#have the mask fall just once or twice!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

killerplink · 2 months ago

Text

SOAKED

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 12,4k

Plot: Jason comes home bruised and sore, and you do what you do best: take care of him. But one thing leads to another, and soon, you're on your knees, making him fall apart, only to have him return the favor tenfold.

You don't even remember falling asleep. One minute you were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, Jason's hoodie swallowing you whole, and the next, your eyes snap open at the sound of keys jingling just outside the door.

Your heart stumbles over itself as you push up on your elbows, eyes darting to the clock glowing dimly from the wall. 3:26 am.

Not bad. Not great either, but you've seen worse. You rub your face, still heavy with sleep, and the fabric of Jason's hoodie pools around your wrists as you move. It smells like him, sharp leather and gunpowder, something faintly metallic that always clings to his clothes, and underneath all that, the warmth of his skin, like sunshine baked into cotton. You wear it every time he's out late. Sleeping in your bed without him feels wrong—too cold, too empty—so you do this instead, drowning in the closest thing you have to his arms.

Another jingle, then the unmistakable scrape of the deadbolt turning. Your heart gives another sharp little kick, but this time, it's relief flooding in. He's home.

The door swings open, and Jason steps inside. Bloody.

"Fuck."

You're off the couch before you even realize you've moved, bare feet slapping against the floor as you rush to him, wide awake now and already scanning for where he's hurt.

"Oh my God, what happened? Are you okay? Baby—"

He shushes you softly, reaching up to pull off his Red Hood mask. The metal clatters onto the table beside the door, leaving his hair a mess, damp at the edges with sweat.

"Shhh. It's okay, doll. Not my blood."

Your breath catches, but he says it like it's supposed to make you feel better. It doesn't. If anything, it makes your pulse race harder because something happened, something bad enough to coat his chest in sticky red streaks and leave his shoulders locked up so tight you can see it through his jacket.

His jaw ticks, tension riding every inch of his frame, and you know him well enough to know that he's not gonna talk about it yet. Not until you've pried it out of him or worn him down enough to let him breathe again.

So you step closer, hands skimming over his sides, feeling for injuries anyway. He's solid under your touch, all heat and muscle, even through the armor and blood.

"Let's get you cleaned up," you whisper, voice softer.

You don't push for answers, not yet. First, you get him warm. Get his hands on you. Let him remember he's home. Jason exhales like he's been holding his breath since he walked through the door.

"Yeah," he says, voice lower, rougher, already starting to crack at the edges. "Yeah, okay, baby."

He kicks the door shut behind him with a solid thunk, his boots following right after—one, then the other, dropped lazily beside the mat. His jacket hits the table next, heavy with blood and dirt, and before he does anything else, his hand darts out to flip the lock. You watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he checks it twice, then once more, a habit he's never broken no matter how safe this place is.

Then his attention swings back to you, and his expression softens, just barely, at the sight of you standing there all sleepy and worried in his hoodie, the hem brushing your bare thighs. His lips twitch like he's fighting a grin, but he doesn't say a word about it—doesn't have to.

Instead, he steps in close, warm hands catching your waist, tugging you toward him just enough to kiss your forehead. His breath is warm, lips softer than they should be after a night like this, and you feel some of that coiled up tension drain from his body as he stands there holding you, grounded for the first time in hours.

He doesn't pull away until you take his hand, fingers lacing through his like it's second nature, and guide him toward the bathroom. His steps are heavy, the kind of weight that comes from hours of running and fighting, but he follows without a word.

He's too tired to tease, but not too tired to sneak one last glance at your legs, bare and soft beneath his hoodie, and there's that twitch at the corner of his mouth again. The kind that says Fuck, I love seein' my girl in my clothes, even if he's never gonna say it out loud.

In the bathroom, you flick on the light and step past him to turn on the shower, hand testing the temperature until it's hot enough to chase the chill out of his bones. Jason, meanwhile, starts to work the buckles on his gear, fingers moving automatically. One shoulder piece drops to the floor with a clatter, and you whirl around so fast he freezes, brow lifting.

"Jason Peter Todd."

Your voice lands somewhere between a scold and a soft plea, and his head tips to the side, confused. You step right into his space, small hands nudging his out of the way as you reach for his shirt yourself.

"I've got you. You don't have to—just—let me help, okay? You're all stiff, baby, and you're probably bruised to hell, and you're not supposed to—"

His hands settle on your wrists, and for a second you think he's gonna argue, but all he does is huff—this half laugh, half sigh like there she goes again, and fuck if it doesn't make his heart swell. "Ain't no winnin' with you, huh, pretty girl?"

"Not a chance," you smile up at him, sweet and stubborn all at once. "So stand still and let me."

Jason's bigger than you by a mile, but he knows better than to fight you when you've got that look in your eye. So he does what you say, letting his arms hang loose at his sides while you take off the other shoulder piece, fingers careful around the edges of bruises and scrapes. His skin's warm beneath the shirt, all solid muscle and scars you know by heart, and for a minute, all you can think about is how strong he is, and how soft he lets himself be with you.

You work him out of his shirt, fingers gentle but determined, peeling it off like you're unwrapping something precious even though the fabric's half ruined with grime and blood. It lands in the washing machine with a wet plop, and you barely glance at it before you're on to his belt, tugging at the buckle with a frown so serious, Jason can't help himself.

"Y'know," he drawls, voice low and teasing, "never seen someone so goddamn focused on takin' my clothes off and not tryin' to jump me."

"Shut up." Your nose scrunches, mouth set in that determined little pout that drives him crazy. "If you're gonna come home looking like a crime scene, the least you can do is let me clean you up without the peanut gallery commentary."

Jason snorts, arms loose at his sides, just letting you work. "Ain't my fault you're cute when you're bossy. That little face—shit, baby, you could probably scare Bruce if you tried hard enough."

Your glare could cut glass, but your hands stay gentle, popping the button on his pants before sliding them down his legs. "Get in the shower, smartass."

"Yes, ma'am."

He even throws in a sloppy salute, which earns him a playful slap right on his ass. He turns just enough to look over his shoulder, all smirk and dark eyes, like Careful, baby, do that again and I might forget how tired I am.

You flip him off for good measure, which only makes him laugh harder as he steps into the warm spray. For a second, the air fogs up, steam curling around his skin, and he tips his head back, letting the water rinse away the first layer of the night's grime.

The tension in his shoulders melts just a fraction, but only a fraction, because the second he turns back around, you're climbing in after him, hoodie already on the floor, and thank fuck for whoever designed this shower because the cabin's massive and you both fit in it with no problem.

Jason's brows lift, appreciation written all over his face. "Well, shit. Ain't I the lucky one."

The water's hot, steam curling between you, misting the glass walls of the shower. You step closer, bare feet against the slick tile, and when he turns to face you fully, your heart sinks just a little.

Because there they are. The bruises.

Deep, ugly smudges already blooming across his ribs, darker ones wrapping around his bicep like fingerprints, and a nasty scrape high on his shoulder where something must've caught him just right. You sigh softly, fingertips tracing over the damage, careful not to press too hard, and when you lift your eyes to his, they're already waiting for you.

"What happened, Jay?"

Your voice is gentle, but there's an edge underneath, sharpened by hours of waiting and worrying. Jason closes his eyes for a beat, head tipping back under the spray, water trailing down his neck and over the hard lines of his chest.

"Wrong place, wrong fuckin' time," he mutters, voice low and a little rough. "Some poor bastard got jumped by a bunch of goons in the Narrows. Tried to step in, but it was too late."

His mouth twists like he's already thinking about what you're gonna say to that.

"Then what's with the bruises?"

You cross your arms over your chest, trying for stern, but you just look small, standing there naked and wet, water gliding down your skin while your brows knit together in frustration.

Jason rubs the back of his neck, sheepish in a way only you get to see. "Well, I was on patrol, so..."

You scoff, shaking your head as you pinch the bridge of your nose. The steam makes your fingers damp, but it doesn't hide the way your shoulders curl inward, tension wracking your small frame.

You exhale, voice soft, a little wobbly at the edges. "You promised you'd be more careful."

You can't look at him when you say it, so you reach for the body wash instead, hands shaking just enough to make the bottle slip in your grip. Jason's hand is faster, catching your wrist gently before you can turn away completely.

"Hey, it's okay."

His fingers tilt your chin up, guiding you to meet his eyes, and you're not sure if it's the heat from the water or the look on his face that makes you dizzy. He leans down, lips brushing yours, soft at first, a grounding kiss meant to anchor you both. But the second his mouth presses to yours, something inside you buckles.

Your free hand fists in the wet hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss with a soft, desperate sound. Jason groans low in his throat, like you just knocked the air out of his chest, and his other hand slips around your waist, dragging you flush against him. Your bare skin slides against his, slick with water, and the kiss turns messy, hungry, all teeth and tongue and the kind of heat that leaves you lightheaded.

His tongue parts your lips, slow and filthy, licking into your mouth like he's got all the time in the world. He tastes like mint and something darker underneath—copper and smoke—and you take it all, kissing him like you need to memorize the shape of him. Your bodies press so close you can feel the thud of his heart against your ribs, and his fingers tighten at your waist, like he can't quite let you go yet.

When you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, Jason rests his forehead against yours, water running down the bridge of his nose. "I promised I'll always come back to you," he says softly. "And I meant it. I'm still here, doll. Shit like this? It's inevitable. But it's just a few bruises."

Your throat works around a hard swallow, eyes flicking over the marks on his skin. "Yeah," you whisper. "Just bruises."

Your voice cracks a little, but you cover it by squeezing a generous dollop of body wash into your palm, focusing on the feel of the slippery soap instead of the ache in your chest.

You start at his shoulders, fingers gliding over skin and muscle, slow and deliberate, cleaning him up like it's your own body you're tending to. His eyes never leave your face, watching the way your brow furrows in concentration, how your lower lip gets caught between your teeth every time you find another bruise.

You finish washing him with slow, careful hands, fingers mapping over familiar muscle and scar, every touch a quiet promise—you're home, you're safe, you're mine. Jason's eyes stay on you the whole time, half lidded and heavy with exhaustion, but there's something else simmering underneath, something darker.

When you go to grab the soap again, reaching for your own skin, his hands catch your wrists, his grip gentle but firm. "Nuh-uh, sweet girl. My turn."

"Jay, I'm fine and—"

"Don't care," he cuts you off, voice low and rough around the edges. "Lemme take care of my girl."

And really, what are you gonna do? Fight a man built like him, standing naked and wet in a shower that's already fogged up enough to feel like a sauna? You let him, because even though you fuss, you love this part. The way his hands move with purpose, how he touches you like you're the only thing worth slowing down for.

His fingers are slick with soap when they slide up your arms, over your shoulders, down your sides. The water makes everything slippery, his palms gliding over every inch of skin like he's memorizing you all over again.

But it's when he reaches your chest that you feel the shift, the way his breath catches, how his thumb drags deliberately over your nipple, slicking it up with soap and hot water, until the soft bud pebbles under his touch.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, more to himself than you. "Look at you."

You glance down, following his gaze, and yeah, no wonder he's obsessed. The soap drips down the curve of your tits, slow and thick, catching on your nipples and running in slick little trails down your stomach. Jason's hands follow the path, palms curving to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing at the soapy peaks until you gasp, back arching into his touch.

"Jay..."

It's half a scold, half a moan, and all it does is make his grip tighten, fingers kneading like he needs to feel every inch of you. He groans, low and wrecked, watching the way your tits bounce in his hands, slippery and perfect.

"Can't fuckin' help it," he says, voice rough and low, like gravel dragged over silk. "You got these perfect tits, all wet 'n slippery... How the fuck am I not supposed to play with 'em?"

His thumbs roll your nipples again, slow and deliberate, and the heat between your legs flares so fast it's embarrassing. He laughs, low and filthy, dipping his head down to mouth at your throat.

"Bet I could get you off just like this," he murmurs, squeezing just a little firmer. "Just my hands on your pretty tits, workin' you up 'til you're beggin' me to fuck you."

His teeth graze your skin, just enough to make you shiver. "Should I test it, baby?"

You kiss him to shut him up, or at least, that's the excuse you give yourself. But the second your mouth finds his, it turns filthy fast. His tongue slides against yours, tasting like water and heat and something purely Jason, and your hand drops between you without thinking, wrapping around his hard cock in one slick stroke.

He groans, deep and rumbling, but it's when you twist your wrist just right that it happens—that soft, needy moan that punches out of his chest, so unexpected you feel it in your cunt. You swallow it greedily, sucking on his tongue while your hand strokes him slow and firm, the soap making everything glide like silk.

"Jesus—fuck, baby," he mutters, forehead dropping against yours as his hips jerk into your fist. "You know what that shit does to me."

"Mhmm." You pump him again, savoring the way his cock twitches in your grip, thick and hot and already leaking at the tip. "Love your moans, Jay."

Your voice is pure sin, all low and sweet, with that dangerous edge that only comes out when you've got him like this. Raw and open, all that Red Hood bravado stripped away until it's just your man, desperate and wrecked in your hands.

Jason growls, hands sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you hard against him so you can feel exactly what you're doing to him.

"Keep talkin' like that," he warns, voice tight, "and I'm gonna bend you over right fuckin' here."

And God, you're already so wet, you could probably take him just like this, no prep, no nothing, but you're not done teasing him yet.

Your hand works his cock slow and deliberate, fingers snug around the thick shaft, every stroke slick with water and his own leaking precum. He's so fucking hard, heavy in your grip, veins standing out along the length, the head flushed and swollen as it slides against your palm. You twist your wrist at the top, fingers teasing over that sensitive ridge just under the head, and Jason's hips twitch, like he can't help himself.

"Goddamn," he mutters, voice low and frayed at the edges. "Always so fuckin' good to me."

The praise makes you shiver, thighs pressing together for a second, and that's all the invitation Jason needs. His hand slides down, fingers tracing your ass, his palm big enough to spread you open like nothing. You barely have time to gasp before two of his fingers slip between your thighs from behind, sliding through your slick folds like he's been waiting all night to get his hands on you.

"Jesus, baby." he groans. "You're so fuckin' wet already."

His fingers slide lower, not rushing, just exploring, tracing over your clit before dipping back to your entrance, dragging your slickness back up with every stroke. It's teasing, maddening, like he wants to see how worked up he can get you before you snap. And it's working, because you're already trembling, thighs spreading wider, giving him all the access he wants.

"Such a good fuckin' girl," he mutters, fingers finally pressing inside you, two at once, slow and steady. "Takin' me so sweet. Always so fuckin' tight for me."

You moan into his mouth, the sound soft and helpless, and your grip on his cock tightens just a little, enough to make him hiss between his teeth, his fingers curling inside you like a reflex. He's filling you so good, even with just his fingers, and the angle from behind only makes it dirtier, your ass pushed back into his hand while your chest stays flush to his skin, tits pressed against warm, wet muscle.

"Greedy little thing," Jason teases, voice warm and dark. "Jerkin' me off while you fuck yourself on my fingers. You missed me that much, huh?"

You don't even try to deny it, you just kiss him again, harder this time, all tongue and heat, your hand stroking him faster. Water runs down both your bodies, dripping between you, and every movement feels slick and desperate, like you're both already too far gone to slow down. Your palm twists over the head of his cock, smearing precum down the length, and Jason groans into your mouth, fingers fucking into you deeper until you can't help but moan right back.

"Fuckin' love those sounds," he mutters, lips dragging down your jaw. "My girl sounds so fuckin' sweet when she's needy."

His lips find yours again, slower this time, tongue licking into your mouth in lazy, filthy strokes, and you know—you just know—this is only the beginning.

The thought hits you so suddenly it's almost embarrassing. How much you want to get your mouth on him, to taste every inch, to feel his dick sliding down your throat while water beats down your back. You want to swallow every groan, every curse, every helpless little noise that slips past his lips when you've got him too deep, choking on it.

You shift against him, one hand on his chest, the other still stroking his cock as you gently guide him back until his broad shoulders hit the shower wall. The tile is cool against his skin, but the way you look up at him—all wide, needy eyes, water dripping down your face, lips already parted—that's what sends a little shiver down his spine.

"Baby—" he starts, but you're already moving, already tugging his hand from between your thighs, even though your pussy clenches around nothing in protest.

You need him in your mouth more than you need his fingers, and the second you sink to your knees, Jason's head tips back against the wall with a low, wrecked groan.

"Fuckin' hell, doll," he mutters, voice all gravel and heat. "Gonna kill me with those pretty fuckin' eyes."

You smile, sweet and filthy at once, licking up the underside of his cock, tongue tracing that thick vein from base to tip. He's so hot in your mouth, the taste of salt and skin mixed with the faint bitterness of his precum as you swirl your tongue over the head, lapping up every drop like you're starved for it.

"Goddamn," Jason hisses, one hand finding your hair, fingers sliding in to grip the back of your head. "You're so fuckin' pretty down there. Look at you, baby—fuck, lookin' at me like you wanna swallow me whole."

You hum around him, keeping eye contact as you take him deeper, lips stretching around the thick head, your tongue flattening against the underside. He's big—too big, really—but you love the stretch, love the way your jaw aches already, love the way Jason's chest rises and falls faster the deeper you go.

"Such a good girl," he mutters, voice just shy of breaking. "My good girl. Look at you, takin' me so sweet, fuckin' droolin' for it."

You are, slick spit dripping down your chin already, mixing with the water, and you love it. Love how messy it is, how desperate you feel, how Jason's fingers tighten in your hair like he's holding himself back from just thrusting into your mouth.

"Goddamn mouth was made for me," Jason growls, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, gathering up the slick mess and smearing it across your cheek. "Prettiest fuckin' sight I've ever seen."

You take him deeper in response, throat fluttering around the tip, eyes watering as you try to swallow him down, and he groans, low and broken, the sound vibrating all the way down to your cunt.

"Shit, baby, you're gonna make me lose my fuckin' mind."

You pull off him with a wet pop, lips glossy with spit and precum, breathing hard like you just ran a mile. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, slick and shiny, and you look up at him through soaked lashes, eyes dark with need.

"Jay," you whisper, voice a little wrecked already, throat raw from just what you've taken so far. "Wanna feel you deeper." You swallow hard, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. "Wanna feel you fuck my throat."

Jason's whole body tenses, a shudder running through him so hard you feel it under your fingertips. His jaw tightens, water dripping down his face, and you swear you can see him debating it for a split second. Like maybe he's worried he'll get carried away, worried he'll ruin you if he really lets go.

"Baby—" his voice is hoarse, almost strained. "You sure? Don't wanna hurt you."

You fucking melt, because underneath all that roughness, all that unhinged hunger, there's him. Your Jason. Who always asks, always checks. Even when you're on your knees, begging for it.

You nod, so sweet, so sure, giving his cock a slow stroke just to make your point. "I want it, Jay."

"Fuckin' hell," he mutters, voice already breaking. "C'mere."

You grip his thighs, steadying yourself, fingers digging into thick muscle as you let him guide you—both hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, so gentle it makes you ache. But the second your lips part and he slides back in, the tenderness shifts, replaced by hunger so sharp it steals your breath.

"Open up, baby," Jason rasps, hips rolling forward slow and steady, letting you adjust around the stretch of him. "That's it, such a good girl, fuck."

His cock slides deeper, the head nudging the back of your throat, and you gag—a wet, helpless sound that makes his hips jerk. His fingers tighten in your hair, his own breath hitching in his chest, like the sound of you choking on him just flipped some feral switch in his brain.

"Shit," he groans, low and guttural. "Takin' me so deep—look at you, baby, fuckin' perfect."

Your nails dig into his thighs for balance, your knees slipping slightly against wet tile, but you don't stop. You want all of him, need to feel him hit the back of your throat again and again until your eyes stream and your pussy drips. Your moan vibrates around him, and Jason's head drops back against the wall with a sharp curse, fingers tightening until your scalp stings.

"Holy fuck, you love this, don't you?" he growls, looking down at you with wild eyes, water running down his chest. "Love gettin' all sloppy and fucked out for me."

You hum around him, too full to answer, tears burning at the corners of your eyes as his cock slides deeper. Your throat spasms around him, gagging again, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin to your tits, mixing with the water like you're just a mess made for him.

Jason moans, a real, broken sound you almost never hear—low and desperate, like the feel of your throat wrapped tight around him is enough to unravel every last shred of control. And fuck, that sound alone makes your pussy ache, slick dripping down your thighs in hot, needy trails.

"You're gonna make me fuckin' lose it," he grits out, voice rough and thin. "You feel that, baby? Feel how hard I am for you?"

You moan again, louder this time, hips shifting like you're searching for friction, desperate to grind against something. Jason's fingers stroke your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, gathering up the spit that's spilled there, and when you glance up at him—all wide, tear bright eyes and swollen lips—his cock twitches hard.

"Fuck, you're so pretty like this," he mutters, voice all low heat and reverence. "My pretty girl... on her knees, lettin' me fuck her throat like the greedy little thing she is."

He thrusts a little deeper, slow but deliberate, and you choke again, body shuddering, tears finally spilling over. But you hold still, nails digging into his thighs, moaning around him like you love the struggle, like you love knowing you're the only one who can make him fall apart like this.

Jason swears under his breath, something low and filthy, and you swear his hips tremble like he's fighting not to lose it right there. He pulls back with a wet pop, his cock slipping from your throat, leaving you coughing softly, spit clinging to your lips and chin, drooling down your neck in glossy trails.

His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, gathering the mess you made, and the way he looks at you—like you're the filthiest, prettiest little thing he's ever seen—makes your thighs squeeze together, your pussy pulsing helplessly.

"Breathe, baby," he rasps, voice raw with need, like he's the one who just had his throat fucked, not you. "Did so good for me. Fuckin' perfect."

You take a shaky breath, chest rising and falling fast, before you flash him that wicked little smile, all slicked with spit and swollen, and you tilt your head, tongue flicking out to lick the tip of his cock.

"Not done yet, Jay," you whisper, voice hoarse from all the choking.

Jason groans, head falling back against the tile as his fingers twitch in your hair, trying not to yank too hard because fuck, you're gonna ruin him. Your throat is already raw from how deep he's been, but that wicked little smile you give him says you don't care.

Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, slick with spit and precum, and you stroke him slow, dragging your thumb over the thick vein that runs along the underside. His hips twitch, a barely there thrust that he immediately stops, like he's trying to be good, trying not to shove himself right back down your throat.

But then you press a kiss to his flushed tip, then another, before dragging your tongue over the slit, tasting him—salty and thick, all Jason—and you hum in approval, sending a shudder through his entire body.

"Shit," he hisses through clenched teeth, his grip in your hair tightening.

His thighs flex, like he wants to spread them wider, give you more room, but he's already backed against the shower wall, nowhere else to go but into your mouth.

And you want him there.

You tilt your head and take him in again, slow at first, sucking him down inch by inch until your lips stretch wide around the thickest part of his cock. Your free hand slides up, resting against his lower stomach for balance as you start to move, bobbing your head, tongue dragging along the underside, tracing every ridge and vein.

He groans low, almost desperate, his breathing ragged as he watches you. "Fuckin' hell, baby—"

And then you take him deeper.

You breathe through your nose and sink down, letting him slide past your tongue, into your throat, until your lips are pressed right against the base. His dick twitches inside your mouth, hot and pulsing, stretching you open in a way that has your pussy clenching around nothing.

Jason curses, head snapping forward to look down at you, his pupils blown wide. "Jesus—" His jaw goes slack as you swallow around him, muscles flexing around the thick length in your throat, and he groans deep, guttural, something torn straight from his chest. "Goddamn it, baby—"

You moan, the vibrations making him jerk, his fingers tangling in your hair as he fights the urge to fuck into your mouth. But you want him to. You need him to.

So you pull back just enough to breathe, spit slicking your lips, his cock shiny and wet from your mouth. You blink up at him, all pretty, wrecked eyes, and whisper, hoarse but teasing, "C'mon, Jay. Give it to me."

His restraint snaps. He cups the back of your head and pushes back in, slow at first, just to watch your lips stretch around him again, just to hear that sweet little gag when he hits the back of your throat. Then he does it again. And again.

Fucking your mouth with slow, deep thrusts, his dick hot and heavy on your tongue, your jaw aching, your throat stretched wide to take him. Spit drips down your chin, strings of it connecting your lips to his cock every time he pulls back, only to snap when he shoves in again.

"Fuck, baby—look at you." His voice is hoarse, full of raw need as he watches you swallow him down like you were made for it. "Takin' me so fuckin' good—my perfect girl, so fuckin' greedy—"

You moan in response, your fingers digging into his flexing thighs for balance, your eyes locked onto his as you let him use your mouth just the way he likes. It's filthy, messy, raw, the wet, slick sounds of your mouth working him filling the steamy bathroom, and when his abs tighten, his breathing turning ragged, you know he's close.

But not yet.

You pull off of him with a gasp, a string of spit still connecting your lips to his cock, and you tilt your head back, mouth open, tongue out, voice wrecked as you murmur, "Cum on my tongue, Jay."

His moan is broken as his cock jerks in your grip, his fingers twitching like he wants to grab your face and wreck you all over again. Instead, he lets you set the pace, his back pressing to the shower wall as you stroke him slow and deliberate, your slick hand working over his cock, all the way from the base to the leaking tip.

"Shit, baby, fuck," he mutters, head thunking back against the tile. "You're gonna—fuckin' hell—gonna make me blow just like that, lookin' at me with that dirty little smile."

You keep your eyes locked on his, wide and dark and utterly shameless, your tongue peeking out like an invitation. And when he curses again, hips bucking into your grip, you pull him right to the edge of your mouth—lips parted, tongue out, waiting, just like his fucking dream girl.

"Gonna cum for me, Jay?" you whisper, all soft and sweet, hand twisting at the head of his cock, smearing precum all over your tongue.

His whole body tenses, abs flexing hard, his dick jerking in your hand as his breath stutters out in a ragged groan. "Fuck, baby, fuck—gonna cum—shit—"

It hits fast and messy, the first thick spurt of cum painting your tongue, hot and salty and so much of it. His cock throbs in your grip, pulsing with every ragged heartbeat, more cum spilling over your tongue, dripping down your lip in messy streaks. Jason watches, jaw slack, eyes heavy-lidded with pure wrecked hunger, like the sight of his cum all over your tongue could send him spiraling right into a second orgasm.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he mutters, voice rough and almost reverent.

You tilt your head back, sticking your tongue out just enough to show him, his cum glistening on your tongue, a filthy little pool of him. His fingers cradle your jaw, thumb tugging at your bottom lip as he groans, low and guttural, like the sight alone is enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

"Swallow, baby," he whispers, dark and sweet all at once. "C'mon, swallow my cum like the perfect little thing you are."

You obey without hesitation, tongue curling back as you swallow every drop, throat working around it. Then you open your mouth again, all pretty and empty, just to show him you took it all, and he swears under his breath, dragging you up onto your feet so fast your head spins.

Jason pulls you up, kissing you hard and deep, not even caring that you still taste like him. His hand cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling into your wet hair as his tongue slides over yours, messy and hungry, all low moans and deep groans vibrating against your lips.

His other hand grips your hip, holding you flush to him, his cock still heavy and slick between you, smearing precum against your belly as the two of you kiss like neither of you is fully in control anymore.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters against your mouth, thumb tracing your jaw, "gonna taste you, wanna fuckin' drown in that sweet pussy."

Before you can respond, Jason sinks to his knees right there in the shower, water dripping off his hair, running in rivulets down his broad shoulders and sculpted chest. His hands grip the backs of your thighs, urging you to spread them just enough for him to fit between, and then he throws one of your legs over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, opening you up for his hungry mouth.

"Goddamn," he mutters, mouth so close to your slick cunt that you can feel his breath ghosting over your clit, "this fuckin' pussy, baby."

And then he's on you, tongue flat and wide, dragging up your slit, slow and filthy, groaning like the taste of you just knocked the air out of his chest. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue flicks lower, dipping right into your entrance, fucking you open with deep, sloppy strokes.

You cry out, hand flying to his hair, fingers fisting in the dark strands as you try to keep yourself steady, but it's useless. His tongue is relentless, devouring you like he's starving.

You try to close your thighs around his head, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his tongue dragging against your sensitive walls, but Jason's grip tightens, holding you open just for him.

"Uh-uh," he mutters, voice muffled against your cunt, "stay open for me, baby, let me see how fuckin' wet you are."

His tongue moves back up to your clit, circling it in slow, torturous patterns before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard, and you damn near scream, hips jerking into his face.

"Jason, fuck—oh my God—"

He hums against your clit, tongue flicking faster, and the vibration sends shivers all through you, your knees threatening to buckle. Then you feel his fingers—one thick finger sliding into your soaked pussy, sinking all the way down to the knuckle, curling just right, pressing against that spot that makes your vision go white.

"So fuckin' tight, baby," he mutters, adding a second finger without warning, your walls fluttering around him. "Gonna stretch you open nice and good for me."

He fucks you with his fingers, slow at first, dragging them out until you're whining, desperate, then slamming them back in, curling every time, fucking you open while his tongue stays glued to your clit. The combination is too much, the perfect rhythm, his fingers filling you just right while his tongue flicks and circles and sucks, and you can feel your orgasm building too fast, that sweet heat curling in your belly like a molten knot about to snap.

"Jason—gonna—fuck, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, baby, cum for me," he groans, fingers speeding up, tongue licking harder.

And you do—you cum hard, soaking his fingers, your cunt fluttering around them as your clit throbs under his tongue. Your whole body shudders, thighs shaking so hard Jason has to hold you up, his free hand gripping your ass, keeping you steady while he licks you through it, sucking every last drop of your wetness onto his tongue like he can't bear to waste a single drop.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he mutters, lips shiny with you, kissing your trembling inner thigh, fingers still buried deep inside your pulsing cunt. "Always so fuckin' pretty when you cum for me."

You're still trembling when you tug at Jason's hair, urging him up from his knees, and he follows without hesitation, his broad frame rising above you, all wet skin and slick muscles and that hungry look in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. You crash your mouth onto his the second he's close enough, kissing him messy and wet, tasting yourself on his tongue as he groans into you.

There's no finesse, just raw, desperate hunger, teeth knocking together, tongues tangling, water running between you while his hands slide down to grip your hips, pulling you flush to his still achingly hard dick.

"Fuck me," you murmur against his mouth, breathless, lips swollen, and Jason gasps like the air got punched out of his lungs, eyes going dark with that primal heat you know so well.

"C'mere, pretty girl," he rasps, guiding you toward the built in shower bench, and really, bless whoever designed this apartment.

Jason grabs a folded towel from the shelf, laying it over the bench to cushion your knees, always thinking of you even when his mind is spinning off its axis with lust.

"Bend over for me," he says, voice low and rough, and you don't need to be told twice.

You turn, hands bracing against the tiles as you arch your back, sticking your ass out for him, knowing damn well how much he loves the view.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans behind you, big hands grabbing your ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. "This fuckin' pussy, always so goddamn pretty."

He spreads you open with his thumbs, watching the way your slick glistens under the water, watching how your hole clenches, already desperate to be filled.

"You're gonna fuckin' ruin me, baby," he mutters, more to himself than to you, voice full of awe and heat and hunger.

And God, his thoughts are a fucking mess—his body aches, every muscle burning from tonight's patrol, but none of it matters. Not when you're like this, bent over and dripping for him, all soft skin and curves and that sweet little arch of your back, presenting yourself like the perfect gift.

He feels wrecked, destroyed by how much he wants you, like his skin might split open if he doesn't get inside you right now. You're his remedy, his fucking salvation, and the only way to ease the tension coiled inside him is to bury himself so deep in you that he forgets why his knuckles are bruised in the first place.

He fists his dick, pumping it slow, spreading the slick of his precum along his shaft, hissing between his teeth because he's so fucking sensitive already.

"Goddamn, baby," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your swollen clit just to make you whimper. "You're so fuckin' wet. This all for me, huh?"

"All for you," you breathe, pressing back into him, desperate for more, for all of him.

He slides the tip just barely inside, groaning at the way your tight heat immediately tries to suck him in, and fuck, you'll never get used to this—to the stretch, the way his cock splits you open every single time. He's so thick, so perfect, and it burns just a little, but it's the best fucking burn, the kind that leaves you dizzy and drooling, the kind that makes your toes curl because you know what's coming, you know how good it's gonna be.

No one's ever fucked you like Jason does, no one's ever filled you like this, made you ache and crave and beg, and you're already gone, already clenching around nothing, desperate to have him deeper.

"Jay, please," you whimper, and that's all it takes for him to sink in, slow but unrelenting, inch by thick inch until his hips are flush to your ass, until you're stuffed full, stretched wide, pussy fluttering around him.

"Fuckin' perfect," he groans, hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. "Always so fuckin' perfect for me, baby."

Jason stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, his big hands smoothing over your hips and up your spine, grounding you in his touch. You're stretched so wide around him it's almost too much—almost—but your pussy flutters around his dick like you're trying to pull him in even deeper. Your knees are already weak, breath hitching in your throat as the dull ache blooms into molten pleasure, and then, he moves.

A slow, careful pull back, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, so thick you can feel every ridge and vein, and then he sinks back in, deeper this time, hips meeting the curve of your ass with a soft, wet slap. It makes you whimper, the sound high and needy, and Jason's thumbs stroke soothing circles into your skin, his voice low and tender.

"Shhh, pretty girl," he murmurs, eyes fixed on where his cock disappears inside you, mesmerized. "You're takin' me so good, baby. Look at this perfect fuckin' pussy, stretchin' just for me."

His gaze is glued to the way your slick coats his cock, creamy arousal clinging to him every time he pulls back, webbing between your thighs. "Goddamn," he groans, almost to himself, dragging his fingers down to spread you open just a little more so he can see even better. "You're so fuckin' wet. You missed me this much, huh?"

"Yes," you breathe, voice soft and sweet, trembling around the edges as he sinks in again, slow and deep.

And Jason? Jason's brain is barely functional at this point. All he can think about is how warm and tight you are, how your walls squeeze him like a fucking vice every time he moves. He's aching all over, bruised knuckles and sore muscles, but none of that matters when he's buried inside you.

This is his peace, his salvation, and there's nothing in the whole goddamn world that feels better than this. Your soft little moans, the way you arch your back for him, the way you take him so fucking deep—it's enough to make him lose his goddamn mind.

He fucks you slow, deep, each thrust deliberate, giving you every inch, savoring the way your cunt stretches around him, how your walls welcome him like you were made just for him. The slick sounds of your soaked pussy echo through the shower, mixing with the gentle slap of his hips against your ass, obscene and filthy and so fucking good.

Your thoughts are a mess—all you can think about is him, how deep he is, how good he fills you. The stretch burns just a little, but it's the kind of burn you crave, the kind that leaves you shaking and desperate for more.

No one's ever fucked you like this, like they're worshiping you and ruining you at the same time. Jason's hands are so big on your skin, holding you steady like you're fragile and precious, even though he's splitting you open with every slow thrust.

"Jay," you whimper, head dropping between your arms, face hot, body trembling. "Feels so good—"

"I know, baby," he murmurs, leaning over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your ear. "Love this pussy so much. My good girl. Always so fuckin' good for me."

He kisses the back of your neck, slow thrusts never faltering, and you shiver at the feel of his lips and the filthy praise dripping from his tongue. Your pussy clenches around him, pulling him deeper, and he groans, low and broken.

"Fuck," he mutters, barely holding on, "You're gonna kill me, baby."

Jason's grip tightens on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you feel it, to remind you he's there, holding you steady as he picks up the pace. His thrusts grow just a little faster, a little rougher, each stroke punching soft, breathy moans from your lips.

And fuck, it's everything. His dick feels so good inside you, stretching you just right, dragging against every sensitive spot with every deep roll of his hips. The veins, the ridges, you can feel them all, rubbing against your walls, splitting you open over and over again.

And Jason—Jason's brain is fried. Every squeeze of your pussy around his dick makes his stomach clench, his jaw tighten. You're so fucking tight, so warm, so wet, each stroke is like heaven and hell at the same time. The soft, filthy sounds of your pussy sucking him in are enough to make his abs tense, his muscles coil.

"Shit," he rasps, voice wrecked, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fucks into you, his hips snapping forward just a little harder, enough to make you whimper. "You're fuckin' squeezin' me so goddamn good, baby. Feels so fuckin' good—"

And then—his hand. Big, warm, calloused fingers sliding down between your thighs, finding your swollen clit with ease. The moment he touches it, a sharp little gasp rips from your lips, your legs trembling, and Jason groans against your skin, pressing messy, open mouthed kisses to the back of your neck.

"Yeah, you like that, huh?" His voice is pure sin, thick with lust, dripping with heat. "Like havin' me buried deep in this pretty little pussy while I play with your clit?"

His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing soft and steady, teasing you, making your cunt throb around his cock. The pressure is perfect, just enough to make your whole body tighten, your breath hitch.

"Jay—"

Your voice is high, needy, desperate, and Jason feels it, the way you're spiraling, the way your walls start fluttering around him.

"That's it, baby," he mutters, rolling your clit a little faster now, keeping the pressure steady, his thrusts still deep and strong. "C'mon, pretty girl, wanna feel this pussy fuckin' cum on my dick."

And fuck, you're so close. Your whole body tenses, your toes curling, your arms shaking as the pleasure builds, hot and fucking overwhelming. His cock fills you so good, the stretch, the drag, the way he works your clit—it's all too much, too good, and then, you shatter.

A high, broken moan leaves your lips as your orgasm hits, crashing over you in thick, pulsing waves. Your pussy clenches around his cock, gripping him tight, rippling around him, milking him as your whole body shakes. Your head drops forward, forehead pressed against the cool tile, breath stolen from your lungs.

Jason groans, deep and wrecked, feeling every flutter of your walls, every wet squeeze of your cunt around his cock. It's almost too much, the way you keep pulling him in, and he has to force himself not to cum right then and there, has to grip your hips tighter, anchoring himself.

"Fuck, baby," he growls, still rubbing your clit, helping you ride it out, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. "That's my good girl—fuckin' squeezin' me so good, baby—"

Your legs nearly give out, and Jason feels it, catches you, wraps an arm around your waist and holds you up, still buried deep inside you, still pulsing, still aching.

Jason's still inside you, cock nestled deep in your soaked cunt, and you turn your head just enough, voice soft and hazy as you murmur, "Jay..."

His lips brush over your shoulder, warm and tender, a sweet contrast to the heavy stretch of his dick still buried in you.

"Yeah, baby?"

You hesitate for a second, just a little sheepish, then whisper, "I wanna sit on you."

Fuck. His dick twitches inside you, a sharp little pulse that makes your spent pussy clench in response, and Jason groans quietly, forehead pressing against your shoulder.

"Yeah? You wanna ride me, pretty girl?"

"Yeah..."

And who the fuck is he to say no to that?

He pulls out slow, both of you hissing softly at the wet, messy slide of his dick leaving your cunt. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the center of your back before helping you shift around, easing you off the bench.

But before either of you can move any further, you tug him down into a kiss, just because you need to.

It's slow and lazy, all warm tongues and soft lips, your mouth still tasting faintly like him, like salt and sweat and something purely Jason. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking gently, and you're already squirming closer, knees a little shaky as you lean into him, deepening the kiss.

When you finally pull back, you're both panting softly, and you flash him that sweet, cheeky little smile before you push at his chest and say, "Sit."

He arches a brow, but there's nothing but pure heat in his gaze when he murmurs, "Yes ma'am."

He sits back, water streaming down over his broad shoulders, and you climb into his lap, knees bracketing his thick thighs. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers sliding into the damp hair at the nape, and you roll your hips slowly, grinding your swollen, slick pussy against his hard, heavy cock.

Jason's hands grab your ass immediately, fingers digging in, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. "Fuck, baby... look at you," he mutters, watching the way your puffy folds spread over the length of his dick, your clit catching on the head with every slow drag. "So fuckin' wet, you're leakin' all over me."

You moan softly, hips stuttering when he thrusts up just a little, the fat head of his cock catching perfectly against your sensitive clit.

The jolt of pleasure makes you cling to him tighter, biting your lip as you whisper, "Need you."

"Yeah, baby?" His voice is low and rough, all fucked out warmth. "Go on then. Take it."

And you do.

Your hand wraps around his dick, guiding him to your entrance, and you both groan when the fat tip pushes inside, the stretch still just as dizzying as the first time. You sink down slowly, inch by inch, your cunt spreading to fit him again, walls hugging him so tight he swears he could feel your pulse.

Jason leans back against the cool tile, the contrast of heat and cold making his skin prickle. His muscles are aching, body worn from patrol, but none of that matters when you're sitting on his cock, dripping wet, your face all soft and flushed as you look at him like you need him just to breathe.

"God, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips, helping you ease down until you're fully seated, your thighs trembling slightly against his. "Fuckin' love watchin' you take my dick. Look so goddamn pretty stuffed full like this."

You cup his face, leaning in to kiss him again, slow and deep, tongues sliding together, tasting each other, your soft moans caught between his lips. His hands never leave your ass, gripping, kneading, helping you rock against him, grinding down so your clit rubs against the skin at the base of his cock.

It's filthy, wet sounds filling the steamy air, your slick coating his thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, the messy press of your tongues as you lose yourself in the kiss. His cock pulses deep inside you, so thick, so fucking full, and you already know that you're not gonna last long. Neither is he.

But that's the best part.

Your hands brace against his broad shoulders, nails digging into the thick muscle as you start to move, lifting your hips just enough before sinking back down, grinding in his lap when he's buried all the way inside.

Jason groans, a deep, wrecked sound, and his fingers tighten on your ass, gripping hard, as if he can barely handle how fucking good you feel around him. Your tits press against his chest with every slow, wet slide down his cock, the slick heat of your cunt clenching around him, making his breath hitch.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, lips brushing over your jaw. "You're so goddamn tight—feel like you're tryna choke my dick."

You whimper at his words, the praise making you throb around him. Your pace quickens, thighs trembling as you bounce on his cock, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the steamy shower. Every time you take him to the hilt, you roll your hips, grinding down just right, making him groan beneath you.

Jason's teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging before he mutters, "Fuck, look at you—so needy for it, huh? Bouncin' on my dick like a desperate little thing."

You are desperate. Every slow, deep thrust of his cock makes you shiver, makes your pussy clench, makes heat coil tight in your belly. You can barely think, barely breathe—there's only Jason, his thick hands gripping your ass, his rough voice in your ear, his dick stretching you open over and over again.

Your moans turn breathy, high-pitched, every gasp punched from your throat as your thighs start to burn, but you don't stop. You can't. Not when Jason's looking at you like that, all hooded eyes and flushed cheeks, sweat beading along his temples despite the warm spray of the shower.

"Fuck, Jay," you moan, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, his throat. "Feels so good—I love your dick."

"Yeah?" His voice is a low growl, hands sliding up your back, holding you close as he thrusts up into you, meeting your movements. The new angle makes you cry out, burying your face against his neck as he fucks up into your dripping pussy, harder, deeper. "Love takin' my dick, huh, pretty girl? Love gettin' stretched open like this?"

You nod frantically, unable to do anything but whimper and take it, the slap of his thighs against your ass getting filthier, wetter, each bounce sending little shivers through your overstimulated body. Your clit drags against his lower abs, sparking white-hot pleasure every time you grind down, making your legs shake around him.

He growls against your ear, his breath hot, voice rough. "Shit, baby—you're fuckin' squeezin' me so tight—gonna make me lose my goddamn mind."

Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, tugging slightly as your lips brush against his, voice barely above a whisper. "Then lose it."

Jason groans into your mouth as you pick up the pace, fucking yourself down onto his cock harder, faster, each wet, messy bounce making his grip on your ass tighten. The steam in the shower is thick, curling around both of you, heat clinging to your skin as the slap of your bodies echoes in the tiled space.

You're whimpering, moaning, head tipping back as you ride him, thighs burning, overstimulated and aching but too fucking needy to stop. His cock feels too good—thick and deep, stretching you open, hitting that spot inside you that makes you whine every single time.

Jason's hands move, one gripping your hip, guiding your movements as the other slides up, fingers curling around the back of your neck, tugging you until your foreheads touch. His breath is hot, uneven, every exhale heavy as his mouth brushes yours, his words breaking apart with each thrust up into you.

"Fuck, baby—just like that—" His voice is a growl, all low and rough, shaking slightly as he fucks up into you. "God, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum—you feel so fuckin' good—"

Your pussy tightens at his words, a shuddering moan spilling from your lips as you brace your hands against his chest, moving even faster, grinding harder, the wet drag of his dick inside you making you dizzy.

"I'm close," you gasp, mouth brushing his, hands fisting in his damp hair as his own grip tightens on your hips. "Jason—fuck, I'm—"

"I know, baby," he rasps, and suddenly, he snaps his hips up into you, thrusting hard, dragging a gasping, wrecked sound from your throat. "C'mon, cum for me. Wanna feel you—"

And that's all it takes.

Pleasure slams into you, intense and overwhelming, your whole body shuddering as your pussy clenches tight around him. It's too much, too good, a sobbing cry ripping from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of raw, blinding pleasure.

Your walls flutter around his cock, squeezing him like you're trying to pull him deeper, and Jason feels it. He groans against your throat, voice wrecked and shaking, like you're undoing him right alongside yourself.

"Jesus fuck," he grits out, but he doesn't stop.

If anything, he fucks you harder.

His hips snap up in fast, brutal thrusts, thick cock driving into you again and again, forcing out these soft, desperate little whimpers as overstimulation starts to creep in. You twitch against him, body trembling, but he just grins, biting down on your neck like he likes how fucked out you're getting.

"Sensitive, baby?" His voice is all teasing, but there's something dark underneath, something hungry.

His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you pinned, making sure you take it. His cock drags against your swollen, overstimulated walls, pushing you closer and closer to that sharp, unbearable edge again. He can feel it, the way your cunt flutters around him, the way you're already slipping into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

"Yeah," he groans, rough and deep, pressing a messy, open mouthed kiss to your jaw. "That's my girl."

Jason doesn't let up. Not even for a second. His hands grip your hips, holding you down as he fucks into you, hard and deep, each wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the shower.

You're still trembling from your last orgasm, body twitching with every thick drag of his cock, but he just grins. Watching you, watching the way your tits bounce, watching the way your pretty little cunt stretches around him, all wet and swollen and so fucking perfect.

"Gonna give me another one," he murmurs, rough and dark, like it's not even a question. Like it's just fact.

You try to say something—anything—but all that comes out is a breathless whimper, because fuck, every time he thrusts up, your clit drags against his skin, the friction hot and slick and just right. The pressure builds too fast, too intense, your body already wound up so tight you feel like you might snap.

Jason feels it, the way your walls squeeze around him, the way your thighs start to shake. He groans, dropping his head to your throat, teeth grazing over sensitive skin.

"Yeah, there it is," he rasps, voice thick with satisfaction. "Fuck, you get so tight when you're close. You gonna cum for me again, baby? Gonna let me feel you squeeze my dick all over again?"

And then he grinds up into you, slow and deep, making sure your clit drags right against him, making sure you feel every inch of him rubbing you just right. It's too much, sharp and unbearable, your pussy clenching around him as the orgasm slams into you, so hard and overwhelming you swear you stop breathing for a second.

Jason groans, almost pained, his grip on you tightening as he forces himself to keep fucking you through it, his cock dragging against your overstimulated walls with each deep, filthy thrust.

"There we go," he grits out, watching the way you shudder, the way your body reacts to him. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

He's so close it's unbearable. Every thrust has his cock throbbing, sensitive to the point of pain, but he can't stop. Can't stop chasing that high, can't stop fucking into you, hips snapping up in desperate, stuttering thrusts as he buries himself as deep as he can go.

And you? You meet him halfway, taking every inch, riding him through it, moaning as his cock grinds right against your swollen, overstimulated walls. You're just as desperate as he is, clenching down around him, pulling him deeper, body made for him, and fuck, Jason's brain short circuits.

"Jesus fuck, baby," he groans, voice wrecked, forehead pressing against yours like he's struggling to hold himself together.

But he isn't. Not really. Not when your pretty little pussy is milking his cock, not when you're squeezing him so tight he can feel every flutter, every slick, wet drag of your walls around him.

He needs it. Needs to cum. Needs to fill you up. Needs to fucking ruin you.

Until he grits out your name through clenched teeth, his cock throbbing inside you as he cums, a choked, broken groan rumbling in his chest as he spills inside you, thick and hot, filling you up as his hips jerk up into yours. He's moaning into your mouth as he pulls you in for a kiss, soft and lazy, tongues sliding together as he pumps you full, hot ropes of cum flooding your tight, clenching pussy.

"Fuck, baby—" he mutters, hips stuttering, because your pussy is gripping him, sucking him in so tight, so fucking wet as you tremble in his lap.

Your lips brush against his, softer, lazy and slow, little whimpers still spilling from your throat as he keeps fucking into you, each thrust pushing his cum deeper, until his pace stutters and he finally still.

The bathroom is all foggy, warm steam wrapping around both of you as you come down slowly, still tangled together, his dick still buried inside your messy, puffy cunt. His hands slide up your back, holding you close as you press kisses to his jaw, his neck, still catching your breath, still feeling fucked out and hazy and warm.

He exhales, tilting his head slightly as his lips brush the top of your head, his fingers splayed against your back, keeping you tucked close.

"You okay, baby?"

"Mmhmm," you hum softly, arms wrapping around him, hugging him tight, but not tight enough to hurt his bruises.

Jason sighs, low and warm, his hands smoothing up your back, keeping you close, his body still loose, relaxed from his orgasm. The heat of the shower clings to both of you, water still running, steam curling around you in thick ribbons, sealing you into this little moment—this quiet, safe moment.

But it doesn't last.

Because your throat feels tight, your chest aching, a little sniffle slipping out before you can stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut, fuck, you don't want to cry, not now, but...

You love him. You love him so much it hurts.

And you know, you know how important he is to Gotham. You know the good he does. But sometimes, when you see him like this, when you see the bruises blooming across his body, when you think about what could have happened, you wish he'd just stop.

The thought of losing him scares you. It grips your chest in a tight, suffocating hold, twists your stomach, makes your pulse jump into your throat. You need him. You can't imagine waking up without him. You can't imagine getting a call. You can't.

Jason feels your shoulders tremble, hears the soft, shaky sniffle you try to smother against his neck. His stomach twists, his heart aches, and he holds you tighter, even as his own throat goes tight, even as something in his chest breaks.

He hates this. He hates making you feel like this.

And sometimes—when he sees the way you look at him, eyes big and wet and scared—he wonders if he should've never gotten into a relationship with you at all.

Not because he doesn't love you. God, no.

But because he knows how hard this is for you. He knows how much it hurts you. And tonight? Tonight isn't even bad.

But one day—one day it will be. One day, he won't just come home with bruises. One day, he might not come home at all.

And fuck, if that ever happened...

Jason presses his lips to the side of your head, closing his eyes. He doesn't know what the fuck he'd do.

"Hey, shhh, shhh," he soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. It's not dismissive, not even close. He just wants to calm you down, to ease the weight pressing against your ribs. "C'mon, baby, don't cry. You're gonna make me look like a real asshole."

He tries to joke, his voice light, teasing, because sometimes that works. Sometimes, he can get you to roll your eyes, to huff a laugh, to shake your head and kiss him instead.

But when you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes red, your cheeks wet with tears that he put there, and his throat closes up, and the joke dies on his tongue.

Because Jason Todd might be a fucking idiot, but he's not that insensitive.

His chest aches as he cups your face, brushing his thumbs over your damp cheeks, his lips following the path of your tears, kissing them away one by one.

His nose brushes against yours, warm and soft, and your lashes flutter, another sniffle slipping from your lips as you murmur, "I'm sorry."

Jason shakes his head, his hands still cradling your face, his lips pressing to the corner of your mouth, lingering there for a beat.

"Nah, doll," he says softly, voice low and gentle. "It's okay. I know."

You nod, a little sheepish, because you know he doesn't like seeing you like this. And truth be told? You hate crying in front of him like this. You try not to. Because even if Jason never says it out loud, even if he'd rather die than admit it, you know it hurts him.

You see it in his eyes every single time. And if you can't handle seeing him like this, then you know he feels the same way about you.

Jason exhales softly, his forehead still pressed to yours, and his voice is softer when he murmurs, "I love you, pretty girl. I'll always come back, yeah?"

Your chest tightens, your lips parting, but you don't say anything, even though you want to, even though every part of you wants to argue, wants to tell him he doesn't know that. Because Gotham is cruel, because he's already died once, because one night, one mistake, one bad fucking second, and he might be gone.

But Jason? Jason is not a liar. Not with you. Never with you.

So you swallow back the lump in your throat, push those thoughts away, and nod again, voice barely above a whisper as you murmur, "I love you too, baby. So much."

And when Jason smiles, soft and tender, pressing another kiss to your lips before murmuring, "I know."

Your chest still aches, but you let yourself believe him. Jason exhales softly, pressing another kiss to your lips before murmuring, "C'mon, let's finish in here, yeah? Otherwise, your pretty little toes will get all wrinkled."

A laugh bursts from your lips, breaking the last of the tension in your chest, and you shake your head with a sniffly little giggle. "My toes?"

"Yes, yours," Jason says, grinning as he runs his hands down your back, easing you off his lap. "I don't make the rules, baby. I just enforce them."

You roll your eyes, but you let him help you, gasping softly as his dick slips free, thick and spent, his cum painting his own skin as it drips from your pussy, streaking down your thighs. And when he glances down, catching sight of it, then catches the way your cheeks turn bright pink, and he barks out a laugh.

"Still shy, huh?" His voice is teasing, but his eyes are soft, warm, adoring as he reaches up to cup your cheek. He grins as he rubs his thumb against the heat of your blush. "Almost two years, baby. And you still get all flustered."

You groan, slapping a hand over your face, and Jason laughs again, tucking you against his side as he reaches for the showerhead to rinse you both off. He washes away the remnants of slick and sweat and cum, running warm, soothing hands over your skin, making sure you're comfortable before finally shutting off the water.

He grabs a towel and wraps it around you, rubbing it over your damp skin before gently squeezing the excess water from your hair. You could dry it properly, but honestly? You're so blissed out, and your limbs feel heavy.

Jason dries himself off quickly before helping you into a pair of panties and one of his shirts, the fabric warm and soft against your skin.

Then he kneels, pulling fuzzy socks over your feet, shaking his head as he mutters, "Your feet are always cold."

You grin, nudging his chest lightly with your toes. "That's why you're here. To warm them up."

He huffs out a laugh, tugging on a pair of sweats before standing. "Oh, so I'm just a personal heater, huh?"

"Mhmm," you smile sweetly, looping your arms around his neck." That, and my personal bodyguard, my punching bag, my—"

Jason kisses you before you can keep going, swallowing the rest of your words with a slow, lingering brush of his lips. You hum into it, melting into him before he pulls away, squeezing your hip gently.

"Come on," you murmur, taking his hand, guiding him back toward the living room. "Sit with me."

Jason chuckles, but follows easily, letting you tug him along. "Aren't you tired, baby?"

You shake your head, and Jason sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright," he relents, squeezing your fingers. "I'll make some tea for your throat, okay?"

You nod, but when he tries to step away, you follow, staying close, pressing yourself against his side. Jason doesn't say anything, just kisses the top of your head, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek as he leads you into the kitchen. He pulls out a chair, urging you to sit before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Two seconds, baby."

He makes the tea quickly, moving through the familiar motions with ease, filling the quiet with soft clinks of mugs and teaspoons. When it's done, he sets it in front of you, crouching beside your chair as you take a careful sip.

"Good?" he murmurs.

You nod, your fingers curling in his hair as you take another sip, humming softly when his hand rubs up and down your thigh, warm and solid. Neither of you sleeps until the early hours of the morning.

You just exist in the quiet together, curled up on the couch, snuggled as close as possible, warm and drowsy and safe in the dim glow of the living room lamp.

He lets you cling to him, lets you need him, lets himself need you just as much.

You talk about nothing and everything—lazy conversations and soft laughter and sleepy, lingering kisses pressed to cheeks and lips and jaw between bites of snacks.

At some point, your words start to slur, your voice growing soft and drowsy, and Jason knows you're fighting it, but you don't stand a chance. Not when you're warm and full and safe, wrapped up in his arms like you belong there.

Jason shifts, scooping you up easily, carrying you toward the bedroom. "Sleep, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've got you."

And you do.

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nomaishuttle · 2 years ago

Text

i donot know why im breaking out so bad... augjhhh

#not even just my face my body acne is coming back a ton :( it had gone away for a while #its like. im confused bc my hygiene has been Really really good recently #ive been showering almost every weekday for the past 2ish weeks #and ik its not the body wash bc its the same body wash ive been using for months #well. i used it 4 months b4 i moved here #and then i had a different flavor from the same brand bc hal liked that one better. its fine #it was pink its a very cute bottle im just not a florals girl... i like their coffee and coconut one and da other one was umm rose or #something. i didnt mind it it worjed judt s well i just like coconut coffee better basically. but anyways yeah. ig maybe my body judt isnt #used to being washed this much ? so maybe itll take a bit for my skin to be like Oh this is good actually #i also dont have anything against acne im just like. confused why its happening now...#my face breaking out i totally understand bc i wear a mask at work now #and famously. skin hate the mask skin revolt #thats why im washing my face twice a day now...#i just need 2 ummm. i wanna start buying my own masks #bc ive. this is gross and shitty but ive been reusing the disposable masks i get from work #i use them once the day i get them and then again the next bc i dont wanna run out #BUT luckily i have spending money or will whenever my damn check comes in -_- it shouldve been today i thought but ig itll be sometime tmrw #so i will be able t get Hopefully a pretty big box...everybody cheered and was happy basically. ermm yes so thats all #now irs fr bedtime bc im almost to 0 stars zone rly i already am bc i am Not gonna fall asleep in 6 minutes but look man. rough day and #itll be another bad one tmrw. soo ues #remind me to post aby the bad beginning audiobook i like vs the one my library has tmrw i kept meaning to today but i got distracted

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snottyped · 7 days ago

Note

Hey i really like your writing! This is my first time I’m writing an ask so I hope I gave enough information 😅

Anyway! Can you write an Incubus x fem reader?

Like the incubus get so lost in reader that he can’t stop himself? So maybe a bit of pussydrunk with a mix of marathon sex I guess?

You can take your time writing and if you don’t get any inspiration in this ask, you don’t have to do it then (or if you get another idea with Incubus x fem reader it’s fine too)

Don’t forget to take care of yourself!

(I’m never going to heaven with this request 🥲)

devour

incubus x female reader nsfw

The room is thick with heat, the air humming like it knows what's about to happen. He doesn't just look at you—he devours you with his eyes, like he's already tasting you before he even touches. Shadows curl along the walls like they're drawn to him, like they recognize what he is.

You should be afraid. But your pulse isn't racing from fear.

He’s on you before the thought fully settles, hands rough and reverent at once, dragging up your thighs, spreading them open like he has every right. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s already marked you in ways your body hasn’t caught up with yet.

His mouth is on you instantly, no teasing, no slow burn—just hunger.

“Oh—fuck—”

Your back arches as his tongue drags over your folds, impossibly skilled, impossibly eager, like he’s been starving for this. And the way he groans into you, low and animal, it’s not for show. He’s not pretending to enjoy it. He’s drowning in it.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, meaning to guide him, but the moment you tug, he growls—a warning, a promise—and grips your thighs hard enough to bruise.

He’s not letting you go. Not until he’s had his fill.

Except you don’t think he can get full.

“Darling,” he mutters, voice wrecked, voice ruined. His lips are wet, shining with you. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

He drags you to the edge with terrifying ease—then keeps going. Your body trembles, hips bucking against his face, and still he stays there, tongue flicking, sucking, thrusting, fucking into you with his mouth like he’s desperate to live inside you.

You fall apart once. Twice.

He doesn’t stop.

By the third time, you’re crying out his name—or trying to—but it doesn’t sound like a name anymore. Just breathless noise, the kind only he can pull out of you.

When he finally rises from between your legs, his lips are swollen, slick, his eyes burning gold through the shadows. He doesn’t look human now—he never was—but now the mask is off. What looks down at you is want given form.

Hunger shaped like a man.

“Beautiful,” he says, reverent. His fingers slide between your thighs, collecting the wet heat he coaxed from you. He raises them to his mouth and sucks.

“Y-you can’t possibly still want—”

He laughs, low and dark, like thunder behind your ribs. “I haven’t even started.”

Then he’s pushing inside.

The stretch makes you gasp, and he groans—deep, involuntary, like your body’s too much for him, like he’s fighting to stay in control.

But he loses.

He thrusts, hard and full and claiming. Not rough to hurt—but to own. To brand.

Your hands clutch at his back, his shoulders, anything to ground yourself as he fucks you like he means to rewrite the shape of you.

“You don’t understand,” he pants against your ear, breath hot, body hotter. “This... this shouldn’t feel this good. You shouldn’t—fuck—feel this good.”

His pace stutters. He growls again, deeper this time, like his instincts are slipping their leash. His hips snap harder, faster, deeper, chasing some primal need.

He’s never lost control before. But you’re under his skin, in his blood.

He’s drunk on you.

“Can’t stop,” he gasps, forehead pressed to yours. “Won’t.”

You feel him everywhere—his hands on your throat, his teeth on your shoulder, his cock buried so deep it feels like he’s splitting you open.

And still he moves.

You lose track of time. Of how many times he’s made you come.

At some point, your legs go numb. Your voice breaks. Maybe even you fall asleep.

But he’s still chasing it—that perfect moment, that unbearable high, like if he can just take one more thrust, he’ll finally be satisfied.

He won’t.

You don’t know how long it’s been.

The world outside this room could’ve crumbled and you wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing that exists now is him—his heat, his weight, the relentless rhythm of his body driving into yours like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

You’ve come so many times, your thighs are shaking, slick and trembling and spread wide for him because he won’t let you close them. Every time your muscles twitch like you're trying to pull away, he growls—low and dangerous—and pulls you back down onto him harder.

Your body isn’t your own anymore. It’s his.

“Look at you,” he pants, watching the way your eyes flutter, your mouth open on a moan that never fully forms. “never looked so fucking sweet.”

He leans in and licks a stripe up your throat like he’s tasting it—tasting what he’s done to you. He’s soaked in sweat, in your slick, in his own lust. His hips move like he’s possessed—no rhythm, just need. Just the animal inside him, fucking you raw and deep and endless.

You’re babbling, now—nothing coherent, just gasps and broken words, begging and moaning and pleading but for what, you don’t know.

For him to stop?

For him not to?

He doesn’t stop.

“You think I can stop?” he grits, voice shredded. His eyes glow gold in the dark, wild and lost and locked on your face like you’re the only thing tethering him to this plane. “You let me in. You opened up and let me taste heaven, and now—”

He slams into you, again and again, until the rhythm turns punishing and perfect, until your back arches and your cries get louder—

“—now I can’t live without it.”

Your hands find his chest, his arms, scrabbling for something to hold onto as he fucks you through another orgasm—this one brutal, so deep it feels like it tears through your soul. You don’t even scream. You shudder.

Your body locks. Your vision whites out. You fall apart under him like glass.

And still, he keeps going.

He’s growling again, teeth bared, breath ragged. There’s a frantic edge to him now, like he’s past the point of no return. Like he’s unraveling from the inside out.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans, voice nearly unrecognizable. “Make you mine. Not just for tonight—always.”

You can feel it—the way he throbs inside you, thick and ready and desperate. The way his thrusts grow uneven, needy. The way he presses his forehead to yours like he’s trying to climb inside your chest and stay there.

“Say it,” he pants. “Say you want it. Say you're mine.”

You're barely breathing, body wrung out and oversensitive, but somehow, you still whisper it:

“Yours.”

Something breaks in him.

He growls—roars—as he pushes deep, holding himself there, twitching inside you. His hands crush your hips down to meet him as he spills into you, pulsing thick and hot and endless. You feel it flood you, feel it fill you, feel it claim you.

He doesn’t pull out.

He doesn’t even slow down.

Even as he finishes, he’s thrusting through it, desperate for more, for everything.

You cry out, trembling under him, overstimulated and raw.

He licks into your mouth, kisses you filthy and open and needy. “One more,” he mutters against your lips. “Give me one more, sweetheart. Just one more.”

You’ve given him so many.

And still—he’s begging for more.

You don’t even get a chance to answer before he's rolling his hips again, deeper this time, like he’s trying to reach your soul. You feel everything—his cum leaking out around him, the raw friction, the wet heat of your body clinging to his every thrust.

You’re a mess. But he worships it.

“Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he groans, hips stuttering as he slams into you again and again. “You were made for me. Fuck—you were made for me.”

You choke on a moan, body twitching violently as your next orgasm crashes over you with no warning. You can’t even scream. Your whole body locks, clenches, milks him, and that’s what sends him over again.

He lets out a strangled sound, mouth slack, eyes dark with possession. He fucks you through it all—his second release, your third, fourth—whatever number you’re on now.

This isn’t the end.

He might never be done.

And the worst part?

Neither are you.

#smut #monster smut #monster fucker #snotwrites #monster lover #teratophillia #x female reader #monster x reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x female y/n #fem reader #fem!reader #incubus #incubus x reader #incubus x human

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pitlanepeach · 22 days ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Three

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, stress + anxiety, 2021 abu dhabi gp

Notes — Don't freak out too much. Or do. I don't mind!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The morning light over Yas Island was pale and peachy, slipping through the slats of the hotel balcony and falling in stripes across the rumpled bed and open sliding doors. The paddock below was just beginning to stir, the beep of forklifts, the low murmur of paddock crew setting up for the final race of the season.

Lando was sitting sideways on the balcony chair, legs folded beneath him, hair wild from sleep and one of Amelia’s sleep masks still tangled around his wrist. He had a half-drunk iced coffee balanced precariously on the railing, and he was tapping through a stream of TikToks on mute, occasionally muttering things like “how do people bend like that” and “okay I’m definitely trying that later.”

Amelia was curled beside him on the lounger, wearing his LN4 hoodie (too long in the sleeves, as always), scrolling through tire degradation data on her iPad, her stim ring rotating in fast loops over her thumb. She was quiet. Focused. Chewing gently on the inside of her cheek.

Then, completely out of nowhere, she said flatly, “I think we should get married.”

Lando paused. Finger hovering over the next video. “Wait. Huh?”

“I think we should get married,” she repeated, still not looking up.

He blinked once. Then twice. “Like… married married?”

“Yes.” She hummed.

His brain short-circuited. “Wait, right now?” he asked, full of alarm and awe. “Like you wanna elope? I mean, we could. Vegas is only, like, eight hours away—no, wait, you need a license. Shit, do I need a suit? Wait, do I need to propose first?!”

Amelia finally looked up at him, blinking slowly. “No. Not right now. I’m saying, I want that. With you. At some point. Soon.”

“Oh,” he said, visibly short-circuiting again, but this time in a much softer way. “Oh. Holy shit.” He scrambled to sit up straighter, hands moving frantically as if he needed to physically shake the surprise out of his body. “Like you want to marry me marry me?”

“Yes,” she said again, frowning at him now. “I’ve thought about it. You’re the person I feel safest with. I want to live with you forever. I want to do life with you. So yes. I think we should get married.” She made a face. “Also, I’d become your next of kin, which would be very useful. I hated having to wait outside for you to be conscious enough to give me permission to come into the medical room. Ridiculous.” She muttered.

Lando was staring at her like she’d just told him he’d won the lottery and a lifetime supply of Haribo. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Are we too young? Shouldn’t we be, like, old and boring first?”

“You’re already halfway there,” Amelia said dryly.

He barked out a laugh, then grabbed a throw pillow and bonked her gently on the head. “Oi! Rude.”

She caught it and didn’t even flinch. “I’m serious, Lando.”

His voice went gentler. “Yeah. Yeah, I know you are.”

He looked at her then — really looked. At the sleepy softness of her eyes, the curls pinned messily back, the stim ring she hadn’t let go of all week. He reached over, tugging lightly on the sleeve of his hoodie she was wearing.

“Honestly?” he said. “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

Amelia tilted her head. “So you don’t think we’re too young? My dad does. Told me so.”

“Baby,” Lando said, reaching up to brush a curl behind her ear, “I’m gonna be with you forever. Whether we’ve got a wedding band or a piece of paper or just… this. Us. You’re it for me.”

Amelia’s mouth twitched into a slow, private smile. The kind she didn’t give to many people. “Do you have a ring for me?” She knew he didn’t. He was shit at keeping secrets, would’ve told her about it already, but she couldn’t resist teasing him.

His eyes went wide. “Holy shit. I need to buy you a ring. Like right now. Do you like diamonds? Wait, no. You hate diamonds. That was—nope, that was sapphires I think—”

“I made a list,” she interrupted. “Five rings I like. They’re all titanium.”

“Of course you did.” He looked delighted. “You’re so organised. I love you so much it’s actually unreal.”

She looked at him plainly, with that strange and brilliant way she always had of cutting straight to the truth without frills. “I love you too,” she said. “I want you to know that. Before the race. In case… in case Max doesn’t come out on top. In case it all goes terribly wrong.”

Lando’s expression softened, but it was still there, in the background, that vibrating excitement, that adrenaline. (“I think we should get married,” she’d said, as if he wasn’t going to fixate on those words for the rest of his life.) He reached for her hand, squeezing gently. “Nothing’s going to go badly,” he said. “And even if it does, I’ll be there, alright?”

She leaned into his shoulder, pressed her eyes into it. Let them burn with the force of it until tiny white stars appeared in her vision.

Below them, the circuit roared to life.

—

The Red Bull garage was a hive of motion. Mechanics buzzed around the car like bees, laptops open, tire blankets coiled, engineers murmuring numbers in clipped, focused voices. The final race. The final showdown. Equal on points. Everything — everything — had come down to this.

Amelia stood just outside the strategy room, headset in hand, her other thumb flicking over her stim ring in rapid, tight rotations. The noise of the paddock was a low hum behind her, like white noise under pressure.

Max was already suited up, pacing lightly just a few feet away. Despite the stakes, world championship on the line, one shot at history, he was steady. Calm, like always. But she could see the tension in the tightness of his shoulders, the barely-there furrow of his brow.

He looked over and caught her eye. “You good?” He asked, voice low, private.

She nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she was.

Max took a step closer, pressing a hand gently to the small of her back. “Don’t get lost in your head. I need you today, Amelia.”

“I’m not in my head,” she lied, eyes flicking back to the screens. “I’m watching sector data.”

“Amelia.” His voice was firmer this time, and she finally turned toward him. Max softened again. “You’ve done everything right. I have everything I need.”

She blinked, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t feel like I’ve done enough…”

He cut her off. “You have. We did this together. You’ve changed the way I drive, do you understand how ridiculous that is? You’ve made me better, more precise. More… human, actually.”

“You were always human,” she muttered.

He laughed quietly, the tension breaking just a little. “I’m serious,” he added. “If I win this championship, it won’t be just for me. It’ll be for you too.”

She looked up at him, eyes dark and sharp and wide open. “You’re going to win it.” She told him.

Max didn’t reply right away, just looked at her like he wanted to remember her exactly like this: calm but blazing, logic and loyalty knotted so tightly together they were indistinguishable.

He reached up and tugged gently on her ear defenders. “Put these on. Let’s go make history.”

Amelia nodded, slipping them over her ears. The world narrowed to radio comms and telemetry readouts, and she let herself draw in one breath. Sharp, clean, grounded.

She would not let him fall.

—

Amelia threaded her way through the crowded pit-lane, ignoring the cameras and noise. Her MV33 polo was crisp, headset slung around her neck. But her attention wasn’t on the live telemetry or tire temp conversations. It was locked on the McLaren garage.

Lando stood just outside his car, leaning back against the halo, his helmet resting beside him. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, fingers fidgeting at the strap of his glove.

He saw her before she even said anything, and his face lit up. That same irrepressible smile, the one he never gave anyone else quite like that. “You came,” he said, voice soft, almost surprised.

She stopped in front of him, hands in the pockets of her team jacket. “Always. Good luck.”

His smile deepened. “You too. Big day for you.”

Her fingers curled slightly in her pockets. “It’s... a lot. The strategy’s solid, the setup’s right, but I keep checking things anyway.”

“You always do.” He agreed.

She gave a small nod, then looked up at him more directly. “You’ve been smooth through sector two all weekend. Stay clean into Turn 1 and you’ll be fine.”

Lando raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you’re giving me race notes now?”

“Just observations.” She hesitated, then added, “I want you to finish. In one piece.”

He reached out and took her hand, pulling it gently from her pocket. His grip was warm, grounding. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “No hero moves.”

She held his hand tighter than she meant to. “It’s just… everything’s riding on today. For Max. For Red Bull. For me.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But you’ve already done more than enough, baby. Everyone can see that. ”

She nodded, her expression unreadable; that usual mixture of intensity and quiet overwhelm. “I wish I could stay here,” she said finally. “Just… with you.”

Lando smiled, all softness and mischief. “Then marry me.”

She blinked. “I already told you I want to.”

He grinned. “I’m just making sure you didn’t change your mind.”

“I didn’t.” She told him flatly.

He bent forward slightly, brushing his forehead against hers, just for a second. “Okay. Good. Now go win your driver a championship, genius girl.”

She stepped back, reluctantly letting go of his hand. “Go fast. Be safe. I love you.”

He gave a little mock salute, but there was nothing teasing in the look he gave her.

She didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked back across the grid, her posture straight, her steps steady, even if her heart was pulling in two directions at once.

—

The world narrowed to three monitors, the roar of engines, and the rasp of radio comms in her ear.

Amelia sat at the Red Bull pit wall, headset on, back straight, gaze fixed ahead. The sun had dipped just below the horizon now, casting the track in a surreal twilight glow. The lights above the grid blinked on, one by one.

“Thirty seconds,” GP said into her headset. Amelia’s fingers hovered over her keyboard.

“Telemetry’s live. Temperatures look good. Max is calm. Holding revs,” she reported, voice clipped, focused.

Next to her, Christian leaned forward, arms crossed. Jos stood behind them, silent but tense, eyes locked on the feed. Everyone was still. The calm before the storm.

On her peripheral screen, she caught a flash of orange — Lando’s McLaren lining up in P6. Just behind Perez. Right there in the thick of it. Her chest tensed.

Please stay clean, both of you.

The five red lights came on.

Focus.

The lights blinked out.

The engines screamed to life.

Amelia’s screen exploded in movement. Max launched well. Into Turn 1, clean. Hamilton was ahead, but only just. She barely registered anything else until GP’s voice cut through the feed.

“Verstappen P2 into Turn 1. Lando holding P6. All clean.”

She exhaled.

Amelia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, eyes darting between the tire degradation model and the live GPS feed. The opening laps were everything. Settle. Get comfortable. Don’t overextend. Everything had to be perfect.

Her gaze flicked again to Lando on the live feed — to the tiny bubble of data they had on him. Still green across the board. Clean throttle trace. No lockups. He was driving smart.

“Max’s rears are starting to warm up. Give him space on corner exit,” she said into the mic, steady as steel.

Behind her, someone handed Christian an updated gap sheet. Jos hadn’t moved.

“Max looks smooth,” Christian muttered. “He’s in this.”

He has to be, Amelia thought. Her jaw tensed.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still feel Lando’s hand in hers. That soft look in his eyes. That little grin. You’ve already done more than enough.

But she couldn’t afford to think about it now.

—

Amelia stood stiffly beside GP and Christian. Her heart thudded in her chest, fast and out of sync with the soft hum of the garage.

Max in P2. Lewis in P1. Hardly any time. A complete and total lack of options.

Then… chaos.

“Latifi’s in the wall,” someone said, voice sharp in her ears.

She flinched. Her pulse spiked. Everything blurred. The Safety Car was deployed.

The paddock erupted into movement; engineers scrambling, radios buzzing, tire blankets being yanked off. Amelia didn’t move. She couldn’t. She stood frozen as her entire world narrowed to the math ticking through her head: the delta times, the tire degradation, the sector gaps. All of it churning like a storm, none of it solving anything.

“Box Max, box now!” GP called.

Max dived in. Lewis stayed out.

She closed her eyes. Please let there be time. Please clear the track.

Someone bumped her arm, but she barely registered it. Her stim toy was clenched tight in her hand, fingers white-knuckled, her breathing shallow. Her lips moved soundlessly as she recited the FIA regulations under her breath, not to anyone, not out loud, just for herself. A frantic, silent ritual. Something to cling to.

Article 48.12… Article 48.13…

Then: “Only five lapped cars may overtake.”

Her vision narrowed. That’s not right. That’s not how it works.

But the words didn’t come. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t argue. Couldn’t breathe. Her throat had locked up, emotion swelling until she thought she might drown in it. Her ears rang. The cameras clicked. The radio screamed. The Safety Car came in.

One lap.

She didn’t even hear the lights go green, only felt the rumble in her bones as the cars launched back to their limit.

Max lunged at Turn 5.

Gasps echoed up and down the pit lane. Christian was shouting something beside her. Hands were on heads. People screaming. Mechanics leaping. Her knees trembled, but she didn’t move.

Time slowed. She couldn't see the monitors anymore through the blur in her eyes. The noise, the roar of engines, the yells, the chaos, melted into a dull throb.

And then, “MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE WORLD CHAMPION!”

The world cracked open.

The pit wall exploded in celebration, a wall of noise crashing over her. Mechanics surged forward. Christian jumped into GP’s arms. Jos was shouting, eyes wild. Someone was crying — maybe her. She couldn’t tell. Her legs gave a little, but she didn’t fall.

Instead, Amelia just stood there. Silent. Shaking.

Max had done it.

He had won.

Her vision cleared, just for a second. She looked at the screen. At the car. At his name at the top of the standings.

He had done it.

And the weight snapped loose.

She sobbed, one hard, breathless sound, and finally let herself collapse into the arms reaching for her.

—

Chaos.

Cameras flashed, mechanics hollared, fireworks boomed over Yas Marina — but all Amelia could feel was the ache in her chest as she stood just outside the Red Bull garage, eyes still glassy from the flood of it all. Her arms hung limply at her sides, adrenaline coursing, brain half-short-circuited.

Then—“Baby!”

She barely had time to turn before Lando crashed into her, sweeping her off her feet in a blur of orange and sweat-streaked Nomex. She yelped, half-laughed, and clung to him as he spun her around, both of them breathless and laughing now.

“You did it!” he cried against her cheek, peppering her face with wild, fluttering kisses — temple, nose, jaw, forehead. “You did it, baby, holy shit—you did it. I’m so proud of you, I’m so—Amelia, look at me—you were brilliant.”

“I didn’t drive the car—” she started, dazed.

He cut her off with another kiss, hard and grateful and full of awe. “Doesn’t matter.”

Her arms wrapped tight around his neck, grounding herself in the strength of his hold. He was so warm, his hair damp, eyes alight like he’d never seen anything so beautiful as her in this moment. He smelt so bad, of burnt metal and sweat, but she couldn’t let him go.

“I was so scared,” she whispered into his collar. “I thought I was going to throw up.”

“You didn’t.” His voice cracked with emotion. “You held it together. You always do.”

A familiar voice behind them, hoarse with disbelief and joy and adrenaline. “Amelia!”

They both turned as Max stormed toward them, helmet off, his face still red from the heat and the scream he’d let out over the line. His grin was wild and gleaming, his eyes glassy, and before she could say a word, he stole her from Lando’s arms.

“You—!” Max shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and practically shaking her. “You fucking genius! You did it, we did it!”

“Max—!” she laughed, high-pitched and near-hysterical.

“No, no—shut up—Amelia,” he kept going, voice thick. “You gave me that car. You gave me that strategy. You gave me everything. You are—you are my champion.”

Then, without warning, he picked her up, arms locked around her waist, spinning her. She screamed through her laughter, tears pouring down her cheeks again. Overwhelmed in the best way.

Lando was grinning so wide it hurt, chest heaving as he watched them. And for a single moment, everything around them slowed.

The crowd. The chaos. The race. The history.

Amelia, who once thought she was built to exist only in the background, was now wrapped in the arms of a driver who loved her beyond measure, who saw her as a sister. And behind her, the man she loved, watching on, always there to catch her. One, her brother. The other, the man she was going to marry.

And for the first time in her life, she was at the centre of something unforgettable.

Something permanent.

A legacy.

—

The party roared on just outside the glass — music thumping, champagne flowing, Max somewhere on someone’s shoulders, drunk on victory and gin tonics.

Amelia was sitting on the bar, barefoot, her makeup smudged and her voice hoarse from all the laughing and crying. Her MV bomber jacket was draped over her shoulders, and her little black dress had ridden high on her thighs.

Lando stood between her knees, big hands resting on her thighs. He was grinning like he’d just remembered something ridiculous. “Okay, okay, wait—don’t move,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Amelia asked, blinking at him.

“Making something official.” He pulled out a crumpled little object — sticky from heat, slightly squashed. A red Haribo ring. He held it up between his fingers like it was the crown jewels. “Found it on the snack table in hospitality earlier. Fought two engineers for it. Nearly died.”

Amelia blinked again. “…That’s candy.”

“Engagement candy,” he corrected proudly, stepping closer. “Listen. You said you had a list of five rings you like. This isn’t one of them. It’s better. It’s from me. And it’s temporary. But it counts.”

“Lando—”

“No, shush. Let me be romantic.”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile as he carefully slid it onto her finger, a little sticky, a little too big, but it stayed.

“There.” He beamed. “Now everyone at this party knows you’re mine. Until I can get you the real thing.”

She stared down at it, the ridiculous red candy glinting under the flashing lights, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Lando said, stepping in to kiss her nose. “You’re it for me, Amelia. Ring or not. Win or not. It’s always been you.”

Amelia swallowed, throat tight, fingers curling around his shirt collar.

“…Can I eat it later?” she whispered.

He burst out laughing and pulled her into him so hard that she squeaked. “God, I love you.”

—

2 Months Later, Monaco

The sun hadn’t fully crested over the terracotta rooftops yet. Monaco was quiet in the mornings, or as quiet as it ever got, and Amelia liked it that way. Her walking trainers tapped gently on the pavement as she walked, one AirPods in, golf ball tucked into the sleeve of her jacket.

She liked the rhythm of this. Her early walks, the cool air, the scent of sea salt and espresso from the cafés opening up for the day. Her world had slowed since Abu Dhabi. Not stopped, never that, she wouldn’t let herself stagnate, but... it had softened.

She turned a corner by the marina, already heading back toward the apartment she and Lando shared.

“Amelia?”

She froze.

Roscoe trotted up first, tail wagging as he nosed at her leg like an old friend, and she crouched out of instinct, hand moving gently through his fur. And then Lewis appeared behind him, dressed in black, sunglasses perched high even in the shade.

They stared at each other for a beat too long. “Hi,” she said finally, standing, brushing her hands down her leggings.

“Hey,” Lewis said, and his voice was gentler than she remembered. A little guarded. Roscoe pressed his nose into her palm again, entirely unaware of the stiffness in the air. “I didn’t know you were in town,” Lewis added.

“I live here now.” She told him. “With Lando.”

His brow ticked slightly. “Oh.” Another pause. One that seemed to stretch wider than the marina below them. “I’m surprised,” he admitted.

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Why?”

He hesitated. “I guess... I didn’t realize you’d—”

“Have a life?” She asked, not unkindly.

He winced. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.” She looked out over the harbour, then back at him. “You were always kind to me, you know. Back then. Before I started working for Max.”

Lewis looked like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, putting it as bluntly as she possibly could.

He smiled, small and a bit sad. “That’s a relief.” They stood there for a beat, Roscoe now sprawled at their feet like a mediator. “You seem happy,” Lewis said finally. His gaze drifted downward for just a moment. Not intrusive — just a flicker of observation, one he couldn’t quite suppress.

Amelia followed it. Her hand was resting lightly at her side, the sunlight catching on titanium on her ring finger.

Lewis didn’t say anything. But his expression shifted, just slightly.

“I am.” She told him.

“Good.” He took a breath, then nodded, like he was trying to comprehend it. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe,” she said, already turning back toward the road. “Roscoe’s always welcome to say hi.”

Lewis chuckled softly. “He’ll be thrilled.”

Back home, Lando would be waking up soon, hair wild, voice sleepy, probably asking where she’d hidden his favourite cereal to stop him from midnight snacking and finishing it all.

She smiled.

This was her life now.

And she was kind of in love with it.

NEXT CHAPTER

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mysticalcrowntyrant · 1 month ago

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Yandere Shapeshifter x Reader

AN: I spent the last couple of days going through my drafts. I've fully edited about five of them :D

In the soft glow of twilight, the city looked like it was bleeding light—orange pooling in cracked asphalt, violet bruises swelling against brick walls. The air was thick with late summer heat, pressing against skin like a too-familiar hand. You walked home through the half-lit streets with your shoulders hunched, steps fast and decisive. You didn’t notice the man watching you from the other side of the road. He was tall, with broad shoulders and an indistinct face, half-shadowed beneath the flickering streetlight. He smiled when you passed, though you never saw it.

He’d worn another face yesterday. The barista. The one with the soft brown eyes and lopsided smile, who remembered your order even though you'd never given it more than twice. Before that, he was the man who bumped into you at the library. The girl in your dance class. The old woman on the bus who gripped your wrist too tightly when you offered her your seat. He was no one. He was everyone.

And he loved you.

You were beautiful. Not in the loud, obvious way others were—he hated those kinds of people. Their beauty was showy, performative. Yours was quiet, haunting. Something that sank under his skin and made him ache. You were all softness and edges, warmth and distance, always just out of reach, and it drove him insane.

He didn’t have a name anymore. He’d given it up long ago. Names tied you down, anchored you to one life. He didn’t want that. All he wanted was to be what you needed. Whoever you wanted. Whoever you would let in.

It started small. He made friends with your friends. Slipped into their lives with gentle lies and careful mimicry. He watched the way they spoke to you, the words they used, the nicknames they called you. He repeated them to himself like scripture. He became your classmate, your coworker, the stranger who handed you your dropped wallet and brushed his fingers a little too long against yours.

And you smiled. Just a little. Just enough to make his heart stutter.

He was careful. He could wait. He could change. He had changed so many times already.

You never saw his real form. No one did. Sometimes he forgot it himself. He remembered dark skin, an empty mouth, too many eyes. A body that bent in impossible ways. But he didn’t need that. Not when he could be perfect for you.

You had a crush on your neighbor once—he saw it in the way you lingered at your door, the way your voice softened when you greeted the man across the hall. So he killed him.

Not messily. Not dramatically. A little poison in his tea, a body that disappeared. Then, a week later, the same face moved back in. You never suspected a thing. The new version of your neighbor smiled more, cooked better. Helped carry your groceries.

You were grateful.

And he was patient.

But you didn’t fall for him.

It hurt. You saw him every day, and still your eyes wandered. Still you touched other people, confided in other people. He didn’t understand. Why wasn’t he enough?

One night, he watched you kiss someone else. A gentle kiss, soft and sweet, given to someone who didn’t know you like he did. He watched from the other side of the street, fingers curling into claws he didn’t know he still had. His form flickered—skin bubbling, bones cracking beneath a mask of flesh—and he had to press himself against the wall to keep from changing right then and there.

He killed that person too. Quietly. Efficiently.

The next day, he wore their face.

He touched you the same way, said the same things, but sweeter. Better. More attentive. When you looked confused, he lied. Said he was tired yesterday. Said he wasn’t himself.

He meant it.

And finally, finally, you started to fall. You let him hold you. Let him inside. You cried into his chest one night when things became too much. He held you so tightly he thought he might break your ribs. He wanted to bury himself in your skin. Crawl beneath it. Become you.

But there was still something wrong. He could feel it. Your eyes wandered. You dreamed of people he hadn’t killed yet. You talked about places you wanted to go—places he couldn’t follow. And worse: you talked about being alone.

“You ever think about just... disappearing?” you asked him once, as you lay together in the quiet, your head on his chest. “Going somewhere no one knows you? Starting over?”

He went still beneath you.

“No,” he said softly. “I only want to be where you are.”

You laughed. Not unkindly. But like you didn’t know what you were saying. Like you didn’t know him.

He had to fix it. Had to make you see.

So he started showing up again in other forms. The coworker. The friend. The stranger on the bus. All of them saying the same thing: how wonderful he was. How lucky you were to have him. He wove stories around you like a cocoon. Made it so that no matter where you turned, someone was gently reminding you that this was love. That he was good for you.

You started to believe it. You started to stay.

And still, still it wasn’t enough.

So he showed you a piece of himself. Not all. Just a sliver. One night, when the moon was full and you looked particularly sad, he let his arm shift—just a little. Just enough that you saw his skin shimmer, saw the suggestion of something not quite human beneath.

You recoiled. He didn’t blame you.

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” he whispered. “But I needed you to love me first.”

You didn’t speak to him for days.

It shattered him.

In your absence, he unraveled. Took a thousand forms in the mirror, screaming in voices not his own. The walls of his apartment became a collage of your photos. He slept in your old clothes, curled into your scent like a feral thing. He wore your face and kissed his reflection. He whispered your name into the mouths of strangers he consumed.

When you finally came back—shaking, scared, but curious—he wept.

“I don’t care what you are,” you told him, voice cracking. “Just stop lying to me.”

He swore he would. He swore on whatever name he used to have.

He showed you then. All of it. The writhing truth beneath the masks. The shifting, bleeding, endless change. He thought you might scream. You didn’t. You just cried.

And then you kissed him.

And for a moment, he believed you meant it.

But you didn’t. Not really. You were scared. You were trying to survive.

He could tell.

So now he watches you sleep. Watches the way your mouth twitches in dreams, the way your fingers curl like you’re holding onto something. He wonders if it’s him. He wonders what he has to be for you to love him fully.

He’ll find it. He’ll become it. Whether it’s the friend, the lover, the monster, the god. He’ll wear every face in the world if it means you’ll look at him like you mean it.

He’ll never let you go.

After all…

He’s whoever you want him to be.

Forever.

Masterlist

#yandere oc #x reader #oc x reader #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #male yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere imagines #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #oc x you #x you #male oc x reader #obsessive love #yandere x darling

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ditzyrafe · 1 month ago

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— dom!rafe edging you

warnings — oral (fem!rec), fingering, orgasm denial, lewd language

you were trembling, sprawled naked on rafe's bed, sheets already damp beneath you. every nerve ending felt hypersensitive, tingling with a desperate energy that had nowhere to go. rafe knelt between your spread thighs, his expression a mask of intense concentration, dark eyes missing nothing. he hadn't brought you close just once or twice. this was a meticulous, agonising torture session, each near-climax more intense, each denial sharper than the last.

"stay still," he commanded softly, his voice a low anchor in the storm raging inside of you. his fingers, slick with your wetness, were currently tormenting your clit with agonisingly slow circles, pressure building steadily, promisingly. your hips twitched, trying to push up against his hand, chasing the friction. "ah-ah," he chided, pinning your hip with his free hand, stopping the movement. "be patient. you cum when i allow it, understand?"

"y-yes," you gasped, the word strained, barely audible over your ragged breathing. heat coiled low and tight in your belly, a familiar ache that screamed for release. you could fee the orgasm building again, the suggestive tingling starting deep inside you. your toes curled, legs tensing involuntarily. it was close. so close.

"such a needy little thing, aren't 'ya?" he taunted, leaning closer, his gaze burning into yours like an inferno. his fingers didn't falter, maintaining that maddeningly perfect rhythm.

"p-please… rafe. i can't-" you whimpered, tears pricking the corners of your eyes — not from pain, but from sheer, unbearable need. your inner muscles clenched desperately, trying to pull the orgasm out.

"i know, baby," he murmured, a cruel little smirk playing on his lips. he watched as you writhed in the sheets of your shared bed, the flush spreading across your face and chest. he saw the exact moment you were close enough, and right then, just as you sucked in a breath to cry out, his hand completely stopped. completely still, but not moving an inch away from you just yet. leaving you hanging, suspended on that agonising peak, body shuddering with the force of the denied climax.

a choked sob escaped you, raw frustration mixing with the lingering sparks of pleasure. "why'd you stop again?"

"because i love watching my baby unravel," he stated simply before he leaned down, replacing his fingers with his mouth. the hot, wet suction was a shock to your system, instantly reigniting the fire within you. his tongue flicked, teased, then latched onto your clit, sucking hard, driving you right back towards that edge with breathtaking speed. you cried out, bucking helplessly beneath him this time, the denied pleasure making this new ascent almost unbearably intense. faster, harder, his mouth worked relentlessly, fingers plunging inside you, stretching you, adding another layer to the sensory overload.

you were screaming his name now, begging, pleading, lost in the haze. the orgasm almost slammed into you again, closer, bigger than before, about to shatter your control completely. and again, just milliseconds before you would have broken apart, he pulled away. the abrupt absence of contact was like a physical blow. you collapsed back onto the sheets, panting, body trembling violently, tears of sheer frustration now streaming down your face.

rafe watched you, chest rising and falling heavily, his own control evident but strained. he reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "not yet," he whispered, his voice thick with his own arousal, his eyes promising more denial, more exquisite torture.

"we're not finished. not even close."

taglist ; @13hischiers @rafesprecious @mayanqueenxx @dreewsepj @zoenighshade555 @feverg1rl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @onxlyemery @yncoded @millie--billie @laniirackssss @slut4you (join here) | divider creds ; @/anitalenia @/fairytopea

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 10 months ago

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astro thoughts - short n sweet <3 pluto in the house

Pluto in the 1st house - Very strong auras. Could deliberately see through bs a mile away. Not gifted in being friendly, lol just kidding. Their not 'nice' though. And they don't have to be. They don't like faking the funk so this pretty much gives them an interesting outlook on people and they way they see themselves. Can shift the whole room with just their magic. Can be very intimidating to some, but very inspiring to others.

Pluto in the 2nd house - Could have financial issues from time to time. Not likely to say the same thing twice, if they said it once they meant it. Dont bother them again about it. These individuals can use their psychic senses to make money if that is what they wish, they could be very therapeutic to say the least. Give em a chance, they really wouldn't hurt a fly.

Pluto in the 3rd house - There speech is very compelling. They could hold a room with just their words and it could open the minds of a few listening to them. They have a gift in impacting you with just the way that they think, making you beg for more each day at a time.

Pluto in the 4th house - Could of had a transformative experience at home and I don't mean that nicely. There are somethings that should be left unsaid but sometimes things need a reawakening. They don't seem to let things go here.. but why would they? There past is like a haunting story awaiting to be unraveled just so you can piece together the puzzles that we're left unfinished. They are quiet when it comes to their personal life and hide themselves from the world so that you won't get an inkling of what truly is masked behind the bushes.

Pluto in the 5th house - Very deep bonds with their art work and can do a performance like no other. They will have you feeling every bit of emotion in their vibration just to help you feel what the character is feeling. I noticed there are a lot of good actors with this placement. Anywho, they have a powerful presence and when it comes to dating them or even just experiencing them for a little while it can be a transformative, healing experience for people involved with them.

Pluto in the 6th house - Like their martians mates in the 6th house, these people can have a pretty interesting experience here. They have a tendency to be obsessive over what they want so they work as much as they can until the wheels falls off. This could become a problem if they don't think to chill out on working and sacrificing their well being for something out side of themself.

Pluto in the 7th house - Deep, penetrating raw auras. Could be self-reflective on the way they see things, themselves , others and just the world at large. They have a gift of discernment but most of them never use the gift and can get caught up into the wrong things sometimes. There is more than what meets the eye with these individuals. They never let others in so easily, sometimes they're worth the wait. ;)

Pluto in the 8th house - Really good at seeing through things that others just can't seem to pick up on. Really gifted in occult sciences. Have issues with commitment and could have trouble with individuals because of traumatic experiences in past lives or current one. Could have people who want to be around them just to unravel them, but not really want to be with them. Have a very mysterious presence, hard to read.

Pluto in the 9th house - Very interesting and their thoughts can penetrate the mind in so many ways. They will leave you speechless when its all over. They travel to different places all the time but they are pretty good at finding places that match their flow, and love ot bring anyone along for the ride. There just a different layer to them that no one really knows how to explain, but its a gift that keeps giving.

Pluto in the 10th house - Woah. Thats the word to describe em. Its their touch and raw auras that keep you on your knees. VERY strong personas and do not like being talked down on. Could use their experiences/circumstances to their advantage. Gifted and seeing beyond what no one wants to believe is true. They can have the world if they know they got it in them already. Hard headed but gets to the bag with just their two feet. No one else can beat them at their own game.

Pluto in the 11th house - Whew. These people have a spell on the people that no other pluto house placement can compete with. The issue is these people don't know how to use that power but thats not all that bad. They can have people do things for them because something about them just makes people want to do things for them.

Pluto in the 12th house - very odd things comes out of the mind with these individuals. The subconscious/dream world is the most important part of their day to day because it rules the present in a way that cant be controlled but must be felt. How are you doing living a life that no one seems to live? It seems like they are all alone, but the world is calling for them to give them all the answers.

Talk to me in the comments, let me know how yall feelin! <3

#astrology thoughts #astrology theories #astrology #tropical astrology #astrology observations #spirituality #astro observations #astro knowledge #short n sweet astro #deja's astro observations

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wendichester · 5 months ago

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୧ ‧₊˚ 🎁 ⋅ ☆ christmas unwrapping,

summary. you're dean's favorite gift.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 647.

notes. +18, implied intimacy, nudity. mdni .ᐟ

The bathroom door opens with a soft click, and you step out, nerves buzzing under your skin but masked with a confident smile. The faint glow of the Christmas lights you insisted on stringing along the headboard cast a festive glow over the cheap motel room. Dean is stretched out on the bed, one leg bent, the remote in hand as he lazily flips through the channels.

“Hey, did you know they have four different Die Hards on—” His voice cuts off mid-sentence when he glances up at you.

Dean blinks, once, twice, just to make sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him. “I'll be damned.” His voice comes out a little hoarse, a surprised grin spreading across his face as he watches you slowly step forward.

You flash him a mischievous smile, tilting your head just a little, and you can see the instant his eyes drop to your body. It’s like he can’t help himself, drawn to the way the tinsel catches the light, the way it rests against your skin, the way your body looks so perfectly exposed and still somehow hidden at the same time.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” you say, voice low and teasing, your words dripping with playful intent. “Do you like it?” you ask as you twirl your finger around one of the silver strands.

Dean’s eyes are glued to you, a slow smirk creeping up his face as he runs a hand through his hair. “Like it? I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

You bite your lip, taking a few steps toward him, swaying your hips just a little for fun. “I know we never do gifts... So I thought I’d improvise.”

He looks you up and down, his gaze heating up the more he takes in the sight of you. “Improvise?” His voice is husky now, like he's struggling to find the words. “Sweetheart, you’re making me rethink my entire gift list.”

You step closer, hovering in front of him, letting the tinsel shift and reveal just enough skin to make him bite his lip. “Now it begs the question if you been good enough this year,” you tease, your tone playful but filled with that undercurrent of desire.

Dean shifts, sitting up straighter, trying his best to hide how obvious his reaction is. “I don’t think the word ‘good’ even comes close to what you’re about to get, baby.”

Your breath hitches as you feel his hands settle on your hips, his fingers brushing your skin through the tinsel. “You’re gonna have to unwrap me, you know,” Your words are a quiet challenge.

He chuckles, his hands slipping around your waist, tugging you closer. “I was getting to that,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. The warmth from his hands burns through the thin strands of tinsel, and it makes you ache for more.

Dean’s hands slide gently over your back, and with a single, fluid motion, he pulls the first strand of tinsel away, watching it fall to the floor. The slow, deliberate way he does it sends a rush of heat straight to your core, the anticipation making every inch of your skin tingle.

He works his way down your body, pulling more strands free, piece by piece, until you’re standing in front of him, completely exposed but for the faint glow of the Christmas lights around you. Dean looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust, but there’s still a softness there too, like he’s cherishing every moment.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes out, before leaning in and pressing his lips to your neck, his hands slipping back to your hips. The kiss is gentle at first, but as his grip tightens, it deepens—his lips urgent and demanding now.

And as he pulls you onto his lap, the only thing that matters is the way he holds you close, his lips never leaving yours. The rest of the world fades into the background, Christmas Eve slipping away as he shows you how he unwraps his favorite present.

taglist ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ֶָ֢ @deans-daydream

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #dean winchester fic #.docx

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after-witch · 11 months ago

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Bait [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Title: Bait [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: You're taken as bait, but will Geto even bother? Companion piece to Fever Pitch and Bus Stop.

Word count: 3100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader (er, twice?); violence against reader; some non-graphic blood and violence

There is a thin line separating your world at all times. It might be white or gold or every color under the sun, but it doesn’t matter, because you are the only one who can see it. The only one who knows what categories fall on either side of this decisive line.

On one side, there is something like comfort to be found. Something like acceptance. It is the world where you sit quietly when Geto tells you to be with him; the world where your heart flutters when he asks you to comb through his hair, or undress him for the day, or bring him his meal. A world where you are his good pet, and that is enough.

But on the other side, there is only one singular certainty:

He will get bored of you.

He will no longer find your compliance endearing. He will kill you, or discard you on the streets, and you’re not sure which is worse.

You’ve never been able to decide how much of his behavior towards you is actually endearment, and how much is a vague interest in the novelty of your compliance. Maybe it’s pointless to decide, because that thought always comes in cold and creeping: you’ll be gone, in a flash, like a wayward candle left on in the night. Dead or alive but without him, and isn’t that just about the same thing?

That thought slithers its way around you even in some of your best moments. When he pats the cushion behind him--a cushion, instead of the bare floor--and instructs you to comb out his hair for the evening. When the water is warm and your bodies are wet and close, and afterwards, you smell almost the same. At least for the night.

He’ll get bored of you, that reality hisses, and that will be that. Not even the twins could save you, if they were so inclined. You’re not sure if they would be, if it came down to Geto wanting to be rid of you. Sometimes, they are warm--sitting with you, reading with you, tending to you. Asking for your opinion like you are, perhaps, a person after all. At other times, they keep to themselves; watch you with something that might be wariness.

Nanako and Mimiko are the reason you are here, under his thumb, at his feet. They saw you and wanted you--like a mother, you think, when you’re feeling sentimental--and they got what they wanted. Geto told you this, once, your knees banging against the floor from where he dropped you like a bad dog.

And you don’t think he’s lying. Even here, now, in the sitting room with the girls, they seem to still like you overall.

Still.

If Geto wanted you to go away, you would.

And it’s this sole thought that pushes past the primal surge of adrenaline that comes when a rough bag is suddenly, crudely shoved down over your head.

He’s getting rid of me.

Over your heartbeat, though, you hear sounds that don’t match up with those bitter thoughts that whispered at your back for ages.

It’s not Geto in the room; not Geto who put a bag over your head.

The girls are shouting something--a yelp of surprise?--and there are too many strange voices, too many conflicting sounds. Someone’s fumbling with your arms, and you can feel the scratch of rope, but something about that awful yelp from one of the girls gives you the strength to shove them aside, to rip the bag off your head.

Strangers. There are strangers in the room. Strange men wearing black face masks, with their arms on the girls, rough and cruel. They’re carrying rope, too--to tie them up? To take them? To hurt them?

No. No.

You don’t have a plan. You don’t have the time or ability to think of one. Your body simply launches itself at the men, who aren’t expecting it, who trip and stumble when you throw your entire body weight against them to get them away from the girls.

“Run!” Your voice sounds foreign to your ears.

And the girls--oh, it makes your heart feel fuzzy--hesitate to leave you. But then they grip each other’s hands and run away. The sight makes your heart soar, for a moment.

They’re safe. They’ll get to Geto, and be safe.

And you--

You grunt against a stinking cloth shoved over your mouth and nose, and inhale a sharp, pungent scent that makes you gag. You blink against the coming grayness as you fall to your knees. Unconsciousness doesn’t come swiftly, and there’s an uncomfortable dizziness as your hands are tied behind your back, and someone hoists you roughly over their shoulder.

You can just make out what one of them says before you pass out--

“Fuck, I don’t know. Just--just grab her instead. He must like her, to let her around those kids.”

The sensation when the world gradually returns to you is a familiar one: you’ve been tied up. But instead of soft silks tightly pinning you to the bed, or winding around your body only to be hidden by your layers of clothing, it’s rough rope that keeps you bound to a cold metal chair.

The room that you’re in, when your eyesight returns with a blurry fog, is not Geto’s comfortable apartments but a bare room with concrete walls. The only decorations are--the realization comes with a dull acceptance--bloodstains against the wall, on the floor.

Ah.

This is where you die.

A sound--muffled, still, but a jarring screen all the same--makes you jerk your head. It’s another metal chair. But the person sitting in this one isn’t tied up--it’s a man, wearing a gray suit and puffing a cigarette that glows in the dimly lit space.

“Wakey, wakey.”

He blows a puff of gray cigarette smoke into your face, and you cough, throat acidic and burning.

It takes you some time to realize that it’s certainly one of the men who took you, who wanted to take--and maybe there is some justice in the world, because it seems they got away--the girls. There’s a bandage on his face and a vague memory comes back to you; your own hand reaching across his face, clawing at him with your carefully trimmed nails.

There are other men behind him, quiet, watching the two of you with their hands folded. There are probably countless of these men, waiting for orders, in the rest of the building.

“You hear me yet? Or are you still all fucked up?” His eyes narrow; his voice is gruff, no-nonsense. There’s some grit behind it. You wonder how much of his gruffness is because their plans were thwarted, and how much is because you managed to get a good dig into his flesh. Maybe both.

Your lips part, and you feel a film of stickiness keeping your mouth together peeling as you lick the inside to give yourself some sort of moisture. Your voice comes out hoarse and dry, despite your efforts.

“I… can hear you.”

Your hands flex from their bound position behind your back, pressed harshly against the chair. There’s no way to get out of this, not on your own. And you are on your own, because Geto would not bother getting you from here.

You can imagine what happened as clearly as anything, despite the lingering effects of whatever drug they used on you.

The girls would run immediately to Geto, and tell him what happened. He would look them over to make sure they weren’t hurt. He would ask who attacked them, how many, what they looked like, and if they could remember any other identifiers. Then he would probably think back to who might have done this… someone with a grudge? Some enemy he’s made?

It would only be then that he would realize the girls said you had been taken, and he would sigh. Perhaps he'd be annoyed that he lost his pet, but that would be the end of that. It would be too much of a hassle to get you, too much of a bother. He’d need a plan and perhaps men to back him up and heaven knows you weren’t worth…

Your head snaps to the side, pain blossoming on your cheek, as the gruff voice huffs out from above you.

He slapped you.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

You’re not trying to be distracted. Really. It would be better to stay focused, since you’re going to die here. Maybe you can think about your life from before all this, that would surely be a more pleasant ending than spending your last moments dwelling on Geto leaving you here.

“Sorry,” you say, out of reflex, more than anything.

The man sighs and runs a scarred hand over his hair. He takes another puff of his cigarette.

“I said, you’re our bait for that greedy sorcerer. Once he shows up, we’ll do this on our terms, and our boss’ll get his curse removed in exchange for keeping your pretty little head intact.”

You don’t mean to do it, you swear you don’t. The reaction comes from deep inside you, from that part of you that’s been stepping over the line where you know that you’ll eventually be discarded by the man who took over your life.

Your lips quirk. And then, from your stomach, into your chest, it happens: you laugh. A harsh, almost braying sound that bounces off the bloodied concrete walls.

The man’s face contorts, and perhaps he might hit you again, but there’s something freeing in this moment that makes you not care. What’s another slap to the face, when your blood will spray the flat end of those walls before the night is over? Whenever they realize that Geto won’t be coming for you, that you’re the worst bait they could have possibly chosen.

That you’re simply a pet that’s more trouble than you’re worth.

The feeble jerk your body makes when he screeches his chair back and gets in your face, hot cigarette dangling from his lips, is reflexive. You’re not scared of him, or what he might do--you’ve faced far worse.

Spittle hits your sore cheek when he growls out--

“What the fuck is so funny?”

You don’t tell him--

What’s so fucking funny is that they think Geto will actually come for you. That he’ll deign to respond to their blackmail, the heavy presumption of it all, just to rescue you.

A trinket. A pet. A toy.

You smile, and wait to die.

Surprises are not something Geto particularly enjoys, unless they end up working to his advantage. And there is a keen sense, as he picks up the sudden sounds of scuffles and running feet and shouts, that this is not going to be a surprise he welcomes.

Something in him turns dull and heavy when he sees the girls running down the hall, hair askew, missing the smiles they often sport around him--instead, their faces are etched in worry, fear, and a terrible sort of uncertainty that he hasn’t seen in them in years.

Everything connects together like an unwanted puzzle. The sounds of a scuffle. The girls with their gasping breaths, their flailing limbs, words that tumble out together like spilled marbles--

“They took her.”

Her.

You.

You, whom he expected to find sitting quietly, sweetly, with Nanako and Mimiko when he returned to you in an hour or two. Yet everything was wrong. Topsy-turvy. There would be no quiet evening where you looked up at him with ridiculous doe eyes, hoping to please him, eager to do whatever he told you.

There would be no warm satisfaction in his gut at the sight, no pleasant tingling in his skin as he bade you to do as he pleased.

Instead, he would be spending his time retrieving you, and what if–the thought comes, and it’s disturbing how much the thought seems to weigh him down. What if you’re already dead? Disposed of, a corpse?

No. He shakes his head. They wanted you as bait, clearly; or rather, wanted the girls. Pride puffs in him that you protected them, at least. A small lightness in a sea of grey.

Still–you were gone, and uncertainty weighed heavy in the air as he weighed the best options for retrieving you.

It was an unpleasant surprise, after all.

They--whoever they were, it did not matter. Perhaps the girls already told him, but their identity wasn’t important. Not only because Geto didn’t have the slightest care over who they were, but because they would be dead in a matter of hours, if not sooner.

No one disrespects him like this and lives.

The thought of their filthy monkey hands dirtying you, a pet he had risen up from the lowest of the low into something more palatable and pleasant, made acrid bile climb into his throat.

Oh, you were beneath him, of course. There was no doubting that. But the stench of these stranger’s mediocrity and ape-like helplessness would coat you like dust, undoing so much of his hard work.

Geto collects only the finest things and oh, it had taken time, but you now counted among them.

He doesn’t need a plan. Why would he, to counteract a foolish kidnapping perpetuated by some half-baked mafia gang? They stood no chance against him. Even without his curses. He’s not sure he’d even release curses against these monkeys; it would be a waste of time and talent.

All he does is nod to the girls, who have curled up on his sofa, holding each other tight.

“I’ll be back.”

At this, they smile, and he can see their breaths coming easier, their shoulders relaxing down.

He doesn’t even need to tell them that he won’t be coming back alone.

It is, as with so many things, a certainty.

The lingering pain after they left you alone was not too awful. Yes, your lip was bleeding--the man wore metal rings--and your neck was sure to bruise, if you were left alive long enough for the skin to get all mottled.

But you had expected the pain, and that made it easier to manage while you waited for them to return. They would probably kill you now. A gun to the head, you think. They wouldn’t want to waste time with messier and slower implements, unless they were that angry about their “bait” plan failing.

You had expected the pain, and now you expect the door to open, for those no-nonsense guards to come through and simply pull out a gun and that would be that. Would there be pain? For a moment, maybe, but hopefully not more.

You don’t expect what actually happens.

Shouts--that quickly turn to screams.

Clanging of metal, the sound of something being struck and sliced.

Thumping, an awful, dull sound; like a carcass at the butchershop being let off its chain.

And then that door in front of you creaking open to reveal the last person in the world you ever expected to see in the doorway.

Geto.

Geto, with blood sprayed on his face, gore clotting on his clothes.

It’s so unexpected that you don’t believe it until he’s behind you, the familiar warmth of his body turned upside down with the new stench of metallic blood, mingled the scent of your own sweat, the lingering puffs of cigarette smoke.

It’s not until he’s made you stand up, that he’s right in front of you, tilting your chin up to look at him that the realization comes.

He came for you.

He killed for you.

It’s too much--it’s too much to realize the reality beyond that line was bullshit the entire time. It’s too much to realize that you were, perhaps, worth something after all. Too much to see Geto covered in blood and wonder, briefly, if he had been hurt in the process of your rescue.

It’s too much, all of it, and you black out.

From adrenaline, from injuries, or perhaps from sheer disbelief.

When you wake up, you are sitting on the floor of Geto’s spacious bathroom. Disorientation keeps you on the floor for too long, because then there are hands--Geto’s--on you, pulling you to unsteady feet.

Despite the swaying of your body, there is something grounding about all this. You, and Geto, in this familiar space.

Geto stands in front of you, face impassive, still covered in specks of blood. The reek of his blood covered clothing is stronger in this space, an invasion of stinking metal.

“Strip,” he tells you. Your body obeys before your mind registers the command fully, hands trembling as you peel off clothing stuck to you by sweat and a bit of blood. Most of it wasn’t yours.

He tsks at your naked form, and shame creeps down your collarbone--stopping cold when he opens his mouth again.

“Remove my clothing.” Another order, obeyed just as quickly, but perhaps with more brightness than you thought possible. If he still wants you to do this, it means he doesn’t find you too disgusting, does he? He can’t, if he’s allowing you to touch him like this.

He doesn’t give the clothing a second glance--he’ll probably burn it, and yours too--as he steps toward the tub.

The bath has already been prepared, though without the usual luxuries Geto asks you to slip in for him; lotions and salts, dried flowers and oils.

Still, it is a comfort when Geto steps into the tub. It is all familiar to you, expected--welcomed, even. The way the water sloshes as Geto steps inside, the warm heat of the water rising to greet you as he beckons you closer. The firm, damp grip of his hand as he steadies you, lest you slip and annoy him.

"Wash this filthy monkey blood off me," he says, when you’ve settled in, his voice soft and clipped.

Is he angry with you, you wonder, or the people he’s killed? Would he think on this later, and decide that it was far too troublesome to go after you in the end? Maybe the next time you were a target, he wouldn’t save you after all. He’d leave you to die and mutter that once was quite enough. He--

“Well?”

“Sorry,” you murmur, not a reflex this time but a genuine apology. You were making him wait. That wouldn’t do.

So you take up the cloth and gently wipe at his face and body, where those flecks of blood have sprayed onto him like troublesome paint. You go slow, soft, just like he’s taught you to do.

It’s the softness of the moment that pushes the words from your mouth. If he had not brought you here, if you two were not together in the warm, naked intimacy of the water, you might never have dared to ask.

“Why did you save me?”

You don’t even stop wiping at his skin, dipping the cloth into the water and watching it run red. Not until he grips your wrists with his wet fingers, making you drop the cloth.

He pulls your hands closer to his mouth and presses a kiss to your damp skin. Soft. Gentle. A streak of blood near his mouth catches on your skin.

“I merely took back what is mine.” His eyes roam over you; you, the pet he owns, the pet he’s created. How cold his words are. Strict, no-nonsense. What you’ve come to expect from him.

And yet, and yet--

He presses his lips to your knuckles again, and inhales the scent of you, all traces of cigarette smoke on your hands washed away with the bathwater.

#yandere jjk #yandere geto suguru #yandere geto #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere #afterwitch writes

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adverbally · 3 months ago

Text

More Than Words

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “love confession” | wc: 660 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steddie, Steve POV character study, omega Steve, alpha Eddie, early relationship, falling in love, domesticity

———

Steve falls fast, as he always has. It’s different with Eddie, though– less like plunging off a cliff and more like sinking into a warm bath that he never wants to leave. More importantly, he thinks Eddie is right there with him.

There have been signs, subtle but there. Eddie can’t seem to keep his eyes off Steve, whether they’re driving home from the movies or wrangling the Party on D&D nights or making out on Steve’s couch. Then there are the constant touches– Eddie’s hand at the small of his back, linking their fingers, playing with Steve’s hair, tipping his chin up for a kiss.

Eddie listens, opens doors for him, calls him on the days they don’t see each other, gets him a fresh scent token for his nest every few days, tells the kids to knock it off when their teasing gets a little too harsh. He doesn’t complain when Steve has to cancel plans, whether it’s for a migraine or an unexpected double shift. He surprises Steve with flowers when he’s having a rough week. Eddie doesn’t expect more from him or say he’s too much. He seems to like Steve just as he is.

Which is great. Really. For most people, it would be a total non-problem. But Steve…

It’s never been like this before, is the thing. Dating has always been a performance for him, a way to show what a good Omega he could be. He could be pretty and sweet, and he could laugh at an Alpha’s jokes and compliment them and let them buy his dinner in exchange for a kiss goodnight. With Eddie, though, it doesn’t feel like a mask or a role to play; it’s real and vulnerable, it’s walking a tightrope without a safety net, and the scariest thing about it is that it doesn’t scare Steve at all. Not if Eddie’s there.

Steve doesn’t tell anyone, especially not Eddie, but he thinks about it for weeks. The words linger on the tip of his tongue any time he does anything with Eddie– wrestling for the bowl of popcorn on movie night or picking up the kids from their latest campaign session or saying goodnight at the end of their phone calls. A few times, Steve musters up the courage to test it out after he hangs the receiver back on the wall, whispering I love you into the silence of his empty house. It comes naturally, easily, and that’s how Steve knows it’s time to say it for real.

He had toyed with the idea of making some grand romantic gesture but in the end, it’s just the two of them, snuggled together under three layers of blankets in Eddie’s bed, laughing about something Dustin said earlier that day. The sheets and Steve’s borrowed pajamas smell like Eddie, sweet herbs and sharp citrus, and Eddie’s arms are secure around his waist as he curls around Steve from behind. Steve can’t stifle the purr of contentment that rumbles through him but he wouldn’t want to, not when he can let Eddie know just how happy he makes him.

“Comfy?” Eddie asks before stifling a yawn in the warm skin at the nape of Steve’s neck.

Steve hums in reply and nuzzles his cheek into Eddie’s pillow. He’s half-asleep already, his blinks growing longer and longer as he fights to keep his eyes open.

When Eddie snorts in amusement, Steve feels it more than hears it. “Okay, sleepyhead. Goodnight.”

The words stick in Steve’s throat for just a second before he sighs, “I love you.”

Eddie tucks his chin over Steve's shoulder and noses at his scent gland, inhaling deeply. “I love you, too, Stevie. But we can talk about it tomorrow.” He kisses the spot once, twice, three times, like he’s already thinking about how his bite would look there among Steve’s freckles. “Sweet dreams, baby.”

Steve falls asleep with the ghost of a smile still on his lips.

#stmmm25 #omegaverse #steddie #steddie fic #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine

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achillesvslz · 19 days ago

Note

HIII OMGSJ, I love your writing so much so when I saw your request was open I jumped in like a beast. Whenever you're free of course 🫂

But I have this idea, that in the invincible war, there are a lot of Marks that get killed right, so I think that readers from their world just wait for them to come back not knowing they are dead until Angstrom comes back to tell them and they was devastating, so Angstrom take this as an opportunity to make them help him destroy the main Mark world, but the reader goal is just revenge and kill whoever killed their Mark.

And for the readers in the world of the survivor Mark, Angstrom says that if they help him he will give them their Marks back.

Idk I just want to get this idea out and wanted to know how it would happen and how the main Mark feels when seeing a multiverse of readers desperate to get revenge 😔✋️

Not you too

Characters: Main Mark + GN! Speedster! Reader variants

Synopsis: Mark's fine killing versions of himself, but you? God help him.

Content Warnings: Graphic violence, Character death (multiple versions of Reader), Blood and gore, Impalement, crushed skulls and bones, Emotional distress, Psychological trauma, Multiversal doppelgangers, Brief mentions of death by falling, crushing

E/N: not all reader variants for the Marks are reviewed in this, just hinted at. Some Reader Variants are dead though as well (My HC).

Angstrom just couldn’t let him rest, could he?

After everything—fighting off a legion of murderous versions of himself, stopping a Viltrumite threat, and barely holding the planet together—Mark just wanted one day. One single day to decompress. Kick his feet up, sip a soda, maybe rewatch Science Dog in peace. But no. That would’ve been too easy.

Instead, Cecil’s voice burst through the comms, frazzled and grim. “Green portals have opened. Versions of [REDACTED] came through. They’re… they’re not friendly.”

Mark almost dropped his drink. Versions of you—causing chaos?

And from the carnage that followed, it was clear: you were angry in every universe.

The first one came fast. Viltrumite armor tinted deep crimson, stained with blood, yours and others. Stronger than any of the others, you hit harder than even Mark was used to. The two of you clashed, fists slamming into one another with the force of missiles. You didn’t waste breath on threats—just let your speed and strength talk for you. Mark tried to reason with you, dodging, weaving, pleading. “I don’t want to fight you!” he yelled—but you didn’t care. You caught him off guard, fists flying, and nearly cracked his jaw before he countered with a desperate blow to your ribs. You stumbled. He hesitated. And you charged again. That’s when he drove his fist clean through your chest—straight through your armor, your sternum, your heart. You didn’t scream. Just looked at him with shock before collapsing, twitching, dead before you hit the ground.

Then came the second. Faster, louder, more chaotic. You zipped through the ruins of Paris, leaving a trail of ruin in your wake. Laughing like it was all a game. Mark followed the tremors in your wake, catching you in the middle of caving in another skyscraper. He tried again to plead, his voice hoarse. But you grinned, eyes crazed, and rushed him. He ducked and weaved, only narrowly avoiding a flurry of lightning-fast punches. When he finally got a grip on you, he grabbed you by the back of your head and with a brutal roar, slammed your skull straight into the concrete. Once, twice—until your mask shattered and the back of your head caved in like glass. You went limp in his grip.

The third version didn’t talk. You moved like a ghost—silent, emotionless, long hair tied back, your eyes locked on him with surgical focus. You didn’t smile. You didn’t scream. Just attacked, a blur of calculated strikes. Mark barely kept up. You were fast, sharper than the others. But one mistake—a mistimed kick—gave Mark the opening he needed. He caught your leg, twisted hard, and drove you into the ground. Then, in one motion, he lifted you back up and snapped your spine over his knee like a twig. The crack echoed across the street before your body dropped, twitching once, then going still.

The fourth was different. Omni-Mark’s version of you—serious, silent, precise. Your hits came without warning, almost mathematical in their rhythm. Mark barely had time to block them. You didn’t banter, didn’t taunt, didn’t waste energy. He respected that—until you tried to end him with a straight shot to the throat. He caught your arm, twisted it behind your back, then kicked you hard in the chest. As you stumbled back, Mark shot into the sky with you in a tight grip, rising higher and higher until the clouds swallowed you both. Then he let go. He watched you fall. You didn’t scream. Didn’t flail. You hit the Earth seconds later with a sound like thunder. And didn’t move again.

Next was the fifth. Shiesty Mark’s version. Arrogant, fast-talking, cocky. You danced around him, smirking, mocking him with every step. “C’mon, Golden Boy. You look tired already.” You zipped in and out, tagging him with punches, but never enough to do real damage. Just enough to piss him off. But Mark had learned by now. He waited, baited you into a feint—and when you went for the kill, he caught your face with one perfectly placed fist. The impact crushed your cheekbone, then your nose, then your skull. Your body dropped in a heap, twitching like a puppet with its strings cut.

Then came the sixth—mohawked, armored, and mean. You were strong, but speed was still your weapon, and you used it with relentless aggression. You barreled into Mark with enough force to collapse the side of a building. He pushed back, every second of the fight a brutal clash of precision and sheer force. You landed hit after hit, keeping him pinned, never letting up. But you slipped. Just once. Mark caught your arm, twisted, and hurled you into the shell of a half-fallen skyscraper. The entire top section came down with you inside. Concrete and steel crushed your body beneath the weight. Mark didn’t see you emerge.

The final one was the worst. Sinister Mark’s version. You were quiet, but there was something in your voice when you spoke—like you knew him. Like you remembered. “You're tired,” you said, almost gently, before disappearing into a blur of afterimages. You didn’t fight like the others. You played with time, weaving around him, dragging him into a blur of motion, a warped strobe of lights and colors. Mark chased you through the skyline, through abandoned highways, through lightning itself. You were too fast. Then everything slowed down. Or maybe everything sped up. The air warped. Space twisted. And you were gone—vanished into some endless corridor of light, swallowed by your own speed. The Speed Force, maybe. Mark would never know. But you didn’t come back.

And just like that, it was over.

By the fourth day, with the last of your variants defeated or dead, Mark stood alone among craters and corpses. The city was broken. The sky was grey. And when he finally saw you—his you—safe, real, still alive, he couldn’t help it.

He grabbed you. Pulled you into his chest. Hands trembling. Breath shaking.

He had killed you fifteen times. Fast, deadly, and unrelenting—you in every form. But this one? This one held him back. This one clutched his shirt just as tightly. And God help him… he was thankful. So, so thankful.

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thewritingrowlet · 6 months ago

Text

The Heart-lifter, ft. Red Velvet Seulgi

tags: blowjob, anal teasing, first time anal

length: 10k

author's note: This fic was built on an idea sent by an anon, and this is a good opportunity to say that even though you can send ideas (complete with a plot or not), I decide whether I'll write it, and if I do end up writing it, I get to decide the way the plot progresses. I hope that won't discourage people from submitting their ideas.

Seulgi lowers the bill of her cap as she eyes this convenience store for the perfect opportunity for a quick in-and-out snatch.

“Fuck, am I really doing this?” Different versions of this question have been running amuck in her head, and for a good reason, too: Seulgi used to be standing on stage with bright lights shining on her, but ever since her agency folded, she was forced to do things that she normally wouldn’t (i.e. stealing) just so that she can get her hands on most-needed daily essentials.

Seulgi’s heart races: what if she gets caught? What if the police get involved? What if— “Ah, fuck it, I don’t have any other options.” Her good conscience tries so hard to convince her that there are other options, but no matter how much it’s trying to make Seulgi stop, she simply won’t, and as she’s approaching the shop, she puts on a mask and zips up her jacket to conceal herself better.

Once she’s in, she takes a few laps around the shop and takes mental notes of where the desired items are: soju is in the glass fridge at the back, pads and soaps are on the shelves in a nearby aisle, and finally, makeup are on the shelves across in the same aisle. “Do I want snacks as well?” Seulgi tries to estimate the size of the items she wants since they will all need to fit around her body, inside the jacket that’s not too big to begin with. “Maybe I can fit a pack of Oreo or two,” she thinks.

She stands in front of the big fridge, and the way the glass door is showing her reflection makes her question herself once more. Seulgi’s eyes wander off her target and shift towards her feet. “Fuck, mama would be so sad if she knew about this.”

“Excuse me, miss,” a voice snaps her out of her trance, “I want to grab something, so can you please move a little?” Her first instinct is to say sorry and step back, but she manages to stop herself from speaking just in time. There’s a possibility that this woman might recognize her based on hearing her voice, so she simply nods and moves away from the fridge.

Seulgi takes a momentary shelter in an aisle that’s full of instant noodles. Her eyes happen to land on a pack of instant carbonara ramen that she loves. “I used to be able to afford boxes of this thing at once,” she thinks as she holds one in the air. She hears the fridge’s door closing and guesses that the woman is done grabbing whatever. “Alright, let’s not second-guess this.”

With renewed certainty, she makes her way back to the fridge and, without thinking twice, snatches a bottle of soju. After hiding it inside her jacket, she proceeds to go to another aisle to get some sanitary products. Seulgi has half a dozen items hidden underneath her jacket now, and as tempting as it is to get more stuff, she doesn’t want to risk it even further. “That’s it for now.” Seulgi fast-walks towards the exit, and as luck would have it, a bunch of other people are also about to exit, so if the alarms were to trip, no one would be able to point at her directly.

True enough, the shop’s alarms start blaring as soon as she walks out of the door, but she stays calm so that people won’t be too suspicious. Seulgi immediately makes a left turn into an alley, and that is when she starts running, hugging herself tightly as she does to prevent the stolen items from falling out. “C’mon, Kang Seulgi; you can make it home safely.”

“Thank you so much, miss,” you say as you take a cup of hot chocolate and a triangle kimbap from the server. “Of course, sir—come back again soon!” With a smile, you step away from the register and make your way towards the exit.

You take a sip from the paper cup, and your body immediately feels the warmth from the hot chocolate that serves as a salvation on this cold night. “Oh my God, that’s so good.” You set your hot chocolate on the hood of your car so that you can shift your attention to this warm triangle on your other hand.

“Alright, let’s see if their spicy tuna is actually spicy,” you say to yourself as you free the kimbap of its packaging. The taste of the first bite makes you let out a sigh of satisfaction; not only is the tuna filling properly spicy, but it’s also very flavorful. “I’m about to fucking bust from this,” you think.

You pull out your phone and take a picture of the café’s exterior— “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You turn around to see who just hit you. “Are you okay, miss?” You can’t see her face, but she gives you some rapid nods. You’re a little surprised when you see some soaps falling out of her jacket. “Let me grab that for you, miss.”

You bend down and pick up the soaps, but her hands are too busy hugging herself when you’re trying to hand them back. “C-can you put them in my front pockets, please?” You finally hear the woman’s voice. “Sure.” You lift the tabs that are covering her pockets and fill each pocket with a bar of soap.

“Here—" You hear a short static from your earpiece, thus interrupting your speech. “Unit 318, 10-40. 10-20, 102 South Boulevard. 10-21, complainant reports of a theft from the shop they’re working at. 10-12, await further information.” You keep your eyes on the woman as you wait for the rest of the call. “10-35, suspect is a female, wearing a brown jacket and a cap of similar color.”

The call finishes right as the woman begins walking away from you, but you manage to halt her by gripping her shoulder. “Not so fast, miss—wait a moment, please?” You lift the left side of your coat to talk into the radio hidden underneath it. “This is unit 318—10-4, will respond directly to South Boulevard.”

You pull her closer towards your car, and that is when you see that she’s shaking. “Are you cold, miss?” She simply shakes her head to your question, still not making eye contact with you. You’re quite confident that the call was about this woman who’s standing right in front of you, but obviously you can’t just arrest people based on gut feelings alone, so, “Miss, I have some questions for you, so please get in the car.”

With little resistance, the woman enters your car from the back door that you’re opening for her and takes a seat in the back of your police car. Once she’s seated comfortably, you sit on the driver’s seat and lock the doors. “Miss,” your voice is stern as intended, “will you please tell me your business, or do I need to take you back to the station first?” “D-do I not have t-the right to remain silent?” You nod as you turn on your siren. “Well, the station it is.”

You haven’t driven too far from the spot of arrest when the woman cracks. “O-officer,” she calls to you, “I-I give up—look, I-I’ll confess.” You make a quick stop on the side of the road. “Yes?” From the rear-view mirror, you see that the woman lets go of her jacket, and you see the pile of items hidden underneath it.

“I-I took some stuff from a convenience store.” You try to stay focused despite her curves that have been exposed to your eyes. “Those are daily necessities, aren’t they, miss?” She nods. “I-I don’t have money, sir, s-so I took them.” “You’re aware that it’s a crime, aren’t you?” She nods again. “P-please, officer, I-I need these things.” You sigh as you think about—wait, what is there to think about? It’s obvious that she has committed a crime. “Look, let’s get to the station first—we can talk more there.” “No, no, no—officer, please!”

You’re surprised to see that the woman has taken off her cap and mask. “Huh, I’ve seen you somewhere,” you mindlessly comment, “wait, you’re Kang Seulgi—you’re a celebrity, aren’t you?” The woman promptly breaks eye contact. “I-I was, officer; m-my agency went bankrupt.” “So, you had to shoplift to get stuff?” She nods. “I-I’m sorry, I-I should’ve known better.” You palm your forehead, oddly stressed about the fact that a celebrity (formerly, as she claims) has committed theft for such simple items.

“Can you keep a secret, Miss Kang, because I’m about to put my career on the line for you.” You’re a little startled when you feel her wrapping her arms around you from the back seat. “Of course I can, officer; I swear on everything that I’ll keep this between you and me.” You chuckle, and it might have come across as suspicious. “You don’t even know what I’m about to do, do you?” “W-well, that’s true,” she takes a moment to think, “y-you’re not going to rape me, are you, officer?” You’ve never heard something that absurd in your life before, especially in your career in the police force. “No, I’m not—are you out of your mind?”

You turn your head to the side so that you can see her in your peripheral vision. “We’re going to go back to the store and return those items,” you start, “after that, we’re going to go to another store, and I’ll buy you whatever you need.” Seulgi wraps her arms more tightly around you. “Yes, officer—thank you so much!”

You start driving again when Seulgi lets go of the hug. “I’m so fucking cooked,” you think, “can’t believe I’d see a celebrity shoplift.” “Officer,” you hear her say, “c-can I ask what your name is?” You nod. “Kang Hyunwoo, Criminal Investigation,” you briefly introduce yourself, “my family knows me better as Aiden, though; I’m of foreign descent, you see.” “We have the same last name?” You nod again. “That’s how it’s intended for us.”

Before long, you arrive at the store Seulgi stole from. “Wait here, okay?” You don’t wait for an answer and hop out of the car with the stolen goods in your hands. “Excuse me, excuse me,” you say as you make your way towards the front of the line. “Hello, my name is Kang Hyunwoo from the Metropolitan Police,” you introduce yourself to the staff, “I’m not too familiar with your system, but I’m here to return the stolen items.” The staff thanks you for your help and tries giving you a shopping voucher, but you politely decline. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” you say.

You quickly return to your car, and you’re glad to see that Seulgi didn’t drive away with your government-issued car. “You know, officer,” she says, “it was bold of you to leave a criminal alone in a running car—I could’ve driven away.” You chuckle. “I trust you more than I’d like to admit, Seulgi-yah.”

It is when you get in your seat that you realize that you might have been too friendly with her. “Anyway,” you clear your throat, “we still have some business at the station.” Seulgi’s face turns sour. “I-I thought you were going to buy me some stuff?” “Sorry, but that was a bait.” Seulgi gulps to swallow the anxiety that’s stuck in her throat. “C-can you just not let me go?” You shake your head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Daddy, please.”

You immediately turn your head towards her. “What did you just say?” “Please don’t turn me in, daddy,” she puts quite the emphasis on the name, thus making your jaw drop. “What the fuck are you talking about—why are you calling me that?” Seulgi takes off her jacket, thus exposing the tight-fit top that she’s wearing and showing you her perfect curves. “Give me a chance to change your mind, daddy—it’ll be worth your time, I swear.” “You’re not giving up your body to escape the law, are you?” Seulgi leans closer towards you, giving you a peek into her cleavage. “No, daddy; I’m giving up my body for you.”

“Goodness me,” you think. You’re oddly and seriously debating whether you’d turn a blind eye to crime in favor of sleeping with the criminal who happens to be a celebrity. “You’re dangerous, Miss Kang.” Seulgi shakes her head in protest. “Stop talking so formally, daddy; I’m yours for tonight, y’know.” You’re so unfocused that you press the ignition button again and shut off the running car. “Heh, I can tell when a guy is sold on an idea.” With red cheeks, you turn on the car again and immediately start driving. “We’re going to my place, baby.” “Oh, that’s exactly what I want, daddy—you’re going to take me to your place and fuck me until the sun rises again.”

“Wear your cap and jacket again, Seulgi-yah,” you’ve dropped the formality with her, “wouldn’t want to be seen running around with a cop, would you?” Seulgi looks at you blankly, making you confused. “Yes?” She shakes her head. “Nothing.” She puts on her identity concealment instruments as you’ve requested and follows you towards your apartment.

Seulgi quickly lets out a wow as she enters your apartment. “What a nice apartment.” You chuckle. “I’m sure a celebrity like you lives in a better place than this.” “I used to—not anymore, though,” she corrects you. “Fallen from grace, huh?” You say it with your back turned around, so you miss the way Seulgi’s face turns sour when she hears your words, only catching it when you look at her again.

You move to stand in front of her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” Seulgi shows you a pretty smile. “It’s okay; I got what you meant.” She tries to hug you but gets confused when she doesn’t feel the shape of your body, thus tapping your body to figure out what’s wrong. “There’s some equipment underneath my jacket, baby,” you let the name slip out. Seulgi chuckles. “Yeah, should’ve thought about that first.”

You step away from her so that you can take off your jacket, and when it’s off, Seulgi can see your handgun and a pair of handcuffs that you keep on each side of the shoulder holster. “Ah, so those were in the way,” she says, and you simply nod is response. “Let me sort this out first, and then I’ll come back to you, okay?”

You unload your firearm and put it in the safe along with the magazine after making sure there is no bullet in the chamber. After that, you hang your jacket and holster on the wall hooks behind the bedroom door.

“Alright, so, what now?” You invite Seulgi to sit on the sofa. “You’re here right now because you want to escape the law, and to do that, you want to offer your body to me,” you don’t bother sugarcoating your words. “You don’t have to be so crass, though,” she says in a sad tone. You slowly reach for her knee, placing your hand on it. “I’m sorry; I’ve never been good with words.”

Your heart jumps a little when Seulgi places her hand on yours. “I wish we could talk—y’know, about ourselves.” “I mean, we can,” you say, “I’m off-duty right now, so at the moment, this is your safe space, and you’re safe with me.” She lets out a chuckle. “Didn’t you try to arrest me just minutes ago?” You also let out a chuckle. “Well, that was Officer Kang Hyunwoo from the Metropolitan Police—at this moment, I’m just 32-year-old Kang Hyunwoo.” “Oh, you’re 32? My group’s leader is 33,” she says. You laugh. “I know—I mean, your group was famous.”

Joyfulness disappears from Seulgi’s face, and in turn, it disappears from yours as well. “Unnie would be so disappointed if she heard about this.” “I wish you hadn’t tried all that, and I’m not saying this as a law enforcer.” “What was I supposed to do, though? Should have I just asked someone to buy stuff for me?” “Honestly, I would’ve bought those things for you.”

Your heartrate jumps again when Seulgi puts her head on your shoulder. “Will you date me?” Her question doesn’t help you calm down. “S-sorry?” “I promise I’ll be a good girl for you, oppa,” she pulls out a new endearment for you. You fight the hesitation in your head and wrap an arm around her shoulder. “I have no question that you’re a good girl, but don’t you think you deserve someone better?" “Are you not a good person, oppa?” “I think I’m alright—I’m not perfect, you know.” “We can’t chase perfection in this world, oppa, especially when it comes to falling in love.”

It doesn’t take too much to make up your mind. “So, girlfriend, hey?” Seulgi grins. “I mean, I could be yours if you’d let your guard down and let me enter your heart.” You take a few deep breaths as you get ready to say this sentence that your brain has come up with, and with every second passing, you can feel conviction filling your head rather rapidly.

“I love you.”

You’ve never been so nervous to say such a short sentence before.

“Say it again?”

“I love you, baby—I love you with all my heart.”

Seulgi lifts her head off your shoulder and looks at you in the eyes. “I love you too, oppa, and thank you for the sweet words.”

You hesitantly reach for her chin, hoping that she’ll let you kiss her. “I know what you want, oppa.” She slaps your hand away and comes in quickly for a kiss, and right now, all you can think about is how soft her lips are.

Seulgi finds your hand without looking and guides it towards her tits. “Touch me here,” she softly whispers, and you’re eager to do just that. The cream top she’s wearing is so soft to the touch, and combine that with her perfect-sized tits, it feels like you’re dreaming—never in your life have you ever thought about being able to do this with someone like her.

Having had enough of your lips, Seulgi breaks the tangle. “Oppa,” she calls to you, “promise me this isn’t a one-night thing.” You shake your head, but gesture alone isn’t enough for Seulgi as she demands a verbal answer. “No, baby, it’s not a one-night stand; I want to be with you until you’re sick of me.” She laughs. “I won’t get sick of you ever, oppa, so we’ll stay together forever.” You peck her on the lips. “I like the sound of that, baby.”

Seulgi moves to sit on your lap; her crotch is grinding right against yours but blocked by the pants that each of you are wearing. “You know,” she says, “you’re so fucking hot—so fucking manly.” You laugh internally, because what does she mean you’re “manly.” “You’re so fucking hot too, baby.” “Yeah, oppa?” You’re getting hard as Seulgi grinds her crotch against yours. “Shit, haven’t you looked at yourself in the mirror?” She smirks, satisfied with your answer. “I wonder how you’ll react when I’m naked, oppa.” “Then let’s find out, baby,” you whisper right into her ear.

As horny as you are, you don’t forget to ask for consent if you can take her to the bedroom, and only after she says yes that you lift her by her thighs and make your way there. “Do you sleep with girls often, oppa?” You shake your head. “I haven’t gotten in a relationship in years, actually.” “You must have a huge load for me, huh?” “You know it, baby.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed with Seulgi on your lap. “Hey, baby,” your tone is relaxed and soft, “look, before we start—” She interrupts you by placing a finger on your lips. “I consent, I want to be with you, and I love you.” You chuckle. “Well, that will do the trick.”

Seulgi lets her jacket fall onto the floor, and only now that you can see her curves properly. “My fucking God,” you exclaim, “fuck, I wish I had the words for this.” “I’m not even naked yet.” “Yeah, well, what are you waiting for?” She slaps your chest lightly. “I’m waiting for you to shut up.”

Your jaw drops when Seulgi takes off her top; her tummy looks so firm, her tits that are covered in black tight bra look so soft and full, and her neck looks like the perfect spot for hickeys. “God damn,” you wipe the drool off your lips, “aren’t you God’s most perfect creation.” She slaps you in the chest again. “Normally, I wouldn’t tolerate someone talking about me like that, but you’re my exception tonight.” Your eyes that have been roaming wildly all over her body shift to meet hers. “Just tonight? I thought we wanted to keep seeing each other?” “Well, actually,” she puts up a finger, “whether we can see each other again will depend on your, erm, performance.”

You have Seulgi sit on the bed so that you can undress. “My performance, huh?” You can see a mix of excitement and nervousness in her face. “I’ll show you.” You quickly get rid of your clothes, thus allowing Seulgi to have a look at the excellent physique you’ve maintained for God-knows-how-long. “Goodness me,” she bites her bottom lip sexily, “so that’s what you’ve been hiding from me.”

Seulgi stands closely in front of you and places her hands on your shoulders. “May I?” You express your consent with a nod, and that is when she begins running her hands all over your torso. “Do these girls know that you’re this sexy, because they’re missing out big time.” You chuckle. “I’m the sole reason that I’m not in a relationship—those women out there have nothing to do with it.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

Seulgi’s eyes land on your cock. “Oh, speaking of big,” she reaches for the half-erect, half-limp shaft that’s dangling between your legs. “Say, how many girls have you torn in half with this, oppa, hm?” You laugh as your ego inflates. “You’d be the second.” It’s Seulgi’s turn to laugh. “You’re underestimating me if you think that I won’t be able to take you.”

Your heart beats faster when Seulgi kneels in front of you while her hands are still wrapped around your cock. “Oh, this will be a tight fit,” she comments. Before taking you in her mouth, she stretches her mouth first, making these funny expressions as she does. She catches you grinning and hits you on the thigh. “Don’t.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I know that face—that’s the I-can’t-wait-to-fuck-this-girl face.” You shrug. “I mean, can you blame me?”

Seulgi doesn’t answer your question with words and instead parts her mouth to let your cock in, and the first contact makes your knees weak. “Oh, God, baby,” you’re running out of breath already. You gasp sharply when more of your shaft enters her mouth, and it’s getting really difficult to stay upright. You feel her soft hands on your thighs as she fights her gag reflex to get as much of your length in her mouth as she can.

The gurgling sound that enters your ears when Seulgi removes you from her mouth is nasty but arousing. “D-did you like that, daddy?” You nod feebly. “You want to fuck my face, or no?” You take a few deep breaths to collect yourself. “No, baby; I don’t want to do it rough on our first date.” Seulgi shows you this gorgeous combination of lip and eye smile that you’re seeing for the first time tonight. “That’s sweet of you.”

You pull her onto her feet and invite her to lie in bed with you. “Can I ask how many guys have been rough with you?” “One,” she says. “I hope it wasn’t on your first date.” She smiles a little. “It was, but not on the first round.” You stay silent as your eyes are locked with hers. “What’s wrong, oppa?” The smile on your face is a gentle one. “I just can’t see myself going hard on you, baby; I feel like you deserve soft sex all the time.”

Seulgi rubs your face gently. “That’s sweet, but you have nothing to worry about; I can take whatever you send my way.” “Vanilla is what I’m sending your way tonight, baby.” Seulgi chuckles, and the way it hits your face makes you shiver. “You’re going to make me cry if you keep talking like that.” You place a hand on her cheek and rub it with your thumb. “I swear on everything I have, baby, that you’ll be crying for all the right reasons with me.”

“I’ll hold you to that, my love.”

With a warm heart, you pull her into a kiss, and you wholeheartedly hope that Seulgi can feel the tender love you have for her.

“Take me, love; make me yours,” she whispers softly. You roll over so that you’re on top of her. “Your pants are in the way,” you crack a little joke, and you’re successful in making her laugh. “Do something about it, please—pretty please?” “Oh, you’re pretty, alright.”

You move backwards a bit until her crotch is right in front of your face. “May I?” “Yes, you may.” You unlatch the metal button of her pants and undo the zipper. You then continue to drag her pants down her legs until they’re properly off. Seulgi also cooperates by taking off her panties—that has a wet spot in the center—herself.

You give her pussy a little peck (thus earning a cute little moan) before returning to your previous position on top of her. “Show me how much you love me.” You peck her on the lips once. “Gladly, baby.”

With your cock in one hand, you guide yourself to enter her warm pussy, and Seulgi immediately lets out a long moan because of the first contact. “You make me feel like this is my first time, oppa.” “With me, this is your first time, and I’ll be your last because you’re not leaving me ever.” “Are you that sure about us?” “Yes, baby, so God help me.”

You see that Seulgi’s dams are threatening to burst, so before it does, you distract her by pushing your cock deep into her. “I’ll be the best girlfriend for you, oppa—no one else deserves me like you do.” You silence her with a soft shush. “Let’s focus on us right now, baby.”

Seulgi holds you tightly, locking you in place close to her but still gives you enough space to keep moving your hips. She wants to express how safe and loved she feels in your arms, but her lips are busy moaning. “I know you can’t hear me, but I love you,” her heart says. “I know you can’t hear me, but I want to be with you for a long, long time.” A particularly deep thrust disrupts her train of thoughts, making her hide her face in the crook of your neck. “I love you, Kang Hyunwoo—I love you so much.”

At one point in her life, Seulgi heard that the heart controls the mind, and the mind controls the body. Right now, all her heart wants is to show you just how much she appreciates you—how much she appreciates this new relationship that she’s building with you. Without too much convincing, her mind agrees with the idea and, in turn, signals to her body that she’s highly enjoying this hot sensuality you’re offering her.

“L-love,” she calls to you, “I-I won’t last long.” “That’s fine, baby.” Your deep voice in which your reply is said sends goosebumps all over her body. “I don’t want you to last too long anyway,” she hears you say. “Y-you don’t?” Seulgi feels a sudden peck on her lips. “You finishing early would mean that you could feel my love, and that’s what I’m aiming for right now.”

Seulgi’s moans become more frequent as she inches closer to the checkered line. “Love me, oppa—love me, love me,” she chants into your ears. She gets ecstatic when the pace of your thrusts grows faster. “Yes, just like that, oppa.”

“Can you feel that?”

"Damn right I can.”

“Then give it to me, oppa; I deserve it.”

“Oh, yes, you do.”

Seulgi is the first one to crack, announcing her orgasm with a scream from the top of her lungs. “Oh, what an amazing girl,” you praise her while petting her head gently. “You’re such an amazing girl, aren’t you, baby?” She keeps squirming around in your arms as she rides the high of orgasm, moaning freely as she does.

You keep whispering sweet words as you wait for her to calm down, and finally, after what felt like forever, she’s now able to speak coherently again. “I-I love you,” she’s out of breath now, “I-I want no one else but you.” You spray kisses all over her sweaty face. “I love you more, baby.” Seulgi giggles a little. “Y-you’ll give me your load if you really love me.” “One second, baby; let’s calm down first.”

Soon, Seulgi signals that she’s ready to help you get to the finish line and asks that you resume your thrusts. “Don’t forget to cum inside, love.” Initially, you hesitate, but she repeats the line, and it’s clear that you have no other option. “As you wish, baby.”

Apparently, you were only a few pumps away from orgasm, thus busting deep into her after a handful of them. “Oh, fuck, that’s so warm.” You hit her cheek very, very gently. “No profanity during vanilla, please.” “S-sorry, b-but you’re so warm in me, love.” You kiss her fleetingly. “That’s just how much I love you.”

“The court hereby orders the defendant to pay 200.000 in fine and do 10 hours of community service.” The judge slams her hammer on the round pad repeatedly, thus officially passing the sentence for Seulgi’s crime that thankfully has been deemed as minor after considering the severity of it and her previously clean record. “The officer may escort the defendant out of the courtroom.”

You make your way towards your girlfriend as she stands up and place a hand on her cuffs. “Time to go, miss,” you whisper. Seulgi simply nods and starts walking to wherever you’re taking her.

You see that there’s an empty room on the first floor of the courthouse, so you open the door and enter with Seulgi. You take your hat off and put it on the table while she takes a seat on one of the available chairs. “Love, I can’t pay that,” you can already hear the anxiety and fear in her voice, “shit, had I had money, I wouldn’t have stolen.”

There’s no CCTV in this room, but there are see-through glass panes on the wall to your right, so you can’t touch her no matter how much you want to.

“I have money, baby.” You’re sure that Seulgi understands what you’re talking about.

“B-but I can’t do that.”

“You either take my money or go to jail for failing to pay—the choice is yours.”

It doesn’t take long for Seulgi to make up her mind.

“Erm, I-I’ll take your money; I don’t think I have other options.”

Now that the two of you have come to an agreement, you ask Seulgi to stand up again so that you can take her to the bank to pay her fine. You maintain character from the moment you exit the little meeting room until you’re hidden in the privacy of the police Sonata you’re assigned to.

“So, here’s the game plan, baby,” you start, “I will give you this card, and you’ll withdraw 200.000 and use it to pay the fine.” You don’t see her reaching out a hand, and that is when you remember that her hands are still cuffed behind her back. “Oh, I forgot about that—I’ll let you go when we get to the bank, okay?” Seulgi laughs. “I was starting to think that you had a bondage kink.” You look away to hide your smirk. “Maybe we’ll find out soon.”

After a short drive, you arrive at the bank with Seulgi.

You look at her through the rear-view mirror; with her wrists restrained behind her back, you have unrestricted view of her plump tits that you love so much. “I know you’re looking at my tits, you pervert,” she calls you out and sticks out her tongue in playful mockery. “You know I can’t keep my hands off the cookie jar.”

You get out of the car and open Seulgi’s door—wait, why does she look weak?

“You alright?”

She shakes her head, and you can’t help but scratch your head in confusion.

“I need some vitamin D, and I’m not talking about the substance.”

“Then let’s go in there, pay this God damn fine, and go home, hm?”

“I can’t,” she shifts a little to show you her bound wrists, “daddy is tying me down.”

You pinch her on the thigh.

“Let’s not play around too much right now, Miss Kang.”

After freeing Seulgi from the cuffs, you hand her your card and head inside, and you almost forgot that you can’t be seen holding hands with her while you're in uniform.

“Good afternoon,” Seulgi greets the staff member, “my name is Kang Seulgi, and I’m here to pay a fine.” The staff asks Seulgi about some things to confirm her identity and the sum that needs to be paid, and after everything is verified, Seulgi hands your card to the staff so that the payment can be processed. After a brief moment, “The payment has been verified, and this is your receipt.” From where you’re standing, you notice the way Seulgi’s body relaxes as she takes the receipt and card from the staff. “Thank you.”

Seulgi sighs deeply in relief and offers her wrists to be cuffed again, but at this point, it’s no longer necessary—in fact, it hasn’t been necessary since you left the courthouse, but she doesn’t know that. “You’re free to go, Miss Kang,” you say, back in character. “Oh, really? Is that it?” You nod. “Aside from the community service, you are now a free woman.”

Seulgi asks you to follow her outside, and it appears that she wants to get back in the car for some privacy.

“Love,” she calls to you from the back seat, “thank you for everything, seriously.” You smile gently. “Of course, baby; now promise me that you won’t steal again, okay? Come to me whenever you need anything, and I mean anything.”

Your heart is promptly filled with warmth when she hugs you from behind. “Never thought I’d date a cop, but here I am.” You chuckle. “I bet you thought that you’d end up with some rich guy.” “No,” she denies, “those guys are fake; they probably just want my money or my body.” “I mean, you do have a body that guys would kill just to have a chance to lay with you.” “Yeah, well, they’re not getting me ever—I’m yours now, remember?”

Usually, you have nothing to be excited about or look forward to when you get home after a shift, but now that you have Seulgi living with you full time, you’re always excited to go home, and it is no different today.

The way your heart is beating with excitement has your finger trembling as you enter the passcode to your apartment, and when you open the door, you’re instantly met with your girlfriend who has the beautiful grin and eye smile that you adore so much.

“Welcome home, love!” Seulgi greets you with open arms, and you waste little time to fill the space between them. “How was your day?” You let out a deep sigh to show how tired you are. “It was pretty exhausting, actually; I had to train shooting and worked out after that.” Seulgi turns her head to the side and gestures at the kitchen. “I may have some food for you.”

Seulgi drags you towards the dining table, thus showing you the table that has two bowls of tteokbokki on it. Based on how it’s presented, you estimate that she must’ve cooked this herself. “Oh my, thanks a lot, baby.” She gets on her tippy toes to peck you on the forehead. “Thank you for coming home—your timing was perfect, by the way.” “I’ve heard that before in my life.”

Seulgi pulls back a chair for you to sit on. “Let’s eat quickly, love, and then we’ll talk.” Your heart rate spikes for a moment. “Am I in trouble?” She shrugs. “I don’t know—are you?” “I don’t think so, but maybe I’ve missed something.”

You stare blankly at the bowl in front of you as you try to figure out if you’ve done anything wrong. Currently, there are two things in your head that might be the reason why she’s unhappy: you forgot to buy some eggs and instant noodles that she had asked for yesterday, and on the following morning, you rejected her offer to do a quick one.

Seulgi saves you from drowning in your own thoughts by placing her hands on yours. “Hey, now,” her voice is so soft, “I was just playing, love; you’re not actually in trouble. “I’ll buy you those eggs after this,” you blurt, and the suddenness of it makes your girlfriend burst out laughing. “Oh, don’t worry about them.”

She picks up a piece of tteokbokki with her chopsticks and invites you to do the same, so you do just that. There’s a bit of unease in the back of your mind that leads you to scratching your nape. “Thank you,” are the first words that leave your lips, and those are enough to make Seulgi smile. “You’re welcome, love,” she replies.

Like a cat, you shake your head rather violently to get rid of unnecessary thoughts in your head, and with renewed focus, you’re ready to take a bite of tteokbokki that you already know will blow your socks off. “Oh, I really like this, baby; this is really good,” you praise the fruit of her work. Seulgi blushes a little. “You always say that to everything I cook for you.” “You know how easy it is to please me—give me anything edible and I’ll say it’s good.” “But not eggplant.” “Anything but eggplant, yes.”

Seulgi says she wants to get a shower before going to bed, so after washing dishes with you, she makes her way towards the bathroom. “Join me,” she says as she jogs towards her destination. “Gladly.” You take the chance to undress yourself and put your equipment away while she’s off doing her business in the bathroom.

The door to the bathroom isn’t shut all the way, so you simply push it open, and that is when you see Seulgi standing under the shower, water flowing freely on her curves from top to bottom. After stopping the flow of water, she makes a “come here” gesture at you, and you waste little time to get close to her. “My, aren’t you God’s most perfect creation,” she recites your words from the first meeting. “Is it safe to say that we’re going to completely spend our batteries tonight and wake up late tomorrow?” Seulgi laughs. “You rejected me yesterday, didn’t you, love?” You answer in the form of a nod. “So, this is your chance to make things right with me, and you may start now.”

You take a few steps forward, thus making Seulgi step backwards until she’s pressed against the wall. “Vanilla, baby?” “No, daddy.” The name makes it obvious what she wants from you. “Safe word?” “Teddy.” You reject her choice because it sounds too similar to the kinky name. “Cookie, then.”

After agreeing on the choice of safe word, you quickly lean in for a kiss to kick things off, and as usual, Seulgi places her hands on your shoulders. “Tell me, daddy—what’s in that head of yours?” It’s a habit between the two of you to share each other’s plans before the actual sex to make sure you and her are on the same page. “Tell me your ideas first, baby.” Seulgi puts a finger on her chin. “Hmm, let’s see,” you can see the gears in her head spinning, “what about locking my wrists together, daddy?” You’re immediately sold on the idea. “Let’s do it, then.”

Seulgi gets down on her knees. “First, feed me your cock, daddy.” You hold your cock in one hand. “Choo-choo, the meat train is coming through.” Seulgi, who initially had her mouth open to take your cock, bursts out laughing. “Meat train? Really?” You pout a little. “Just play along, please.” “You’re so funny sometimes, daddy.”

“Only some—oh, God, fuck.”

You let out a profanity when Seulgi suddenly puts your cock in her mouth. “Oh, God, that never gets old.” You try your hardest to breathe at a normal pace as she begins moving her head along your length, and this is where you start regretting your decision to reject her offer to have sex yesterday. “Are you trying to make me pay for saying no, baby?” You grit your teeth in pain when she bites your cock slightly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You notice that she’s starting to pick up the pace, so you put a hand on the back of her head to prevent her from hitting the wall. “Relax, baby; you’re going to make me bust if you don’t slow down.” She doesn’t listen to you and keeps the fast pace—at least that’s the case until the tip of your cock hits an odd spot in her throat, thus making her gag. As soon as you pull out of her mouth, Seulgi begins coughing violently. “You’re okay, baby,” you say repeatedly while petting her head softly.

“100 days together and I still can’t take you deep,” she says, seemingly disappointed in herself. “That’s okay; I’m not mad or anything like that,” you assure her, but it appears that she doesn’t want to hear it. “That doesn’t mean that I get to slack off,” she argues. You deny her attempt at taking you in her mouth for the second time by gripping her hair. “No, no, no, let’s have a timeout first.”

You leave Seulgi seated on the bathroom floor to get a towel to dry her body with. “You want to move, don’t you, daddy?” You nod. “You’re my girlfriend, so let me treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” Seulgi rarely blushes, but this is one of those times where she feels like she can’t help it. “Am I lucky to have you, daddy, or are you lucky to have me?” The question sounds like a test, but you still answer properly from the bottom of your heart. “From my perspective, it’s me that’s so lucky to have you. If you think that you’re lucky to have me, then that’s a huge honor for me.”

You sit in the center of the bed with Seulgi still in your arms and are ready to have sex, but it changes when she begins tearing up. “Are you okay, baby?” She fans her face with her hands to get herself together. “Oh, don’t worry; these are tears of joy.” You’re glad that your nails aren’t long because you’re now able to wipe her tears without worrying about scratching her. “I promised you that you’ll be crying for the right reasons, didn’t I, baby?”

“I-I don’t know if I can continue, daddy—I’m sorry,” she’s still unable to stop crying. You chuckle. “Tell me how I’m supposed to be rough with a softie like you, baby, hm?” “Well, y-you’re supposed to be mean and dominant.” “I can’t be mean to you, can I, my love?” The way you say the last two words must’ve triggered something in her heart, because her cries grow louder than before. “Oh, I’m so sorry—look, I’ll get you some ice cream, okay?”

You rush to the kitchen quickly to get a cup of strawberry ice cream for her, and when you return to the bedroom, Seulgi is curled up in the middle of the bed. “Seulgi-yah, my love,” you tap her thigh to get her attention, “do you want some?” “Y-yes.” Once she’s seated, you move to sit behind her and have her lean against your body. “Look at this, baby,” you open the lid for her, “it looks so tasty, don’t you think?” “A-and soft like me,” she adds.

You take a spoonful of ice cream and guide it to her waiting mouth, repeating it a few more times until Seulgi says stop. “You know,” she says, “I remember overhearing a guy talk about how he fantasized about fucking me hard like a cheap slut.” Your brain starts getting filled with anger, because what the fuck kind of fantasy is that. “Really?” She nods. “H-he said he’d tie me down and fuck my ass.” “I don’t mean to prod too much, but have you taken a penis in your ass?” Seulgi shakes her head. “I’m naughty but not that naughty.”

You feed her another spoonful of ice cream as you think about her words. “Can I ask who this guy was and how you overheard him?” “H-he was, erm, a fellow trainee, a-and I happened to be walking past a room he was in when he said it out loud.” You’re very baffled; if he was a fellow trainee, that means that he was around Seulgi’s age, and for someone that young to have that sort of fantasy sounds nasty. “He didn’t debut, did he, because there are many male celebrities from your old label.” Seulgi shakes her head again. “He didn’t make the final debut lineup.” Hearing her answer makes you let out the biggest sigh of relief in your recent memory.

You have a few sentences in your head that you hope will convince Seulgi that you’re not that type of person, but after the first sentence leaves your lips, she won’t let you continue. “I can tell from day one what type of person you are behind your façade.” You scratch your head in confusion. “Am I that easy to read?” She chuckles. “I’ll say that your book was a bit open.”

The ice cream has run out, but thankfully, Seulgi is no longer crying. You put the small wooden spoon in the empty cup and put them on the bedside table. “I hope I helped you feel better,” you say. “I mean, I wasn’t sad necessarily, but you did help a lot.” She moves to sit on your lap after freeing herself from your arms.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Seulgi grins, satisfied with your quick answer. “Are you down to make some promises?” “Let’s do it.”

Seulgi asks you to go first, so you say the first thing that comes up in your head. “Promise me that you won’t leave me when you’ve got back on your feet.” “Excuse me?” You sigh deeply. “You met me when you were in a rough spot, and I sincerely hope that you won’t leave me when… you know, you’re in a better situation—maybe when you get a job or something like that.” She holds your face with her soft hands. “No, I will never do you like that—I’m here right now because of you, love.” “So, you promise?” She nods rapidly to show seriousness, and seeing it warms your heart. “Thank you, baby.”

Seulgi looks away momentarily. “I had something in my head, but you threw me off.” You stay silent to see if she manages to find something for you. “Okay, how about this,” she says, “promise me that you’ll propose to me and make me yours.” Your eyebrows rise involuntarily. “Propose to you? Are you that sure—” “Yes,” she interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. “You’re law enforcement, so what better way is there for us other than to formalize our relationship in the eyes of the law?” The phrasing makes you want to laugh, but your brain manages to stifle you from actually laughing, citing inappropriate timing. With that, your response is, “We’ll work on it, love.”

Seulgi quickly shifts to get on her knees in front of you. “Fuck everyone else; I’m the only one for you, and you’re the only one for me.” You rub her cheek gently. “What are you talking about, love?” Instead of answering your question, she repeats her line. “Love, seriously, what are you talking about?” “My ex,” her answer is a short one. “Why are you thinking about him?” She looks at you dead in the eyes, and you swear there is smoke coming out of her ears. “I’m not—if anything, I wish I could erase him from my memory.”

You don’t know how to react to that aside from saying that he’s completely irrelevant in your and Seulgi’s lives. “Please don’t bring him up again,” you say sternly. “Yes, daddy.” She must be in the same head space as before when the two of you were in the bathroom. “Oh, you’re saying it again, huh?” She palms your limp cock. “You distracted me with that ice cream, but now I’m ready.” You run a thumb on her cheek. “You were literally in tears and said you couldn’t continue—how could I have ignored that?” “Yeah, well, that’s now in the past,” she deflects, “let’s focus on the here and now, daddy.”

Seulgi crawls backwards until your cock is right in front of her eyes. “Oh, you’re so hard already.” “How can I not when my beautiful wife is naked in front of me like this?” She grins. “I’m your wife?” “Yes, you are—also, it’s not like there’s anyone else in this room, is it?” “There’s no one else in this room aside from the two of us, and there’s no one else in my life aside from you, daddy.”

Without breaking eye contact, Seulgi eases your cock into her mouth, wasting little time to start things off. She then grabs your hand and places it on the back of her head. “Ah, of course, how could I forget?” You start petting her head gently. “You like this, don’t you, baby?”

You make sure the praises keep flowing out of your lips without obstruction as your soon-to-be wife moves her head back and forth along your shaft. “God, you’re amazing at this, baby.” Enticed by your words and the pets on the back of her head, Seulgi picks up the pace, thus filling the bedroom with slurps and other sounds that escape her mouth that only add to your arousal. “I’m starting to think that you like my dick more than that ice cream,” you quip.

Before long, Seulgi removes you from her mouth to come up for air. “You know, I’m curious what it’d be like if I could take your whole dick in my mouth.” You take a rough measurement of your cock with your palm and estimate how far your cock would go. “The tip would be in your throat, baby.” She licks her lips, curious about how that would feel like. “Can I try?” You shake your head. “I don’t want to suffocate you with my penis,” you reason.

You invite Seulgi to sit on your lap after closing your thighs, but instead of simply straddling them like you hoped, she puts your cock in her pussy first before actually sitting on your lap, thus forcing the two of you to moan in reflex. “You like that, daddy?” “How can I not when you’re this tight?” Seulgi rewards your good answer with a fleeting kiss. “At what age do you think we’ll stop having sex, daddy?” You shrug. “I don’t know—60, maybe?” “I doubt it; with your physique, you’d be able to fuck me until we’re 80.”

You want to say something else, but your train of thoughts got derailed when Seulgi starts moving her hips. “I-I’ll stay tight for you, daddy, even if we have a lot of children.” “I don’t doubt it,” you’re getting breathy.

Without command, Seulgi picks up the pace to the maximum that she can do, her sexy moans flying out her lips without rest. It is when you take her tits in your hands that her moans get louder. “S-suck them, p-please.” You do as she asks and put one breast in your mouth while stimulating the other with your hand. “Yes, like that, daddy—suck my tits like our future children would.”

It's not fair for you to only stimulate one breast, so you let go of the first one to make room for the other. You keep sucking until you notice that Seulgi slows down. In retaliation, you lightly bite and pinch her nipples. “Oh, God, don’t do that,” she jolts, “l-look, I-I’ll start again.”

Seulgi eventually pushes you away from her plump breasts and falls backwards onto the bed. “I-I’m tired—y-you’ll need to fuck me this time,” she says between heavy pants. You don’t bother waiting for her to calm down, opting to start again right away to ensure maximum stimulation.

Initially, you’re holding Seulgi by her legs as you’re thrusting into her, but as time goes on, you’re starting to fold her legs over her body. “Fuck me, daddy—fuck me nice and fast,” she eggs you on. You fasten your grip on her ankles as you prepare to give her your absolute everything, and not too long after you’ve started, Seulgi is reduced to moans and screams as her eyes are rolling backwards.

All you can think about right now is how wet and tight— “D-daddy,” she snaps you out of your horny trance, “I, I—c-cum, daddy.” You quickly pull out of her pussy and aggressively rub her clit, thus making her scream. “D-daddy,” her orgasm is getting so close, “I-I’m—your fingers, daddy, fuck!” “Cum, baby; cum for daddy,” you urge her.

With an ear-piercing scream, Seulgi explodes, soaking the bed with her juice. Once she’s done squirting, you drag her around and position her until her legs are dangling off the edge of the bed. “You want to be tied?” Seulgi nods slightly. “Then tied you will be.” You grab a pair of handcuffs from your equipment holster and lock her wrists together with them. “Are you ready to go again, though?” She nods again. “Fuck me, papi.” Hearing the new name makes you chuckle. “One day, we’ll sit down and talk about our kinks, okay?”

Seulgi moans when your shaft enters her again and screams when your palm lands on her butt. “You’re fucking naughty, aren’t you?” “Y-yes, officer.” You spank her once more. “That’s inspector to you, Miss Kang—or papi, like you said yourself.”

You fix your hands on her waist as you fuck her tirelessly from behind, her butt cheeks bouncing around as your hips crash into them. You notice that her small, puckered ring keeps peaking at you every now and then, and an idea enters your mind: what if you put a finger in there?

You coat your thumb with spit to prepare it for a brave adventure to a brand-new world that is her asshole. Seulgi jolts when she feels your thumb in the entrance of her forbidden hole. “D-daddy, gently, please,” she begs, but instead of getting an assurance that you’ll indeed be gentle, she gets a spank on the butt instead. “You’re mine, slut.” You feel a hint of guilt for calling her with such a pejorative name, but you’re half certain that she’ll understand considering the current situation.

Seulgi grits her teeth as her asshole stretches to accommodate your thumb. “How are we feeling?” “G-good—oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” She begins squirming around when she feels your thumb moving in and out of her asshole. You don’t give her a chance to breathe as you opt to start fucking her again with your thumb still stuck in her ass.

Amidst her endless moans, a thought enters Seulgi’s mind: should she let you fuck her ass?

“Maybe I should.”

“Fuck, it’ll hurt so bad, though.”

“So what? He’ll be the first and last.”

“But he’ll stretch me like crazy.”

“Let him claim you.”

Her conversation with herself ends when she feels that your thumb is no longer lodged in her ass. She gathers her strength to turn her head towards you to look at you. “D-daddy,” her voice is barely heard.

“Yes, baby?” You couldn’t hear what she just said, so you lean forwards and ask her to say it again. “F-fuck my ass, daddy.”

Your eyes widen in shock; did she just ask to be fucked in the ass?

“You’re a virgin there, though, no?” Your answer is some feeble nods. “I-I couldn’t bleed for you, s-so claim my ass a-and make me yours.”

You pull out of her pussy so that you can address this further. “Baby, you know I have no problem with not being your first.” “J-just do it, daddy—l-let me show you exactly h-how much I love you.” “Are you sure?” “Y-yes,” she answers briefly. You ask once more and get the same answer, so you know that her mind is made up. “Safe word?” “C-cookie,” it appears that she hasn’t forgotten it. “Alright, let’s do it, then.”

It is when you’re back in your previous position that you realize you need something to make it hurt less for Seulgi. An idea pops in your head: “Her pussy will be able to coat me,” you think. You plunge into her pussy again and pump a few times until your cock is shiny because of her juice. For extra measure, you also coat your cock with a lot of spit.

“I’m ready, baby—are you?” She nods. “Claim me,” she repeats. “Stop saying it like that,” you protest. “J-just give it to me, please.”

Seulgi gasps when the tip of your cock touches her puckered ring. “Gently, love—I’m begging you,” she begs, changing the callout name for good measure. She inhales sharply when the tip of your cock stretches her virgin ass. “Please be gentle,” her voice starts to crack, and it’s understandable, too; this is her first time after all.

You push forwards into her ass every odd second to not hurt her even more. Seulgi turns her head towards you, thus showing you the pooling tears in her eyes. “P-please tell me I’m doing well,” she says. “You are, baby; you’re doing so well right now,” you assure her, your hips still. It hurts your heart seeing your beloved woman be in tears like that, but it was her idea to give her ass to you, her beloved man, with whom she wants to have a life with.

“Love, take me.”

Using her urge as fuel, you begin moving your hips back and forth, thus properly and officially taking her anal virginity.

“Does it hurt so bad still?” “Y-yes, b-but it’s fine—t-this is what I want,” Seulgi deflects. You take a few deep breaths to focus your mind on the task. “Alright, I’ll try moving now, okay?”

You maintain this relaxed pace as Seulgi’s muscles adapt to your intrusion, and slowly but surely, moans begin streaming out of her lips. “That’s better, love.” You place your hands on her butt cheeks to caress them. “You’re incredibly tight, baby.” “T-that’s—AH!” A particular thrust makes Seulgi scream. “T-that’s your proof that I-I’m a virgin there.” “I never asked for proof, but thank you, my love.”

Your orgasm approaches at an alarming rate with every thrust of your hips. On one hand, you’re happy, because it means that Seulgi won’t have to suffer for too long. On the other, you’re worried that she’ll be disappointed by your performance tonight. There is one way to make sure, and that is to simply ask. “Love, can I cum?” She nods. “S-sooner than later, please, daddy.” “Brace yourself, baby—feel free to tap out, though.”

After delivering a warning, you pick up the speed, fucking her ass fast like it was her pussy, and Seulgi immediately sinks her face into the bed to muffle her voice. You instinctively spank her, thus forcing another scream from her, but regret it right away. “Fuck, sorry, baby; force of habit,” you say, apologetic.

You can feel the way your cock is throbbing in her ass—orgasm must be very close. “Baby, I’m—” “Do it, daddy—f-fill my ass.” “Alright, okay.”

You leave the entirety of your cock lodged in her ass as you blow semen deep into it, thus officially marking the end of this painful first-time. After you’re done filling her, you retreat out of her ass, and after blinking a few times, her asshole properly closes, locking your cum inside.

You grab the cuffs’ key so that you can unlock them, and after she’s free, you flip Seulgi onto her back and pull her into an embrace. “It hurt, didn’t it, love?” “Y-yes, but I’m yours now.” You put on a gentle smile for her. “Thank you so much, love—I love you.”

You’re back in bed after a long shower with Seulgi, and what’s left for you to do is to take care of her, which consists of several non-skippable steps.

First, you hold her tightly.

Second, you say, “Love, thank you so much, seriously,” to express gratitude and appreciation.

Third, you come in for a kiss—one that is passionate to support your words.

“Don’t leave me now, love.” “How can I leave you when I’m so in love with you?” Seulgi lets out a tiny chuckle. “Are you in love with me or my body?” The question offends you a touch. “Surely you don’t think that low of me.”

Seulgi shuffles around rather wildly. “Are you okay?” She huffs in frustration. “You’re not close enough.” You laugh. “Our skin is literally touching, baby.” “No, not enough.”

Seulgi mounts your lap and puts your semi-hard cock in her pussy. “Oh, there we go.” You tease her by thrusting upwards but earn a slap on the chest in response. “Don’t—I’m already so sore.” “Are we sleeping like this, then?” She nods against your cheek. “If you wake up first tomorrow, feel free to fuck me and cum inside.”

You chuckle. “That’d be a crazy way to start the day.”

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #red velvet smut

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