respect his wishes to let his trips to the barn remain a mystery.

One night, as you’re sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea and splitting corn bread with Grogu, Din returns through the back door with Boba happily trotting behind him.

“Welcome home,” you wink, standing to pour him a cup of tea.

“Mm,” he hums happily.

“Am I ever going to find out what you’re doing out there?”

“You’ll see soon enough, pretty girl,” he assures with a dimple deepening grin.

He steps behind you wrapping his arms around your waist as you pour him a cup. He nuzzles into your neck peppering your skin with soft kisses.

“Be careful,” you order, “the tea is hot.”

“Mm,” he tugs on your shoulder, turning you to face him. “I no longer want the tea.”

He grabs your ass, lifting you up into his hold. Your surprised yelp echoes through the room as you quickly wrap your legs around his waist for support.

“Din! What are you doing?” you giggle breathlessly.

He strides to the kitchen island, carrying you in his arms like a prized bounty and places you atop the cool butcher block.

“I want a taste of you,” he grins roguishly. His large hands skim up your thighs, bunching up the fabric of your dress.

“Oh god,” you roll your eyes. “You’re ridic—”

Your breath hitches as his hand reaches the apex of your thighs.

“No panties, huh? Were you waiting for me, pretty girl?” he asks, his finger tracing lightly along your bare skin, finding you already wet for him.

“Always,” you breathe.

He sinks to his knees before you, spreading your thighs wide and hooking your legs over his broad shoulders. His stubble scratches against your inner thighs as he nuzzles closer to your core. The cool wood and his warm touch sends a shiver through your body.

You gasp at the first touch of his tongue against your sensitive clit. He works his way around it with slow, deliberate licks and kisses, gently sucking and pulsing his tongue.

You moan loudly, tangling your fingers into his dark hair. He hums with appreciation against your skin as you pull the soft waves, urging him on. He laps at your arousal, drinking down the wetness you spill for him.

You press yourself harder against his eager mouth, he devours you, his thick tongue delving in and out of your eager cunt.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Oh my god.”

Your muscles begin to tense, your thighs begin to quake. Din’s tongue works tirelessly again your cunt.

“Close,” you gasp, your hips rolling against his face.

He groans as his tongue journeys up to your clit before flicking it rapidly against you. Two of his fingers slide into you, the stretch of them and the slow drag in which he pulls them in and out of you transports your orgasm higher. The familiar galaxy of stars Din always brings you twinkle behind your eyelids as you pulse against his fingers and tongue.

You fall apart atop the cool wood, with Din’s hot mouth against you working you through your orgasm, lapping up every drop you give him.

Your fingers comb through his soft hair, massaging his scalp with affection as he places soft kisses along your thighs.

“My tea’s probably cold by now.” he says, rising from between your legs and giving you a kiss. “Guess we should just take this to bed, huh?”

You chuckle breathlessly. “It’ll be a hell of a lot softer on my back than the countertop I can vegetables on.”

A wide smile spreads across his face as he lifts you up into his arms and carries you upstairs.

—-

“Ready for this?” You ask, holding the helmet out to him.

“I am,” he nods.

“I love you.”

He leans in, giving you a kiss before raising the helmet up to his head. “I love you too.”

Din sits on the chair, clad in his new helmet and his black sweatpants, his muscular, golden chest on full display for you, and soon, your viewers.

You hit the link to your show’s room. Your mouth drops at the amount of viewers waiting.

“Holy shit,” you gasp. “We have over 2,000 viewers.”

A rumbling hmph leaves the helmet.

“It’s just you and me,” you remind him.

“Hit connect baby,” he says, sitting up straighter and folding his arms across his chest.

You do as he says and hit connect. Hiding your nervousness and shock behind a sultry smile.

“Hi everyone,” you purr. “I see a lot of new faces here tonight. I guess word got around about my new costar.”

You sway your hips slowly and teasingly, the messages of your viewers illuminating the contours of your body as you let the anticipation build. Din watches intently, his helmeted head tilted slightly.

“Tonight,” you say, before glancing back to Din, “you’re going to watch me fuck my boyfriend.”

The chat explodes, gifts and tips fill the sidebar. Turns out, there is a market for this.

You turn away, stepping closer to Din, each movement slow and sensual as you dance across the room. You can see his breath hitch behind the visor as he takes in every inch of your body and each roll of your hips.

His face is totally concealed by his helmet, and yet you feel his eyes stalking you as you dance for him and your viewers.

Bending over, you plant your hands atop his thick thighs, gripping them and staring into the visor as you give him a wink and mouth “I love you.” His body tenses as he keeps his arms folded across his chest.

You turn your back to him, giving him a full view of your ass barely covered in the silver fabric of the thong he picked out specifically for tonight. You begin to move in rhythm with the music softly playing in the background, gliding your hands along the soft skin of your thighs. You turn slightly to look over your shoulder at him as your hands travel up to your silver bra unclasping it and baring your chest to the camera.

The speaker on the headset amplifies his breathing, reminding you of the first night you talked to him. Deep, steady breaths, sometimes a small grunt, maybe a light whimper.

You dance along to the song, dipping low before popping up with a twist of your hips, your hands charting a path across your skin, pinching and pulling your nipples before dipping down to the shiny straps of your thong. The snap of the fabric against your hip stings when you give it a playful tug then let it go.

"I’m soaked for you,” you moan, running your hand across the wet seam of your thong.

Turning to face him, your lips curl into a teasing smirk at the sight of him. The silver helmet may conceal his face, but his body's response to your dance is evident. His chest rises and falls in sync with his deep breaths, his arms now uncrossed and resting on his thighs as his hands grip tightly.

Slowly, you slink over to him and straddle his lap., reveling in the power you holder over him with your movements. Your hands land on his broad shoulders as you grind against the hardness straining against his black sweatpants.

“You like what you see, baby?” you purr, loud enough for the mic to pick up.

“Always,” his modulated voice rumbles.

You rock your hips, rubbing yourself against his bulge. Soft gasps and moans spill from your lips, your head falling back in pleasure.

“Do you want me to keep dancing for you?” you ask, swirling your hips.

“Yes,” he hisses.

“No touching,” you kiss the cool metal of his helmet. “Okay?”

The helmet tilts when he nods an affirmative.

Sliding off Din's lap, your fingers run along his chest as you rise. With a sultry smirk, you turn and sway your hips as you walk a few steps away from him. The beat of the music pulses through the room as you begin to dance.

Your hands glide over your body, fingers trailing across your skin as you arch your back and roll your hips.

Slowly, you turn to face him, his helmet is tilted as he watches intently.

When you reach him, you place your hands on his wide shoulders and lean in close. "Eyes on me, bounty hunter,” you whisper, your breath fans across the cool metal of his helmet.

Straddling his lap once more, you begin to grind against him in rhythm with the music. Your hips roll and swivel, creating delicious friction between you. Din's hands clench and unclench at his sides, fighting against the urge to touch you.

“Remember," you purr, "no touching."

A groan crackles through the helmet's speaker. You grin, knowing exactly how much he wants to touch you.

Rolling your body on top of him, your breasts graze against his chest before you lean back, your fingers tracing the curve of your breasts and down your stomach to the waistband of your thong.

Din's breathing grows heavier, the sound crackling through the helmet's speaker.

You rise off of him and turn to face the camera, your fingers hooking into the waistband of your thong, teasing at the thin silver fabric. You lock eyes with the camera as you slowly peel the garment down, revealing your soaked cunt to your viewers.

Facing Din again, you lower yourself to all fours and crawl to him. Your hands gliding up his thighs as you rise, nuzzling your face against the tent of his pants before pressing your body against his. You can feel the heat radiating off him and the tension in his muscles as he fights not to touch you.

Turning around, you lower yourself onto his lap, your back to his chest. Your ass grinds against his hardness, feeling it strain against his sweatpants.

You’re aching and wet for him, each light whimper from his headset pools even more wetness between your legs.

“Go ahead and touch me baby,” you moan.

Din's hands immediately grasp your hips, pulling you firmly against him. His hands roam your body, one sliding up to cup your breast while the other dips between your thighs. You gasp as his fingers find your clit, circling it slowly.

“Feel how wet I am for you baby?” you moan.

A muffled groan escapes the helmet's speaker, Din’s fingers exploring your slick.

You roll your hips against his hand seeking more of his touch.

“You want me to fuck him, chat?”

A splurge of thumbs ups and resounding yeses fill your screen.

You rise off Din's lap and turn to face him, hands gliding down his muscular chest to the waistband of his sweatpants. Slowly, teasingly, you tug them down, freeing his hard cock, his tip thick and glistening with precum. There’s something about sharing Din’s gorgeous cock with thousands of your viewers. One of the first glimpses you ever got of him was his golden toned cock, and now, here in the home you share, you’re sharing it with the world.

"Look how hard you make him, chat," you purr, wrapping your hand around his length and giving it a slow stroke. Din's hips twitch at your touch, a hiss of breath crackling through the helmet's speaker. You smile at him, proud of his bravery and enthusiasm for your job.

You straddle his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance.

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you take all of him in when you settle on his cock. His hands slide around to grip your ass, as you begin to move on top of him.

The stinging stretch of him inside you feels so familiar, and yet everything is different now. Now, thousands of people are watching you take his cock as he stays concealed behind the shiny, silver mask.

You grin down at Din’s exposed chest under the helmet before leaning down and taking his nipple into your mouth, sucking on it hard. If you can’t kiss his lips, you’ll kiss his body.

Din’s hips jerk forward, his cock hitting deeper against your tightness.

You lick your way up his body and kiss the metal of his helmet. "This isn't fair," you breathe out against it, "you look so fucking hot."

Din growls into the speaker, his voice modulated and deep as his hands slide up your sides possessively.

“Face them, show them how you take my cock.”

You moan loudly, at his words, quickly turning in his hold and sinking back down on him, taking all of his thick cock.

Your back presses against his broad chest, his hands wrapping around to cup your breasts and pinch your nipples.

"Ride me just like that, pretty girl," he rumbles. "Take what you need."

Din’s hands roam over your body, strong and calloused against your soft skin. His fingers find your clit, rubbing and flicking it just the way he knows you love it.

Din growls again, his hips snapping up to meet yours with force. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you as you reach behind him and grip onto his thick thighs for support as you ride him.

You can see the comments flooding in on your screen, filled with praises.

"I'm close baby, so close," you whimper, arching your back against his broad chest. The cool metal of his helmet presses against your shoulder.

"Cum for me," Din commands. The rumble from his speaker transports you right back to the nights you used to spend together, thousands of miles away from each other. Now, you’re here in the home you both share, taking his cock for your audience.

Everything sends you over the edge. You want to shout Din’s name, but you also wish to respect his anonymity... so you decide on a compromise.

“Mando!” you scream as your orgasm bursts through you. His breathing grows more rapid as your walls clench around his thick cock. Your head thuds against the metal of his helmet, your eyes squeezing tight, your lip capturing between your teeth as you you cum for Din—and your audience.

He lets out a groan that crackles through the speakers as he spills himself deep inside you. You collapse back against him, your bodies slick with sweat and chests heaving.

For a moment, you forget about the camera, the viewers, the chat still going wild as you listen to the cadence of Din’s breathing through the helmet’s speakers.

Slowly, still quivering in the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, you rise up from Din's lap. His softening cock slips out of you as you stand on wobbly legs. Turning to face the camera, you give your viewers a sultry smile.

"Look what he did to me," you purr, reaching down to spread yourself open with two fingers. Din's cum begins to drip out of your well-fucked pussy, glistening on your inner thighs. You trail a finger through the slick mess, bringing it to your lips to taste the mixture of you and Din.

The chat explodes with comments and tips, everyone going wild at the sight before them. You can’t look away from the image of Din on the monitor, sitting back in the chair, his broad chest heaving as he catches his breath. He’s naked, his cock laying heavily between his legs, glistening with a mixture of your collective orgasms.

"Mmm, he always fills me up so good," you moan appreciatively, scooping up more of the creamy fluid leaking out of you. You slip your fingers into your mouth, making a show of licking them clean and savoring the taste of Din's release.

Behind you, Din stands. You watch in the monitor as he stalks forward.

The chat window is full of flames, hearts, and messages. Encouragement for the two of you flowing in by your viewers. You smile at the camera as Din comes up behind you, pulling you close against his body and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hope you enjoyed everybody! We’ll see you next week.” The silver of Din’s helmet glints in the light when he nods as you shut down the show.

“Holy fuck!” you scream when you see the money from tonight’s show in your account, more than you’ve ever dreamed of earning. You turn around in his hold, lifting the helmet up and giving him a kiss. “Din, the audience loves you.”

—-

The wooden bench with its chipping paint and indentations from years of use overlooking the little pond the ducks gather in is your favorite spot on this earth. Better than the clubhouse in the woods behind your childhood home that you used to call yours as a curious child, better than the sanctuary of a townhome you used to call yours with all of your belongings, better than the bedroom you now share with your boyfriend who you love with all of your heart.

The sun has long gone down, the little lantern hanging on the wooden post swings in the night breeze as the moon sits high and full in the sky.

A warm jacket is placed around your shoulders. It smells of Din.

“Hi,” you turn and smile at him.

He gives you a shy smile and joins you on the bench, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer.

You breathe in the familiar smell of him along with the wet dirt and the dew left on the grass. It smells of home.

He sighs, his fingers against your shoulder tap nervously.

“You alright?” you ask.

He looks at you, deep brown eyes meeting yours and nods with a soft smile.

“I still can’t believe you’re here with me sometimes.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He hums in agreement.

“I think we were destined to be together, like it was somehow written in the stars,” he says, his voice deep and introspective as he gazes up at the twinkling stars above. “I used to dream of being in space and looking down on earth, like I never belonged down here. But now, with you, I feel like… I belong.”

You lean your head against his shoulder and look up to the dark sky painted with stars.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you smile, tracing a constellation with your finger. “These can be our stars.”

Din’s hand gently covers yours, his thick fingers lingers on your ring finger.

“I like those,” he says with a nervous breath. “They’re ours now.”

He pulls away, turning to look you in your eyes, a shy smile deepening his dimple. “Would you stay here with me forever as… my wife?”

Your eyes widen in surprise and tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” you breathlessly say.

Your breath hitches in your throat and your heart races as he reaches into his jacket, pulling out a beautiful golden ring with delicate stars etched onto it.

“This is what I’ve been working on in the barn all those nights. I made it myself.”

Tears fall down your face as Din takes your left hand and slides the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly, as if it was meant to be there all along.

You stare at the golden band, captivated by how beautiful it looks on your finger. This is where you are meant to be, with him.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice full of emotion.

“I love you too,” Din replies. “We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all.”

—-

Fifteen Years Later...

Two quiet giggles awaken you from your sleep.

"It's Christmas! Can we go downstairs?" Bo asks excitedly, bouncing on her feet, her face lit with an excited smile. "I think I heard Santa last night!"

“No you didn’t,” Greef responds, rolling his eyes. “The chimney’s on the other side of the house.”

“Greef, ” Din sternly commands as he rises out of bed. “Be nice.”

“Sorry dad,” Greef apologizes.

You smile sleepily at your children's excitement, stretching as you climb out of bed.

“Come on!” Bo yells as she runs out the door.

"Alright, alright, we're coming," you yawn, quickly pulling on your robe and slippers.

Din wraps his arm around your waist as you make your way downstairs, following the pitter-patter of little feet racing ahead of you.

It was around this time ten years ago that Din sat you down and told you about Greef and Bo, the twin foundlings in need of a family. As a former foundling himself, Din couldn't bear the thought of the twins not having a safe and nurturing home. With tears in your eyes and love in your heart, you both made the decision to become the parents of Greef and Bo. The call to Cobb was made, and what used to be your livestream studio, turned into a nursery.

That first Christmas as a family of four, Din had planted Christmas trees on your farm. Now, one of those trees is sitting proudly in the corner of your living room, covered in twinkling lights and handmade ornaments.

"Look! Santa came!" Bo squeals, pointing at the cookie crumbs.

"Can we open presents now? Please?" Greef asks, barely containing his excitement.

“Hold on, let me get the coffee going,” Din chuckles, heading to the kitchen to turn the coffee maker on.

The kids vibrate with wonderment, taking in all of the brightly wrapped presents underneath the tree.

“Okay, have at them,” Din says, settling onto the couch next to you and pulling you close.

The kids don’t hesitate, diving for the presents. Bo chooses a soft, squishy package while Greef grabs a rectangular box, tearing into the wrapping paper.

"A new stuffed animal!" Bo exclaims, hugging a plush bear to her chest. "I'm gonna name her Chewie."

"Awesome, the new flying game I wanted!" Greef grins, examining the box. “Can we play it later, Dad?”

“We can,” Din nods with a warm smile. "I'm a pretty good pilot if I do say so myself."

You spend the next hour watching the kids open gift after gift, their faces lighting up with each reveal. There are new books, art supplies, clothes, and toys scattered across the floor. Fifteen minutes has turned into fifteen years. A black box of mystery has turned into a house full of love.

—-

A/N: Thank you *SO* much for reading. I loved writing Din and his cam girl, and I hope you love the glimpse of their future life together.

#din djarin #pedro pascal #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian fic #mandalorian smut #mandalorian au #mando x reader #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #mando smut #mandalorian x you #mando #star wars the mandalorian

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queers-gambit · 11 months ago

Text

Blue Bunny

prompt: you and the Twins show up to collect the same debt.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 4.4k+

warnings: Tan's real name being Aaron, Lemon's real name being Brian, Mafia antics, depiction of murder, blood, guns, brief physical violence, given nickname [ Bunny ], Daddy's Girl trope? dialogue heavy fic.

"I like the lilac, what do you think? Maybe the yellow?"

"The pink's rather nice."

"How's about green? For St. Patrick's Day? Celebration of spring?"

Your lover chuckled over the receiver, phone set on speaker to the desk in front of you. "Think I prefer the blue," he replied, the smirk evident.

"You always prefer blue," you teased, handing the bottle of pale blue nail polish to your nail tech. "So, tell me, where are you now? Haven't seen yah all week," You pouted, placing your AirPods in to keep the conversation private. Not like it mattered, your nail tech, Collette, only spoke French, and she was the only other person in the room.

"'Fraid I can't divulge that information, sweetheart," Aaron sighed, "on a bit of business right now."

"Now? Like, in the present?" You chuckled, nodding at Collette when she pointed at the length of the acrylic.

"Yeah," Tan mused back, "say hello, sweetheart!"

"Hello, luv!" Brian, or otherwise known as Lemon, was heard calling. His twin, your lover, used the codename Tangerine for the contract agency they worked for - keeping their identities safe. Something you didn't necessarily have to worry about, being as your name held power. It was something like a shield in the criminal world, everyone knowing your surname dictated fear.

"Oh, hello, my sweetness," you cooed, grinning slyly. "What's it you two are up to? What sort of business are you on?"

"Ah, hang on a tick, love," Aaron mused, setting his phone down. You waited patiently, hearing a series of gunshots ringing out as you watched Collette paint the pale blue in sleek, professional strokes. Screams echoed over the line, tires screeches, several grunts of exertion, but you didn't so much as flinch, just admiring the work your nail tech did.

You blew on your nails, admiring the color.

Collette asked if you wanted to keep the paint shiny or add a matte overcoat, you humming, replying in French that you preferred the shiny coat. She held up a bottle of silver glitter, perking her brows, watching you nod - trusting her artistic eye.

"Hello? Still there, Bunny?" Aaron got back on the line, using your pet name he bestowed on you after your first date. You had a cold coming on, and after he kissed you, you instantly sneezed - nose screwing up like a fluffy bunny.

"I'm here," you smiled.

"Right, what color did you go with?"

You grinned, "Take a guess."

"Blue's your color."

"More like yours. I much prefer pastels, but I think this color's the best of both our preferences."

He chuckled, "Listen, yeah? You free Thursday? I'l be in your neck of the woods."

"Ah, I'm traveling this week," you answered with a pout, "what about next week?"

"I might be able t'swing that, yeah," Aaron agreed easily. "You hear from that Edward bloke recently?"

"No, no, I've told you, I'm done with him. You're quite the jealous type, you know, scared him off real good."

"Ah, well, don't like folks touchin' what's mine, now, do I?"

"Apparently not," you smiled, phone line beeping with an incoming call. "Oh, shit, I gotta go, Aaron, Daddy's calling."

"Mhm, and we all know you betta answer, huh?"

"It's how we all stay alive," you laughed. "Bye."

"See yah real soon, Bunny. Make sure your toes match!"

You hung up with a laugh, then accepted your father's incoming call, "Hi, Daddy."

"Hello, sweet one," he answered. "What are you up to?"

"Collette's doing my nails."

"Ah, very good. What color?"

"A pretty pale blue."

"Wonderful. Tell Collette I say hello. We'll have t'get her a sensational Christmas bonus with the way you work her."

You chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Listen, poppet, I need you to do something for me."

"Mhm, anything you need, Daddy."

"One of our associates is late on payment."

"How late?"

"A week."

"Oh, you're taking time in collecting," you mused, appreciating the full set Collette was detailing. "What's the hold up? Why wait?"

"I'm stuck in Prague."

"Daddy."

"I know," he rushed, "but I need you on this one, princess."

"Who's the associate?"

"Fella name Wilmer DeLano."

"I know of him, doesn't he own the chain of pharmacies? His son and I went to university together, right?"

"The exact same," your father confirmed. "I need you to go collect, princess, please."

"How much is the debt?"

"With the added week, chalks it up to $3 million."

"US dollars?"

"Yeah."

"Since when do we deal in US dollars?" You asked with a curled lip.

"Not the question I think you want to be asking."

"Uh, no, you're right, okay, sure, I can collect. Tonight?"

"He's not expecting it, knows I'm still in Prague. Take Rufus and Gunther with you for protection detail."

"I'd rather take Samuel."

"No, he's doing a different favor for me."

"Daddy."

"He's making a delivery, all right?"

"What about Gunther and Casey? Rufus creeps me out."

"That's fine," your father agreed with a sigh. "Listen, princess, tonight might get a little hairy, so I want you prepared."

"Daddy, I'm literally getting my nails done, I'm not handling a gun. That's what Gunther's for."

"I taught you better than that. You protect yourself, you can't depend on anyone else."

You nodded, "Yes, sir. Do you wanna call the boys or...?"

"I'll call them, don't worry. Just be ready to go by 8. Remember, princess, $3 million - and make sure you count it, too."

You agreed, promising you loved him, then wishing him luck in Prague on whatever his business was. After hanging up, Collette smiled, asking in French, "When are you going to tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

"That you have a boyfriend," she laughed. "He's your father, he'll be happy for you."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh, please," she scoffed, swiping the glitter on your nails. "That boy that you're always on the phone with? You're not hiding it, not from me."

You felt warmth flush your chest, heating your core. "He's still not my boyfriend," you mumbled stubbornly.

"He picks your nail colors," she grinned, "that's a boyfriend!"

You double checked the address your father sent, nodding at Gunther in the driver's seat. "All right, lads, I want this a clean collection. Just got my nails done," you smirked, the lights of the three-story home still on and indicating DeLano must've been home.

"Yes, ma'am," Casey agreed, getting out of the backseat and opening your passenger door; helping you out, letting you readjust your clingy black dress. Gunther moved around the back of the car, grabbing the usual go-bag brought to every collection.

Slowly, carefully, you stalked up the long driveway, heels clacking with every pace. You let Gunther peer through the windows, him nodding before leading the way to the backdoor. It was simple enough to jimmy the lock open, silently swinging the door wide open and stepping over the threshold.

Casey went around the side to enter through the living room as you walked through the kitchen, surrounding your target. Wilmer DeLano was sat at his dining room table with his wife, looking up when you cleared your throat. He jolted in shock, but Casey blocked the only other doorway; his gun in hand, both clasped in front of him.

Gunther checked the rest of the house.

"Hello, Mr. DeLano," you greeted casually. "Oh, something smells wonderful in here, you cook this?" You asked his wife, casually strolling up to the table, Red Bottoms sounding over the polish hardwood floors. You plucked up a slice of roast, tearing a bite off and humming, "Oh, very good that. You're a lucky man, Mr. DeLano to have such a talented wife."

"Who are you?" The portly woman begged, flinching when you hummed and brandished your gun.

"Right, guessing you don't know," you nodded. "Your husband's in a bit of a lucrative business, Missus. Nice house, though," you gazed around, "lot of fine art you've got hung up, saw all name-brand appliances in your kitchen."

"H-He owns a chain of drug stores - "

"Yes, yes, yes, I know. Very true," you agreed, "but that's only a front, it's not the full picture. I'm here to help illustrate, if you will. C'mon, why don't we all go into the living room? Hear that's where the safe is kept."

"What is happening!?" Mrs. DeLano demanded, gun pointed at her temple.

"Up, up," you demanded.

Slowly, Wilmer lifted from his seat with his hands held in peace, "Okay, okay, we can - let's go talk in the living room. Just don't threaten my wife, she's got nothing t'do with this."

"For now," you agreed, gathering the couple to the living room couch.

"Boss," Gunther alerted, dragging your old university classmate and a previous lover, Edward DeLano, up from the basement, "found this one down there, smoking a joint. Rest of the house is clear."

"Wonderful," you nodded, gesturing for Eddie to sit. "You bring enough to share with the class?" But your old peer just looked around the room of criminals. "Guessin' he didn't wanna share," you pouted, then rolling your eyes. "Well, now that we've all gathered - "

Suddenly, there was a noisy crack and bang as the front door was kicked in, making all three of you gangsters turn with weapons drawn and aimed. However, you chuckled and dropped your arm when you realized it was the Twins, Aaron and Brian, or Tangerine and Lemon, standing in the splintered doorway.

"At ease, lads," you chuckled, holstering your gun to your thigh. "These are friends of mine."

"You outsourced the job? Out your fuckin' mind, princess? Huh?" Casey growled, not lowering his gun as Tan and Lem strolled in.

"Don't fuckin' talk to her like that," Aaron snapped instantly.

"Fuck off, Casey, I would never outsource, I know the fucking rules," you sound more amused than anything.

"Well, ain't this fun?" Aaron mused with a grin, strolling in casually before pausing in the open foyer as Brian tried shutting the door again - but it the very doorframe was shattered, making it impossible. "Sorry 'bout the front door, ol' chap, but you understand, yeah? 'S just business," He nodded at DeLano. "Bunny," he smirked at you, hands in his tailored suit pants pockets; polished Italian leather shoes gently scoffing across the floor.

Aaron magnetized to your side, coiling his arm around your waist to lean in and peck your cheek.

"Hi, handsome. Thought you weren't in town until later?"

"We wrapped a different job early," he answered. "Question is: what're you doin' here, love?"

"Collecting debt payment."

"No shit," he grinned, "so are we."

Your head cocked; leaning into his side with your own arm wrapping around his chiseled waist. You asked, "He owes my father money. You?"

"Owes an associate, too." He smirked at the DeLano's you two stood in front of, "Ain't that right, geezer? Got yourself into a bit of a pickle, didn't yah? Got a bit of a problem with the nose candy, don't'cha, naughty boy?"

"You told me you quit!" Mrs. DeLano hissed, "now you're in debt!?"

"I have it under control," Wilmer deflected stiffly.

His wife sobbed and begged, "W-Would someone please just explain what's going on!? Who are you people!?" Tears fell fast. "What do you want from us!?"

"This ain't rocket science, love, fuck you mean what do we want?" Lemon snickered. "You not listenin' or something?"

"Ah, right, well, I was in the middle of explainin' the situation," you told the Twins, waving a manicured hand in the air as if swatting away a pesky fly. "'Ello, lovie," you grinned at Lemon when he stationed himself on your other side, "good t'see you."

"Sweetheart," he nodded, offering a side hug when you released his brother, "been too long, hasn't it?"

"Since Cancún," you agreed. "Right, then! Onward, ho! Casey, darlin', would you be a doll and open the bag? Get us set up t'count up?"

"'Course, boss," he agreed, kneeling at the mahogany coffee table and unzipping the duffel you brought.

"Right," your hands clapped, the family jumping at the sudden sound, "back to what I was sayin'. See, your husband owns the drug stores, that's true," you allotted, "but he also launders money for the Mafia. For my father, my family. Maybe you've heard of him?"

You relaid your father's first and last name, seeing the Fear of God paint over the DeLano's. "What?" Eddie snapped at his father sat beside him. See, despite dating briefly, you kept your identity a secret from Ed. "What have you done!? Do you know who her father is? Know what he's done!? He fuckin' gutted his own brother - "

"Allegedly," you interjected sharply.

" - all in the name of business! You don't know what this family is capable of!"

"Yes, boy, I'm well aware, the man is my bloody business partner," Wilmer snapped right back.

"Well, not so much of a partner now, are yah? Just more of a fuckin' nuisance," You smirked, earning the attention again. "So, you see, your husband washes our money, earns a significant cut for shouldering the risk. Payment's collected every two weeks and as of today, your husband's a week late on delivering our cash load."

"I-I can explain, please - "

"No need," you cut Wilmer off, "because I didn't get t'where I am now by listening to pathetic explanations. I don't listen to excuses. Fact is, you own my father money, and because you're late, the total is now $3 million - and he wants it in US dollars."

"Well, ain't that somethin'?" Tan smirked at Lem. "Turns out, he owes our client some million, too."

You hummed, nodding, "Right, right, but see, thing is, if my Daddy ain't paid, he goes postal. Nasty business, truly messy, just a chaotic clusterfuck, bodies left everywhere, cities in shambles." Turning back to the family, you offered, "So, we're just gonna make this easy. You cough up what you owe, we won't blow your brains out all over this nice Persian rug. Mmmh! See that, love?" You pointed to the fabric you stood on, looking at Aaron. "That's real authentic, you can tell by the threading. Be a shame to ruin it, yeah? Exquisite work."

"Sure is," he agreed, "but did you see up there, Bunny? 'Bove the mantel?"

"Oh, yes," you breathed in impression, "an ancient Aztec tribal mask. An artifact, very hard to get your hands on. Heard the British Museum was actually lookin' for that particular mask."

"Seems like Mr. DeLano is quite the collector of finer things," Lemon admired, pointing at a portrait on the wall. "Oi! Is that what I think? Is that a fucking Monet?"

"Priceless," you nodded.

"Listen, right, we've got strict orders, yeah?" Your lover sighed, shifting his weight. "We're t'collect payment by any means, a message is t'be sent. Right?"

"That's right, yeah," Lemon agreed, crossing his arms. "Make sure this kinda misunderstanding don't happen again."

Gunther asked, "You need tarps for this?"

You refused, "No, we're not here to kill anyone. We're here to let a loyal man the opportunity to pay us what's owed."

"Listen t-t-to me," Wilmer begged, stuttering in fear, "I don't have the money. Okay? The government came sniffin', I had tax liens to pay off to avoid prison time - "

"More fuckin' excuses! Jesus, fuck, man!" You groaned. "Who do you think can do more damage - the bloody government or my family? Huh? Look, lad, I know you've got what we're owed, so, be a good li'l boy and open the safe. Huh?"

"Fucking do it, Dad!"

"What're you doing, Wilmer? What are you waiting for!? You can't play this game! You'll get us all killed!"

"I don't have the money! How can I pay with what I don't have!?"

"Why do I not believe that?" You mused to Tan.

"'Cause you've been in this business a helluva lot longer than he has," Tangerine / Aaron answered. "You know a rat when you smell one, I reckon."

You nodded, then pulled your gun out again, aiming, and firing at Eddie's knee to shatter his kneecap. Blood splattered onto the couch. He screamed in agony, you raging above the panicked cries and shocked shouts, "Do I have your fucking attention now, Mr. DeLano?"

Edward sobbed in pain, trying to staunch the bleeding, Mrs. Delano gasping and shrieking. "Do whatever they want, Wilmer! For fuck's sake! Just do it!"

"Listen to your wife, mate," Lemon advised. "Unhappy wife, unhappy life, innit?"

You aimed at Eddie's other knee, firing, causing another flurry of screaming, crying, and begging. "If you want your son t'only have two bullets in 'im, I suggest you get moving!" You barked, aiming at Wilmer. "Now!"

"Well, wait a tick," Tangerine halted, "if we're both on the job, how's it gonna look if the geezer's telling us the truth, hey? Who gets the money?"

"Let's find it first, darlin', distribute later," you breathed as Casey finished setting up the automatic money counter. "Mr. DeLano? I advise you to do what we're asking. See, I use to duck hunt - I'm an excellent shot. The next bullet's goin' in your son's head and I never miss. Now, where's the fucking money!?"

"I don't have it! Please!"

"The money, DeLano, where's the fucking money!?"

"Please - "

"You want a dead son!?"

"All right!" He sobbed, "All right, fine! Yes, you win! Just please, please! Don't hurt my family anymore! Please, just leave them alone! I'll do what you want, just - leave them out of this!"

You nodded, "Well, you fucked with my Daddy's money. Only right I cripple you in a sense. Hey? Now, chop chop," you checked your watch for the time, "I'm a very busy bee and don't have all night."

"You're a smart lad, DeLano, we know you would've wanted to prep for a comfy fall if it came to it," Lemon laughed easily from beside you. "Ain't no way you're bone dry, know you have money stashed for security. Just c'mon, mate, these two sickos consider this a sort of foreplay, they'll go all fuckin' night with yah if you continue to refuse," he gestured at you and Tan.

You tacked on, "Lotta places to shoot someone without killin' 'em. Just saying..."

Wilmer stood from the couch, his wife shooting across the newly vacated space to embrace her whimpering son. The money launderer approached the Monet painting and lifted it from the wall; revealing an iron safe. You shared a look with Tangerine, smirking as the combination was entered and the door opening.

"That's what we fuckin' thought," Tangerine sneered, seeing the stacks and stacks and stacks of money. " Fuckin' hell. Right, so, look, count up the lady first. We'll settle after," he sniffed, fluffing his suit's lapel, picking off a piece of lint.

Wilmer began handing stacks to Casey to count, one of your arms crossing over your stomach to prop up your other arm; hand limp in the air. "Faster," you demanded, the man sweating bullets.

"Oh, now, look at that," Tan mused, taking your hand to admire your fresh manicure, "you went with blue."

"Like it?"

"Looks real pretty, Bunny, but I know something these would look better wrapped around," he grinned, making you smack his stomach playfully. "You wanna go get drinks afta this? My treat."

"Sounds like a date," you accepted, Gunther storing the counted cash into the dark duffel. "How's it lookin', Casey?"

"Looks 'bout right, boss," he reported, handing over another stack of banded money. "You want me t'count the Twins up?"

"Oh, if you would please, darlin', it would be very helpful," you nodded. "But I'm having a thought, right? Stay with me, would yah?"

"Oh, go on, toots, you've got great ideas," Lemon encouraged with a chuckle.

"Not always," Casey snickered, "remember what happened in Texas? At that Western bar?"

"Oi, the electronic bull was not my fault!"

"But the incident with the tequila and donkey was!"

"Hush!" You scolded. "Listen, all right, you see, this fucker tried to stiff us all... Let's clear the safe out. Take away any safety net? Truly cripple him, set him back to nothing?"

"Sound like your father," Gunther chuckled.

"That's a compliment," you shot back. "Go on, I want the lot."

Gunther agreed, standing, and approaching the safe. He shoved Wilmer out of the way, sweeping his arm into the safe and starting to load up the duffel. "You can't do this! If you take it all, what are we supposed to do!? How is my family supposed to survive when leeches like you suck us dry!?" Wilmer barked, making the amusement drop from your face.

"Watch your tone."

"No! No, I will not! You think you're high and mighty because of your father, but you're just a spoilt little girl! You all break into my house, extort me - "

"Can you truly extort a criminal? For the money they owe other criminals?" Brian / Lemon wondered out loud as he meandered the living room, making you shrug.

"He likes playing victim," you mused, but in the time you looked over your shoulder, Wilmer charged. You gasped when his shoulder bullied into your gut, tackling you past Tangerine and into the coffee table, shattering it.

"GO! RUN!" He shouted at his family, Tangerine lunging instantly to wrangle him off of you; the breath knocked from your lungs.

"Got some fuckin' nerve, don't yah!? Touchin' my girl!?" He raged, throwing the man to the floor again. "Nobody fuckin' moves!" Aaron growled, gun pointed at Wilmer.

"Not like they can, two blown out knees," Brian grunted as he helped pick you up from the wreck.

"Yeh all right, Bunny?"

"All right, love, yeah," you answered and adjusted your dress, picking up your weapon as Tan began wailing his balled-up fist into Wilmer's face at a jackhammering pace. It was wildly attractive, watching the man you were in-love with beat the shit out of someone who offered you threat and harm. Then something caught your eye, gasping, "Oh, you rat bastard! You broke my fucking nail!"

You yanked Tan back; aiming at Wilmer, pulling the trigger to let a close-range bullet explode the man's head; leaking brain matter on the Persian carpet. You turned to Mrs. DeLano and Eddie, cocking your head as they begged and pleaded for their lives, but you weren't listening anymore. "Got it all, boss," Gunther informed, dropping the stuffed duffel. "What we doin' with them?"

"Exactly what my father would do," you decided. "No witnesses."

"PLEASE! NO, GOD! NO, DON'T, PLEASE! WE WON'T SAY ANYTHING, I SWEAR! I SWEAR! PLEASE! MERCY! MERCY MERCY!"

Three more gunshots sounded, Tangerine's gun smoking before being tucked back into his shoulder holster under his jacket. "Well," he fluffed his lapels again, sniffling harshly, "shall we be on our way, Bunny? We good here?"

"Oh, might as well - got what we needed," you agreed, grimacing when blood bloomed towards your expensive shoes. "Ugh, what a mess. I'll make a call, have this cleaned up, pose it as a murder-suicide," you side-stepped the puddle. "Gunther, Casey, take what you want from this place, get the cash back to the stash house. I'm gonna grab a drink with the lads," you smirked, looping your arm with Aaron's.

Lemon / Brian packed up their share of the money, following behind as Tangerine / Aaron lead you from the house; placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting the end, inhaling, tossing his free arm around your neck. The night was dark and brisk, refreshing on your clammy skin as you stabilized your breathing; always a little shaken after taking life.

Call it morality.

Once in their tinted Mercedes, Brian got in the backseat, Tan rolled his window down to smoke, and you pulled out your ringing cell phone to answer, "Hi, Daddy."

He breathed in relief, "Good, you answered. Means nothing bad happened."

"That's not entirely true," you admitted. "We're leaving now."

"What happened?"

You winced, brushes already forming, "DeLano got bold, he attacked. So we left no witnesses."

"Good girl," he praised. "You feel all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm actually going to drinks with some, uh, friends," you glanced at Tangerine - seeing his lips pulled in a smirk as he started the car and pulled off down the street. "Turns out, DeLano didn't just owe us, but some coke dealer, too. Right, love?" You checked.

"Right," Aaron confirmed, reaching over to plant his hand on your thigh and give a soft squeeze.

"Right, yeah, so, he tried lying 'bout money, I shot his son's kneecaps - "

"That's my girl!"

" - and cleared the safe out. That's when DeLano attacked me - "

"WHAT!?"

"Daddy," you reprimanded softly. "I'm okay. Actually, the hired contractors on the job saved my arse - they showed up after we did with the same agenda. Gunther and Casey are gonna take the cash to a stash house, I gotta call Mr. Brooks about cleaning up."

"Did you say contractors?"

"Yeah, uh, you know, from The Agency?"

"You mean hitmen?"

"Yeah, guess you could say that. Think they're more like contract killers? Verbiage is so fickle."

"Who? Who exactly was there?"

"The Twins, Daddy. Don't worry, they're absolutely charming, only took their payment. We're gonna go for drinks, yeah?"

"Huh," he grunted, "must've been some bigwig t'send them two. Or a considerable debt." You were about to reply when he gasped in realization, "Wait, no. No, no, hang on a tick, don't bloody tell me."

"What?"

"This the lad you've got a thing for, innit? The one that sends yah flowers every other week?"

"Daddy."

"Don't tell me it's that Tangerine fucker, princess, please!"

"Oh, no, look at that, we're heading into a tunnel! I'm gonna lose the call; talk tomorrow, be safe, good luck in Prague, okay, muah! Muah! Muah! Love you! Bye, bye, bye!" You rambled quickly, blowing air kisses, then hanging up swiftly.

"The hell was that about?" Aaron chuckled. "He mad we were there?"

"Not entirely."

"Was he mad you're gettin' drinks with us?" Brian laughed from the back.

"That's a little more accurate. Well," you winced, "he was a bit testy that I'm goin' with Aaron..."

"I haven't done a damn thing to him," he grumbled.

"You do have a bit of a reputation, bruv."

You smiled sweetly, gripping Aaron's hand on your thigh, "He's my father, 'course he's gonna worry."

"'Bout time he found out, keeping you two a secret was mad frustrating, yeah? You two are disgustingly in-love."

Tangerine squeezed your thigh again, sending you a bright grin, "That we are."

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

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hoshifighting · 5 months ago

Text

lee chan as your sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar mommy x sugar baby relationship, smut, cock riding, overstimulation, oral (m. receiving). — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

chan's fingers hovered over the keyboard, the couch under him squeaking as his friends shifted closer, eyes glued to his screen. the profile had been a joke, a dare born out of a boredom and too many beers. his bio was something ridiculous, like “lee chan, 25. likes dancing, long walks to the fridge, and avoiding adult responsibilities.” he doesn’t think much of it, just another one of those dumb things you do with friends that you forget about the next morning.

so when that notification popped up, he’d been fully ready to shrug it off.

“oh shit, someone actually bit,” seungkwan snorted, elbowing him in the ribs.

“no way,” vernon leaned in closer, practically draping himself over chan’s shoulder. “what, is it a granny looking for a toyboy?”

chan was already smirking, about to type back something half-assed, but then he clicked on the profile.

silence.

“bro…” was all soonyoung managed, voice dropping to something almost reverent.

you stared back at him from the screen, the photo set in dubai. expensive-ass bikini that screamed designer without being obnoxious about it, a pool so clear it could’ve been a goddamn mirror. every photo after that, some crazy tourist spot, one after the other. greece, italy, fucking bali. you were clearly someone who had their shit together, someone who probably had the same watch collection as his entire paycheck for the last year.

chan’s still staring at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. he’s never seen anything like this before. you look like money, smell like money, like that fancy, understated kind of wealth that doesn’t need to brag.

“are you gonna reply or just keep ogling?” seungkwan’s voice snapped him out of it.

he glanced at the message again. just a simple “hi” but now another one had popped up.

“she’s typing again,” someone whispers, and chan snaps out of it, eyes darting back to the chat window.

“you’re real cute in that profile pic,” it read, followed by a winking emoji.

“well, fuck me,” chan muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “what the hell do i even say to that?”

“anything but something stupid,” vernon quipped, nudging him.

chan bites his lip, glancing at his friends who are all staring at him like this is the most important conversation of his life. and maybe it kinda is.

his fingers hovered again. you were out of his league in every way that mattered, but here you were, talking to him. and what was he? just some dude who loved dance and cheap beer. but fuck it. he wasn’t about to let that stop him.

“hii! you know, you look even better than all those tourist spots. might have to see for myself sometime...”

“oh my god, dude,” vernon whispered, trying not to laugh too loudly.

“he’s going in!” seungkwan half-yelled, covering his mouth in shock.

chan hit send and immediately regretted it, cheeks burning. “what? too much?”

“nah, man, that’s bold,” soonyoung said, barely containing his grin. “you might’ve just scored.”

seconds felt like hours, everyone staring at the screen, waiting. then, the notification pinged.

“lol, that’s cute,” you replied. “where you living rn?”

chan’s hands shook as he typed back. “seoul. just a humble dancer here. what about you? where you at?”

“imma bet she’s like, in some penthouse in new york or something,” soonyoung guessed.

chan rolled his eyes but waited, heart in his throat, until your next message popped up.

“france atm. here for work.”

“what the fuck?” chan whispered, blinking. “she’s in france? who just casually drops they’re in france?”

“she’s high-class, bro,” vernon chuckled, “better up your game.”

chan swallowed, typing back, “damn, france, huh? that’s far. what kind of work are you into?”

“bet she’s got some crazy job,” soonyoung mused, leaning in closer.

your reply came quicker this time. “i’m a director at a company. lots of traveling, lots of meetings, but it’s worth it.”

“right?” chan exhaled, trying to play it cool. “guess i better brush up on my french. so, when are you back in seoul?”

“soon,” you replied. “might need a tour guide when i get there. you up for the job?”

chan felt his heart skip a beat. “hell yeah, i’m up for it. i’ll make sure you see all the best spots.”

“even better if one of those spots is your place,” you teased.

his friends erupted into laughter, nearly falling off the couch as chan’s face turned beet red. “fuck… she’s smooth,” he mumbled, grinning despite himself.

“she’s gonna eat you alive, and you’re gonna love it,” vernon teased, leaning back into the couch, grinning ear to ear.

days passed, and his friends kept throwing out jokes, but none of them actually thought he’d go through with meeting you. it was supposed to be a dare, a laugh, nothing serious. but there chan was, pulling on the finest clothes he owned, trying to look like he belonged next to someone like you. black slacks, a crisp white shirt, the kind of fit that made him feel like maybe he could pass for someone with a little more class, some nice pants, and his best pair of shoes. it wasn’t designer, but it was the best he could do.

he paced in front of his apartment building, checking his phone every two seconds. his palms were already sweating, and his heart raced in his chest like it was trying to break free.

then, he saw it—a sleek black porsche 911 pulling up to the curb, the engine purring like a panther. “no fucking way,” he whispered to himself as the door opened and you stepped out, removing your sunglasses with a casual flick of your wrist. your gaze locking onto his. you were the picture of luxury, the kind of woman who had her shit together and didn’t let anyone forget it.

chan swallowed hard, his confidence from your messages feeling a little shaky now that you were right in front of him. “uh, hey,” he managed, running a hand through his hair.

you smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your lips as you approached him. “nice to finally meet you, chan,” you said, your voice smooth, like you were used to making people feel a little off-kilter.

“y-yeah, you too,” he stammered, trying to hold it together. “you look... wow.”

“thanks,” you replied, glancing at his outfit. “you clean up pretty well yourself.”

he chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “figured i should try to look the part.”

you gave him an appraising look before tilting your head towards the car. “so, you know how to drive?”

he blinked, caught off guard. “uh, yeah, of course.”

“good,” you said, tossing the keys his way. he barely caught them, fumbling a bit as he did. “why don’t you take us for a spin, then?”

“you want me to drive that?” chan asked, glancing back at the porsche, his nerves doubling.

you nodded, a glint in your eye. “you got it, pretty boy. show me what you can do.”

chan’s heart thudded in his chest as he walked over to the car, his hands still a little shaky as he slid into the driver’s seat. the leather was soft under his fingers, the kind of luxury he wasn’t used to, but damn if he didn’t feel like a king behind that wheel.

he started the engine, the car rumbling to life, and glanced over at you. you were watching him, your expression amused but with a hint of something else, something that made him feel like this was more than just a ride.

“so, where to first?” he asked, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

“how about we start with wherever you usually hang out?” you suggested, settling into the seat, your gaze flicking to him. “i want to see the city through your eyes.”

chan nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “okay, i can do that.”

chan had never felt so out of his element, yet so at ease. he’d taken you through his world, showing you his favorite spots around the city—the dance studio where he spent countless hours perfecting his moves, a little-known art exhibition that he’d insisted on paying for, despite your amused protests. now, the two of you strolled through a quiet park, the late afternoon sun casting a warm, golden glow over everything.

as you walked, chan led you to a secluded spot where an old statue stood, slightly weathered but still striking. it was a simple piece, a couple entwined in an embrace, their lips inches apart, forever captured in a moment of almost-kissing.

“so, this statue,” chan started, his voice a little softer now. “there’s this legend that if you kiss someone here, you’re supposed to stay together forever. something about how the artist sculpted it after he lost his wife. he wanted to capture their last moment together, just before they kissed, so they could be like that forever.”

you stopped, staring at the statue, then glanced at him with a knowing smile. “and here i thought you were just a dancer. didn’t know you were into old romantic tales, too.”

he shrugged, a bit bashful. “yeah, well, this place is special. it’s got a vibe, you know?”

“i know,” you replied, stepping closer to the statue, your hand brushing over its surface. “i’ve actually been here before. in fact, i’ve been to every place you showed me today.”

chan’s eyes widened in surprise, a mix of shock and curiosity flooding his expression. “wait, you did? why didn’t you say anything?”

you turned to face him, your gaze locking onto his. “i just wanted to spend time with you. i wanted to see how you experience these places, what they mean to you.”

“that’s… actually pretty sweet.”

you nodded, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, your body almost brushing against his. “you think so?”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the world around you fading into the background. chan could feel the words hanging between you like a challenge and an invitation all at once.

“well,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “there’s still one thing we haven’t done yet.”

“what’s that?” you asked, your voice equally soft, a teasing edge to it.

chan didn’t answer with words. instead, he slowly closed the distance between you, his hands gently resting on your hips. you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was holding back, not wanting to rush, but there was no mistaking the want in his eyes.

and then he kissed you.

it started slow, like he was savoring the first taste. his lips were soft against yours, but there was a firmness in the way he held you. the kiss deepened, his hands sliding up your sides, feeling the smooth, expensive fabric of your dress under his fingertips. it was like touching pure luxury, and it made his heart race even faster.

you responded in kind, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his shirt. he was strong, solid, and the contrast between his ruggedness and your refinement sent a thrill through you. you pressed closer, feeling the heat of his body, the way his breath mingled with yours.

he pulled you even closer, his hands now fully around your waist, one sliding up your back as if trying to memorize every inch of you. there was nothing between you and the world but this kiss, this moment, where time seemed to stretch and bend around the two of you.

the kiss was everything—soft and sweet, yet desperate and consuming, like neither of you wanted it to end. his scent surrounded you, a combination of something clean and musky, grounding you even as the kiss made you feel like you were floating.

you pulled back slightly, your lips lingering close to his. you could still feel the ghost of his kiss on your mouth.

chan’s apartment is exactly what you imagined—small, cozy, clean, and it smells like fresh laundry mixed with something musky that’s all him. it’s simple, a little too bare maybe, but there’s something comforting about it. like it’s a place where he can just be himself.

“it’s not much,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he leads you inside. “definitely not what you’re used to. not fancy or anything, but… it’s home.”

you smile at him, stepping further into the living room. “i like it,” you say, and you mean it. it’s a place that feels real, lived-in, and right now, it’s exactly where you want to be.

chan watches you carefully, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction, but when he sees the smile on your face, some of that tension leaves his shoulders. he looks at you, a little nervous, but you can see the desire underneath, the way he’s holding himself back.

“so,” you say, stepping closer to him, letting your body brush against his. he’s solid, all hard muscle and pent-up energy, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. “you gonna give me the full tour?”

his breath hitches when you press against him, your lips so close to his that he can practically taste you already. “uh, yeah,” he says, his voice low and a little rough. “i mean, it’s not a big place or anything, but…”

you don’t let him finish. instead, you lick his lips with the tip of your tongue, just a quick, teasing flick that has him groaning almost immediately. his hands twitch at his sides, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you yet.

“chan,” you murmur, your lips ghosting over his. “why don’t you show me the whole place?”

his eyes darken, his hands finally coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. “you mean… like, now?”

“now,” you confirm, giving him a slow, sultry smile. “and maybe we can start with the bedroom.”

chan doesn’t need to be told twice. he practically drags you down the short hallway, your laughter echoing off the walls as he fumbles with the door. the second you’re inside, his hands are on you, pulling you close, kissing you like he’s been waiting forever to do it.

you push him back toward the bed, feeling the mattress hit the back of your legs as you fall onto it together. chan’s kisses are hungry, almost desperate, and you can feel him trembling slightly, the anticipation building between you.

“fuck, you’re so hot,” he mutters against your lips, his hands sliding under your shirt, feeling the soft skin beneath.

you smirk, running your hands down his chest, feeling the hard lines of his muscles. “you’re not so bad yourself,” you tease, slipping your hand lower, brushing over the bulge in his jeans.

chan’s breath catches in his throat, his hips bucking up into your touch. “shit,” he groans, his head falling back as you palm him through the fabric.

you undo his jeans, sliding them down just enough to free his cock, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes as the cool air hits him. he’s already rock hard, thick and pulsing in your hand, and when you lean down to take him into your mouth, the sound he makes is nothing short of pathetic.

“fuck, oh fuck,” he moans, his hands gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white. “shit, your mouth… feels so good.”

you hum around him, swirling your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum there. chan’s hips jerk involuntarily, and you can feel how desperate he is, how much he’s holding back. you start moving your mouth up and down his length, taking him deeper each time, and the way he’s losing his mind over it is almost enough to make you lose control.

“i… i can’t—” chan gasps, his voice shaking as he tries to hold on. “i’m gonna… fuck, i’m gonna cum.”

you don’t stop, sucking harder, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. chan’s moans are getting louder, more broken, and you can feel his cock throbbing, his whole body tensing up as he gets closer and closer.

“fuck, i’m cumming, i’m—” he chokes out, his hips bucking up as he spills into your mouth. his whole body shakes, his moans turning into desperate, breathless gasps as he rides out the high, his fingers digging into the sheets like he’s afraid he’ll float away.

you don’t let up, even as he starts to soften in your mouth, your tongue teasing him, milking every last drop out of him. chan’s breath comes in ragged pants, his body twitching uncontrollably as you keep going.

“s-stop,” he pleads, his voice hoarse, almost broken. “too much… can’t…”

you pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you crawl up his body. “too much?” you ask, your voice full of teasing. “we’re just getting started.”

chan barely has time to process that before you’re straddling him, your body pressing down onto his still sensitive cock. he gasps, his hands flying to your hips, but he’s too overwhelmed to do anything more than hold on as you start moving.

“fuck, fuck, i can’t,” he whimpers, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes screwed shut. “i can’t, it’s too much.”

“you can take it,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him, your hands sliding up his chest. “just relax, let me take care of you.”

chan groans, his hips bucking up into you even though every nerve in his body is screaming at him to stop. the overstimulation is driving him insane, every touch of your body, every movement making him tremble, his hands gripping the pillow like it’s his lifeline. he’s never felt anything like this before, never thought he could feel this good and this overwhelmed at the same time.

you can feel him trembling beneath you, his whole body tense with the effort of holding on. it’s almost too much for him, but you don’t stop, not yet. you want to push him just a little further, want to see how far you can take him.

chan brought out something in you that you hadn’t felt in years. it wasn’t just the excitement of being with someone young and full of life—it was how he made you feel, like every moment with him was a break from the weight of the world. he had this way of dragging you out of your high-stress life and dropping you into something simple, fun, and completely unpretentious.

like that time he took you to the amusement park. you hadn’t been to one in ages, but there you were, screaming your lungs out on roller coasters, laughing so hard you thought you’d cry, and holding his hand through it all. it wasn’t fancy, wasn’t anything like the high-end places you usually found yourself in, but it was exactly what you needed. chan made you feel alive in a way you’d forgotten was possible.

then there were the movie dates, sitting in those darkened theaters with him, your feet up on the seat in front of you like a couple of carefree kids. he’d always pick the cheesiest movies, and you’d groan, but somehow, they ended up being exactly what you needed. you loved watching his face light up during the action scenes or how he’d lean in close to whisper jokes in your ear, making you laugh so much you’d miss half the movie.

but it wasn’t just the dates. it was the little things. like when he’d have one of his fashion shows for you, parading around your massive living room in the new clothes you’d gotten him. the way he’d strike ridiculous poses, just to make you smile, or how his face would light up when you genuinely praised him, making him feel like he was on top of the world.

and you loved being by his side when his friends came over. they had this infectious energy, pulling you into their world effortlessly. you even found yourself spoiling them now and then, slipping one of them some cash or buying them a round of drinks, because they took care of chan so well, and you appreciated that more than you could say.

chan balanced you in a way that was almost scary. no matter how tired you were after a long day at work, he was your constant source of energy, always there, always ready to make you feel better. you’d stop by some luxury brand store on the way home, picking up a few things for him because you knew he’d love it, and because it made you happy to spoil him a little.

you knew that when you walked through the door, he’d be there, waiting for you. sometimes, he’d pull you into bed, his arms wrapped around you as he coaxed you to sleep, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you drifted off. other times, he’d be more playful, those dancer’s hips of his working magic as he eased the stress out of your body in ways that made you forget all about the bullshit of the day.

“missed you,” he’d murmur, his voice husky and full of affection as he pressed a kiss to your neck.

“missed you too,” you’d reply, your hands finding their way to his hips, pulling him closer. “you always know how to make everything better.”

and it was true. chan wasn’t just a breath of fresh air—he was your escape, your balance, the thing that made everything else worth it.

477 notes · View notes

artyandink · 6 months ago

Text

lipstick, baby

Summary: Dean liked to indulge as a demon. On food, pie, women. To him, it’d just be him seducing every single girl that came by with a wink and a flash of his pretty smile, then they’d practically be spreading their legs for him. Then there’s you. There was something about you, that had him coming to you instead of you to him. He wasn’t really complaining.

TW: Drinking, Demon!Dean objectifying women but also being hot at the same time, badass reader, smut, mention of Sam, Crowley being a wingman, reader has a bone to pick with Heaven, reader’s a former hunter

STW: Riding, thigh slapping, ass slapping, tit slapping, whiskey play, temperature play if you squint, really filthy stuff, dirty talk, unprotected sex (do not try at home unless you are married and want kids), switch!Dean, switch!reader, marking (except Dean’s is marking with lipstick), uhh- mentioned dacryphilia?, degradation on both sides (use of slut, pussyslut), face sitting, fingering, slight exhibitionism?, praise kink if you squint, oral sex (m + f receiving)

Song Inspo: Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande

Whiskey every day really was the fine life, Dean mused as he finished his fifth glass of whiskey in the fifth bar he’d hit in three months.

Sam, of course, had been on the lookout for his location, but he never stayed in the same place for very long, which made him harder to find. It was fun, of course. Sex with women night after night, hearing them scream for him as he broke Crowley’s bed with no regrets. Anything to satisfy his high sex drive. Then he’d move onto a new one, and see them struggle to walk the next day. They’d shoot him a sultry, almost inviting look for him to fuck their legs out (they didn’t have much brains, so legs were the next best option), but he didn’t care. It was always a one use for him, not much more than that.

The bartender, a sweet piece of eye candy with long brunette hair, creamy mocha skin and a smile that told him all he wanted him to do to her, passed him a new glass with three fingers of whiskey, her fingers brushing his with promise of her getting on her knees and using her fingers and mouth on his cock.

Too bad, cause she did that a few days ago on her break, right before he blew her legs out.

The clearing of Crowley’s throat snapped him out of his inner monologue, having Dean glancing towards him on his right side. “Courtesy of the lady across the bar.” The former drawled, nodding across the bar counter.

Dean rolled his eyes, scoffing lightly and looking across the counter- god-holy-damn.

Your hair, your eyes, your lips. Those pretty things stretched into a smirk that could only be sultry as you nursed a whiskey, your scarlet lipstick leaving a print on the rim like the one he had on his napkin. It instantly sent thoughts of those prints on his chest and abs through his mind. Over his anti-possession tattoo. On his cock.

Dean wordlessly stood up, making his way slowly over to you. He took notice of everything. The corset bra underneath the red plaid that was left open. Ripped jeans that clearly had garters visible and the beginnings of sexy nylons visible.

Oh, he approved. He definitely approved.

“And who might you be, sweet thing?” Dean asked, voice low and panty-dropping and rough. He leaned his side against the counter, his eyes taking their sweet time in analysing every dip and curve of your body and imagining his hands on them. His own body burning as if your hands were already on him. Damn, that ring on your middle finger would feel so good.

“Said it on the napkin.” You replied, and then he nodded, checking it again. Ah, now he saw.

Dean offered you a smirk that was enough to make any other lady’s legs open wide, but yours didn’t. You just offered one back. “Pretty name.”

“Will I ever know yours, or will you remain the handsome, mysterious stranger who comes here every night?” Paired with a chuckle and a slow sip of whiskey right over the previous red print you’d left on the rim. Damn, you were good. Just the sound of your voice was enough to have him twitching in his jeans.

“Dean Winchester.” He drawled, his tongue tracing his teeth, hoping to sink them into your skin and mark you. A bit of a detriment to the enticing visual was the obvious mark of being a hunter. Dean could tell one of his former own. There was a silver knife in your boot. “And you’re a hunter, sweetheart. Here to kill me?”

The question had a scoff coming from your mouth. “Hunter? Baby, no, you got me all wrong. I’m not a hunter, especially after the dicks who call themselves angels have been makin’ good America into a clusterfuck. I doubt I’m gonna be happy with ‘em. This knife ain’t for you.”

The statement had a grin spreading on Dean’s face. You hated heaven, he liked that. You spoke your mind, he liked that. Your words rolled off your tongue, he liked that. He liked you. “Got a bone to pick with heaven, darlin’?”

“Less a bone, more an eyeball, but call it what you want.” You shot back with a sip of whiskey. Yeah, you were really good.

Dean’s hand found your hip, gripping it, his thumb pressing into your skin. “Can I call you what I want, baby girl?”

“You’re already doin’ that, Dean, I doubt there’s much more ground to cover where that’s concerned.”

“Damn straight.” He grinned, getting closer and closer. He felt your hand on his bicep, gripping firmly. Your hand on his shoulder, creeping up to thread your fingers in his hair. It all felt so… dizzying. “Tell me, what’s a fine piece like you doing in a bar like this?”

“Just passing through, seeing the sights.” Oh, dear Lord, now he could feel your breath on his. Dean was used to having control as a demon. “And now… I got another one on my list.” This time, it was like there was a rope and you were holding the other end of control instead of him holding both ends. Cause right now, all he could think about was how your thigh pressed in between his legs, grinding firmly against the bulge made by his rapidly-hardening cock.

The friction had a low groan rolling off his tongue, but it was sealed from the others in the room by your sweet, dizzying lips, your hand on his bicep sliding to his upper back and pressing him closer. By base, pure instinct, his hand on your hip pulled you closer, movements slow, calculating as you both shared your whiskey palette with every searing kiss.

Dean could take in your scent from the proximity. Earthy spices. Sharp perfume. The distinct musk of whiskey. All enough to make a normal man’s head spin. Made him want to add the sweet taste of your pussy to the menu.

And all at once, all too quickly, your lips left his, but burned a trail from his jaw to tease his earlobe with your teeth. “How about we ditch the party and go somewhere more comfy?” You murmured, your nails raking over the fabric of his shirt, over his chest. “Place is kinda dead anyway, and you seem like all kinds’a fun.”

“Mm.” He hummed in agreement, fumbling with his wallet and slapping a random amount of bills on the counter. “I’ve got a place.” Humming again, he grabbed a handful of your ass, rolling it before slapping it firmly. “Let’s go, darlin’. Now.”

“Fuck.” You stumbled back through the door to Crowley’s room, Dean’s lips attached to yours like you were his last dying breath. The room itself was a grand one, with a queen size, pieces of lux furniture and two beside tables, one of which having a bottle of whiskey on it.

One of his hands was tangled in your hair while the other was, like before, groping your ass, harsh breaths coming in bursts against your mouth. His scent of whiskey, beer and old leather mixed with yours, a cocktail of dizziness and heat and pure sex.

Dean was too preoccupied with the way your scarlet lips fell, smearing onto his own and then his skin, as you’d abandoned his lips to start laying your claim on his neck. And he wasn’t sure when his flannel and undershirt made it to the floor, but it did, and now he was bare chested and sporting red lipstick marks all over his chest, and the numbers were climbing.

He groaned, his hand tangling in your hair, reminded of his old self (however much he didn’t want to be, but now he wasn’t really complaining), his love then of being dominated by a woman and damn, was he enjoying it now.

Perhaps because it was you who was dominating in this moment.

Doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to revert back to his preferences.

Dean tugged your hair, baring your neck to him and allowing him to attach his lips to your neck, unclipping that godforsaken corset bra with a hum, finding your bare tits. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.” He murmured, reaching a hand up to roughly grope one of them, his mouth descending to one nipple and letting his mouth envelop it, sucking harshly and flicking his tongue over it, his index finger and thumb toying with the other in tandem with his tongue, pulling or pinching with each suck.

“Shit-” Your hand flew to his hair, arching into his touch with a low moan and a couple more expletives. The feeling was electrifying— cause damn, did this man know what he was doing. He switched his attentions, swirling his tongue around your other nipple before sucking over and over and over, wanting to draw as many sounds from you as possible-

Wait, why was he sucking on air suddenly?

Dean looked down to see you on your knees, undoing his belt buckle with a surprising amount of efficiency and popping the button on his jeans, pulling down the fly. They pooled my his feet, and he kicked them and his boxers off- holy shit.

You’d taken Dean’s cock into your mouth, the whole expanse, swirling your tongue like he did on your nipple and taking the whole length of him, right until he hit the back of your throat, relaxing your throat to avoid your gag reflex from kicking up.

Dean’s fingers twisted in your hair, a strangled groan leaving his mouth as his hips bucked into your mouth. “So good, baby girl.” He choked out, gritting his teeth. “So good with those pretty lips around my cock- son of a bitch.” As expected, the lipstick not transferred to his mouth and chest was now on his skin, and he didn’t mind one bit.

You pulled almost all the way off to suckle at his tip, a motion that had him jerking once and then twice once you took him back into your mouth with hollowed out cheeks.

“Keep that pussy wet for me, darlin’.” Dean grunted, his head tipping back. “Keep it as wet as that beautiful mouth.” And you obliged, your hand moving to undo your jeans’ fastenings, slip past rub and toy with your clit, your pussy already damp from his ministrations on you.

Your hand gripped his thigh, and with a few well-timed swirls of your mouth and assistance from your hand, he was spilling into your mouth with a drawn out moan of your name. It was like white hot sparks went through his system, but he recovered quickly, pulling you off his cock once you’d swallowed every last damn drop.

With a well-practiced move, he hoisted you to your feet and threw you over his shoulder, striding across the small distance between your previous position and the bed with a firm smack to your ass, throwing you down onto the bed. He licked his lips at the sight of you like that, practically collapsing down on top of you to press a searing kiss on a freckle that resided just above your belly button, yanking down your jeans in the progress as he then went on a mission to mark up the majority of your torso with his teeth.

Once he was done, he took a moment to admire the sexy constellation before stealing a kiss from you. Dean’s eyes landed on your garters and the skimpy little nylons you were sporting under the jeans, as well as the now ruined black lace panties that matched the corset bra he’d unclipped earlier. A grown bubbled up in his throat, followed by a gravelly chuckle.

“You really know how to get the attention of a guy like me, huh, sweet thing?” He murmured, sweeping a hand over his mouth and biting his lip, taking a moment to really appreciate the visual.

“I take more pride in what comes after.” You gave him a sexy smirk that had his cock throbbing. “It’s one thing to get attention, but I take more pride in keeping it.”

That got him nodding. “You sure can keep it, baby.” He worked off the garters and nylons, chucking them aside and hooking a finger into the hem of your panties. “Attached?”

“Do I look like I’m sewn to them?” A wink from you. Damn, he was hooked. Line and sinker.

“Touché.” He flicked his wrist, which tore the panties until they were beyond repair, dropping them somewhere else. His eyes locked on your soaked pussy, and fuck-shit-crap was it the most pretty thing he’d ever seen.

Within seconds, Dean had your legs over his shoulders, slapping your thighs and kneading them, using the grip on them to spread you open and run his tongue up your dripping cunt. The moment he got his taste, of the sweet, sweet ambrosia, something switched and he really began to work.

He felt your fingers thread in his hair again, your palm pressing him closer to you, and was he complaining? No. He could make a damn home right here. Right here, at your pretty fuckin’ pussy.

He’d fuck that pussy raw.

“F-Fuck, Dean!” You gasped, your thighs closing around his head, but he didn’t mind, lapping at you before licking up to your clit so he could suck at it. His fingers joined the party, slipping one in, then add one with no resistance whatsoever, with had him groaning against you and sending vibrations through your body that felt rather like electricity. Blinding electricity.

“That’s right, pretty thing.” He growled against your cunt, crooking his fingers before sucking on your clit again. “Show me how goddamn needy you are.”

You found yourself barrelling to the edge quicker than any other man had ever possible managed, and damn, did it feel good. Too good.

“Gonna-” You had to cut yourself off to gasp and let your eyes roll back when Dean curled his fingers and hit your g-spot, “gonna come-”

“Come for me, baby.” Dean encouraged, slapping your thigh firmly, kneading the flesh. To get you there, he traced his name out on your clit before sucking, which had you coming on his fingers and tongue, maximum voltage sparking your veins and hanging stars in front of your rolled eyes.

You felt Dean’s tongue lapping up everything you had to offer, all your come and he didn’t waste a drop. He sucked your arousal off his two fingers, licking his glistening lips and collecting the copious residue off his chin with his thumb, sucking that into his mouth with a look that could only be described as pure porn.

The sight of him - mussed up hair, naked, lips smeared with red, the same to his neck, chest and cock - was pure porn.

“More.” Was the only thing he said (growled, more like), and he flipped you over, practically manhandling you until you were kneeling on the bed. Straddling his face.

His hands took your hips and yanked you down, and he instantly licked a long stripe up your pussy, your hand flying to grip the headboard as you ground down onto his face, obscene sounds leaving your mouth but you didn’t care, really. All you cared about was the god of a man making you fall apart in record goddamn time with just his mouth.

Dean grabbed handfuls of your ass, slapping the softness and groaning into your cunt. This was honestly where his element was. Not hunting, not demonhood, no. He belonged with his tongue on your pussy.

His hands reached up to grope your tits, kitten-licking at your clit while his fingers tweaked your nipples, adding a dual level of stimulation that made you rock your hips faster.

Dean’s left hand reached down, swiping two fingers through your soaked pussy and lifted those to your mouth, and he chuckled. “Suck, sweet thing.” You took those fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself and feeling those two fingers that had previously worked magic on you in your mouth. The calloused pads pressing on your tongue. “That’s it. Such a slut for my mouth, huh?”

“Could call you a pussyslut then, hm, Dean?” You panted amid moans, running a hand through your sweaty hair. “Can’t get enough of it, can you?”

“Well played.” He growled, working faster, determined to get you over the edge. A few more licks, a couple more strokes and Dean did just that, his name rolling deliciously off your tongue as you came on his tongue for the second time. He drank all that up too, like a parched man in the Sahara.

Dean was normal used to sensitive, pliable women at this stage, but no, you shifted back and shoved him down when he was about to get up, making him fall back with a soft grunt, his head pressing into the pillows.

His hands gripped your hip and thigh by instinct, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin when you lifted yourself, sinking down onto his cock and taking all of him in one.

All of you was an expert at this.

“Fuck.” Both of you moaned in unison, his hands tightening on your hips while your nails raked down his chest, leaving red trails that instantly cleared up.

You couldn’t help but whimper, your hand gripping the your hair as you adjusted to how goddamn big he was. Out of all cocks you’d taken in your life, Dean fuckin’ Winchester took the cake. “So good.” You muttered absentmindedly, already feeling your pussy clenching and him buried all the way inside you, reaching places you didn’t know you had.

“Shit, sweet thing, you’re so tight.” Dean groaned out, and his hand left your hip to grab the bottle of whiskey, popping off the stopper with his thumb and chuckling. When he saw you not moving, he slapped your tit, hard, but somehow extremely sexy. “Move. Now.”

Now, had that been anyone else, you’d have tied their wrists to the headboard and edged them until they cried. But with Dean Winchester, well, you could risk relinquishing control for a second, or five.

You began moving- up and down, up and down at a dizzying pace, one that had your thoughts clouding as the side of his cock brushed against your g-spot. “Oh, fuck, baby.” You moaned, your mouth falling open. What was it with this man?

Dean took a sip of whiskey from the bottle, swallowing it and grunting roughly. “That’s it, pretty thing. Ride my cock. Bounce on it, attagirl. That’s a good girl.” You let out a whine in response, and an even louder one tumbling from your parted lips when you felt the cold sting of strong whiskey drip down from your chin, to your neck, over your tits and further down, poured by Dean from the bottle of whiskey that was then returned to its place on the bedside table.

He leaned forward, lapping up the whiskey from where he could reach, guiding your movements while his tongue flattened against your skin and licked stripes over your neck, your nipples, the swell of your tits and the valley between them.

“Y’look so good on me.” Dean growled, using his now purchase on your hips to bring you harder down onto his cock, watching it disappear into your pussy with gritted teeth. One hand left your hip, thumb finding your clit and once again tracing his name before moving into fast yet calculated, perfect circles, his lips adding to it by sucking more and more marks onto the skin of your neck and chest. Making sure you couldn’t cover them, not easily, at least.

“Y’look so good under me.” You shot back after a series of moans and whimpers and loud expletives, and he laughed deep and rough, hand finding the back of your head and bringing your lips against his, parting them, letting his teeth graze and tug at your bottom lip. His hand smoothed over the curve of your ass, gripping it for the nth time that night. Then, before he knew it, your pussy had clamped down on him like a vice, and you were over the edge, coming with a rolling of your eyes back into your head.

Dean gripped your chin, bringing you to look at him with hazy eyes as his name was ripped from your lungs, crying out and rendering you breathless as he then worked you down from the high, chasing his own by thrusting up into you.

Works two ways. You get to come down and he gets to come. Fair deal.

And the deal was fulfilled on both ends, cause while you had come down from your high with a delicious ache and/or satisfaction in your pussy, courtesy of Dean, he’d also got to come, spilling into you.

Thank God you took Plan B, even though it’s not 100 percent effective.

You lifted yourself off of him, rolling onto your back beside him as you both caught your breath. You’d sort of had an out of body experience, being treated to three intensely mind-blowing orgasms. And you’d always been the one to dominate. Not today, since a demon unexpectedly called Dean Winchester had proven you wrong with his gravelly voice and rough nature.

Damn, if you were a hunter, you’d be missing out on this religious experience.

“I’m assuming you’re the type to do a lady then go.” You breathed, running a hand through your sweaty hair while both of you adjusted the blankets on you at the exact same time.

“I don’t think that applies this time, princess.” Dean smirked, looking you over with an impressed undertone and an obvious blazing heat in his gaze. “Nah, definitely not this time. I’m keepin’ you, for a very long time.” He chuckled, biting his lip. “If you’ll allow me to keep you, darlin’.”

“Keep me, maybe not.” You winked, but then grinned. “But I’m definitely stayin’. Can’t just do you once and then leave it right there, can I?”

“Damn straight.” He chuckled, then rolled onto his side, cupping your cheek and thumbing your bottom lip. “Cause I’m still wonderin’ what else you can do with that pretty mouth of yours.”

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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starglitterz · 3 days ago

Text

♡ YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME!

what was meant to be a simple heist goes awry when you're interrupted by a shockingly cute security guard & a couple of rival art thieves. did you mention that one of them is kind of your ex?

✧ feat ; ayato, childe, diluc, scaramouche x gn!reader (3.6k words)

✧ warnings ; highly suggestive, thief + cop au, robbery, weapons, reader is a tease, one (1) ginger insult, reader loves bullying men (as they should)

✧ a/n ; be gay do crime that's all i have to say! jk HJSDSJD this has been rotting in my drafts for almost THREE years. i reread it and the writing style was so unserious that i suddenly got motivated to continue it and then i finished it in a night. Yeah. anyways this is my #grandcomeback and also first post of 2025! i really hope you all enjoy this :> if it flops i will cry myself to sleep /j btw this was proofread by the loml @musings-of-miss-j who has a SUPERB harbingers series that u should totally check out 🙂‍↕️😋

please reblog with comments ! it helps a lot :)

"hey! you there!" a baritone voice behind you yells, shattering the midnight peace of the museum and jolting you out of your reverie. tightening your grip around the gleaming purple gnosis you came here for, you slip it into your pocket quickly before turning around with a smile that would assure anybody of your innocence. "who? little old me?" you bat your eyes, blinking slowly at the man. your eyes have long adjusted to the darkness, so even with his similarly coloured outfit you're able to pick out the faded gold badge at his chest reading 'diluc'. "what are you doing back here?" his tone doesn't change in the slightest as he flicks his flashlight over to you, the beam practically blinding against the dark surroundings.

"it appears that i've gotten lost," you laugh awkwardly, doing your best to feign being a naive tourist, "i was told that there were late tours offered at the teyvat museum." diluc still looks exceedingly suspicious, and as his gaze travels behind you your mind snaps into overdrive so he doesn't notice the missing artifact. suddenly bursting into tears, you run forward and bury your face in his shirt, "i! was! so! scared!" you punctuate each word with an even louder wail and he freezes beneath you, the close contact entirely unexpected. "there, there…" he pats your back with the enthusiasm and warmth of a polar ice cap, and with your face hidden in the fabric you permit yourself a triumphant smile - you've managed to divert his attention for now, at least.

"i am so terribly sorry about this," you begin to apologise profusely before looking up at him with teary eyes, "but would you mind walking me to the exit? i'm afraid i'll get lost again." at his hesitant expression you sniffle loudly, exaggerating it as much as possible until he caves, "fine. but stay close, there's been rumours floating around about artifact thieves lately." when he starts marching away, you hurry to catch up and ask curiously as if you aren't one of them, "artifact thieves?!" "yes. the type to steal priceless elements of history and sell them on the black market," he spits with disgust in his eyes. "oh, how terrible! i can't understand why anyone would do that instead of leaving them here for the public to enjoy," you gush, "surely there are other ways to make money."

yeah, you could become an art thief instead. not that you haven't tried that; you just found it too tedious to craft a believable enough fake and ensure the painting wasn't damaged while sneaking it out. diluc doesn't deign to reply besides a single nod of his head, and you try to start up another conversation, "i suppose you're not the type to befriend random visitors, huh?" the corner of his lips tug up into a barely perceptible smile, "only the ones who appear after closing hours." "can't you make an exception for me?" you wink, though you doubt he can even see it through the darkness blanketing the museum. "hmph," is the only answer you receive, and your chit-chat ends with a dramatic sigh from your end.

to be frank, you couldn't care less whether this ‘diluc’ likes you or not. it's just in your best interests for him to remember you as some flirty ditz who'd leave their head at home if it wasn't screwed on and not a calculating, manipulative burglar. this heist is one to remember for sure though, you don't think you've ever escaped with the goods in your pocket while talking to the security guard on duty. you've knocked them out beforehand and slept with them after, but never during the job, so tonight marks a first for you.

through your eyelashes, you glance at diluc, absorbing every detail about him in a split second; it's a trick you've learned from years of living on the street where figuring out who's going to hurt you and who won't is crucial for survival. he's pretty enough that you wouldn't mind spending the night with him, with fiery red locks tied neatly into a high ponytail and crimson eyes which sparkle like rubies. perhaps you could make this a double heist and steal his heart too!

your train of thought is interrupted as diluc comes to a halt without warning and you bump into his back (which you note is surprisingly toned). "what-" you start to complain, but he holds a hand up which silences you immediately. "i heard something," he whispers, practically inaudible, and you instantly start to babble, "what?! are they artifact thieves?! are we going to die?!" diluc groans before grabbing you and hiding behind a wall, pulling you flush against his torso as one of his gloved hands covers your mouth, "shut up."

now this is close contact; you can feel the quick rise and fall of his chest, his racing heartbeat, and his every muscle tensing in preparation for a fight. if you weren't so preoccupied with the fact that this is delaying your getaway, you'd probably make a stupid quip. actually scratch that, you're going to do it anyway, "at least take me on a date first," you mumble as you shrug away his hand, and he looks at you with the most disbelieving expression, "you can still make idiotic comments in a situation like this? you've either got nerves of steel or you're a total dumbass." "depends on your type," you smile, and he drags a palm down his face exasperatedly, "i- you know what, never mind."

"ow!" "shut the fuck up, idiot. it's bad enough that i had to get paired with you, but if you get us caught i'm going to kill you." "rude. you could just ask nicely." "i have no interest in talking to you." "yet here we are." "can you seriously keep quiet? i'm telling the tsaritsa never to put me in a team with you again." "aw, stop, you'll hurt my feelings." "do you even have any of those left?" "hey! i'll have you know i am a very emotional person." "that's like me saying i'm an upstanding member of society."

you freeze in diluc's arms, running through every curse word in every language you know in your mind. you'd recognise those two voices anywhere. out of all the nights the fatui could have been planning a robbery, it had to be tonight?! archons, your luck is awful. "okay, this has been fun and all, but i've got to go," you start wriggling out of his embrace, planning to smash a window and escape because you'd honestly risk getting caught by the cops instead of the fatui. "what?! are you insane?! there are obviously two robbers there," diluc whisper-shouts, brows furrowing in a peculiar mix of confusion and worry. "and i'd prefer not to die, so i'm going to leave before they come here!" you retort, continuing to slide out of his arms. however, he doesn't relax his grip and you roll your eyes before elbowing him in the stomach. the sudden attack surprises him and he lets go with a groan, which is more than enough time for you to make a break for it.

unfortunately, diluc delayed you long enough that you end up running right into the two fatui members' line of vision. "wait, who are you?!" one of them asks, and the other one continues, "turn around, or i'll shoot you right now." fuck, is all you can think as you slowly rotate to face them with a sheepish smile, perhaps they wouldn't recognise you. "hey, aren't you y/n?!" well, there goes that plan. "no…? who's that?" "nah, you definitely are," the ginger walks towards you slowly before tilting your chin up to face him with his index finger. the game's up, so you sigh, "hey, childe... it's been a while."

"i knew it was you! i'd know that pretty face of yours anywhere," he beams gleefully, and you smirk, "you still find me pretty? never knew you had a thing for criminals." "i do, it's my fatal flaw," he frowns before continuing, "except when they steal my money, in which case they become my enemies instead." double fuck. he still remembers that. "it wasn't that much! just about ten million mora or so, i know you've got tons left where that came from," you hurry to defend yourself. "that's not the point! the point is that you stole my money after i oh-so-kindly let you stay in my house!" childe says, and you're not taking this one lying down, "liar! you invited me over after you saw me at the bar!"

"can you both shut up? i'm losing braincells just listening to this shit," scaramouche cuts in, rolling his eyes so far back you swear they're going to get stuck that way. "really? because when you opened your mouth i think my iq just dropped by 10 points," you retort. scaramouche gapes at you for a second, clearly not used to someone talking back to him. "take a picture, it'll last longer," you wink, feeling the situation slide itself back into your grasp once more; you aren't planning on going down without a fight. "i don't have a kamera, and anyway who wants photos of dead people?" he fumbles for a reply and childe snickers, "cat got your tongue, scara?" "more like y/n's got your wallet," the balladeer jabs back, a smug grin curving his lips at the witty reply. childe's eyes widen at the insult, "hey! i'll have you know that i gave it to them willingly-"

taking advantage of the argument between the two of them, you unhook a rope from your waist and toss it up to the skylight. you're in the common center area of the museum, which has a square gap up to the roof and offers you a perfect shot for your hook to sail upwards and catch at the ledge. the instant you press a button the cord retracts, pulling you up with it. "and now y/n's getting away! so long, suckers!" you cheer as you zip upwards. "isn't that my line?!" you hear scaramouche yell as they scramble to find a way after you. seconds before you slam into the window like an unfortunate bug, you pull out a gun and shoot the glass, watching with glee as a spiderweb of cracks forms across it. thanks to the momentum of you gliding through the air, your boots easily smash through it when you kick harshly as you reach it, and you land with a loud thud on the roof. "ouch," you groan, "that's going to leave a bruise tomorrow." glancing at your surroundings, you inhale the fresh night air stained with the smog from all the polluting factories and listen to the buzz of the highways, busy even past midnight, "nothing like the city."

just then, you hear a thump behind you, and then a deep voice that sounds strangely familiar, "you'll be admiring it from a prison window after this." you spin around sharply, and the sight nearly makes you fall off the edge of the building with surprise, "diluc?!" at this, he freezes, and it's evident that he thought his disguise would be more than enough to conceal his identity. with a cough, he says, "no, i'm the darknight hero." "no, you're clearly diluc. i just met you like fifteen minutes ago and even i can recognise your hair in that stupid suit, it practically glows," you fold your arms over your chest, making idle conversation while your mind races to come up with an idea to save yourself. "my suit isn't stupid," diluc can't stop himself from defending his outfit, just because he had barely any sewing skills did not give you the right to insult the piece of clothing. "it's literally a mask and a black coat."

"back to the matter at hand," diluc- sorry, the darknight hero, clears his throat loudly, clearly eager to change the topic, "you're under arrest." "oh yeah? since when are you a cop?" "i'm not." "then you obviously don't have the power to arrest me, idiot." smarting from yet another insult, diluc tries his best to maintain his composure, "i meant that i'm going to take you in to the police station and then you'll be under arrest." "should have just said that," you shrug, and you can almost see diluc fighting to rein his temper in - this is too easy.

"okay, well, this actually hasn't been fun at all, so i'm leaving," you turn around again and stroll away, hoping that there'll be a ladder on the edge of the roof. you don't really see a diluc as a threat, because to be honest he seems more like a kid playing dress-up. what kind of self-respecting adult who cared as much for the law as he did would choose to be a vigilante? maybe if he got a better costume you could take him seriously. and that turned out to be a huge mistake on your part, because the next moment, a lasso whizzes through the air and loops around your ankles, quickly pulling into a deadknot that would take you ages to untie.

you want to throw a tantrum, crying and stomping your feet at diluc, but what good would that do when this issue sprung from your own cockiness? "listen, how much do you want? i'll give it to you, any amount. i know how much security guards make, and trust me, it'll be nothing compared to what i could give you," the words spill out of your mouth in a jumble, and you seem to take on the role of a confident salesman selling a product you know is worthless. it's embarrassing how much this sounds like a plea. "i don't want money. i want the streets and artifacts of teyvat to be safe from people like you," diluc ignores your further attempts at bribing him, although he does give you a strange look when you offer up a kiss, as if he's genuinely considering it. does this man actually get no bitches?

“ah, a kiss, hm? is that what you want?” you lean forward almost desperately, grinning at him like a maniac, “c’mon, mr darknight hero! i promise i’m a really good kisser~” you lick your lips as if to prove your point, and your smirk deepens when his ruby gaze follows the motion. “just give me a second to touch up my lipstick, ‘kay?” while he’s still stunned from your offer, you fumble in your pocket and pull out a taser. diluc only snaps back into action when he sees the weapon clutched in your hands, and though he dodges, you manage to stumble forward without your bound ankles and ram the buzzing probes into his chest.

a strange noise, a mixture of a whimper and a groan escapes his throat as he falls to his knees in front of you, body twitching like a dying bug. rummaging in his pockets, you find a knife and giggle as you slice through the ties on your legs, “see? this is why it’s always great to have men on their knees for you. i forgot my knife today, so i hope you’ll be okay with me borrowing this.” as he glares at you through blurry vision, a mockingly pitiful smile curves your lips and you pat his head like you’re petting an overzealous guard dog, “now be a good boy and stay here, okay, diluc? ah, sorry, i mean mr darknight hero!” dipping your head, you press a fleeting kiss to his cheek, relishing in his flustered gasp, “i’ll give you a proper kiss next time~” you burst into laughter and skip off, leaving him tied up and blushing with the same restraints he had used on you.

“why is this stupid place so big?!” you mutter to yourself as you whiz across the rooftop. the museum is under renovation, so a lot of the walls of the rear wing are covered in scaffolding and tarp that only serve to slow you down as you try to escape. you’re seriously regretting being a cheapskate earlier and not parking at the official parking lot, instead you had hid your getaway car almost a kilometre away from the location just to avoid a parking fee. don’t judge! things like this are how rich people stay rich. but just as you’re skidding across the glass-roofed observatory, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“not so fast, thief.”

you groan as exaggeratedly as you can, making a big show of how troublesome it is for you to turn around, “hello again, childe. hat guy.” “my name is scaramouche!” he seethes, scowling at you with a glare furious enough to thaw antarctica. “listen, y/n,” childe steps forward, raising both hands in magnanimous surrender, “let’s make a deal.” “not interested.” you stick your tongue out, slowly backing away. childe continues as if he didn’t hear you, but the twitch in his brow is enough to give away his act, “you give us the gnosis, and i’ll forget all about the money you owe me.” “i don’t owe you, genius,” you scoff, “i stole it. i’m obviously not going to repay it.” “you really are an idiot,” scaramouche massages his temples, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth than here at this moment.

“well!” childe puffs himself up, pretending that his ego isn’t hurt, “i thought you and i had chemistry, y’know? we could hang out again if you just give me the gnosis.” his voice drops an octave lower to emphasise his last few words, and you feel a familiar shiver up your spine. “childe, we slept together once, and sleeping with a ginger was not one of my proudest moments,” you retort, though you feel a twinge of guilt as childe fusses with his hair, “hey! uncalled for!” to be honest, he’s not wrong. the two of you did have chemistry, and the night you spent together was… well, let’s just say you could barely walk the next day. but dating isn’t your style, especially not when it’s someone who belongs to a rival group in the world of art theft. you prefer one night stands – it’s easier to keep things simple with no strings attached.

“just give us the gnosis, and we won’t kill you. is that a better deal?” scaramouche interrupts, evidently tired of childe beating around the bush. “scara! i was this close to getting them to crack!” childe pouts, and scaramouche rolls his eyes heavenward – if there was ever a time for him to believe in the gods, it would be now as he prays for mercy from his partner’s stupidity. “you’re cracked in the head if you think so,” scaramouche drags a palm down his face and sighs, “you only think with your dick.” “what?!” childe’s aghast at this accusation, “that’s not true!” “i think it is.” you helpfully supply, and that draws both men’s attention back to you.

“whatever! just hand us the gnosis, and things won’t get messy.” childe withdraws his blades, and you realise he’s finally getting serious. scaramouche steps closer as well, and you can’t move backwards anymore, you’re already teetering on the ledge. a fall from this height definitely wouldn’t leave you in the best condition. it’s too early for you to die, you haven’t even seen your favourite artist live yet! “fine. you want it?” you pull the gnosis out from your pocket and a wicked smirk graces your features, “then come and get it~!” you toss the item up in the air, letting the way it sparkles in the moonlight speak for itself as you lean backwards and salute, “see you on the other side, losers!”

with that, you fall off the roof while scaramouche and childe fumble to catch the gnosis.

“hey! that dumbass!” childe rushes to the edge to check on you, only to realise that… you aren’t there?! contrary to what he expected, your bloody corpse isn’t lying there. you’re climbing down the scaffolding like a monkey, weaving in and out of the metal bars until you reach the ground. looking back up at him, childe thinks he can make out a final playful wink before you hop into a black car that’s just pulled up at the back. behind him, scaramouche yells, “childe!” “what is it now, balladeer- what?!” the gnosis is shattered on the stone roof, shards of purple and silver gleaming in a manner that almost seems taunting. “it was a fucking fake!” scaramouche yells, kicking the broken pieces furiously, and childe can’t stop the lovestruck expression that plays across his face, “y/n really is a master thief…” “snap out of it, idiot! what are we going to tell the boss?!”

meanwhile, you’re in the passenger seat of an inconspicuous black car, chuckling to yourself as you toy with the real gnosis. “you’re lucky i told you to bring more than one imitation,” a suave voice sounds from the driver’s seat, “and that i was there to save you.” “thank you, oh great master ayato,” you giggle, pretending to bow, “you’re a lifesaver. literally.” he smirks, gloved fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel, “you could have been in and out. you just like playing too much.” “hey!” you whine dramatically, “it’s not my fault the security guard was so cute!” “hmm…” he reaches out and tilts your chin to face his piercing blue eyes, “don’t say stuff like that or i’ll get jealous, you know?” “s-shut up.” you pout, folding your arms across your chest and turning away to look out the window, “just drive, you blue-haired weirdo.” “that’s no way to talk to your boss now, is it?” he laughs goodnaturedly as the two of you speed away, “i just wish i could be there to see the look on captain wriothesley’s face when he realises it was us again.”

#✏️ — quill writes !#diluc x reader #childe x reader #scaramouche x reader #ayato x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #tartaglia x reader #wanderer x reader #kamisato ayato x reader

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cthulhus-curse · 1 month ago

Text

Extra Credit

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 6,020

Warnings: Age Difference, Alluded CSA, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship | 18+ Minors DNI

A/N: Hopefully I scheduled this & the other fics correctly and not for the following year because I may no longer be around to fix it.

Summary: A series of snapshots of loving months alongside your professor which lead up to one of the most difficult decisions you’ve made in your life.

“Good morning, sunshine. Ready for another day of work?”

Although exhaustion ripped through your body, the sound of the woman’s voice made you smile. You learned to enjoy it through the past few weeks. Each day you woke up at what felt like the crack of dawn and went straight to work. Although it was right on campus, an office not too far from your dormitory, you weren’t used to being awake at such early hours. At least the pay was good and your boss was even better, you mused.

“I can’t wait,” you replied flatly. Your boss, Professor Romanoff, came up to the desk you called a home ever since being hired. She held up two cups – one was her usual morning coffee and the other scalding hot chocolate topped off by a mountain of whipped cream. As always, she called you a child for picking that over anything caffeine-heavy. “Thanks for this.”

“No problem, sweetheart. Gotta keep my little assistant awake enough to get through the day,” Natasha chuckled. “Don’t worry, it won’t be heavy for you. We just have to get through grading some papers and then the rest of the shift is yours.”

The smirk remained plastered over your features as she handed you the hot chocolate before moving further in her office. Being the head of the English department at your university, Natasha got her privacy intact. It’s not like she was thrilled to work with her fellow professors anyway.

“I heard there was a big party being hosted by your friends in the girl’s soccer team. I assume you’re planning on going?” Natasha’s tone was filled with curiosity, but never anger when she so much as alluded to your private life, specifically that having to do with one Wanda Maximoff. “I can let you go a few hours early if you need to get ready. Classes are done for the semester and you need to enjoy your college years. I’m sure Miss Maximoff would be happy to see you again. I know she means a lot to you.”

Ever since you had accepted the job as Natasha’s assistant, Wanda had given you the cold shoulder. You had spoken to her from time to time, but only when she came back to the dorm after days of being away, only to leave once again. At first you blame yourself for causing a rift in your relationship, if one could even call it that, but eventually you came to realize just how immature she was – taking a simple job offer did not mean your feelings for her changed in any way.

“I actually haven’t seen her in awhile. She’s staying at Carol and Val’s place I think,” you shrugged while taking a sip of your drink. The way it burned its way onto your tongue and down your throat caused you to hum happily.

“Oh? And how are you feeling about that?”

“I’m taking it pretty well. You know she’s not very fond of you and I think I pissed her off by agreeing to work for who she deems as ‘a fucking witch bitch’. It’s just childish and stupid,” you rolled your eyes at the mere idea of it. “I hate being someone’s second choice like that. She doesn’t even see how much I love her.”

Just like Wanda didn’t see you, you didn’t see Natasha. Your professor was crestfallen at the voices you threw at her. She hated seeing you in such pain, not being able to do anything about the mistreatment you received from your casual fling. The older woman cared for you, perhaps more than she led on – the mere image of seeing you in pain made bile rise up your throat before it was maintained in place.

“Then it’s her loss. You deserve better than that, honey. You’re an amazing, beautiful, and smart woman. You don’t need to be sitting around waiting for someone to notice you. If she doesn’t like you the same way you like her, then it’s time to move on,” Natasha explained as she attempted to keep her own emotions at bay. She threw a sympathetic look your way even if you didn’t notice it. “Listen Y/N, I know we aren’t as close as you are with Miss Maximoff, but I care about you. You are by far my brightest student yet and I see so much potential in you. You don’t deserve to be thrown around like trash, only used when she gets bored with someone else. You deserve the world.”

“Yeah? And who’s gonna give me that?”

The ‘me’ went unspoken from Natasha. She simply sagged her head and stared down at the mountain of paperwork laying in her desk. It would be to no avail if she decided to work – with a brain oozing with thoughts of you, her focus disrupted.

“How about we try something different today? We can work for a bit and then I can take you out for lunch. My treat,” Natasha said. “How does that sound? I just hate seeing you like this, sweetie.”

You thought about it for a second. There was something awfully safe about Natasha. As much as you wished to spend countless hours obsessing over Wanda, sometimes you found yourself humoring the idea of your professor. She was sweet, always protective as she huffed at the idea of you being hurt. At first you assumed it was some sort of motherly instinct, but after having caught yourself staring down her cleavage from time to time, the top buttons of her blouse always open, and she stared back with a smile, you knew something much more intimate lay beneath.

“I’d like that,” you replied, suddenly drunk on Natasha’s presence as Wanda was left behind.

“Good! Now time to work, hon. You don’t get paid to sit all day and look pretty,” the redhead chuckled at her own joke, suddenly feeling much more rejuvenated. “If you finish quickly, maybe we can grab some dessert as well.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

A shudder ran down your body as hands traveled across your back. Fingernails left heavy trails in their wake, surely to be worn with the utmost pride. You hummed, eyes closed while holding still, standing there naked as the day you were born. In the dusk of the room, you let yourself be the center of attention; the center of her attention.

“What did she do this time?” Natasha asked from behind. Her mouth was quickly upon your upper back, kissing its way along your shoulder blades. Never did she lose her tenderness when touching you. “Tell me, darling girl. Use your words.”

You didn’t know when it had begun. One day you were at work standing in front of your boss’s desk before you became trapped against it. The first time Natasha kissed you was then and there. Neither could hold back the attraction you shared for one another. No longer did you prioritize Wanda as you allowed your professor to take you.

“I found her sleeping with Kate. She was…she was laying in my bed, Nat. I saw them and just ran away. She fucked her in my bed!” You sobbed, but didn’t allow yourself to shed tears. Not long before you had promised yourself never to cry over Wanda again. “I didn’t know who else to go to. I just thought of you and ran.”

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry. I hate that she keeps hurting you,” Natasha mumbled back as she hugged you from behind. “Don’t you dare run away this late at night again. You know how much I worry about you. I’m just a phone call away, malyshka. Always.”

“I’m sorry,” you responded before biting down on your lip. “I promise I’ll be good from now on. Your good girl, right?”

“Darling, you are always my good girl.”

Natasha motioned you to get on the bed, your head against a pillow as your ass remained up in the air. She allowed her hands to roam over your backside, smirking as a hand went down against a cheek. It was only a soft hit. Never did Natasha wish to inflict any horrid pain over you. As her eyes noticed the faint bruises Wanda left along your skin, she huffed.

The redhead stood over you. She carried a dildo between her legs that was attached to a harness. Similar to you, she was fully nude minus for the red briefs she wore. Strong arms reeking with muscles held you close. As she inched the toy between your legs, you let out a loud moan.

“I don’t like how she hurts you. I know you like it, Y/N, but she leaves you looking like a piece of meat. Does she even take care of your wounds, baby? Or does she leave you like that after hitting you until you’re crying out for her to stop?” Natasha questioned, already knowing what the answer was. Ever since first seeing your body, she was the one who took care of you as a surrogate for Wanda. “I know I can’t control what you do, but honey, this isn’t right. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Rather than vocalize your response, you hid your face against the pillow. Natasha slid inside you softly, allowing the dildo to fill you with ease. There was a grunt that you basked upon – it was low and throaty filled with your professor’s longing desire. She used all her force to drag you into a makeshift sitting position. From then on, Natasha allowed herself to, only gently, give you the pleasure Wanda failed to gift you with.

“I want more,” you begged, eyes rolled to the back of your head the further Nat moved inside of you. Movements were languid and sloppy. All the older woman focused on was your own pleasure, not speed or roughness. Unlike Wanda, she took her time getting to know exactly what to do and how to touch you. “Please, mommy, I need more!”

“Whatever you want, my little angel.”

Natasha did not spend time rummaging through the newfound honorific. She beamed at it, but didn’t comment on anything. Instead, she thrust her hips forth fucking you with love that Wanda never gave you. Kisses were spread all across your back. Each grunt, each little noise she made mixed with your own, made you feel in heaven.

Hands gripped your breasts from behind. They squeezed the mounds tightly, rolling erect nipples through the fingers. As Natasha pumped the strap-on in you, your cunt dripping with juices while velvety walls hugged her tight, she brought a hand down your body. Fingertips pressed against your clit and began teasing it, flicking the bud as you screamed loudly – surely her neighbors would hear.

“You’re doing so well for me, Y/N. Just look at how you’re taking my cock. My pretty, little girl,” Natasha moaned when hugging you tight. She nuzzled her face against your shoulder before nipping your skin. There were various hickeys left upon you, signs for Wanda to see if you ever dared return to her. Natasha knew you weren’t hers, but each second she spent with you made her crave you even more. “I bet she can’t fuck you like this, can she? That little…she can’t make you feel this good. Only I can make it better. I’m the only one that will ever keep you safe and you know this.”

When you finally came, Natasha was there to keep you close. She remained frozen in place as your orgasm shot through your body. Not even a second passed before she inched you on the bed, allowing you to rest upon the soft mattress with the dildo still inside you.

“I never want to see you hurt again. If she ever does this to you, if you end up going back, I want you to call me when you need me. I never break a promise,” Natahsa muttered as she placed a kiss over the back of your head. “I’ll always keep you safe.”

From then on, you found yourself hesitating each time you merely humored the idea of going back to Wanda. Even if you told yourself that the relationship with Natasha was nothing more than platonic, you questioned the validity of such a statement. Every second you spend with her, you fall further for your professor.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“Tell me about your family.”

The two of you had escaped the cruel Bostonian summer filled with never-ending traffic and burning skyscrapers. It was the dead-center of the season and the entire city was plagued by a mix of potential commuters for the various academic institutions or those who, for some reason, decided for it to be her vacation destination.

Natasha had taken you away to a small town across the state. It was remote, small enough so that the two of you could enjoy your life in public without the student body of the university to find you. All you had done was pack all the bags you could muster for the weekend getaway. It was peace which became well-deserved.

You weren’t much of a fan of them, but Nat had always spoken highly of the times she took her sister to pick out peaches ever since she first learned how to drive. The two of them would escape into an orchard in the depths of Ohio and come out with their hands full with fruits. The mere memory she shared with you was enough to get you to agree to her plans.

“Well, there’s really not much to talk about. I was adopted by Melina and Alexei,” Natasha began as though it was the most casual thing in the world to refer to her parents by their given names. “I have a sister, also adopted, named Yelena. She’s the light of my life. A bit of an asshole I must say, but she’s the one I care about most.”

“Yelena Belova? That’s your sister?” You asked with furrowed eyebrows; it was a name similar to that of a member of Wanda’s team.

“Yes. I realize she’s friends with Miss Maximoff,” Natasha replied with apparent dismay. “As hard as I’ve tried to keep her away from that girl, the two are almost inseparable. I trust her enough to not do anything overly stupid though. Lena has always been a bit of a firecracker.”

The two of you walked hand in hand along the orchard. There was not a label to whatever you had yet, but it didn’t care. Natasha was clear when she said she would never pressure you into it. Instead, you allowed yourself to be a free agent who, at times, found yourself wishing to have something more with your professor.

Eyes roamed over the woman’s body. Usually you saw her in professional clothes or the occasional nightgown when you stayed over at her place, but never with a pair of shorts and a loose camisole. There were sunglasses shielding Natasha’s viridescent eyes from the sun, but you had looked into them for long enough to memorize their beauty.

You noticed how she covered her body from time to time, hands over her thighs, cowering away from the nonexistent public that dared gawk in her general direction. It hurt to see. She was the perfect image of beauty to you, but a disgusting void to herself.

There were rare moments in which Natasha allowed you to touch her. She was a fan of studying each and every one of your favorite sweet spots, running hands across your skin before making you giggle under the drunkenness of arousal. The few times you had placed your palms upon her frame you did so in a tender manner – Nat was a porcelain doll under your touch who could break at any seconds. It merely lasted a few seconds before she pushed you off and rushed to apologize for acting out, only for you to shoot her a warm smirk and tell her there was nothing wrong with that.

Shaking your head, you brought yourself back to the present and carried on.

“Yeah, your sister’s always been nice to me though. She’s not as close with Wanda if that makes you feel better. I’ve mostly seen her chasing around that Kate girl. Maybe it’s an underclassmen thing,” you shrugged. “What about your parents?”

There was a pregnant pause, clear hesitation, before Natasha continued.

“Well, I never met my biological family nor did I care about seeking them out. My mom has always been amazing,” Natasha stopped for a second, her hands gliding across the peaches that she carefully eyed. “My father…not so much.”

“Why do you refer to her as mom and him as father?” came your question before you could help yourself.

It was clear her demeanor had changed. Natasha stood with her back straight, hands clasped in front of her as a means to shield herself. She only stared forth into nothingness. Her body was with you in the orchard while her mind went back to when she was a child – to when she was alone with him.

“It makes it less personal,” she finally answered. “It’s also easier than calling him ‘the man whose wife wanted to adopt two kids he never wanted’ and then turned my childhood to shit. I grew up way too fast because of that…that durak!”

The yelp she let out was fueled with emotions you had yet to see. Natasha was rarely angry, let alone emotionally vulnerable to let you peek through her walls. Her body sagged after fighting so long being tense. You could see tears rushing down her face even with sunglasses that covered them, but knew not to make a comment.

“Nat, has he ever…?”

You didn’t want to humor such a thing. Even then, you already knew the answer given her body language and unspoken words. While you fought with the idea of potentially driving to her father’s house and beating him to a pulp, Natasha found herself glad it had been her over Yelena. If something were to happen to her sister, she would never forgive herself. Each time he came at night, the woman sacrificed herself. It was a small price to pay for her beloved sibling’s safety.

“I don’t want to talk about it, baby,” Natasha said with a cracked voice, turning the other way to move further into the orchard. You gave her space knowing that whenever she felt comfortable enough to talk, she would. All you could do was follow along as the professor whispered again. “I’m sorry.”

But behind her broken tone, deep down, you could hear a younger Nat’s faint cry of ‘yes’.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

There were moments in which exhaustion overtook you during long tedious days. You could barely move a muscle and still feel as though life had been sucked out of you. Most of your summer was spent chasing around Natasha, who you remained working for throughout the following months with little to no workload. Being around the woman, doing mere iced coffee runs and chatting without a care in the world while in the office made you feel free for once in a lifetime – for the first time since you met Wanda, she was an afterthought.

Natasha was quick to jump in and take care of you through those moments. She always acted out in small, loving ways when paying for your food, giving you rides, or merely holding your hand as the two of you walked into your next adventure. Her desperation to hold you in her arms and promise you all would be well was intense. There was love radiating from her a mile away which you were far too shortsighted to see.

“Tell me what you need, malyshka. Come on, little darling, use your words.”

After a particularly difficult day, you found yourself safe in Natasha’s lap. There had been no overexertion of your being during that day. It had mostly been relaxing as you worked alongside your professor on a Friday, but when you received a call from Wanda midday, the woman asking you to meet up, you merely froze and broke down in the office – your ‘friend’ only reached out when she needed something from you and it had been nearly a month since you last spoke amicably. After you only hummed as a reply and ended the call, Natasha was there to break your fall.

“Mommy’s here for you. I know today has been a really difficult day and that you’ve felt really stressed, but I don’t want you focusing on those icky thoughts. I just wish she didn’t hurt you like this,” came the older woman’s whisper as she pulled you close. The two of you had rushed out of the office even hours before Natasha liked calling it quits. Even as behind as she was with her future lesson planning, she still prioritized you before anything else. “Use your words, detka. Tell mommy how she can help.”

“I don’t even want to think,” you flatly mumbled with tears threatening to fall down your eyes. Hands gripped the professor’s clothes while your forehead lay frozen in her shoulder. With arms wrapped around your body you finally felt safe. “Please help me forget, Nat. I never want to think about her again. I just-” your words were cut short by a short while your voice was left cracked.

“Shh it’s alright, my darling girl. Mommy’s here to make it all better.”

While holding you tight, Natasha allowed a hand to slip down your body. It snuck to your lap then between your legs. No teasing was found – she knew you how overwhelmed you were and was ready to give you whatever you wished for without question. When naked fingers went past the waistline of your sweats and underwear, landing upon your already throbbing sex, you couldn’t hold back a throaty moan.

You quickly realized Natasha wanted to separate herself from the man who agreed to adopt her. He was rough, violent, and torturous much like how she saw Wanda, whereas your professor never failed to bring a smile to your face even as she smacked your backside harshly — she always soothed the skin with the palm of her hand before carrying on. She wanted, no, needed to break away from his grasp over her mind. Otherwise she’d end up as a battered slave of his once again.

Fingertips brushed against your clit then studied the entirety of your slit while coating themselves in your everlasting slick. Natasha peppered your wet cheeks, filled with desolate tears, with kisses. She mumbled only the sweetest words while easing herself in you. You cried out about your sorrows, about Wanda’s mistreatment over you, while the older woman simply sat there and held you through it.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Anyone who dares make you feel this bad is an idiot. Y/N, my love, you deserve the world,” Natasha said lovingly. She nuzzled her face against your own, foreheads pressed together with fingers knuckle-deep inside your cunt. You couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm to grind on them. Instead, you remained shaking as Natasha made it all better. “You never let yourself be treated like that by anyone, alright? Whether it’s Miss Maximoff or me, or anyone else. My darling angel should be treated as the princess she is. You’re one of a kind, honey, a perfect little bear. I never want you to forget just how valuable your existence is.”

Tears of joy were mixed with your gloomy ones. There were cries of pleasure and internal pain that Natasha never stopped supporting you through. She allowed her lips to touch down upon your own. With your orgasm approaching soon and her tender care, you were elated.

“My sweet baby,” came Natasha’s hushed whisper. She made you come, your back arching while fingernails dug deep into the redhead’s outfit. There was a loud moan, though distant, that boomed across the room. Even as you fell apart, strong arms held you in place. Such a wondrous creature such as yourself, according to your boss, deserved to see the stars. “You did such a good job for mommy. Always my perfect girl,” she breathed out with fingers still deep inside you. “All mine.”

You swore there was a muttered ‘I love you’ thrown somewhere, but with the mix of mental and physical exhaustion raining down upon your body, you merely shrugged your shoulders and fell limp against Natasha. Although you wouldn’t admit it, your heart longed to say the words back – out of everyone in your life, you never expected to fall into the depths of love with your professor.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“I don’t know why you like this show so much. It’s just senseless killing and at the end they solve everything and go home.”

Although it was supposed to be a relaxing weekend towards the start of the Fall semester, you found the mind boggling statement to fill you with feigned rage. Even as classes began, the arrangement between you and the professor carried on. You still worked for her even if there were no classes in said semester you took with you. As disappointing as that was, you began seeing more of Natasha regardless in more ways than one.

The two of you were sitting on the couch late one Friday night. You were exhausted with your course load and Natasha cursed off the new freshmen she had to teach; they always pretended to still be in high school. A bowl of popcorn was nestled between your legs. While you watched Criminal Minds, Natasha settled for insulting it.

“It’s fun, Romanoff. Entertaining at the very least.” you shot back with a knowing smirk. You had been the one to introduce her to various shows. Who would’ve thought that the great Professor Romanoff was living underneath a rock her whole life?

“Wow I’ve been demoted from mommy to Romanoff. That’s sad,” Natasha laughed before grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Probably Rossi,” came your shrug. “He’s the guy with the beard.”

“Really?” At the surprised tone your lover let out, you feigned offense. “I thought you’d like one of the girls. What about that brunette with the bangs?”

“Oh, Emily left for the Interpol. I would like JJ, but I don’t know. There’s just something cool about Rossi in this season.”

The two of you remained silent for a few seconds. It wasn't awkward, but then again, nothing was with Natasha by your side. Even if you slipped and fell in front of her, you wouldn’t feel embarrassed. The woman never judged you, instead supporting your every decision while also guiding you through life. You felt comfortable enough with her to be yourself. At times it felt as though it was you and Nat against the world.

“Maybe you just have daddy issues,” Natasha casually offered. Moment passed before the two of you burst out laughing. Tears sprinkled in your eyes while your breath left your body. With the amusement that basked in the room, you both were giggling messes.

“Hey!” you huffed when gaining some of your composure back and lightly slapping Natasha’s shoulder. “We both have daddy issues.”

“Fine, but I have more than you. Mostly because I’ve never actually met my real dad. Maybe he’s an asshole like Alexei,” Natasha giggled. She never failed to look radiant as ever, especially when laughing and seemingly worry-free. You had to do several double takes because the beauty that exuded from your professor was far too enthralling to break away from. As the laughter died down and you were left holding one another, her head on your shoulder while you leaned back against the couch, she spoke. “I want you to be my girlfriend, Y/N.”

You had both agreed to keep things unofficial and yet there was that unmistakable skip of a beat your heart underwent when Natasha spoke her words. Teeth gnawed at your bottom lip nervously. There were striking green eyes which made it difficult for you to ignore the pegged comment. While your heart longed you to reply with a ‘yes’, to finally be Natasha’s forever, your mouth reacted differently.

For the rest of the evening the two of you sat by and finished watching the show. Natasha was silent as she ghosted over her house, leaving you alone in the living room before hiding out in her bedroom. It was the first night in months that you slept in the guest room by yourself. And to your dismay, you went to sleep listening to Natasha’s quiet sobs that escaped the privacy of her bedroom. You had felt bad for Wanda when she got sad about you seeing your professor casually, but listening to the redhead’s woes was synonymous with your heart being squeezed to death.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

It was October when you fell in love.

You returned to your dorm room days later behind the guise of assuming Natasha wished for you to be far away. She had barely spoken a word to you at work. Most of the time she sat by her desk with sagged shoulders, glasses perched at the edge of her nose, and glossy eyes hiding behind the frames. You desperately wished to say something, but when Wanda sweeped back into your life, the guilt ate at you until nothing was left behind.

The Fall semester quickly rolled by. You were at the end of the month and still couldn’t sleep without seeing Natasha’s face tainted in your mind. At times when Wanda lay above you, hips thrusting with straps wrapped around them and letting out low grunts, you closed your eyes and imagined it was the older woman. The memories of her doing the same were soaked with humiliation. You had broken her heart, you knew. Never would you dare forgive yourself for having caused so much pain upon the frail, angelic woman.

“I hate her so much,” Wanda had grumbled when you walked through campus hand-in-hand passing by a certain professor whose sight was solemnly trained on the floor. Your hand was squeezed as your eyes drifted to Natasha. As much as she seemingly hated you, all you wanted to do was run up to her, wrap her in your arms, and bed for forgiveness. Even if it would take ages, she was worth it. “Fucking bitch.”

Perhaps it was Wanda’s comment or the fact that you finally gained enough confidence through your depressive episode to take action, but that night you found yourself standing in front of Natasha’s house. Your roommate was long forgotten and for the first time in your life, you couldn’t care less about who she was fucking. All that mattered was the woman you, without admitting it, had fallen for.

There was a desperate knock upon the hardwood door. There was furious rain which fell down upon your body. That along with the cool breeze of the night made you freeze in place. Still, you felt as though you deserved it. Even then, you’d do whatever it took for Natasha.

“It’s 10pm on a Wednesday, Y/N. Someone better be dying,” were the first words Natasha spoke to you once the door swung open in a low grumbled voice you knew to be from when she awoke. “To what do I owe the displeasure? Did you come here to tell me how great Miss Maximoff is compared to-”

You cut her off by practically tackling Natasha into the house. Even if your body was dripping with the tears of the sky, you clung to the woman as though your life depended on it. She was clearly taken aback and yet never moved away. Instead her arms were left unmoving as you embraced her. That was good enough for you, you assumed.

Putting your heart on the line has never been easy. You were the person who shoved her emotions so deep down that you somehow told yourself Wanda was the one for you. Although she hurt you so much, you still remained by her side. It wasn’t difficult to assume Natasha had felt something similar when you rejected her. She had spent countless months giving you the utmost love and never daring to ask for anything in return. You were always protected by her mere presence until one day you decided to throw it all away. Going to her house, you were without hope of being taken back. There was slight hesitation reeking in your chest, but as soon as you saw your former lover, you swore you fell for her once again – she would forever be worth it.

“I’m the world’s biggest fucking idiot and I admit it. I should’ve said yes to you,” you began. Life had been tedious without Natasha even if only for a few weeks. You hated how only a cold slap in the face in the shape of one Wanda Maximoff could awaken you from such a dismal nightmare. “I hurt you so badly and I never, ever expect for you to take me back. I was an asshole. A svo-lach' if you will,” you could practically feel Natasha’s slight smirk at the mention of a Russian word she had taught you. “I miss you and I don’t think I can do this without you. It’s probably stupid since we weren’t with each other for ages. It wasn’t official and yet I can’t stop thinking about you. I want you to be my girlfriend. It’s always been you, Nat and it always will be.”

No words were spoken as the door was locked and you were dragged to the bedroom. Even if dripping with water, Natasha helped undress you. She threw you against the bed, viridescent eyes twinkling under the dead of the night before taking her rightful position over your body. There was not an area of your freezing body that she didn’t kiss her way through as sudden warmth radiated from her skin and onto yours.

When you first kissed her after weeks of being away, you swore there were fireworks going off. Never had kissing Wanda felt even remotely good or similar. You were enthralled by the way Natasha was seemingly everywhere. Her hands drifted up your body before taking your breasts into her palms and squeezing them, nipples rolling through her fingers before being pinched – she did always have an adorable fixation on your chest. There was a sense of longing within her. The two of you hadn’t been together for far too long. During the rest of the night, you explored what was missed, holding one another as cries of pleasure were let out.

Positions were switched from time to time. Natasha would be on top before you pushed her against the mattress and had your head disappear between her legs. There was nothing to be said. You two communicated through sweet and rough touches, connecting as one without the need for words. There was a moment when you made her squirt, legs shaking as your fingers were dug deep inside her cunt. Natasha was left wide-eyed and suddenly droopy while you lapped at the mess – even when a spent mess, she was the most beautiful woman in the universe.

When neither of you could keep going it was already the early hours of the morning. Your bodies were sore and marked with the reddened tracks of fingernails. It was the first time in ages that you finally felt as though you belonged. Natasha was your person, she was safe, and she was home. It was then that you, while fingers trailed across the back of the woman’s hand, decided never to dare leave her again.

“I love you,” she muttered once you were breathing raggedly, laying back on the bed with bodies intertwined and hearts aligned. You felt yourself crawl out of your skin, frowning as the words were spoken. Without even daring to turn around, you went to grab Natasha’s hand. When squeezing it, you gave her your response.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but she knew then you loved her too.

#cthulhus’ fanfics #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov x reader

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makeyoumine69 · 2 years ago

Note

Love ur writing it always makes me so happy when you post

For the celebration can you do breeding, belly bulge, and loss of innocence/virginity please 🥵🥵

Obsession

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When your father told you that you were going to marry the son of his biggest business partner, named Patrick Bateman, you didn't believe him at first, but eventually you had to face reality and accept your destiny.

WARNINGS: Smut, hurt /comfort, forced marriage, forced pregnancy (kinda), loss of virginity, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering, nipple play/tit sucking, teasing, vaginal sex, creampie, belly bulge, Breeding kink, Praise kink, Innocent kink, Size kink, sweet dirty talk, multiple orgasms, humiliation, manipulation, pet names, horny hubby!Patrick Bateman himself.

WORDCOUNT: 4.1k

SONG REC: Mariah Carey - Obsessed🖤

A/N: Finally, I managed to finish this prompt. I really enjoyed writing it, thank you so much for this request, I hope you like it!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [BWC MASTERLIST].

You were so scared and lost that you couldn't really believe it was happening - you wished that marrying Patrick Bateman was just a dream... but it wasn't. It all felt so real when after the super luxurious wedding, you rode in his limo to the Plaza Hotel for your first night together. Because the whole situation between the two of you was so rushed, you didn't even have time to get to know each other better, your father was too impatient and he wanted this marriage to happen as soon as possible. However, you remembered Patrick since you were children and all the girls around were always so charmed by him, even when he was just a little cheeky boy.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Patrick suddenly asked, placing his large palm on your knee.

With a sharp gasp, you shrugged from his unexpected touch and turned to face him, holding for a moment to admire his beautiful, brown eyes.

“Nothing.” You replied, breaking eye contact with him once you noticed you were staring at him for too long.

You heard him letting out a tired sigh, and then Bateman tried to cuddle with you a bit, wrapping his arm around your slightly shaking shoulders. “I know that everything seems to be a bit messy but…”

"It doesn't seem like it, but it really is," you looked at him again, his face so close to yours that you had to hold your breath. "Literally…everything."

"Baby, please. Don't interrupt me, okay?" Patrick tried his best to be patient and polite, but you could feel his hand tightening on your back with each passing moment. "Things are really messed up, but I want to assure you – if you can be a good wife, I'll be a great husband to you. That sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?"

Shivering from being so close to him, you almost writhed in your seat when you felt his searing lips brushing behind your ear as he murmured something soft, something soothing, but you couldn't concentrate as the meaning of his words slipped away from you like a leaf in the wind.

“Pat-Patrick, actually … there’s one thing I didn’t tell you yet,” you mused nearly audible. “You know, I’ve never been close with anyone.”

“What do you mean?”

As soon as you opened your mouth to respond, the limo stopped and you both looked into the window to see the beautiful illumination of the Plaza.

“Oh thank God, we’re finally here … I really hate NY in this time of the day, because of these fucking traffic jams.”

Bateman’s rants still resound behind your back even when you got outside. Gently, he held your waist for support as you moved to the entrance to the grand hotel, your hand kept fixing the hem of your massive dress.

It was not surprising that Patrick chose a luxury presidential suite for you, with large rooms and high ceiling above. You couldn't hide your fascination and that made him smirk loftily whilst he was helping you to remove your half-coat. Little by little, you moved to what was supposed to be a living room and took a seat on the huge black leather couch, suppressing growing anxiety inside your chest.

“Do you like this place?” Patrick looked at you before letting out a short whistle, removing his jacket.

“Yes, it’s really nice.” Smiling timidly, you clutched at the skirt of your dress once you saw him coming closer.

“Uh, you always loved fancy things, darling,” he sat next to you, throwing his leg over another and placing his hand on the back of the couch, almost touching your shaky shoulders. “Well, nothing's too good for my wifey.”

His kiss on your lips was so sudden that it sent a million chills down your spine, causing your lungs to cramp from the lack of oxygen. At first, you clawed frantically at his solid biceps as you felt his hot tongue slide against your mouth in a demanding manner. You jolted once you gave him what he wanted, because this kiss was nothing compared to the one you shared at the wedding - it was much more passionate, but still you couldn't relax.

“Pat-Patrick, please … wait,” you whispered as your voice shook, searching for his brown eyes which now were dark as a midnight sky. “You must know one very important thing.”

“What is it, my dear?”

"I'm..." you stuttered from the way he was staring at you, his hungry gaze literally eating you alive. "I'm a virgin, Patrick."

He frowned for a moment, then laughed uproariously before pulling up the hem of your dress, messing with its countless layers. "You can't be serious."

His reaction really embarrassed you, so you just pushed his big palm away and got up, leaving him on the couch with a disappointed grimace on his face.

"Hey! Where are you going?" He asked annoyingly, his golden Rolex wiggling on his wrist as he raised his hands in confusion.

"I want to get off this dress and change into something else," you complained, trying to reach the ties at the back of your dress to undo them. "I hate it!"

It was as if he hadn't even noticed your ranting when he rejoined you: "And what about that guy from college who was hovering around you like a fucking shark? Poor guy missed his chance to get a bite of a delicious pie like you?"

Gritting your teeth, you shrugged at the unpleasant sensation and shouted: "Don't you dare talk about him like that!"

He chuckled again, in his natural haughty way. "He was always a loser, and I always knew you would be mine."

You were almost done with the ties, but as soon as you heard his last words, you froze, feeling something snap in your mind. "What did you just say?"

Bateman's grin grew even wider as you turned to face him, with an unhidden dread in your eyes. "I said I always get what I want..." He stood up and walked over to the large coffee table near the couch, taking a glass and pouring some red liquid into it. "Wine?"

When you didn't answer, he took a sip of alcohol before continuing his malicious confession: "As you probably remember, my dear (Y/N), my father wanted me to marry," with every word he said, Patrick was slowly closing the distance between the two of you. "And he also wanted me to have an heir. The American dream family, that really works best for a good social reputation".

He paused, standing almost face to face with you, you could feel his expensive perfume enveloping you like a mist. “And?”

Your curiosity made him sneer with delight, so he cupped your cheek and looked down at you, murmuring softly as if trying to lull you into a fake sense of comfort. "And then there was a business meeting with your father where I remembered you as the ideal candidate to be my wife," he smiled almost lovingly, stroking your cheekbone and placing a tender kiss on your temple. "Too bad you couldn't see the look on your father's face when we talked about it, he was as happy as if he'd won a fucking billion dollars."

Stifling the immense pain in your heart, you closed your eyes and almost fell into his embrace from the feeling of being so miserable in this selfish world. His words only proved your thoughts about being just a figure in another chase game of your dad, and according to what Bateman just told you - your father won a jackpot by forcing you to marry the son of his biggest business partner.

“But to be fair, I didn’t expect to be that lucky …” he murmured before pulling you closer, his hands traveling around your lower back. “… to get such an innocent flower.”

When Patrick kissed you on lips again, you didn’t even struggle as the dark void inside your soul was consuming all of your thoughts and feelings, leaving you completely empty. With no rush, Bateman was undoing the rest of the ties on your dress as if he was unwrapping his most desirable gift. Your throat shivered in a choked gasp, as your body was traitorously responding to each touch he made, especially when his large palms ran across your boobs to give them a slight squash.

"Baby, you don't have to be afraid of me." His suddenly charming voice sounded like honey, so sweet and stringy.

"I'm not afraid," you stared up at him, catching his hands that were now caressing your thighs. "I'm so... so fucking disappointed."

"It's understandable."

"But not for you," you scowled a bit, biting your lip to keep the salty tears from welling up in your eyes. "I'm just a toy for you... just like for my beloved father."

Suddenly Patrick's eyebrows knitted, making him look a little frustrated. "No, you're not."

"Enough lies," you wanted to push him away, but he only held you tightly, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. "This is all so fake!"

"Maybe everything around us is fake, but we are not..." he gently traced a finger along your cheek, moving down to outline your trembling lips. "We're real, and when I said I'd take care of you, it wasn't a lie."

The way he looked at you was literally captivating, it caught you off guard and you couldn't help but breathe out sharply as his plump lips nestled against the sensitive spot on your neck.

"Pat... Patrick," your hands clung to his shoulders as you desperately searched for protection, and your inner nature told you that he could do it - his strong arms were like a shield between you and the whole world. "I really want to make it work, but..."

Bateman didn't allow you to finish, pressing his thumb against your mouth and then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing as he walked into the big, fashionable bedroom. Shaking slightly, you closed your eyes from the sense of unreality that clouded your mind like the strongest alcohol.

Did he just say he was going to take care of you?

The man you had always known as a total egoist, who loved no one but himself, now covered your small frame from above as he laid you on the king-size bed, planting little kisses on your cheek before settling on his knees, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his white shirt.

"You look gorgeous, (Y/N)," he mused, taking your leg to peck at your ankle, causing your back to arch at his unexpected tenderness. "As you always do."

Cautiously, Patrick slid down your luxury wedding dress, exposing your bare skin that was not hidden under your beautiful white lingerie - just a glimpse of it made him swallow hard, and when you gave him your most innocent look, he licked his lips briefly as his nostrils began to turn red.

Panting barely audibly, Bateman stood on the floor to remove his clothes, not wasting a moment to admire your embarrassed face, the more naked he became, the more noticeably you began to fidget.

"Come here, darling." He purred like a cat and beckoned you over to sit on the edge of the bed.

There was something sweet about him, as all the girls always said when they saw him, which was probably the reason why you couldn't resist him as you obeyed and knelt beside him, waiting for his next move.

“Babydoll,” he stroked your cheekbone, and you closed your eyes again from the blissful sensation of his warm palm. “Tonight, I’m gonna guide you into the world of pure pleasure … ”

You shuddered at his promise as your insides tightened like a spring - that strange sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"You'll never be the same after this, sweetheart." Bateman crooned, wrapping his hand around your neck, not to hurt you, but to make you feel his unspoken dominance.

“A-ahh,” your low moan caressed his ears and that was one of the most delighted things he ever heard. “What do you want me to do?”

Your hasty question impelled him to humm in absolute adoration, as Patrick drew near your mouth to kiss you hungirly, never in your life someone was kissing you like that, sucking on your lips one by one and biting them a bit, making you literally melt in his strong arms.

"Be yourself, (Y/N)," he whispered into your ear, hugging your shoulders before pushing on them determinedly, and now you were sprawled on the bed beneath him. "You're incredible just the way you are."

Trembling, you wanted to scream as his words worshiped your broken soul, even if he was only doing it to befuddle you and get what he wanted - in that moment, you didn't care as the strange, burning desire grew from the inside, corrupting your innocent mind by the second.

Delicately, Bateman darted his soft fingers against your belly, sliding them up to your heavy breasts, teasing your nipples with light strokes, you gasped from that contact, creasing the blanket and spreading your legs that allowed him to rest himself more comfortably.

“Good girl,” he praised you and pulled down the straps of your lingerie to expose your extremely hard peaks. “Mmm … my sweet, little girl.” He gave one of them a few licks, before he took it into his hot mouth, sucking it with pure delight.

“A-aww, Gosh … ” You wailed and enfolded your arms around his head, not even realizing you were pressing him closer.

Patrick exhaled a muffled groan and switched to your other nipple, swirling his wet tongue around it so deliciously that the tight knot in your lower abdomen was begging to be released.

“Patrick! P-Patrick please!”

“Mmm, honey, you have amazing tits,” he huffed and trapped your swollen tip between his sharp, white teeth, forcing you to freeze in silent moan of pleasure. Seizing the moment, he sneaked his long fingers between your legs to grope your taut lower lips. “Fuck, you’re soaking wet and we have only just started.”

Breathing heavily, you look up at him from under your lashes with your dazed eyes, feeling his soft finger pads slide up and down your feverish pussy. Bateman stared back at you, smirking in his arrogant way, especially when you jerked beneath him as he slipped a thumb inside your panties and pressed it against your sensitive nub.

"No one's ever touched you like this before?" Patrick asked, rubbing your clit steadily, forcing you to bend your legs into knees to give him more space to play with.

You tossed the pillows around to cover your face and just nodded, feeling his ministrations becoming more and more insistent, you didn't know how long you could stand it.

"Mmm, does that feel good, baby?" He watched you from above, admiring the view of your trembling body as his fingers slid over your cunt like clockwork, making obscene, sleek noises.

"A-arrh, yes ... mmm ... so good."

To be fair, Bateaman knew what you were going to say before you answered, because he was absolutely confident in his sex skills, and you would remember this night for a long time.

First, he left a light kiss on your side, passing your rib bones as he descended to your mound, leaving a wet trail of hickeys. Fondly, Patrick opened your hips wide apart, and he had to hold them securely as he pushed your underwear aside. You winced because you knew what he was going to do, and when he finally latched his plump lips against your blushing clit, you didn't know whether to stop him or explode right here - his skilled tongue left you with no choice.

"Mm-mmhm, ohhh God, I can't... I can't, Patrick! It's too much," you writhed on the bed, the tension in your womb too intense for you to bear. "P-Please ... ah, please ..."

Uncertain of what you were pleading for, you let him strap your legs over his broad shoulders as he lapped at your cunt without stopping, sucking your burning flesh and consuming your sweet juices like his favourite dessert. You were so fucking close to combustion when a sudden sharp pain ripped through your body, causing you to shriek in agony.

"Shh, it's all right ... I need to prep you, (Y/N)," he smooched the inside of your hip, slowly pushing his thin fingers into your spasming cleft. "Hang in there, baby. Will you do it for me?"

His voice was so soothing, so convincing. As you wiped away your tears, you saw him offer you a hand and you took it, letting your fingers intertwine. Patrick interpreted this gesture as a 'yes' and the next moment his lips found their way back to your clit, flicking it with his warm tongue and sparingly pumping your pussy with his expert fingers.

As much as he attempted to be gentle, it was still painful as he plunged deeper with each passing second. "Mmm, I..." you stammered as you felt him add another finger. "I'm scared, Patrick."

"Don't be," Bateman mused after tugging on your little tip with a squelch, slowly twisting his digits and looking at you from between your legs. "As long as you're a good girl for me, you've got nothing to worry about."

Swallowing hard, you closed your eyes from the stinging sensation of your shimmering tears. You knew there was no going back, you belonged to this man now and he could do whatever he wanted with you. Still, you tried to believe him, it might be naive and stupid, but... you just couldn't deny your sympathy towards him, especially when he treated you so kindly and lovingly.

Maybe one day you would regret it, but for now all you could do was whimper loudly and writhe on the king-size bed in the most expensive suite at the Plaza Hotel as your lawful husband was about to make you his, now and forever.

After a while, your taut body couldn't take any more of the crazy mix of pain and ecstasy that was intoxicating your mind - you orgasmed so vividly that you were afraid you were going to pass out from the feeling of your inner walls pulsating again and again.

"Yes ... just like that, honey," Patrick murmured, his fingers still pounding into your spasming cunt, prolonging your climax and it seemed you were about to cum again. "Ahhh, baby, you make me so proud."

"Patrick..." your chest rose and fell so abruptly that your face burned from the heat, as if someone had poured hot tea on you. "Mmm..."

You only managed to squeak out as Bateman suddenly rolled you over, forcing you to stay on your knees as he sat behind you. Shit, he was so huge, you felt so tiny in his arms, especially when he wrapped them around you to plant a sloppy kiss on your neck, he could feel the artery beating so fast.

"You'll like it, believe me," he chuckled softly before pushing down on your back to bend you over. "It will hurt, I admit, but not for too long."

At the very last moment, a creeping fear took over your mind and even after several orgasms he had worked you up, you couldn't relax, knowing the pain to come. Nervously, you bent down to rest your head on your crossed elbows, his hot flesh poking at your tight little hole. God, he was so big... you knew it from the time you danced close together at your wedding, your inner channel clenching around nothing in anticipation of what would happen next.

"(Y/N)," he called your name longingly, stroking his full length as he spread your wetness around his engorged head. "I've never wanted someone as badly as I want you now."

Bateman lowered himself to lick your neck, and then you screamed loudly as he began to thrust into you, gripping your hips tightly as you instinctively tried to slip away.

"Pat! Mmm, I'm so f-full, Goshhh," you tried your best to hold yourself back from crying, but the tearing sensation in your lower abdomen was too much to handle. "W-wait!"

"Almost there, darling," Patrick lied, as it was only the tip, but he didn't want to make the current situation any worse, so he decided to just keep going, ramming into you with more effort, grabbing you by the waist and almost digging his fingers into your delicate skin. "You're doing so well, mmmm ... F-fuck, you're so tight, baby."

Bateman really tried to control himself, but the way you embraced his thick cock was too blissful, it brought out his inner beast faster than he thought.

"Aaa-awww, so... so big, oh mmmm," your eyes rolled back in your head as he buried himself completely into your squeezed womb, your saliva dripping uncontrollably from your mouth. "Ah! It hurts..."

Without hesitation, Patrick leaned down to your neck and tongued your earlobe in order to soothe you a little, and when that didn't help, he cupped your face to bring you closer as his red-hot lips locked with yours. Passionately, he attacked your mouth, sucking and licking your tongue with a slurpy sound.

"You will give me a child, sweetheart," Bateman muttered in a demanding tone before forcing you to sit on your knees and covering you from behind. "A beautiful son..." he thrust deeper, holding you by the neck. "...or a daughter...or both."

The sounds of flesh meeting flesh mixed with the squelching your pussy made each time his beefy shaft moved in and out of your inner channel, relentlessly hitting your cervix with its tip.

"Yes, P-Patrick ... I'll do anything you ... want ... aaaww!" Your ability to speak diminished each time he rocked into your body, pressing you closer to his solid muscles as he settled more comfortably on his knees beside you.

"Of course, you will, baby girl."

Bateman was about to lose it at any moment from the way your tight hole was squeezing his dick, and your lascivious moans only encouraged him to fuck you harder and faster.

"Do you feel that love?" Patrick put his hand on your belly, impaling you relentlessly on his thick cock. "Can you feel my dick hitting your belly? Arrgh-fuck, you're so delicate and fragile ... I'm even afraid of breaking you."

After his brief confession, Bateman took your palm and placed it on your tummy, so you could sense the outline of his huge dick sliding inside you, and that sensation literally made you choke on air.

"I feel it ... Patrick, I f-feel it ... aaah," you threw your head back, resting it on his sturdy shoulder. "Patrick..."

You mumbled his name over and over as a saving mantra, your eyes now full of tears, and as if that was not enough, his hips began to slam into yours with increasing intensity. For a moment you found yourself fading away from the tremendous sensation of being so fucking full and abused that you couldn't even pronounce a world, only moaning wildly as you were fucking like animals, so ruthless and totally out of control.

"F-Fuck, I'm gonna make you pregnant again and again, mm-my dear wifey," he suddenly lowered his palm down your mound to rub your oversensitive bud, smearing your slick all around your pubic area and causing your legs to tremble frantically. "Shit," he felt you clenching around his dick as you climaxed so abruptly from his rubbing circular movements. He watched you quiver in his arms, your mouth paralysed in a silent cry as he kissed your temple and contemplated: "I wanna see your belly swell with my child ... I bet you'll look so beautiful, ahh-fuck."

Growling, Patrick closed his eyes from the surging ecstasy that soon consumed him, causing his whole body to cramp and his thrusts to become absolutely raw but ragged. As he pumped his fertile seed into your pussy, he didn't stop ramming into you, holding you tightly in his muscular arms until he was spent to the last drop. The feeling of warm cum filling you from the inside was so overwhelming that you didn't have time to be afraid, as if it was destined to happen before you could even think.

‘Just be a good wifey for him,' kept nagging at the back of your mind, your tears falling on your sweaty body as your eyes were wide open, staring at that one spot on the ceiling above with bitter sorrow in your chest.

From now on, you would never belong to yourself again. Not ever.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

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