#i feel as though my heart has been ripped open | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saetoru · 1 year ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on.

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend.

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned.

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast.

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up.

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek.

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand.

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway.

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that.

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake.

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.”

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit.

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself.

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness.

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench.

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him.

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.”

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself.

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with?

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him.

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded.

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings.

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too.

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well.

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend.

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings.

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted.

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself.

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on.

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole.

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands.

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know.

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn.

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff.

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away.

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here.

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him.

“why did you leave me?” he asks.

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists.

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love.

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days.

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly.

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out.

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead.

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head.

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying.

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight.

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper.

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray.

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion.

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could.

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt.

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you.

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating.

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known.

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him.

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

#teepods.writings #fics.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst

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devil-in-hiding · 3 months ago

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On The Run

Pt 3

At some point, Soap and Gaz fall asleep on the couch, sprawled across one another. Ghost is laid back in one of the recliners, struggling to keep his eyes open as Price’s voice lulls him to sleep from the kitchen.

You're not sure how long the two of you have sat here. It took Price an hour to finally open his mouth. He has hardly met your eye since he’s started talking, hands clasped together on top of the table.

The ache you felt in your chest for these men worsened the longer Price spoke. Proud military men, tired of seeing the monsters they hunted get slaps on the wrist for atrocious crimes. Making plea deals with lawyers, getting one way tickets into luxury cells when they should be six feet underground.

You don’t realise Price has stopped talking till Soap snores, causing Dixon to shuffle at your feet, all four dogs scattered around the kitchen floor. You look him over, taking in the man now that all his bravado has been drained, leaving only the raw human underneath. Blue eyes darkened by years on the force and then years behind bars, forced into proximity with the very animals he and his team longed to put down. You’re looking at a man who fought for what was right and when justice wasn’t served in a way he deemed fit, he settled it.

Price is staring down at his hands, and you’re worried he’s going to hurt himself with how vigorously he rubs his hands together. You don’t think, reaching across the table and grasping one of his hands in yours, running your thumb across scarred knuckles. “Don’t do that.” You scold, and his head whips up to stare at you, eyes wide, hopeful but hesitant.

He looks down at your hand holding his, then back at you. “You’re not…?” He trails off, clearing his throat as he sits up straighter, letting your palm slip into his. You’re not sure what word he was going to use, but you shake your head.

“I’m… I’m sorry you all had to…” You don’t finish your sentence, letting it hang in the air between you. You’re shocked to see tears pool at the corner of his eyes but he’s quick to blink them away.

“You’re not horrified by us?” He asks, and you can tell he’s trying to fight his voice from shaking. You clear your throat, but gently squeeze his hand when his grip loosens.

“You have done… horrible things. Inhumane things.” You start, trying to pick your words carefully as you scoot your chair closer to his. He watches you warily, but there is no denying the growing hope in those eyes. “But I couldn’t imagine seeing what you saw everyday. Hearing the things you’ve heard, having to keep that all to yourself. Seeing… monsters you’ve spent years tracking get served the minimum sentence with a cozy cell waiting for them.” His hand starts to shake, and your heart breaks seeing how hard he’s fighting back the tears pooling in his eyes. “We never would have actually hurt you, I swear on my life. We just… Fuck we had been running for fucking hours through those god damn trees and-“ His voice cracks, and you gently run your thumb over the back of his hand. “Why are you being so nice?” He almost spits the word, but his grip on your hand tightens.

Grounding.

“You did as I asked. You told me the truth.” You mirror his words from the barn, and he barks out a wet sounding laugh before covering his face with his free hand. “And you’re happy with that truth?”

“I’m happy you decided you could trust me enough with it.” You admit softly, and he stares into your eyes, and you don’t feel the need to look away this time. “Anyone else would have gone running for the hills.” He whispers, and you can’t help but smile.

“Not many places to run to, and if I’m telling the honest truth, there are worse things than killing human filth.” You shrug, and he lets out a bewildered laugh. “You can’t mean-“

“I do though. There are people in this world that don’t deserve the freedom they have, that have ripped apart the lives of others and continue living like they didn’t single-handedly ruin someone’s entire foundation.” Your words are a little more forceful than you intended, raw. And Price catches it, sitting up a little straighter, tugging your hand closer.

“You have your own monster, don’t you pretty?” He asks seriously, and you swallow, lowering your gaze to your clasped hands.

“I think that’s a story for another night.” You whisper, and you see him nod, before realization hits, and his eyes widen.

“You’re going to let us-“

“You are going to have to show me that I am not making a mistake by letting four wanted men stay in my house.” You interrupt him, but there’s a smile on your face. The next seconds are a blur and you suddenly find this giant of a man at your feet, kneeling in front of you and holding both your hands in his. His shoulders are shaking, head bent but you hear the hitch in his breath.

“Price..” You murmur, a little nervous but you slip your hands free, slowly running your fingers through his hair, and you hear the sob that leaves him. He bunches up the loose fabric of your sweats in his fist, and you can feel his tears starting to soak through.

“You are a good person.” He chokes out, looking up at you and the look on his face has tears of your own threatening to spill. He looks exhausted, like every ounce of his energy has finally been drained, years of enduring visceral human indecency ingrained into every part of his being. And yet he is gazing at you like you are the first glimpse of the sun after week long rainstorms, constant flooding and devastation, the light breaking through the clouds to spread warmth on a new day.

“You’re still a good person too.”

Those words linger in the air.

You lose track of time as you sit there, running your fingers through his hair, this man who you’ve never met, who invited himself into your home, but has bared the darkest corners of his soul to you all in one night. Grimes had made his way over at some point, staring at Price with a concerned tilt of his head. He never did like when you cried, and you can tell he’s desperate to try and comfort this strange man in his home. He lays besides him, paws outstretched, inching forward ever so slowly.

“He doesn’t like that you’re upset.” You mumble, watching the way his eyes snap over to Grimes. “Even though I terribly upset his mama earlier?” He mutters, he and Grimes staring at one another.

“Grimes has always been a big softy. Dixon is the one who’s gonna hold a grudge.” An answering ‘boof’ comes from beside you, Dixon plopping his head back on his paws after making his stance known.

Grimes scoots forward until he can rest his big head on Price’s lap, nuzzling down and looking up at him expectantly, and Price gives you a hesitant look. You just nod, smiling gently. “You’re gonna be staying with four of them, better get yourselves acquainted.”

“What in the bloody fuck did I miss?” A drowsy voice mutters from the doorway, and Ghost stands there, taking in the sight of Price kneeling before you, still clutching your sweatpants, and you can see the downturn of his lips through his mask when he notices the dried tears on Price’s cheek.

You gently pull Price’s hands off your sweats, and he looks as though you just took away his favorite treat. “I’ll go grab some fresh blankets.” You hum, face warming when you can feel both of their gazes on your back as you walk up the stairs.

“Wait, does that mean-“ You hear Ghost start, and you’re shocked to hear it so soft, but their words are lost as you turn down the hallway. You slip into the bedroom at the end of the hall, making quick work of dusting off the dresser and small TV, gently stacking a pile of clean sheets and towels. This room already had two beds, you just hoped they were big enough for these giant oafs.

You just about scream when a pair of hands grip your waist, and you whirl around. “Price you have got to stop grabbing me now- Oh.”

It was Ghost, eyes unreadable as he stares you down, and you clear your throat, loosening your grasp just a bit but still attempting to push him off.

“You scared me, you need to stop-“

“Thank you.” He interrupts, and your eyes widen as he pulls you closer.

“I- Well you’re welcome, I couldn’t just-“

“Yes you could. You could send out right back outside, hell you could get a goddamn brigade of officers here and you would be justified for it.” He shrugs, but you frown, shaking your head.

“No. From… from what Price told me, you all made your own choices to help those the governments deem lesser than them. You helped people who have watched law officials let them down again and again.” You state firmly, wincing slightly as you feel Ghost dig his fingers into your hips. “Easy.” You scold, and he immediately eases up, but doesn’t let go of you, keeping you pressed to him and your heart skips.

“I’ll just finish-“

“Whoever divorces such a sweet little bird must have absolute shit for brains.” Ghost states, quite confidently, and you can’t stop the shocked giggle that slips past. “Absolute fuckin idiot.”

“You can’t win me over with flattery you know.” You huff, but he sees right through you, dark eyes taking in your flustered expression, and you feel heat burn your cheeks as you avoid meeting his eye.

“Mmm, we’ll see about that. Think it’ll get me pretty damn far.” He grins, and you smack his hands before pausing.

“Wait.” You mutter, prying his right hand off of you and lifting it up, inspecting.

Your teeth made a pretty gnarly imprint, already scabbing. “Ah don’t worry about that. I deserved it.”

“C’mon you big idiot, before you let that thing get infected.” You order, pushing him towards the bathroom and he lets out a loud laugh, the sound causing butterflies to seize your stomach.

“Yes ma’am.”

#cod #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #tf 141 x reader #cod john price #cod gaz #cod ghost #cod soap

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ellecdc · 10 days ago

Note

I can’t find many fics with this…but would you maybe be willing to right poly marauders x werewolf reader?

Not in like a super angsty way. Maybe just like the morning after the full moon and Sirius and James are teasing reader and Remus because “you guys are like puppies chasing after bunnies.” Or maybe like prep for the moon and wow all the chocolate is gone it’s barely been a day.

I love this! thanks for the request, I hope I did it justice <3

poly!marauders x werewolf!reader post full-moon [836 words]

CW: fem!reader, post-moon care, werewolves being giant goofy baby dogs, James being doting, sirius being soft af [my kryptonite], Remus being stupid in love

His eyes - though obviously clear and clean of any blood, sweat, or debris - feel like they are crusted over. His chest feels like it’s being weighed down by a herd of erumpants. And his mouth tastes like acid and iron.

But the first thing from his mouth is the sound of your name as it rips through the sandpaper that's coating his throat, blindly feeling around on the bed whilst refusing to open his eyes.

“Easy, Rem.” James whispers, and Remus can feel gentle fingers card through his hair. “She’s okay.”

“Where is she?” Remus croaks, still blindly searching for you even though it has become clear Remus won’t find you there.

“She’s right here, Moons.” He hears Sirius murmur, further from him than James is, which makes him too far away.

Remus finally wrenches his eyes open and turns his head on his pillow, his neck cracking audibly as he finally spots the bed you’re situated in.

If Remus didn’t know better, he’d think it rather looked like Sirius was the one in the hospital wing; laying back on the bed, his head propped up comfortably on the stack of pillows meant for you whilst you were situated between his legs, your cheek smooshed up against his chest that rose and fell in time with his breathing.

But Remus does know better.

“What’re you doing in her bed?” Remus grumbles, but the inflection is more a result of his current state and less to do with any real ire. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit how sweet a picture it painted; Sirius’ onyx hair fanned out against the white of the pillow cases, the sun warming a few strands ever so slightly causing them to appear a chocolatey brown as your breathing continued in perfect rhythm. You seem so content, so secure, so loved that even whilst unconscious, you lean into them with your full trust.

“Same thing Jamie’s doing in yours.” Sirius responds breezily around a yawn, and Remus looks up to notice that James is actually perched on the head of his bed looking down at him - like he hung, well, the moon - massaging at his scalp that Remus swore saw any residual tension seeping from his body with every stroke of James’ careful fingers.

“She okay?” Remus asks then, letting his eyes fall closed as Sirius lets out a indignant scoff.

“‘Course she is, we’re not new here.” He sneers playfully at Remus, pulling you closer to him by the shoulders when you shift in your sleep and brushes his hand up and down your back in broad strokes; Remus is sure it feels heavenly.

“We’re fine too, by the way.” James teases as he leans down to press a kiss to Remus’ forehead. “Not like we were the ones doing all the hard work last night or anything.”

“Hard work.” Remus snorts. “I’m sorry; did your bones bend and break, and did your skin stretch and snap twice?”

“No…” James admits, though it’s Sirius who continues the banter.

“We were just in charge of chasing two giant, hyperactive puppies through the forest all night.”

“We’re not puppies.”

“Yes you are.” Sirius laughs, though Remus can tell - for Sirius’ part - he’s working very hard to dim his brightness in an attempt to keep you sound and not wake you. It makes Remus’ heart swell. “Dolly’s afraid of her own sodding shadow and yelped at every snapping twig, requiring plenty of reassurance, and Moony spent about twenty minutes chasing his own tail before he fell head first into a tree when he got dizzy.”

“That’s not true, is it?” Remus whispers to James who quickly offers him an apologetic smile.

“‘Fraid so, Moons. The two of you also had what I swore was a howling contest last night, too.”

“Oh my gods.” Sirius laughs as he recalls the memory. “Moony’s voice actually cracked like a teenage boy going through puberty, and Dolly’s voice was completely hoarse by the time we convinced the two of you to knock it off.”

“She’s not going to be able to speak more than a whisper for the next foreseeable future.” James adds, looking equal parts fond, exasperated, and sympathetic for you as they watch you push your face into Sirius’ chest.

“We’ll make her tea.” Sirius declares, his own voice but a whisper as he holds you close, eyes far away as if he’s focusing especially hard on keeping you comfortable and sleeping soundly.

“With lots of honey.” Remus agrees quietly, smile growing when Sirius’ eyes meet his and crinkle in the corners.

“Pandora told me she has a recipe for lavender tea; could be nice to try after a moon, hm?” James offers.

“You’d probably like that too, hey Moons? Lavender tea.” Sirius asks.

And Remus couldn’t deny that he would probably like just about anything so long as he was able to enjoy it with the three of you; pre- and post-moons, recovering in the hospital wing, watching paint dry, steeping tea…whatever.

“Yeah, Pads.” He admits. “I think I would.”

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ja3yun · 5 months ago

Text

The Doll House | Drabble: Kill for You

demon/doll!heeseung x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, no prep, handcuffs, blood kink, biting, death, gore, blood, knife, not-proofread, anything else lmk wc: 4.3k synopsis: when you wake up in hell handcuffed and scared, there is only one prince of hell that can save you a/n: based off this ask! this is just something quick i did and isn't my best but i have so many people asking for more tdh drabbles that i though i would cave <3 this one is not as bad as i think it is but there is a lot of blood and heeseung rips a man apart so...be warned. reblogs, likes, feedback, and comments are all welcome! (this could also be read as a stand alone?? idk)

the doll house masterlist

Your eyes flutter open, the lids heavy and sticky as if glued together. The throbbing in your head is relentless, a pounding pain that seems to echo in the very marrow of your bones. Your mouth is dry, parched as if you've been wandering in a desert, and the air is stifling, thick with a heat that makes it hard to breathe. The oppressive warmth is suffocating, pressing down on you with an intensity that speaks of more than just physical discomfort - it feels like the very essence of torment.

You try to lift a hand to your aching head, but your arm refuses to move. Panic sets in as you realise your wrists are restrained, bound by cold, unyielding metal. The sound of chains rattling echoes through the dimly lit room, a harsh realisation of your imprisonment. Your eyes dart upwards, following the chain to where your wrists are shackled to a pole above your head. The cuffs dig into your skin, a painful nip that serves as a concluding punctuation to your negative thoughts - somehow you’ve been kidnapped.

The heat is overwhelming, a furnace-like blaze that sears your skin and fills your lungs with each laboured breath. The air is thick with the acrid stench of sulphur and burning flesh, a scent that is all too familiar, a contrast between the land of the living and this infernal abyss floods back to you with terrifying clarity. You've been here before.

This is Hell.

The memory of past encounters with demons and the stark Your heart races, pounding against your ribcage as adrenaline surges through your veins. Each time you have been dragged to hell it has been at the hands of Heeseung, to show you his world or try and entice you into making a deal. Yet, he has never gone as far as this.

Every cell in your body screams for release, for salvation from this nightmarish reality. The heat seems to amplify your fear, each beat of your heart a desperate cry for help.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching, each one a heavy thud that reverberates through the chamber. The temperature seems to rise even further, if that's possible, and the smell intensifies, a rancid mix of decay and coal. The sound sends a new wave of dread coursing through you. You strain against your bonds, but the metal holds firm, cutting into your flesh.

“Heeseung, I swear this isn’t funny!” you shout as you hear him approach, ensuring your discontentment with his actions is conveyed.

The door creaks open, and in the dim light, a hulking silhouette appears. Much to your surprise and heartache, it isn’t Heeseung who strides through the doorway but rather someone else, a demon you presume, his eyes glowing with a malevolent light. His gaze locks onto you, burning with an intensity that matches the inferno around you. He moves closer, each step a reminder of your vulnerability, each moment a testament to your peril.

"Heeseung? Is that what he’s going by now?" The demon speaks with an uninterested sigh, his voice dripping with disdain.

The demon strides towards you in a lazy, almost leisurely manner, as though he has all the time in the world. With you locked up here, chained to a rusty pole, he might just have an eternity. Despite the terror gripping your heart, you can’t help but notice his appearance. The sight is far from unpleasant; his chiselled abs and defined v-line momentarily distract you. It’s a poor excuse, but in the face of such danger, you’re just a girl.

He stops before you, towering over your bound form, his presence overwhelming. The heat radiating from his body adds to the already suffocating warmth of the room. You can feel the tension in the air, a palpable mix of fear and fascination. The demon’s handsome features contrast starkly with the darkness of his intentions, a cruel reminder of your predicament.

"I do forget how easily impressed you humans are," he smirks, rubbing a hand over his toned stomach. "Do you like what you see? I wore it just for you."

You shudder at his words but can’t help a small, begrudging gratitude that at least his current human appearance is more settling than the hideous creature you imagine lurks beneath. In scenarios like this, you must take the good with the bad.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" The questions tumble out, driven by desperation. As far as you know, you’re insignificant to anyone but your two beautiful dolls back home.

The demon scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns his back on you. "Don’t flatter yourself. You hold nothing of value to me," he chides, his tone dripping with scorn. He licks his lips, then twists his head to look over his shoulder, his eyes piercing into yours. "But you mean a lot to someone I need to speak with."

You scrunch your brows in confusion, his statement only adding more questions. It can’t be Jaeyun he needs to gain the attention of—no one knows about him or his should-be guardian ways. Sunghoon is just a soldier, and most people believe he’s still locked away in his cell. That leaves Jongseong or Heeseung.

The demon picks something up from a table in the room and drifts back over to you, his eyes an eerie shade of red wine. The object glints ominously in the dim light, and your heart skips a beat as you realise it’s a dagger, its blade sharp and cruel.

“You see,” he says, his voice soft yet menacing, “sometimes, to get someone’s attention, you need to send a message they can’t ignore.”

Your pulse quickens, panic bubbling up inside you. “Who do you need to speak with?” you ask, your voice trembling.

The demon chuckles darkly, tracing the blade of the dagger along your cheek, not cutting but letting the cold metal press against your skin. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough. Just know that your pain will be his torment.”

The cryptic words hang in the air, each one a dagger of its own, slicing through your hopes. The demon’s intentions are clear: you are a pawn in a game of unimaginable stakes, a tool to be used and discarded. And as the heat of the room continues to rise, your desperation grows, knowing that every passing moment draws you closer to a fate you can’t escape.

There is a nauseous feeling in your body, your chest heaving with the rapid beat of your heart as the demon brings the blade to your arm, pressing deep into your flesh. The sharp pain sears through you, and a scream rips from your throat, echoing through the hellish chamber. Blood wells up around the blade, trickling down your skin and staining the metal a dark crimson.

The demon watches with a twisted satisfaction, his eyes glinting with delight. But just as he seems ready to inflict more pain, the door swings open with a casual creak, and Heeseung strolls in, his presence commanding and nonchalant.

"Lay another mark on her, I dare you," Heeseung says, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge.

Heeseung’s words exhibit boredom as if your life isn’t on the line. Yet, you know him well enough now to recognise that the darting of his doll-like eyes from your face to your injury is enough to show you he cares; he wouldn’t be here otherwise.

Instinctively, your body tries to run to the comfort of Heeseung despite his unkindness to you in the past. Even if he has instilled fear in your body, manipulating and coaxing you to do things you wish never to speak of, he is still a place of solace, your body and soul drawn to him as though he were a magnetic field.

“I was wondering if you would show,” the demon smiles widely, a stark contrast to the sadistic pleasure he showed with you moments ago.

“I’m not here for you; I’m here for my girl,” Heeseung explains casually, shrugging his shoulders. Yet, you don’t miss the tensed fists just behind his back. It makes your heart skip a beat to know that somewhere in that non-existent heart of his, he cares and will try his best to get you out of this.

Amusingly nodding, the demon chuckles lowly. “I know, this pretty little thing was the only way to reach you. She calls and you answer, how cliché.”

Heeseung's gaze sharpens, his eyes narrowing as he steps forward, a slow and deliberate movement that radiates power. "You’ve had your fun. Now it’s over. Release her, and I might consider letting you leave here in one piece."

The demon’s smile falters for a moment, but he quickly recovers, trying to maintain his bravado. “And if I don’t? What then, Heeseung? Are you going to risk everything for this human?”

Heeseung’s eyes flash with a dangerous light. “You misunderstand the situation. It’s not a risk for me; it’s a certainty for you. Lay another mark on her, and you’ll find out exactly what happens when someone crosses me.”

The demon hesitates, the confidence draining from his face. He glances at you, bound and injured, and then back at Heeseung, weighing his options. The room grows unbearably tense, the oppressive heat pressing down on you like a physical weight. You’ll never complain about a sauna ever again.

The blood from your arm drips onto the floor with each passing moment, your eyes pleading with Heeseung to make all of this end as quickly as possible. A small smirk flashes on his face and disappears just as quickly, assuring you that he has a plan.

When the demon makes no move, Heeseung speaks up again, his voice deadly calm. “Tell me why you’ve called me here before I tear you apart.”

The demon sneers, trying to muster some of his lost bravado. "You've been so busy playing dolls that you’ve forgotten you have an army to run."

Heeseung’s eyes flash with anger, his smirk turning cold and dangerous. "So you put my love in danger because I'm not holding your hand? Are you all that fucking incompetent that you can't do your job?"

My love. You’re eyes widen slightly at the endearing term. There is a part of you that wonders if he means it, if the phrase that rolled so easily off his tongue was heartfelt or just another branch to add to his plotting plan. Hearing your heartbeat fasten with fear and adoration, Heeseung knows you registered his words and yet he doesn’t care.

“We are doing our job yet you’re fucking around with angels and bitches like her,” the man spits, holding the knife with determination. Any second now, the blade could be pierced into one of your main arteries, rendering you dead in a matter of minutes as you stay hanging helplessly against the pole.

“Call her that again. I dare you,” Heeseung snarls, walking closer to the man. His actions strike fear into you because what if one more footstep is the difference between life and death for you?

As the demon goes to speak once again, his jaw locks and his tongue pulses as though he is choking. He suddenly drops the knife, much to your relief, clinging to his throat as if that will somehow allow much-needed oxygen to pass into his lungs.

Heeseung’s eyes flash a vibrant red, an innocent grin working its way across his cheeks. “What’s wrong? Can’t speak?” The feigned concern in his words makes your body crawl, his sinister actions unsettling you, even as a secret part of you loves it.

Perhaps it’s the fact that after this, you’ll be clear of danger and you can get out of this. Another part is pure vengeance. In hell, you feel the sins inside you heighten: lust, greed, wrath, you name it. Every bad part of you calls to be released.

Suddenly, Heeseung lunges forward, gripping the demon's throat as his fingers sink in with force until the man's face begins to turn blue. The pressure is immense, veins bulging as the demon struggles for air, his eyes wide with terror. Heeseung’s grip tightens even further, his nails piercing the skin, drawing dark, thick blood that oozes down the demon’s neck.

Heeseung’s fingers dig deeper, the demon’s gurgling attempts at speech becoming more desperate. Blood pours from the wounds, splattering onto the floor in gruesome pools. Heeseung’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. With a sudden, violent motion, he tears into the demon’s throat, his fingers piercing through flesh and muscle with a sickening squelch.

The demon’s eyes roll back, his body convulsing as Heeseung's grip tightens further. With a final, brutal yank, Heeseung rips the throat from the demon's body, the detached flesh dangling grotesquely from his hand. Blood sprays in an arc, coating the floor, walls, and over you and the Prince of hell, the metallic scent mixing with the sulphurous air.

The demon’s body collapses to the ground, twitching and spasming as it rapidly loses the battle for life. Heeseung casually tosses the mangled throat aside, wiping his bloodied hands on his trousers with a look of disdain. But he isn’t finished. Heeseung’s eyes glow with a fierce intensity as he crouches over the still-twitching body. With merciless precision, he plunges his hand into the demon's chest, feeling around for the pulsating heart. The demon’s mouth opens in a silent scream, his body arching in agony.

“You’re a fool to pick a human suit, this is too easy,” he laughs, staring crazily into your attacker's eyes.

Closing his fingers around the heart and with a feral growl, Heeseung bursts the main organ before he rips it from the chest cavity. Blood gushes out in torrents, the heart still beating weakly in Heeseung’s grip. He holds it aloft for a moment, his expression one of savage triumph, before crushing it in his hand, the remnants of the heart splatter onto the floor, a macabre testament to his power and strength.

Never bring a knife to a demon fight.

Lying lifeless, a broken, bloody shell of himself, the demon remains still, finally moving on from the pain. Heeseung stands, wiping his hand on the demon’s clothes with an air of finality, his lips upcurled in disgust. It’s been a while since he got his hands dirty but he has to set an example to the other soldiers of his legions. If he starts getting soft now, they’ll eventually overrun him.

Turning back to you, Heeseung’s expression softens slightly, though the remnants of his violent act still linger in his eyes. “What the fuck happened, Y/N?” he asks annoyed, as if you were the one that asked for any of this to happen.

“I-I don’t know, just please get me out of here,” you stutter, your mind still trying to process the nightmare it just witnessed. Watching a man be brutally torn apart before your eyes has left you shaken to the core.

Sighing softly, Heeseung’s gaze sweeps over your body, his attention fixed on the wound on your arm. With careful deliberation, he reaches out and gently takes hold of your arm, his face drawing nearer to inspect the injury.

His touch is surprisingly gentle, contrasting sharply with the violence you’ve just witnessed. The warmth of his hand against your skin feels oddly comforting, a reassuring anchor in the midst of chaos. Heeseung’s expression softens, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he examines the wound.

“I’ll take care of this,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing contrast to the lingering tension in the air. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he carefully inspects the cut.

What you don’t expect is for his tongue to run over the slit, collecting the blood that streams from it. At first, your face is horrified, the ministration causing your stomach to churn, yet, as he laps up your wound, you feel relief, his muscle easing the sting and allowing your arm to relax, even if only slightly.

Heeseung is engrossed in the taste, the sweet metallic now overpowering all of his senses, and the sensory overload rushes directly to his cock. His member twitches in his pants as it begs to be released, Heeseung’s arousal flowing through his body, so much so that between each healing lick he is moaning out profanities.

Your body gets hot as you hear him get off over the taste of your crimson nectar. There is a first for everything but you never thought one day you would be in hell, handcuffed to a pole, and have Beelzebub exploring his blood kink right in front of you.

“You taste so good, Baby,” he whispers, his attention finally drawing from your arm to your face.

It is at this moment that he sees the perfect opportunity. You, who are so determined to never lay with Heeseung again, refusing to cheat on your precious puppies, are all tied up and in the perfect position.

Once you catch that desire-driven look on his face, you squirm slightly, attempting to free yourself from the restraints. But what Heeseung interprets as defiance is actually reciprocation. There's an undeniable thrill in seeing him defend you, dismantle your tormentor with a ferocity that leaves him splattered in blood - it makes you ache with need, your pussy crying in lust. You yearn to break free from these confines and throw yourself at him.

"You're so vulnerable, darling. What if I hadn't answered your calls?" he murmurs, his crimson-stained hands already unfastening the buttons of your jeans. You whimper as his fingers hover tantalisingly close to where you crave his touch. “You were screaming for me earlier, do you think you could do it again?”

His question is loaded, a subtle way to ask for your consent. He wants to make sure as much as he would love to just ravage you right here without a care in the world, he understands - even as a prince of hell - that he would be no better than the dead demon beside you if he took what he wanted without asking.

Swallowing your guilt and pride, you nod, finally giving in to him after months of cat and mouse. “I’ll scream hell down,” you whisper, keeping an intense stare on him.

It’s all the go-ahead he needs before he’s yanking down your Levis and panties, leaving you bare on your bottom half. Hurriedly, the prince frees his cock, stroking it a few times. “You can take it with no prep, right, sweetheart? Or are those dolls not fucking you good enough.”

You whimper in protest, the biting metal against your skin almost painful as your body yearns to be close to his, rattling them harshly as you try to break free. The mention of your lovers goes unheard as you disregard what he's saying and any guilt you should feel. Lust and impatience pulse through your veins, overwhelming all other emotions.

His bloody hands grip your thighs, harshly guiding your legs to wrap around him as he puppeteers you into place. Despite your lack of words, Heeseung takes your mewls of need as the go-ahead to delve in without working you open. Truthfully, Heeseung’s cock is a lot bigger than Jaeyun’s or Sunghoon’s, so prepping you would have been a great thing to ask for, but as your cunt leaks onto his stiff shaft, you know as well as he does that there is no time to be wasted, both of you craving this as much as the other.

With one harsh thrust, he plummets into you, the stretch from his girth both agonising and pleasurable. The pain heightens your experience, his cock bottoming inside you, eliciting a half-moan, half-shriek. You hate to admit it but you missed his cock and how you can feel the veins drag along your walls.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. Are they really not fucking you?” he lefts out a sharp laugh before moving his hips in a steady rhythm. “You needed my cock, didn’t you?”

Responding with fervent affirmations of "yes," your knuckles turn white as you clench your fists, yearning to touch him, feeling his smooth, doll skin yield beneath your nails. You needed his cock more than anything, all those times of pushing him away and deflecting your desires, this was a long time coming.

He grips your hips tightly as you hang there helplessly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he finds a harsh pace that sends butterflies in your stomach. He missed being inside of you, feeling how your walls hug him tight as your body overcomes with bliss.

Suddenly, his lips meld with yours, causing his rhythm to momentarily falter until he adjusts, finding the perfect angle to hammer into you. Heeseung's tongue slips between your lips, and you taste him on your tongue, your saliva wetting his mouth as your bodies move together in an urgent rhythm.

“Fuck, Heeseung!” you yelp, your lips retracting from him as he hits a soft spot inside of you, each punch of his tip now making you see stars. From that first night you spent together in the mansion all those months ago, you haven’t had the privilege to experience anything this otherworldly, Jaeyun and Sunghoon taking you to the moon but it pales in comparison to the galaxies that Heeseung promises you.

Smirking, he bucks his hips faster. “Scream it, sweetheart, tell me you’re mine,” he coaxes, his frantic eyes trained on your closed ones. He needs to hear you say it, even if only once.

However, once he realises that no words are falling from your lips, he takes his hand and wraps it around your neck, oh so similarly to how he did the demon. “Fucking say it or I’ll end you right now.”

The fear that washes over your being heightens your arousal, your walls collapsing slightly onto his member. It’s embarrassing how much degradation, pain, and fear turn you on. Despite the tiny part of your brain with a conscience screaming out to stop you, you yield, looking him in the eyes with your glossy ones. “Y-yours. I’m yours Heeseung- Fuck!”

His fingers wrap around your airways, his rhythmic thrusts growing more insistent as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. “You're a good girl, so good for me,” his voice is barely audible over the crescendo of your moans. The world outside seems to fade away, replaced by the primal intensity of the moment. If hell didn't know you were lost in this passion before, it certainly does now.

The praises mixed with the pain of his grip bring you close to the edge along with each kiss from the tip of his cock to your cervix. Between the warmth of the room, the heat radiating from your body, and the lack if oxygen passing through your lungs, you feel yourself shutting down, every sense overwhelmed by the brutal fucking.

“I’m gonna-” you warn, pulling yourself up with whatever strength you can muster in an attempt to gain some control. Typically, your hands would be raking down your partner's back, grounding you as you come undone, however, the metal doesn’t provide the same comfort that you’re used to.

“Cum over my cock, sweetheart. Show me how good I make you feel,” he urges, chasing his own release as you start to milk his dick, drawing out the doll's cum with fervour.

With one loud scream of his name, you release your essence over him, your hands that were once gripping the cuffs now go flaccid, letting the waves of your orgasm take over. Your mind is not in the space to warn you that doing so would hurt your wrists but like the masochist you are, the nips from the restraints only add a sadistic pleasure to your climax.

Your embrace entices Heeseung, guiding him towards climax as he releases deeply inside you, his grip around your throat tightening briefly before easing, letting you gasp for air. His hips maintain their rhythm, driving his essence into you as if intent on securing it forever.

"Take it all, sweetheart," he murmurs huskily against your neck, teasing your sensitive spot before nipping it firmly.

The sudden rush of sensations overwhelms you, pleasure mingling with the faint sting of his bite. Heeseung's movements grow more urgent, each thrust seeming to imprint his desire deeper within you. His whispered encouragements and the rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting fill the air, creating a symphony of passion.

With every surge, he drives deeper, claiming you completely in the throes of ecstasy. His touch, both tender and possessive, ignites a fire that burns through you, each moment building towards an inevitable crescendo of shared release.

As you both come down from your highs, the only sound in the room is your heavy breathing and squelching from your combined fluids as Heeseung thrusts a couple more times before slipping out of you.

He admires his work; your worn-out body, the blood from the demon that has transferred onto your beautiful skin, and the cum dripping from your cunt and mixing with the chartreuse-covered floor. You’re a vision to him and if he was enamoured by you before, he’s just become dementedly obsessed.

Your eyes close and your legs go weak, losing their grip on his waist as you slowly begin to pass out. It’s not good for a human to be down in the pits of hell, not for as long as you have, thus, moving with a hint of urgency, Heeseung breaks your cuffs as though they were made of plastic and cradles your body against his.

“Shhh,” he whispers as he nuzzles his nose into your neck. Heeseung refuses to be vulnerable but you bring out a side of him that no one has ever been able to before. He wants to protect you, to worship you, to have you by his side at all times.

And he’ll be damned if this is the last time he has you.

#enhypen smut #enha smut #heeseung smut #tdh drabbles #tdh #aj writes #enha x reader #enhypen x reader

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yandere-romanticaa · 18 days ago

Text

Low key building upon this post. Why? Because it was originally supposed to be more smutty but I'm a chicken who can't write smut, so I tried dipping my toes here. Nothing too extreme mind you, I'm still a big baby. Sue me. This was also written in a cafe in like, under 20 minutes so...

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to."

That mantra has been inside of your head for months now, ever since the bastard hunter took you. In some strange way, he did somewhat keep that promise and that made you feel so damn bitter. Kinich only really forced you to do the utmost basic necessities to keep you sane and alive - nothing more, nothing less.

He was still the same old Kinich you knew. Nothing was free of charge. The only reason why he still kept you around was because it made him feel good, or so he liked to remind you every so often.

That was precisely why the current predicament you were in was so damn bizarre.

Kinich panted beneath you, his eyes widened in shock as the faintest outline of blush dusted his cheeks, his shoulders quivering ever so slightly as you held him tightly on the bed. His arms found your hips and swiftly settled there, occasionally groping the soft skin whenever the opportunity arose.

Never in his wildest dreams could Kinich have predicted that you would ever greet him home like this.

Practically giving him no room to breathe, he was pounced on like a hunter does to its prey, giving him absolutely zero time to react. Your movements were desperate and clumsy but he did not care, not when everything felt so damn good. Kinich stared at you through half lidded eyes, his gaze seeping with exhaustion but want, so much so that he was inclined to gently nibble on your lower lip, which he gladly did.

A small noise escaped you, a silly mixture between a whimper and a cry but to Kinich's ears, it felt as though the gates of heaven had been opened.

Slipping his tongue in, he swiftly sealed your lips with his own, your own saliva and spit merging with his in some sort of flimsy but erotic dance. It was messy, he noted as he felt the spit gently trailing down his cheek, which he did not care about whatsoever. Your touch was hotter than the sun and it set his whole body ablaze with a lust which he had never felt before.

Was it normal for a person to want another this badly?

It most likely was not, Kinich reasoned. But that same reason was thrown out the fucking window once he felt your hips being pressed into his own, grinding ever so lightly against him. It was sudden but good, more than plain old good actually.

Kinich could hear your pants but chose not to pay attention to them. He was going to fight you on this for as long as he could, he was never going to stop kissing you if he could have his way.

Even so, Kinich himself felt his lungs burning for sweet air, but his heart was beating straight out of his chest and his mind was in tatters.

He cannot let you go. Not when you finally had given into him.

With his brute strength, Kinich broke free from your hold and roughly grabbed you by the waist, switching places that now you were the one who was pinned. He broke the kiss, finally, and slowly brought his arm up to his face, wiping away the spit off his lips. He stared down at you in a frenzy as he took the sight in - eyes screwed shut with a pained look on your face, heavy pants leaving your lips as you desperately tried to regain your composure but kept utterly failing each time.

It was so damn cute, he muttered wistfully.

Ever the opportunist, Kinich dove back down once more, his lips on yours again. One hand kept your arms pinned above your head while the other was lowered down towards your shirt, his skilled fingers ripping the fabric off. You yelped beneath him, not expecting the sudden force but that was alright too.

It simply added on to the cuteness.

Kinich felt himself growing harder by the second, his pants becoming more and more uncomfortable. He lost count with how many nights he had wasted away daydreaming about this exact moment - you, on his bed, stuffed full of his cock as his name was chanted like a sick love spell, over and over and over - let the whole valley hear, heck, let absolutely every human and beast hear who was making you feel so good. Your pleasure was officially in his hands now and there was no turning back now.

That was the initial idea, at least.

"HEY, HEY! What do you two freaks think you're doing?!"

Ajaw's shrill scream rang throughout the entire hut, its body now a mixture of bright orange and angry red, its tiny arms raised as high as they could be as it continued to complain.

"Kinich! I knew you were a freak but this crosses the line, even for YOU !" yelled the tiny dragon creature, its sharp gaze now stuck on you both.

"Sick perverts! How dare you subject the Mighty Dragon Lord to such an uncouth sight!"

Ajaw continued to complain over and over again as Kinich slowly distanced himself from you. He still lay there on top of you, albeit with his back fully straight now as his gaze became hollow. You could not tell if he was trying to tune out Ajaw or if he was listening intently but that question would be answered soon enough.

Still loudly complaining, Ajaw continued to prattle on and on, forcing Kinich to let out a very long and frustrated sigh. With a cool gaze Kinich raised his arm slightly in the air, his back still turned towards Ajaw as he made the "come here" motion with his finger. The tiny dragon obliged, thinking that his servant was going to give him a proper apology which he rightfully deserved - only to be met with the harshest smack across the head he had ever felt.

The impact was so loud that it echoed loudly across the entire room. Ajaw landed on the ground, dazed entirely and just stayed there, not making a sound. Still on top of you, Kinich lazily checked the ground to see where Ajaw had landed, and once he was satisfied with the findings, Kinich nodded to himself, his entire focus being shifted back towards you. With an outstretched arm, he placed a hand at the back of your head and gave your neck a soft but determined kiss. From the corner of your eye, you could see the faint outlines of the marks on his body beginning to glow but you did not know why, nor did you bother to ask.

Your body felt a little lighter as Kinich got up, the entire bed suddenly so much more free and cozy. Grabbing the hem of the blanket felt like the right thing to do, which you did. Kinich stood by the bed and watched you for a few seconds, his palm pressing your head down towards the pillow as he tucked you in.

"You did good tonight." he praised softly.

"I'll make sure to be a little nicer towards you. After all, how could I not be after tonight?" said Kinich with a snort, his lips forming into a smug smirk. You growled under your breath, frustrated to see your captor see so damn happy but you knew that in the long run, this was the best thing to do. A happy Kinich was a good Kinich.

It just made things easier. And that was the stone cold truth.

With a light pep in his step, Kinich walked towards the exit, grabbing his jacket along the way.

"I'll be out late tonight, commission. If Ajaw hadn't interrupted... I would have completely forgotten about it."

His tone was flat but cool, low key signaling that he was indeed telling the truth. Saying nothing, you covered your head with the fuzzy blanket and heard Kinich laugh under his breath one last time before leaving you to your own devices.

Times like these felt perfect for an escape attempt but experience had taught you well. No matter how far you went, Kinich would just track you down and bring you back by the ear if he had to.

He definitely had the monster like strength to do so.

With a huff you closed your eyes, blushing a little as you felt the pleasurable heat down your body, causing your legs to press themselves shut on instinct. The best thing to do now was to get some rest, nothing more, nothing less. The day had been long and draining, which only added to your sleepiness. In less than a few minutes darkness had taken over, your mind and body completely shut off from the rest of the world.

Meanwhile on the ground next to you, Ajaw quickly opened one eye and kept an ear out. Once he realized that you were fast asleep, only one thing could be said.

"Darn it."

#it's probably so cringe I really REALLY tried....#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yancore #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #genshin impact #kinich #kinich x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere kinich #yandere kinich x reader #genshin x reader #genshin kinich #fem reader

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evie-sturns · 8 months ago

Text

Right here-Chris Sturniolo

summary: chris is your best friend, he has been for a couple years. one night you and chris are laying on his bed talking about anything and everything, somehow the conversation leads to sex, where you tell him a confession, leading to him taking your virginity.

contains: smut, fluff, swearing, aftercare, chris talking u through it, virgin!reader.

-----------------┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐-----------——

9:43pm

chris and I have been laying on his bed together, staring at the ceiling as the conversation rapidly switches between topics.

"remember like the first time we met, how it took us a solid hour to start up a real conversation" chris laughs,

"i was working chris! i was like 16 i wasnt gonna risk my job to leave from behind the counter to talk to you" i nudge him with a grin.

"working at topgolf.." he teases back, "i mean i only knew nick from middle school, but i did serve your food and we spoke!" i say defensivley.

chris shakes his head, rubbing his eyes before he adjusts his chain which hangs around his neck.

"what was...." chris starts, thinking about what to say next. i tilt my head on the pillow to look over at him.

"your worst sex experience." chris asks casually with a stupid smile on his face,

my heart sinks slightly, truthfully im a virgin, and i'm almost 21. chris has no idea about this.

a silence fills the room, i clear my throat "well- uh"

"oh my god how bad was it" chris laughs.

i feel tears somehow prickle at the corner of my eyes, it doesn't bother me that much.

a small laugh exits my mouth, chris looks over at me "are you okay-?" chris says with a small laugh.

"yes! yes i'm good-" i say, sitting up and crossing my legs.

"chris can I tell you something" i sigh, wiping my face as a nervous smile forms.

"anything- hey you know about that time at graduation when i went the wrong way when i went up on stage to get my fuckin' paper thing." he yaps,

"oh my god and they had to guide you in the right direction" i scoff back.

"stopp" chris groans, sitting up and pushing me over onto my side, "now speak"

"this is like- the wrong time but.." i start,

"i've never done like anythingg.." i say, dragging out 'anything'

chris goes silent,

"like you've never fucked-" he says, but i cut him off "yeah."

he nods understandably, "thats okay!" chris chirps. "are you planning to loose it or not?" chris asks

"well, i've always wanted to its just like i'm worried that i wont fully trust the person who i hook up, and it'll just be a desperation thing- i don't know though." i say, opening up to him

"yeah, that makes sense." chris nods.

"but i really want to, like its always on my mind" i groan, flopping my head back down onto the pillow.

"i mean we could fuck" chris says with a shrug, i laugh it off,

he's clearly joking...?

"no like honestly think about, i'm horny 24/7, your wanting to loose your virginity, and you trust me i think?" he continues rambling with a cheeky smile painted on his face.

chris says stuff, a lot of stuff, and i'd say 90% of it is unserious

"chris... stop fucking around this is a serious topic" i scoff.

"no, like actually- deadass." chris says, slightly more nervous than earlier.

i go silent, sitting up in bed and looking down at him "yeah?" i ask quietly, chris sits up aswell "i can't tell if you're being serious chris"

he grabs my jaw, "i'm serious.." chris leans closer to me, my heart thumps aggressively as i stare at the brunette's lips, which are practically begging to be kissed.

chris's hand falls slowly from my jaw to my hand, "like 100% serious right?" i ask again, my mind now not being able to comprehend that chris could be inside me in a matter of minute.

"100%." he says,

i rip my white tank top off from over my head, chris scrambles to remove his shirt, i pause for a second as chris's eyes lay over my exposed chest.

"chris- I don't know what i'm doing this is gonna be so embarrasing for me" i start, but chris interuppts me

"shh- sh." he shushes me, grabbing my hand again, "do you want me to talk you through it?"

i nod, playing with chris's long fingers as an anxiety reaction, "can you tell me with your words what you want please?"

with a wobbling breath i start, "please talk me through it, i- uh.. i need you? please."

chris nods, "oh shit wait,yeah- if you want i'll go get nick and matt out of the house, they won't think we're doing anything 'cause they know that i don't bring girls over to fuck,- and they wouldn't think we'd do shit together"

i shake my head 'yes' rapidly, "thank you."

chris stands up off the bed, throwing on his shirt and unlocking his door, he walks out of the door, closing it behind him as i lay back in his bed,

anxiety rushes through my veins, my bare back presses against the soft plush of his mattress that i have been so used to for so many years, where chris told me all about his first hookup at 16, now hes gonna be mine on this same bed.

i hear his distant chatter with matt, "hey we need some shit from target from tomorrow, take nick with ya hes probably interested in childrens toys" he says with a laugh before matt agrees,

chris walks back into the room a minute or two later, his cheeks instantly turning maroon again as he says me laying half naked on his bed, he takes a deep breath "matt and nick are going to target in a few, you okay?" chris asks, discarding his shirt to the side of the room again.

"yeah! i'm just nervous." i laugh slightly,

"about what?" he questions, flopping down on the bed next to me,

"i just feel like it's gonna hurt- or i mean.. i don't want this to change things between us, 'ya know?" i sigh.

i hear matts van pull out of the driveway, the small pebbles crunching under his tires.

"it won't hurt." chris says, his voice serious, yet reassuring.

chris sits up off the bed, he turns around to face me. i sit up aswell, i feel chris's large hands wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him on the edge of the bed.

"i'm going to take these off, yeah?" chris says, his fingers lingering on the waistband of my shorts.

"yeah." i smile up at him, laying back on the bed. chris pulls my sweat shorts and panties down to my ankles in one yank, his eyes widening as i feel his gaze drawn between my thighs.

"so perfect," chris says, his voice raspy.

"okay- wait." he whispers, rubbing his eyes, "can I ask, when you say you've never done anything, what's the most you've done.. sexually" he almost cringes at his words.

"um.. probably just doing stuff with myself.?" i reply, chris nods "okay good."

"okay, just try not to be too loud, the neighbours are always in their backyard" chris laughs, hovering above me, his face directly ontop of me as i lay on the edge of the bed.

my eyes widen as i feel a veiny cold hand on the inside of my thigh, "you sure?" chris asks for the 80th time,

"chris i need you, yes- please."

i close my eyes, the brunette presses a finger against my hole "just gonna stretch ya out a little bit first hm?" he says from above me before pressing his long finger deep inside of me,

"fuck." i whisper under my breath, my back arching slightly off the bed.

he begins to curl that finger inside of me, adding another finger quickly

"look at me."

he says, i squint my eyes open, soft whimpers escaping my lips. i lock eyes with him as he continues to thrust his fingers in and out of me.

a desperate gasp escapes my mouth as i feel his mouth attatch to my clit, "oh my god- fuck oh my god." i repeat under my breath.

"gonna finish already for me?" chris says with a hint of a cocky tone in his tone.

i let out a loud whine which echoes through the room as i feel my orgasm rapidly approaching "you got it, im right here." chris says into my ear.

i instantly clench around his fingers, the knot in my stomach snapping with a moan of chris's name. "there she is, let me hear you."

i flop my arms above me on the matress as chris pulls his fingers out of me, he wipes them on my thigh before starting to yank down his sweatpants, leaving him in his boxers

“tell me when your ready okay?” chris says, sitting down on the bed next to me as i lay down,

“chris”

“yeah?” he replies

“thank you, you didn’t have to do this.” i say with a small smile, my cheeks still flushed.

“no honestly i’m more than happy to do this” chris laughs, earning a nudge from my elbow to his rib.

i sit up on the bed, giving chris a certain look. he nods, standing up off the bed and pulling down his boxers.

i stare very obviously at his length, my eyes fixed on the long vein which follows the whole left side of his cock.

“you okay?” chris laughs slightly, i look up at him “yeah, no- just nervous.”

chris grabs my hand “listen, i’m going to talk you through everything, it won’t hurt, i promise.”

“okay.” i reply, “what position do you want me in?” i ask slowly letting chris’s hand go.

“just lay down on your back, wanna see your face okay?” chris says with a smile.

i lay back down, my bare back hitting the soft plush of chris’s matress. chris takes my hand again, “squeeze my hand if you need a break” he whispers.

i breathe in heavily, then out as chris positions himself between my legs.

“can you spread a little more for me sweetheart?” he asks, the pet name making me clench around nothing.

i spread my legs further, chris admires me, the position i’m in right before his eyes.

“there we are.” he says under his breath,

“i’m just going to give you the tip, and if it’s uncomfortable tell me okay?” chris says, squeezing my hand lightly as he rests his tip against my core.

“please.” i breathe out, looking up at his addictive eyes.

chris slowly pushes inside of me, a burning sensation as i stretch around him. i let out a pathetic moan. he pauses,

“you took the tip, feeling okay?” chris asks, looking down at me, his brown hair flopping on his forehead as he leans down to hear my awnser.

“feels new.. but good.” i whisper, chris nods.

he nods before pushing further inside of me, i arch my back off the bed, strings of whimpers exiting my mouth, i squeeze chris’s hand hard, he instantly stops

“chris- how much more?” i ask, overwhelmed

“you took half, should we try the other half aswell?” chris asks in a serious tone.

after a few seconds i reply “yes.”

chris places a kiss onto my lips, i kiss him back.

my eyes widen, i guess it was a good distraction because i barely notice chris pushing deeper inside of me, i let out a pleasured moan “fuck- chris”

i feel him bottom out, he has small droplets of sweat sitting on his forehead, his pale cheeks are a deep red.

chris starts to speak after about half a minute of silence, accompanied by our shared heavy breaths. “can i move?” he says, “yeah.” i reply.

he slowly starts to thrust in, and out of me. almost pulling out, but then pushing back inside of me, his pink tip pressing against my cervix lightly.

“you’re doing so well, let me hear those pretty noises.” chris says, his voice low and croaky.

i fill the room with loud moans

“look at me, look at me.” chris says, grabbing my chin which is tilted upwards from throwing my head back. he tilts my head down, locking eyes with me.

“you feel so good around me mhm?” chris groans, my eyes squinted but still staring into his.

“i’m not gonna last long chris.” i whimper out, chris nods

“that’s perfect, i’ll tell you when to finish and you will” he replies, i nod frantically.

i feel my high coming, with every thrust i clench around chris.

“ready..” he says, almost whines,

“you okay?” i ask, my breathing intensifies

“just need to cum, real bad.” he replies, his voice strained.

and with that, i finish with a scream of his name.

chris instantly pulls out, painting my chest and stomach with white streaks. “fuck y/n, oh my god, fuck-.. fuck.” chris throws his head back, stroking his length a final few times.

he falls down on the bed beside me, propping himself up on his elbows.

after a handful of seconds he sits up, pulling me onto his lap. “you okay? you did so well, took me so well.”

“i’m okay.” i laugh into chris’s chest.

“let’s get you cleaned up.” chris says, tapping my hips then carrying me into the bathroom.

he places me down on the countertop before grabbing a damp cloth.

he pats my inner thigh with the cloth, he lets out a small laugh,

“yeah?” i question

“i never woulda thought you’d be screaming my name.” he says casually.

i scoff as chris leaves the bathroom, he comes back with the clothes i was wearing earlier he starts to redress me, his concentration at an all time high.

after chris had redressed he helps me off the counter, “cmon let’s go get something to drink.” chris says, grabbing my hand and leading me out of his bedroom.

i’m met with nick and matt, leaning on the kitchen counter. my heart stops, i thought chris got them out of the house?

chris instantly drops my hand “thought you guys were at target.” he says with a embarrassed laugh.

“we got 2 minutes down the road then decided to get it another day.” nick says, eyes fixed on chris’s.

“so are you two offical?” matt asks with a smile, chris’s head snaps round to look at him “what do you mean!” he says defensively

“trust me, we heard those fucking screams” nick laughs, slapping chris’s bicep.

“no guys, i can explain i swear.” chris starts, following nick and matt close behind, as they walk into the living room.

“it wasn’t what you think-“ chris rambles, i can hear the smile on his face.

i laugh to myself, shaking my head with a scoff.

————-

#sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo headcanon #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut

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sturniolohouse · 1 month ago

Text

scavenger hunt - M.S

dad!matt x reader blurb - chris is the last in the house to find out about reader’s pregnancy.

"Alright both of you, close your eyes and hold your hands out," I announce, pointing to Nick and Chris who sit on the couch.

Matt sits next to them, his leg bouncing slightly with nerves. Our eyes meet, and he gives me a reassuring smile, though I can see he's just as anxious as I am.

Chris scrunches his face and looks between Matt and I, "What's going on?" He asks, clearly suspicious.

I see Nick hiding his knowing grin, pressing his lips in a line.

"Kid, just close your fucking eyes," Matt snaps, smacking Chris' shoulder which he immediately retialites with his own shove.

"Chris, c'mon," Nick says trying to keep the peace and I let out a breath. Chris rolls his eyes before closing his eyes and Nick plays along shutting his eyes with him.

"Are we getting a puppy?" Chris blurts out as I grab the envelopes from the counter.

I walk over to them, my heart pounding a little faster.

Holding two envelopes in my hands, I pause in front of the couch, glancing at Matt again, who gives me a small nod of encouragement.

"I have a big ask," I sigh deeply, looking to Nick sitting at the kitchen table.

I twist open the fresh pickle jar I made Matt pick up today. The smell of the brine hits me instantly, making my mouth water. I spear one with a fork before I take a bite, savoring the sour crunch.

Nick glances up from his laptop, peeking over his glasses as I lean against the kitchen counter, munching thoughtfully.

“No, you and Matt cannot move into my room,” he says flatly, before looking back to his laptop screen.

I roll my eyes and shake my head, finishing off my pickle before grabbing another spear.

"Chris can't know that you know," I finally say, feeling guilty.

Nick raises an eyebrow, closing his laptop halfway, clearly intrigued by the conversation shift. "Why not?"

"You know how he is," I sigh, gesturing vaguely.

"Yes, I'm very aware how he is, he's my brother… who’s an idiot." Nick says dryly, raising an eyebrow as he leans back in his chair.

"I just don't want him to get upset that he was the last to know,"

"If he gets upset that I knew before him, he needs to grow up." He rolls his eyes and I sigh.

"Nick," My tone is firm but pleading. "C'mon, just act surprised. I feel terrible, it's been weeks and we haven't told him yet,"

It's been a little over a month since I found out I was pregnant. Matt and I wanted to wait until I was closer to my second trimester to tell anyone, including Chris.

Which has been difficult considering we all live in the same space and this was the biggest secret Matt ever had to keep from his brother.

But we knew it was safer to wait a bit.

Nick leans forward, his expression softening as he realizes how much this is weighing on me. "Alright, alright. If it makes you feel better, I’ll play dumb. I’ll put on my best Oscar-worthy performance, I promise."

"Okay, keep your eyes closed," I say as I gently place the envelopes in their hands. "No peeking yet."

I hand them their designated envelopes, Nick’s marked with the number 1 and Chris’s with the number 2.

Nick lets out an exaggerated squeal as he clutches his envelope. I stifle a laugh at his act, while Matt rolls his eyes, shaking his head with a playful smirk.

"Open them," I finally say, and Chris immediately starts tearing into his envelope.

"Wait, wait—sorry! Nick, read yours first. They're numbered for a reason," I reach out, stopping Chris mid-rip.

He groans impatiently, leaning back while Nick shushes him with a grin, rubbing his shoulder.

"Relax," He says before opening his envelope carefully and reading it aloud.

“‘Hi Nick and Chris. Welcome to your scavenger hunt! Find the five clues to uncover the surprise... Your first clue is in plain sight, in the hands of the person to your right.’"

Nick turns to Chris, still grinning. “That's you, Chris. Go ahead,"

Chris’s eyes light up, and he doesn’t waste any time. Tearing his envelope open and quickly scanning it over before reading it out loud.

"'Clue number two is being kept warm and toasty... check the spot where you'd grab something cozy.'"

Chris’s wide eyes scan the room momentarily before landing on the basket of throw blankets. He glances at Matt for confirmation, but Matt just shrugs, keeping his face neutral.

"Something cozy..." he mutters to himself before he jumps up and makes a beeline for the blankets.

He digs through the folded blankets, shaking some of them out until he finds the third envelope nestled inside.

“I found it!” he yells, waving it around. “Bro, I'm killing this already. Nick, get on my level.”

"Kid's just too good at this," Matt says dryly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"You better fold those back up when you're done," Nick warns, giving Chris a disapproving look.

He waves him off, "Nick, shut the fuck up," He rips open the envelope.

“‘To find the next clue, head to Nick’s keep. Near the gumball machine is where you should peek.’” He giggles as he reads it out loud.

“W rhyming. Nick, I'm so winning this," He says as he bolts up the stairs to get the next clue.

Nick rolls his eyes and shakes his head as Chris screams that he found the next clue, followed by his heavy footsteps as he barrels back down the stairs.

“Here, Nick, you can read this one,” Chris says excitedly, practically shoving the envelope into Nick’s hands, rubbing his own hands together in anticipation.

Nick clears his throat, "Feeling thirsty? Here's your tip: Check beside Chris's favorite sip."

"PEPSI!" Chris yells, sprinting for the kitchen, and I jump as he rushes past me, nearly knocking me over.

Nick stands, reaching to steady me and we both laugh at Chris’s excitement.

"Dude, be fucking careful," Matt sits up, his eyes wide with concern.

I assure him that I’m fine as Chris ignores him, yanking open the fridge and rummaging through the Pepsi cans.

“'Don’t stop now, don’t cease your strive. Your fifth clue is where you take late-night drives.'”

“Matt, toss me your keys,” Chris nods towards Matt, wiggling his fingers but Matt tells him that the car is already unlocked.

Chris darts to the steps leading to the garage before peeking his head back. “Nick, c'mon. Why am I doing this by myself?”

I nudge Nick and he rolls his eyes before getting up to follow Chris to the garage.

“Slow down, motherfucker.” Nick calls out as Chris runs ahead of him.

“How about you hurry the fuck up, goof.” Chris retorts.

Matt and I laugh at their muffled bickering as they get further away from us. Once we can't hear them anymore I let out a breath and sit on the couch.

“I might puke, I’m so nervous,” I admit quietly to Matt, who pulls me closer, wrapping his arm around me and kissing the top of my head.

“Me too. But I think it’s working. He has no clue,” he whispers back, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

We see Chris before we see Nick following slightly behind him when they return from the car.

Chris places his hands on his hips, catching his breath, and impatiently looks toward Nick, who’s carrying the fifth envelope.

"Hurry up!" Chris bounces on his heels while Nick shoots him a warning look.

Nick opens the envelope and reads aloud, “‘You've found the final clue, but there's one more stop! Your surprise waits with Mr. Wrinkleton sitting atop.'” He flashes a teasing look at Matt who just shrugs.

"Best guard dog ever," Matt quips with a smirk.

"Go ahead," I urge, getting up from the couch and gently nudging them toward the hallway leading to Matt's room.

Matt follows close behind me, so we can both see the reaction we've been anxiously waiting for.

Nick pushes the door open but Chris rushes past him, immediately spotting the white box on Matt's bed with the stuffed dog sitting on top.

Rubbing his hands together, Chris grins. "S’gotta be tickets to Disney."

He brushes Mr. Wrinkleton aside and grabs the box, giving it a playful shake like a kid on Christmas, trying to guess what’s inside.

He looks to Nick for permission who gives him a soft nod, his own excitement starting to show.

Chris then looks to Matt and I, who are barely keeping it together, both shaking with nerves.

I’ve resorted to locking my shaky hands behind my back while Matt stares intensely at the box in Chris’s grip, nervously gnawing on his nails.

"You guys are starting to freak me out... Why are you all looking at me like that?" Chris asks, his suspicion growing as he holds the closed box close to his chest.

"Chris, just open it," Nick says impatiently, trying and failing to hide his grin.

He hesitates for a second, glancing between all of us again before he finally sits on the edge of the bed, lifting the lid.

He halts immediately, his head snapping up towards me, then Matt, then back to the box. His eyes are wide and slightly vacant as shock washes over him.

Inside the box lays a folded onesie that says,

'I ❤️ my Uncles'.

"This is a fucking prank." He says with certainty, "Nick, are you in on this or something?" Nick covers his mouth his hands, trying to hide his shit eating grin.

"No, you guys gotta be fully fucking with us, because there's no way." Chris says, pushing the box to the side as if it will explode.

"Dude, it's not a prank. Just take everything out," Matt laughs nervously, but Chris sits there, mouth slightly agape, stunned and unmoving.

Nick takes it upon himself to lift the onesie up to reveal the sonogram photo underneath. Chris' wide eyes follow the photo before he looks to us again, pale as a ghost as realization settles in.

"Swear on your life this isn't a prank," he says, his voice wavering as he tries to hold it together.

"Chris, we swear. She's due in February," Matt steps forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing softly. Chris looks at me, his blue eyes welling up with tears.

He lets out a shaky breath, burying his head in his hands as his shoulders start to tremble. Matt and I immediately sit on either side of him—Matt wrapping an arm around him, while I rub his back.

I catch Nick pulling out his phone to capture the moment.

"Alright, buddy," Matt chuckles softly, his voice also thick with emotion, while I find myself tearing up with Chris.

After a moment, Chris lifts his head, turning to Matt. "You guys are having a fucking kid?" He says in sheer disbelief as he shifts his gaze to me.

He looks between my eyes, "You're pregnant?" His voice breaks.

"Yeah," I nod, emotion welling up as I manage a quiet smile.

He instantly goes in for a bone crushing hug and I wheeze at the impact, but return the tight embrace.

I rub his back and watch Matt's expression, his smile is wobbling as he attempts to hold back his tears.

"Easy, dude...how about your own brother getting a hug?" Matt speaks up jokingly and Nick snorts.

"Hey, she's the one doing all the work here, growing my nephew," Chris says, pulling back.

"Or niece." Nick and I chime in at the same time.

"Well, yeah. Niece or nephew." Chris corrects himself with a shrug. "M'putting money on a boy, though," He slaps Matt's back and brings him for a tight hug next.

Matt chuckles, his voice strained from the force of Chris' embrace. "We'll see, buddy," he says, patting Chris gently on the back.

Chris pulls back slightly, still absorbing the news as he looks between us, his thoughts clearly spinning. Suddenly, his eyes narrow, and they dart toward Nick, suspicion creeping back into his expression.

"Wait... Nick, why aren't you freaking the fuck out?"

Nick freezes, his eyes widening, caught off guard for a split second before he answers.

"I am! Are you kidding me? I'm so shocked, I'm… beyond shocked. I have no words." His voice cracks slightly, but he tries to play it off, though the faint grin tugging at his lips gives him away.

Chris's jaw drops, and he points accusingly at Nick. "You are actually the worst liar, dude. You knew! You knew this whole time!"

Nick throws up his hands defensively. "Okay, hey, whoa! I was sworn to secrecy."

Chris stands up and spins around dramatically looking between Matt and I.

"He knew?!" His voice strains, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. I sigh in defeat and stand quickly, grabbing a hold of his arm to calm him down.

"Chris, relax. He only knew because he was here when I found out. You and Matt were in Chicago."

"Dude, we wanted to tell you," Matt adds, "but we also wanted to wait until we were sure everything was happening. A lot can go wrong in the first few months." Matt explains and Chris seems to soften but he turns back to Nick.

"Fuck you," He pouts, pointing to Nick, though a smile threatens to break through when Nick scoffs at him.

"Oh, grow up, motherfucker. At least you got the fun way of finding out. I found out in the middle of tragedy," Nick crosses his arms, and I nod along.

"Yeah, finding out in real time was lowkey traumatic... I was going through it," I'm able to say a bit lightheartedly now, but I still feel Nick sneak over to rub my back comfortingly.

"Let me see the thing," Chris motions to Matt, eager to see the sonogram taken just yesterday at the 12-week scan.

The baby is significantly bigger and much easier to spot.

Matt hands over the sonogram, and Chris stares at the image in awe. "I can't believe this... you're not even showing." He glances down at my stomach briefly.

I shrug, "No, not yet... I just feel kinda bloated." I feel Matt tug on my belt loop, silently telling me to sit on his lap. I oblige, settling into his arms as he rests his chin on my shoulder.

Chris continues staring at the picture, his brow furrowing in realization. "Wait… do Mom and Dad know? Or Justin?"

Matt shakes his head, keeping his chin on my shoulder. "Not yet. We're gonna tell them when we go to Boston in a couple of weeks."

"This is fucking nuts. You guys are are nuts," Chris takes a seat back on the bed, still processing everything. Nick returns with a donut in hand before plopping down into Matt's streaming chair.

"Yeah, believe us when we say we didn't plan this." Matt laughs with a bit of flushed face.

"You dirty dogs," Chris mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

"Chris." Nick says with wide eyes, slight amusement in them.

"Not apologizing for that. You guys are sick," Chris confirms, looking between Matt and me and I place my hands over my face to hide the heat rising in my cheeks.

"Okay, okay, enough. Chris, I'm sorry you were the last of us to find out. It was really hard keeping it from you," Matt says, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"We have a proposition, though. Well—actually, for the both of you," Matt adds, glancing at Nick.

"We went to the doctor yesterday for our scan, and we did the blood test to determine the sex of the baby... so we were wondering if you guys—"

"Yes! Yes, whatever you're about to say– yes." Chris blurts out, practically bouncing in excitement.

"Chris, let her finish," Nick scolds, though he's smiling.

"They want us to throw the gender reveal party," Chris interrupts again, this time with a knowing grin.

Matt and I exchange a glance, laughing softly. "Yeah, something like that," I say, amused.

"We thought it would be fun if you both planned the reveal together," Matt explains, "But something lowkey, alright? No big party. Probably just the four of us, maybe a couple friends... and no explosives or forest fires..."

"But those are the best kind..." Nick says, sounding playfully defeated.

“Dude, c’mon, I’m being for real.” Matt gives him a pointed look, though a smile still sneaks through.

“Our neighbors already hate us enough," I remind them, thinking of all the noise complaints we receive weekly.

Matt groans, pressing his forehead against my shoulder. “You guys are gonna get us evicted.”

"Fine, fine. Lowkey it is, but we're going to find a way to make it special...this is the first baby," Nick says softly and I feel Matt squeeze my hip.

“Don’t worry you guys, Nick and I have it under control,” Chris wraps an arm around Nick before stealing his donut.

“I trust you guys,” I say confidently, turning to Matt, who still looks a little weary. “Right, Matt?” I nudge him gently. He hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between Nick and Chris, but eventually gives a small nod.

“Sorry Matt, you’ve already relinquished full creative control to Chris and I,” Nick tells him with mock sympathy.

Matt mutters under his breath, rubbing his eyes and I cover my mouth to hide my giggle as he buries his face in my back.

“I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo blurb #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolohouse #dad!matt

915 notes · View notes

pinkanonwrites · 9 months ago

Note

Please please please can you write more about bayverse bee? He’s one of my favs and doesn’t get enough attention cuz of the movies reputation 😭 there’s something rlly charming about him and I can’t even describe it. Definitely feel like he’d be one of the more possessive iterations, and VERY touch starved

God it's been SO LONG since I've watched any of the Bayverse movies but Bayverse Bee holds such a special place in my heart that I pray I can do him justice for these.

BAYVERSE BUMBLEBEE HCs

Bayverse Bumblebee is both incredibly protective and incredibly possessive of you. He'll throw himself in harms way again and again to keep you safe, the dings and dents and scratches he receives meaning basically nothing to him when he knows it was to keep you safe. He gets jealous pretty easy too, whether it's a human trying to flirt with you or a bot like Crosshairs or Hot Rod getting just a bit too fresh. He's not above blaring his horn or blasting his radio to scare off someone leaning against him to try and get your attention.

Huggy buggy Bee, he loves to hold you and carry you around. Not just in his vehicle-mode either, though he definitely enjoys the feeling of your hands on his steering wheel. His favorite place to have you sit is up onto his shoulder, gripping onto one of his antennae for stability.

I think he's very open about both verbal and physical affection regardless of who's around; he has basically no shame. He flirts with you constantly, regardless of how long you've been in a relationship, and he just melts whenever you do the same. The downside to that is he can be a handsy little motherfucker, even in public. It's hard to focus on whatever the newest government goon is trying to tell the Autobots when Bee is more entertained by the idea of getting his digits up your shirt.

Like basically every other Bee, he loves to take you out for drives. Nothing says "I love you." to a speedster like him than asking to rip around the open desert, blasting whatever rock music is on the radio.

#transformers #bumblebee #transformers x reader #bumblebee x reader #x reader #transformers bayverse #bayverse bumblebee #pink chat #anon #maccadam

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bbydoll18xx · 3 months ago

Text

She's Such a Good Girl (Part 5)

Paige shows you her strap.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Themes: smut, strap on activities (woohoo)

A/N: here is the final part!! Thanks to everyone who has stuck around and supported this fic. I had such a fun time writing it!

You wake up the next morning with sunlight streaming in through the shades and Paige’s warm body pressed up against yours. You peek open your eyes, letting them adjust to the brightness of the bedroom, and your vision is met with blonde strands and Paige’s face, mouth slightly open.

You hold back a giggle, not wanting to wake her. Her face looked angelic and innocent, a far cry from the way she had you moaning out in ecstasy the previous night. And the reality began to sink in. You were no longer a virgin. And all innocence seemed to have been wiped from your persona.

Your thoughts drift back to mentions of Paige’s strap on, and a wave of neediness rolls through your body. She had awakened something in the deepest parts of yourself.

You could already imagine it hanging off her slender hips, and the way she would grip it, as if it was an extension of her. It was enough to raise your heart rate, and you feel warmth rush down between your legs at the thought.

Paige moves next to you, snuggling in to get even closer to you, and she burrows her head into your neck. Her closeness makes your heart flutter, and you wonder if this will ever be more than just sex and friendly flirting. Your crush on the girl had lingered in the back of your mind for a while now, and now that you had a taste of what a relationship with her could entail, you were terrified of it being ripped away from you.

You sigh. Your overthinking would be the absolute death of you.

A quiet moan leaves Paige’s mouth, and you freeze, not wanting to wake her up, but she’s already reaching up to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

“G’morning,” she mumbles, in that husky voice, and it makes you want to kick your feet in an indescribable giddiness.

“Hi, P,” you respond, a shy smile on your face. “Sleep okay?”

“Haven’t slept this good in ages,” she confesses. “Always sleep better when I’m not alone.”

Her honesty stuns you. You had never really shared a bed with someone in a romantic sort of way, and you think that maybe it was something you could get used to. It was almost ridiculous to even think about, but your heart longed for the most simple parts of a relationship.

“I get that,” you murmur. “Let me get out of your hair, though. I’m sure you’ve got things to do.” As you say it, you are already internally mourning her closeness, not wanting to leave her side, as clingy as it made you feel.

“No,” Paige whines, dragging out the word childishly, flipping onto her side and pulling you back into her so she was spooning you. “Stay with me.”

And because your resolve was shattered from the moment you laid eyes on her, you do, quickly letting sleep envelop you once more.

After spending half the day lounging in bed with Paige, scrolling through your phones and sharing your life stories with each other, you finally manage to retreat back to your own apartment.

You were a classic introvert, and while you typically thrived on being alone, having to temporarily say goodbye to Paige was enough to turn you into a pouty, needy mess of a girl. It was almost embarrassing, but the desire to be back in her arms, or between her legs if you were being completely honest, was overshadowing any rational thoughts.

The two of you had made plans to hang out again later in the evening, and without either of you saying, you knew what was coming.

And because you were completely clueless when it came to penises and their plastic counterparts, you decided to swallow your pride and ask your obnoxiously excited roommates for a helpful explanation.

You walk through your door, immediately bombarded with questions and shrill shouts of “How was your night?” and “Was she good in bed?”

You giggle at their enthusiasm. “My night was good. And obviously,” you respond with a blush covering your face. “But I am in serious need of some help.”

Sarah and Taylor’s faces share looks of confusion.

“I thought Paige was helping you with that whole situation,” Taylor laughs.

“Well yeah. But she’s pulling out the fucking strap tonight, and I have no idea what to do,” you mumble, your words sounding absurd on your tongue.

Both girls erupt in shrieks, and you shush them, pointing towards your closed door.

“Just tell me what to do,” you whine.

“Let her take control, and she’ll tell you what to do,” Sarah shrugs. “Make sure you’re, ya know, wet enough, and you’ll have a great time.”

Your face heats up yet again, but you nod, feeling less worried about the idea of being penetrated.

Paige obviously knows what she’s doing. She always does.

Later that night, you are once more in front of Paige’s door with a beating heart and a pulsating pussy. The anticipation alone had you dripping wet, and you were eager to prove to Paige just how good of a girl you could be for her.

The door opens, and the tall blonde immediately pulls you in for a kiss. It was passionate and full of longing, as if she had laced it with your own neediness. You get drunk on it, leaning into her and reaching up on your toes to get as close to her as possible.

Before she can nearly take you right against the door of the apartment, you both pull away panting, to gaze into each other's eyes, taking notice of the dilated pupils you both sported. There was simply no denying the tension and attraction that pulled you in and threatened to shatter everything you thought you knew.

Paige reaches to tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear, and the simple act of intimacy sends a shudder down your spine. “Are you ready, princess?” She asks, her voice low and sultry.

You intertwine your fingers through her free hand. “Always ready for you.”

She guides you to the bedroom, hands never leaving your skin, as her fingers danced over your skin under the sweatshirt you currently had on. You were not anticipating it to stay on your frame for much longer.

Paige’s mouth attaches to your neck, and a quiet moan leaves yours.

“God, I missed you today,” she murmurs in between hickies that you know will be telling signs of your activities tonight.

The hope in your chest reignites that maybe this was something more than just sex at her words. “Me too,” you willingly confess. You weren't quite ready to admit that your admission was entangled with a little something more.

Paige cups your jaw, bringing your lips back to yours, alternating between kissing you and biting lightly at your bottom lip, the sharpness of her teeth a delicious dichotomy to the softness of her own lips. Your head spins at the contact, as if it still hadn’t sunk in that this was your life now.

Gripping at the bottom of your sweatshirt, Paige gives you a look, and you immediately pull it over your head and throw it to the floor. Her eyes are wide, as she takes you all in, and as you watch her admire you, you don’t miss the way her pupils dilate in lust and longing.

All of your previous insecurities are thrown out the window at that moment, as she looks at you as if you were complete perfection.

To her, though, you were. Your skin glowed under the golden hue emitted from the lamp in the corner of the room, and she loved the way your hair flowed over your shoulders, nearly hiding your tits. And the way your swollen, pinky lips were glossy with the remnants of your chapstick and the messy kisses you shared, made you look even more beautiful than any girl Paige had ever seen.

Your giggle pulls Paige out of her lustful musings, and she goes back to pressing kisses up and down the soft skin of your neck, all the way down to your chest and your stomach. Quiet moans leave your mouth, causing her to look up at you with a smug smile.

“Shut up,” you laugh.

She reaches down to tug your pants off, leaving you in a lace thong.

Paige runs a single finger over your clothed clit. “Did you wear this just for me?”

You were caught, and Paige knows this. You momentarily hide your face in your hands, embarrassed at the idea of her knowing that you picked out your sexiest undies for the occasion, but she makes you move them away.

“They’re fuckin’ sexy,” she breathes. “But I think they’ll look better on the floor.” And in one swift motion, she takes them off and spreads you out in front of her.

The cool air hits your pussy, and you gasp at the sensation. But before you can do much else, Paige is leaning down to gather up all your slick right on her tongue. She groans as she tastes you, flashbacks of last night appearing in the darkness of her closed eyes.

“Fuck, baby,” she murmurs against you, the vibrations of her speech adding to the sensation, and you cry out.

“T-thought you were gonna fuck me with the strap?” You manage to ask through the moans spilling haphazardly from your throat.

“Slow down, babe. Gotta get you nice and wet for me, first,” she winks up at you before settling back in between your thighs.

She eats you out and finger fucks you with the same passion as the night prior, and it did not take long before your legs were shaking and you cum with her name filling the room. Your chest is heaving, and her grip on your legs lessen, as she coaxes you through the orgasm with gentle licks and words of praise and encouragement.

“Did so good for me, baby,” she praises, moving back up to kiss you sweetly, and you graciously accept her lips onto yours, sinking into the euphoric feeling.

Paige lets you catch your breath, and once the tingling subsides, she reaches into her bedside table, drawing out the purple strap attached to a harness and hands it to you.

You run your fingers across the length of it, trying to imagine how it would be able to fit inside of you,

Paige stares as you touch it, trying to gauge your reaction.

“We don't have to do anything if you don't feel comfortable,” she assures, her voice gentle.

You shake your head. Of course you wanted this. You had wanted this for a long time, and you were not going to chicken out at the thought of a little pain that would accompany a huge amount of pleasure.

“Want this. Want you,” you stress, meeting her gaze, and she nods.

This was happening.

Paige gets up to slide the harness up on her hips, and the sight alone has you squirming on her bed again. Her muscles flexed with each movement, and as she reaches up to pull her hair up into a bun, you think that you could cum again just from watching her.

With the strapon perfectly settled into place, she comes to stand right back in front of you on the bed, but you were still too far. Grabbing your ankles, she pulls you towards her, your pussy now right at the tip of the strap.

Paige spreads your legs and soothingly rubs small circles with her thumb where it rested on your thigh. “I’m going to start nice and slow, okay, baby?”

You take a deep breath. “Okay,” you say softly, trying to stay as relaxed as possible.

Paige grips the strap, the veins in her hands and arms bulging as she does so, and drags it across your pussy, gathering up the slick that had since accumulated. She runs the rubber head across your clit, drawing out a low moan from you.

“Ready?” She asks, and you affirm, anxious to just get the worst of it done with.

A quiet buzzing cuts through the room, and you realize that there was a vibrator attached to her end, but before you could think another thought, Paige was pushing inside of you with a low grunt.

The feeling is unlike anything you had felt before, but the combination of Paige’s incessant stream of praise and the small circles she was rubbing against your clit dulls much of the discomfort.

“Oh my-FUCK,” you groan, the fullness in your tummy adding to the increasing amount of pleasure you were now feeling. She had thrusted a few times slowly, but you were desperate for more.

“You like that, baby? Bein’ such a good girl for me,” she coaxes, easily stepping into her dominant role.

“More. Faster, please,” you whimper, already fucked out by her, and she picks up the pace considerably.

The room is filled with both of your moans, along with the squeaking of the bed frame and the squelching of the strap on being sucked in by your sopping pussy. It was pure filth, and you and Paige were both drunk on it.

Paige thrusts into you, grinding down on the vibrator that was connected to her own pussy, as she chases her own orgasm, as the strap slams into your g-spot with unfathomable force. The moans and whines spilling from your mouth were downright libidinous, adding to the eroticism of it all.

“Fuck, feels so good. So pretty on my cock,” she grunts, and your eyes roll back in pleasure, her words fueling you towards the orgasm you were chasing.

Unable to form a coherent string of words, you whimper out her name, too fucked out and lost in the throes of pleasure to say much else.

You soon feel yourself begin to reach the peak, and in a desperate attempt, you try to find the words to tell Paige how badly you need to cum.

“Please, P, need to cum,” you moan, and Paige, above you, connects your lips in a searing kiss.

As she pulls away, she pants out, “Cum with me, baby. Let go.”

You all but scream as the orgasm washes over you. Your legs shake as Paige continues thrusting into you, grinding more against the vibrator as she falls over the edge. She kisses you again, mumbling how good you felt into your mouth, and even through the waves of pleasure, the feeling of Paige’s lips against yours feels somehow better.

Paige’s movements slow, her chest heaving as her orgasm subsides, before she pulls out of you with a wet sound that has you both giggling. Sliding the strap off and down her legs, she sets it down and crawls back onto the bed with you, snuggling into your arms.

It was blissful, and it was still hard for you to believe that this was your life now.

“Soo,” she says, wagging her eyebrows as she looks into your eyes. “What’d you think of my strap game?”

You laugh, almost stunned at her lack of subtlety.

“10/10, no complaints,” you grin fondly at her, already knowing that this would just make her more pleased with herself.

“What can I say?” She says, patting herself on the back with a smug smile, and you jokingly give her a small shove.

“That was really good, though, Paige,” you say sincerely. “Thanks for being so patient with me.”

“Anytime,” she winked at you, and somehow you knew that she meant it. Because the sex was just way too good for a one time thing.

After all, you were no longer that shy, good girl. And Paige still had a few tricks up her sleeve.

Sooo what do we think?? I really hope you all enjoyed!

This was so fun to write!! Now that I’m done with this series I can catch up on the one shots in my requests/drafts.

If you have an idea, feel free to send them my way! My inbox is always open of course:))

I know I’ve only written for Paige so far, but I’ve been thinking about expanding my horizons lol

xoxo Katy

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers x you #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #paige bueckers smut

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peeweekey · 7 months ago

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8:05 | SAM

word count: 3.2k

summary: sam’s ten heart event with a twist.

tags: winter, developing relationships, fluff, swearing, cuddling, hiding from his mother in his bed lol

a/n: this spiralled out of my control and into 3k words… enjoy!

it’s cold.

the fleece coat you’ve bundled yourself in cannot protect goosebumps from forming from the biting chill of the valley’s winter nights. your breaths come out in cloudy puffs of air, the heat slowly draining out of every exhale. it’s dark out, poorly spaced lampposts providing the bare minimum amount of light to navigate.

you got sam’s letter earlier, a clumsily written note that was stuffed haphazardly into your farm’s mailbox—the yellow lined paper he used, all crumpled and ripped.

meet me in front of my house! at 8 pm, i’ll be waiting. there’s something i want to tell you.

the ending sentence is somehow even more sloppily written compared to the ones before it. as if he was debating whether or not to add it in, but ultimately decided for it—it’s funny to imagine him hunched over his desk, stressing over what to write to you.

well, you won’t deny feeling excitement over the possibility of whatever sam has to say. if the subtle skip in your step is anything to go by.

you walk through the silent night of the town, it seems like everything’s frozen in place during the colder times of the year—everyone’s safe at home, toasty under their covers and you’d imagine thoroughly enjoying going to bed at 7 pm.

you do too, sometimes. there’s less to do when the ground is too frozen to plant any crop.

there’s a lot more free time out of the farm during the winter. you’ve really started integrating yourself with the townspeople—helping haley find her bracelet, befriending sam’s prickly coworker shane, and even discovering a shadowperson named Krobus in the town sewers. it really is starting to feel like home.

walking, you cut the corner passing by emily and haley’s house—and there he is.

he looks devastatingly handsome all dressed in winter clothing. his regular denim jacket switched out for a dark woolen coat, his pants are unripped and, surprisingly, not smeared with dirt.

though what you like most about his winter attire is his hair. those wild golden locks are laid flat under a woolen beanie—a stark difference from the spiked updo he usually does (though you like that one too). the tips of his hair are slightly curled upwards, revealing that family trait of curly hair.

you creep closer, just watching him wait for you—the way he folds his arms in an attempt to warm up, and the little shuffle he does on his feet. you laugh softly, he must’ve been waiting a while—just like you have for him.

sam turns at the sound of your laugh, his body unconsciously tilting towards you, like a magnet’s uncontrollable attracting to metal. “you made it,” he breathes, his nose, ears and cheeks pinkened by the cold.

you nod, unable to stop a bashful smile from forming on your lips. “i made it.”

a big grin splits his face, mimicking yours. underneath the lone lamplight he looks jaw-droppingly handsome. you feel yourself become warm just in proximity to him.

“i wanted to talk to you in private,” he says. sam’s buzzing with energy, surveying the dark streets before meeting your gaze with his. “it’s kinda cold out here though… i, um—i can sneak you into my room…”

your heart skips a beat, like you’ve skipped a step on a staircase. “what?” you croak.

your eyes catch onto him wringing his fingers, a nervous habit you can’t help but always notice (not because his hands are nice and interesting to look at, not at all).

“you don’t wanna?”

“no!” you inhale, trying to alleviate the twisting sensation in your gut. “i do wanna, ahem, lead the way.”

sam smiles at you, dimples and all. he leads you towards the tiny bedroom window in front of his house. the window is already open—you assume that’s where he jumped out of to meet you.

he climbs through the window with minimal effort, landing on the flooring with a dull thump!

you raise a brow. “have you done this before?”

sam stretches his hand out to you, waiting. his smile turnt sheepish. “i mean, i think we were all rebellious teenagers once.”

you resist the urge to snort—sam’s nervous, you can tell. he doesn’t have his quips and jokes tonight. and he’s shy, but eager. like a puppy, excited and curious about the world.

“o-kay,” you say, one hand in his hand the other set firmly on the windowsill. “make sure i don’t fall please.”

sam nods, eagerly. the curled ends of his hair shake along with the motion as he does.

how endearing.

you tighten your grip on his hand, hauling yourself through the small window, trying your damn best to not make any sudden noise. which is successful for the most part, only a tiny huff of exertion escapes you.

annoying, yes. but the chill of winter burns through any energy you have faster than other seasons.

your feet connect with the wood of his floor, hand still clasped in his and the chill merely at your back. it’s warm inside, with him.

his room is the same as it’s always been when you’d visit before—shelves, band equipment, posters—but the ambiance is different. a little more charged with tension so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

sam does not bother turning on his light, you don’t mind it all that much. but it takes some effort to avoid tumbling over stray objects that clutter his bedroom floor.

“look, I know I’ve been about nothing but the band for a while now…” he starts. “but I don’t want you to think that’s all i’m interested in.”

you chuckle, clasping your fingers behind your back. “it certainly takes up a big chunk of your interests.”

he pouts, literally pouts. it must be the love bug you caught because you think it’s just plain adorable. “i’m really trying over here!”

“sorry!” you grin, “okay, continue.”

“well, um… shoot, this is kinda hard, huh?” he forces an awkward chuckle. “and nerve-wrecking… but what i’m trying to say is…”

“i’m really happy that we’ve grown this close, and well…” sam looks at you, he’s stupidly red—the color spreading all over his face. “i—i’m just wondering, do you think of me as… just a friend?”

your breath stutters, and you feel yourself blushing before you can do anything to stop it. you stare at him as he does with you. the two of you locking eyes for a second, it feels like it’s just you and him in the world.

you feel your shy admittance at the tip of your tongue. no, you’d say, you’re more than that for me, if you want to be.

sam smiles at you, shy but so, so overwhelmingly bright—it’s blinding. your head is running a mile a minute when you finally get the courage—

“sam!” you hear jodi’s groggy voice from outside the door. your stomach drops with dread. “somebody’s at the door! go and check please?”

you lock eyes once again, this time for entirely different reasons, and with entirely different feelings.

“oh my god, sam,” you whisper hurriedly, panic gripping you. “your mom doesn’t know i’m here—what do we do—”

“hold on—” he replies, with the same sense of urgency as you. “okay, okay—i have a plan, just trust me, ‘kay?”

you think you might break out into a cold sweat. you look at him quizzically, “what?”

sam gives you an apologetic smile with that stupid beautiful face of his, he moves forward, grabbing you by your wrists, and moving you with him—towards his bed.

“sam!” you hiss, alarms are blaring in every corner of your mind as sam all but drags you under the toasty covers of his bed. he lifts the blanket and stations you by the edge, covering you in the blanket—which is now a lumpy mess.

this is his childhood bed you’re in, where his mother and brother are just by the door.

and his mother is calling him.

“i’ll get this over with quick,” he says to you, already heading towards the door of his room. “hang on tight, ‘kay?”

you breathe a sound of agreement, way too jittery to formulate any proper response as you quieten under the covers.

though the sheets do feel nice, and smells overwhelmingly of that specific cologne he uses (stolen from joja inventory, he told you once). you will yourself not to relax and melt into the sheets so fast. instead, you listen for each and every sound that may give hint to whatever the hell is happening.

there’s a commotion that you can hear happening, the door swings open, the hinges creaking along with it—this whole surreal experience feels a little like the confrontation part of a horror movie, the helpless victim hiding and the heavy footfalls of the killer.

though in your case, it’s not one set of footsteps, but two.

“what are you two doing here?”

“you’re the one who called us over, remember?” you can recognize the band’s shut-in pianist’s voice from anywhere. “you were all like, stop skipping practice, seb.”

sam’s voice is oddly pitchy when he responds. “…well, tonight’s no good!”

you hear the other person huff, you strain your ears harder to listen. the huffing person clearly fed up with the strange behavior sam’s putting out right now.

“my mom and vincent are asleep,” he adds hurriedly. “they’d wake up—”

you resist the urge to groan, stifling your mouth under a sweaty palm. jodie was just speaking to him minutes ago, there’s no way they’d buy that. he cannot be a more obvious liar.

thankfully they gloss over the fact. “sam, why are you acting so damn weird?” sebastian asks, straightforward as ever.

“yeah,” the other voice adds. feminine but strong. which you now identify as abigail’s, you hear a pinch of impatience in her voice. “and why are you red? did you sit outside in the snow or something—”

sam chokes, which he tries to conceal as an odd sounding cough. abigail pauses mid-sentence. the shift in the atmosphere is palpable. you screw your eyes shut, hearing the rapid rate of your heartbeat. it’s so loud you’re almost convinced the trio can hear the thumping from your hiding spot under the sheets. this is it, they’re going to discover you.

“oh, oh i see,” abigail grins. “on second thought, i wouldn't risk catching all those germs. i’m feeling starved, let’s hit the saloon, seb.”

the aforementioned man grumbles, seemingly puzzled by the sudden switch in abigail’s attitude. “huh… why?” abigail must have whispered something to him—you can barely hear over the muffle of sam’s blanket comforters. “ugh, alright. fine. you owe us one, sam.”

“oh, of course! mhm, yup,” you cringe at the immense awkwardness of sam’s response, feeling the overwhelming urge to pull out your own hair. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? now shoo! wouldn’t wanna get you both sick or somethin’…”

“huh?” sebastian replies, rightfully puzzled as they’re forcefully pushed out of the room. “why would we see you tomorrow if you’re sick—”

“well seb,” abigail says smugly. “let’s just say sammy here is taking care of some important business—”

“okay, bye!” you hear the door click shut. to your utter bewilderment, sam shut the door in their faces.

the room is deathly quiet, the air is stagnant and stuffy. once you feel it safe enough, you crane your neck out of the blankets to check over him. to trace any lingering feeling the sudden visit might’ve given him. sam’s got his back rested against the wood of his door, his back slumped.

“i—i wasn’t expecting that,” you say quietly from your hiding spot on his bed. peeking the top half of your face, watching the door carefully. “kinda nerve-wracking.”

and embarrassing.

“i know—i’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “i didn’t expect them coming over.”

“sebastian said you invited them for practice, though.” you point out.

“maybe i did,” he admits, creeping closer to you on the bed, even if he’s guilty and embarrassed. “i totally forgot—i mean, i was really nervous! my mind blanks when i get nervous…”

sam stops right by the side of the bed, as if he’s waiting for your permission to get in with you—in his own bed. and to be perfectly honest, you really want him to.

“kinda ruined the atmosphere too,” he looks away from you, eyes downcast and melancholy. “i had this whole thing planned too, and i, just… ugh…”

your eyes soften. “sam, it’s really fine. okay, maybe a little shocking but you know it’s not enough to scare me away.”

he looks down at you, worried. his eyebrows are ever so slightly pinched—you wish you could run your fingers over it, and smooth it out yourself.

“plus,” you murmur, reaching over the small amount of space between the two of you to clasp his wrist. “i’m not just gonna leave… just tell me what you were going to say—before the… interruption.”

that gives you the final push to gather your courage to tug him into bed with you. sam follows, flopping onto the empty bedding next to you without a fight. for a moment, it’s just the two of you, side by side, slowly huddling closer and closer for warmth.

and sam is warm. he’s practically radiating comfy heat you wish to burrow into—or wrap yourself around. the perfect bed-partner for winter nights like these.

you find yourself becoming addicted to the feeling.

sam angles his body towards you. you on your back and him on his side, it feels intimate and special. and for some reason, it feels familiar—like you’ve always belonged by his side.

“i think you know already,” he tells you, his eyes are not clear in the dim light but you know, there are practically hearts in them. “that i like you.”

you giggle softly. “and i think you know the same about me.”

sam tentatively grasps your hand, the freezing fingertips thawing under his careful touch. the caress of his hand on yours sends tingling electricity down your spine, your whole body feels alert—alive.

he speaks again, but this time his tone is a whisper of what it usually is. “stay awhile?”

“yeah,” you swallow, squeezing his hand in your grip. a small smile on your lips. “yes, i want to.”

“good,” he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the edges so softly and the dimples on his cheeks deepen. there really is no one else who can compare for you. “hey, you’re really cold… let me warm you up?”

you turn to your side, facing him. at this angle, your faces are mere inches apart. you can trace every dip, line and curve of his face, and he yours. your hand tingles with the overwhelming urge to reach for him and squeeze.

“it is cold,” you agree. “i’d very much like that.”

“phew,” he softly sighs. sam drags his fingers up your arm, stopping at your elbow. wherever he touches, a whisper of him lingers on your skin—a bone deep imprint you yearn for him to spread all across your skin.

you roll into him with little to no effort at all. sam drags you to his chest, your ear perched right above his heart, you can hear the steady thump! of his heartbeat from underneath. sam winds his arms around you, intensifying the heat you feel by tenfold—it’s not uncomfortable at all, though. you like it.

your bodies fit perfectly together, just like puzzle pieces. a mess of limbs tangling together. the warmth of him making you shudder in honey-like delight. it feels syrupy and soft and warm wrapped in his arms.

his hand at your back travels downwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake you feel even through the thickness of the fabric separating the skin of your back and his fingertips. his hands feel rough and calloused at the small of your back—from playing guitar and his skateboarding incidents—but you enjoy the feeling.

you trail your fingers under the thick fabric of his jacket and shirt, feeling the smooth skin underneath—the action has no deeper meaning than you wanting to feel.

sam’s uncharacteristically quiet. his breaths are slow and long, like he’s on the verge of sleep. yet his arms are wound tight around you—like he never wants to let go of you. your nerves make you feel like a slow simmering soup. warm and slowly cooking over the fire.

you two stay entangled for a while, in comfortable silence. sometime during the night you’ve matched your breathing to his, and he pulled you somehow even closer to his body.

but, a thump comes from his window, a light tapping sound. soft but persistent. the two of you opt to ignore it, in favor of snuggling closer to each other. yet the taps continue, and become louder and faster.

disrupted by the noise, sam mournfully throws the covers from over him to check, untangling himself from your grip. leaving a very him-shaped indent on the bed left in his wake. you groan, sticking your bottom lip out, you miss the warmth of him already.

“oh shit.”

the expletive makes you sit up in his bed, the comforter draping off your middle. you can make out the shape of him even with the dimness of the light—sam’s back is towards you, and if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks like he’s shrinking into himself a tiny bit.

“what is it?” you whisper-shout to him.

he slowly turns to you, wide eyed, his shoulders stiff. sort of resembling a kicked-dog. sam bows down his head—with what you think is shame, for what reason, you can’t tell. rubbing your eyes of sleep, you furrow your brow, craning your neck to look out the window behind him.

abigail and sebastian are there, waving wildly at you. your eyes widen. abigail and sebastian are waving at you with smug smiles plastered on their faces.

your stomach drops for the umpteenth time that night. you honestly feel too horrified to speak.

you bury yourself under the sheets, a feeble attempt to conceal your mortification. so that’s why abigail was playing along with sam’s urgent ramblings—she knew (not that sam was any good at keeping a cool facade, he is totally incapable of lying smoothly). you groan, you feel like a rebellious teenager again, only the part where you get caught and utterly humiliated.

outside, you can hear the loud roaring laughter of the duo through the glass, alongside the awkward, embarrassed chatter of your newly-minted boyfriend. (not technically official, but the title succeeds to relieve your horror by the tiniest bit)

still, you stay put. through the mortification and embarrassment you still stick yourself to sam’s side, or more literally, on his bed—because you know, there’s no other place you’d rather be.

you spare another glance out of the covers at the trio—to your surprise, sam’s beat you to it. looking at you with heart eyes and the most lovesick expression (you’re pretty sure yours looks the same).

you know there’s going to be a lot more explaining to do in the morning. but it doesn’t matter to you, not right now when you’re in sam’s bed on the verge of sleep.

not when you feel so warm.

a/n: shoutout to the ass trio for making an appearance in the fic! i love you abby and seb.

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2hightocare · 9 months ago

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INFATUATED!

“In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman.” — mini series ❦︎

Synopsis: The feeling of finding a person who makes your tummy do cartwheels everyday, no matter what the situation is.

Pairings: nonidol!jungkook x fem!reader

Warnings: super cute duper fluff, jk being the epitome of every girls dream man. Argument, oc crying, Jungkook wasting money on oc, banter, cussing, flirting. Js super cute cliché shit…

a/n: they’re my babies… they’re so ‘tear in my heart’ coded but after this I might be inactive. I have a paper due in three weeks 10 pages long so…. Plus in my free time I’m working on a series that I will drop the teaser and aesthetic maybe later or tmr🤍🤍🤍 enjoy!! Kithes.

Falling in love with Jungkook was so easy that it scared you. He did everything right, and whenever there was something wrong, he would do anything in his power to make it right. You thought it was too good to be true, and he would just disappear into angel dust if you blinked too fast.

“How do you feel?” Your boyfriend moves your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead in the process. “Warm.” You talk about the fever you have. The covers that were wrapped tightly around you are shredded from you. “Hey!” You pout, shaking from how cold you feel even though the air is off and it’s not cold. “You’re not going to get better, baby.” He pouts back at you, holding the covers tightly on his chest as you try to fight back for it.

“I'm freezing,” you whine, your eyelids fluttering shut as his palm touches your face.

“You’re burning, baby,” he lets you know while sighing.

You had gotten sick yesterday, which had started with a sore throat. You had thought when you would have woken up today it would’ve been gone; spoiler: it got worse.

Jungkook makes his way to his kitchen, opening up the gray cabinet in front of him. He pulls out the tray filled with medicine his mom gave him whenever he moved out around four years ago. He pops open the pill container, taking two small white round pills out before grabbing a water bottle and making his way to you, who’s curled up on his couch.

Jungkook feels like shit whenever he can’t do anything to make you feel better. It didn’t matter what it was; he would do anything in his power to make you feel better. Seeing you sick, your face red from how hot you are, your eyes closed, and curled up from how cold you felt had him thinking that if he could take away your sickness and be sick instead, Jungkook would choose that option in an instant.

He hands you the pills and the water bottle and watches you take them one by one. He remembers when you gawked at him when he took 4 pills at once and learned that you have a fear of the pill going down the wrong tube.

He also remembers that you prefer pills and injections instead of just medicine syrup. Which baffled him, to say the least; how could someone prefer an injection instead of just strawberry-flavored syrup? He laughed at you, which you just shrugged because it was the truth; you preferred to get poked by a needle than just drinking something.

“That’s actually crazy.” Jungkook throws his head backwards as a laugh rips out of his chest. “It’s nasty. I don’t care what flavor it is. I would literally throw it up.” You scrunch your nose, remembering the taste of the medicines your parents literally shoved down your throat so you could get better.

“Don’t get me started on how anything medicine strawberry flavored gives me PTSD till this day.” You shiver from the thought, which has your boyfriend laughing at you.

“I can’t breathe,” you say, your voice scratchy from your sore throat as you breathe from your mouth. “I should’ve enjoyed breathing when I could,” you joke, watching your boyfriend's eyes twinkle. They had a small glimmer to them, making you wonder how that could possibly happen and why you haven't seen it before with anyone else.

Jungkook had no clue how he ended up here… with a girl he met in a chemistry class that accidentally dropped sulfuric acid all over the floor alongside the beaker smashing into tiny pieces. He watched how your eyes widened as a small piece of your hair dropped beautifully in front of your face out of the low ponytail. You had tied it with a blue latex glove as a hair tie since you didn’t have one after no one in class had one to let you borrow.

That was two years ago; now here he was taking care of you as you struggled to breathe from your congested nose.

“Can I get my blanket back?” You pout at him, which he only shook his head with a chuckle.

….

“Get whatever you want,” Jungkook gave your ass a little tap as you entered the makeup store, your eyes widening from excitement. “Don’t say stuff like that,” you give him a look, which has him tilting your face up with his hand.

“Why, baby?” He chuckles, pecking your pouted lips.

“Because it makes me feel things, duh,” you whisper into his lips. He smiles into your mouth. His lip piercing sends cold shocks through your body that has you playfully shoving him away, remembering where you guys are.

“Get whatever you want, and then we can go to the bookstore,” Jungkook picks up the black and white striped little Sephora bag before pointing in front of you to walk.

You giggled as you started looking for the things that have been sitting in your phone cart for a while now. Jungkook follows behind you, stopping whenever you stop to look at the shelves for something before you drop the product in the basket in your boyfriend's hand.

“That’s really cute,” Jungkook mentions the lipstick tester you have in your hand. “You should get it,” he says, tilting his head at you, watching you open the lid being met with a reddish-dark color.

“Don’t you think it’s too dark?” You look up at your smiling boyfriend.

“What?” You giggle as you stare back at him. “You look beautiful,” he says casually, reaching for your beanie and pulling it down a bit more, fixing it. “You literally want me to die right now,” you joke. “Baby!” Jungkook laughs at the tone of voice you used.

“You can’t keep saying things like that without expecting me to literally melt away,” you lean your body onto him while he wraps his strong hands around your much smaller frame as you look up to him.

“I just say whatever is in my mind at the moment, princess,” he explains, giving your waist a small squeeze, making you squirm as the feeling made you ticklish. “Ah!” You laugh as his fingers dig into your rib cage, tickling you.

You push him away as he tries to continue to tickle your tummy. “Stop!” You laugh, trying to get away as far as you can from him.

Jungkook stops when he sees two girls around your guy's age pass beside you both with judging eyes. “Someone’s mad...” Jungkook whispers into your head as you just shake your head with a laugh.

“Let’s leave, I got everything,” you giggle, intertwining your fingers with him, making your way to the line.

When you guys finally get to the line, you are met with a pretty blonde girl, her dimples carved into her skin when she smiles up at you both. “Hi, is that all?” The girl said, you take notice of her name tag.

“Yes, that's all, thank you,” you smile back. “Find everything you wanted?” Genesis asks, as she starts scanning the products. “Yeah, thanks,” you say, playing with the strings of your hoodie as you see the price rise with each scan.

“Card or cash?” Genesis says, as she points to the credit card reader.

“Card,” Jungkook says before you could reply. He pulls out his black card from the back of the phone case, before scanning it through the white card reader without looking at the price. The machine makes a small sound, “here you go, have a wonderful day!” The girl says ripping the receipt before putting it into the white and black bag, handing it to you.

“Thank you, baby,” you say as you walk out the door of the store, Jungkook smiles at you before shrugging. “The least I could do, princess,” he gives your hand three small squeezes, which feels like he’s squeezing your heart as well. “It was expensive as fuck,” you pout at him. “How much?” He asks, “a thousand.” You cringe, scrunching your nose up at realizing the astonishing price. “That’s it?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow before reaching to the passenger side of his car.

“What! You’re crazy,” you say, giving him a slight swat. You watch as the side of his lips quirk up, making you mirror his actions.

“I love you,” you pout, as he leans into his car. “And I love you so much more,” he says, pulling you into him from your waist.

You tipped toe to reach for his lips, his lips mold with yours perfectly as you both were pieces of a puzzle. “How do you want the kiss?” He asks, giving your waist a squeeze. “What is this, a drive-thru? I get to ask what type of kiss I want,” you giggle, letting your forehead drop onto his chest which rumbles with a laugh.

“You get to ask whatever you want from me,” Jungkook rubs your back softly on top of your thick hoodie. “Oh shit,” your eyes widened as you saw the small print of your makeup on his black shirt when you raised your head upwards. “What?” He looks down to his shirt where you’re rubbing your fingers on the dirty print.

“I just ruined your shirt, baby, ahh!” You freak, which has Jungkook laughing while trying to reassure you that it’s fine and he’ll just wash it when he gets home.

As much as you guys had moments like this, you guys had your disagreements. They weren’t as bad where they ended in screaming matches or end up not talking for days, you guys usually make up the same day before going to bed. Jungkook loathed going to bed whenever you two fought; he felt compelled to make things right before even considering sleep.

“Why are you making me feel bad?” You say, your voice cracking, which echoes the fractures in Jungkook's heart. “I’m not, baby. It’s just... I can’t do anything about it,” Jungkook tries to reason with you.

“She was literally all over you, and you didn’t stop it,” you feel your eyes start to water before staring down at your converse.

“She’s my mom's best friend's daughter; I can’t just tell her to fuck off, y/n. I backed off. I can’t control what she does,” Jungkook raises his voice, a tear falling down your cheek as he addresses you by your first name, a departure from his usual endearments, which feels like a knife to your chest.

“Okay, then,” you nod, tears starting to cascade down, smudging your makeup in the process.

Jungkook's throat tightens; he feels like he can't breathe, feeling like shit. He watches you wipe your tears, small sniffles escaping your mouth. “I’m going to go,” you sniffle, turning your back to him and reaching for your bag.

“No, don't leave, let’s talk this out,” Jungkook implores, turning you around to face him. He reaches for your cheeks, wiping away the tears that continue to fall down your puffy cheeks. “You’re hurting me,” you say, with a sniffle.

“I know. I’m fucking sorry, baby,” he feels his heart racing, wanting to die for making you feel bad for caring about him.

“Why didn’t you push her away or say something? You made me look fucking stupid, Jungkook,” you cry, recalling the pang of feeling as Kailey flirted with him in front of his family, and he did nothing to stop it, leaving you feeling small and insignificant.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he kisses away your tears, trying to soothe the ache in your heart. “I promise I’ll shove her off whenever I see her, and if I have the chance to avoid her, I will,” he whispers into your cheek with each kiss he leaves on your face.

“Promise?” You whisper, finally meeting his worried eyes.

“Promise, baby,” he whispers back, holding eye contact with your red, puffy eyes.

“I hate making you cry; please forgive me,” Jungkook pulls you into him, hugging you tightly as if afraid you'll slip away. “I forgive you, just don’t do it ever again,” you sniffle into his chest, feeling the throb in your heart melt away.

“I love you,” he says, swaying you both in the middle of his living room.

“I love you,” you sniffle.

….

"But the Maze Runner is so good," you literally whine at your boyfriend, who is in the middle of changing his shirt.

"Yeah, but not as good as Spiderman," he says, poking his head out the shirt hole with a grin.

"Okay, true, but the Maze Runner is just as good; you need to read the book to understand," you mumble, trying to separate a piece of hair from your mouth as you curl another strand with your wand.

"You just have a huge crush on Dylan O’Brian, let’s be honest," your boyfriend chuckles, sending you a look through the mirror, to which you just roll your eyes back at him, acknowledging a) that he was right. b) he was literally right.

“Says the boy who had a crush on Fluttershy when we watched My Little Pony,” you say, giving him a 'don’t try me' look. His jaw falls before giving your hair a tiny soft pull.

"You said you wouldn’t bring it up," he laughs before shaking his head with a chuckle. "Well..." you just shrug.

“Fluttershy reminds me of you,” Jungkook stands behind you, his fingers playing with your freshly curled hair. “Until you act like a brat,” he tugs on your hair, making your head snap backwards, where he leaves a big fat smooch on your lips.

“Okay, princess, let’s go,” he says before unplugging the curling wand wire, grabbing your bag and coat, before holding your hand and leading you outside.

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thebigbadbatswife · 1 month ago

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OCT 12th - Table Sex

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Title - This Is His Home

Summary - This is Bruce’s home and he’ll take you wherever, whenever he wants to. You’re certainly not complaining.

Warnings - Table Sex, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Creampie.

Word Count - 1.1k

Your heart is hammering against your chest as Bruce effortlessly sweeps you off of you feet and kisses you. You wrap your legs around his waist, your hands coming to rest either side of his face as you moan into the kiss.

You had been trying to do some clean up around the manor. Lighten Alfred’s work load. Your lovely boyfriend has other ideas. There had been no “hello” or “what are you up to” or even a “how are you”. From the second he had entered the room, Bruce had grabbed ahold of you and pulled you toward him; not caring that you were busy.

He kisses you fiercely, working your mouth open so that he can deepen the kiss. You eagerly let him. Your tongues sliding across each other and entering a dance that you both know so well. Already you can feel heart starting to coil in your core.

His hands are splayed across your ass, giving him the perfect opportunity to give you ass a squeeze. You gasp, breaking the kiss, and give him a look of disbelief. You can’t believe how cheeky he’s being right now. After all, it’s not like the manor is empty. Alfred is around somewhere as are Bruce’s kids. Any of them could walk in at any point. Bruce clearly doesn’t care about any of that. He chuckles and does it again before resuming your kiss.

He takes a step forward and instinctively your hands drop from his face to his shoulders as your legs tighten your hold on his waist. Though you know that he would never drop you. The grip he has on you is always iron tight.

Bruce sets you down on the surface of a table, still kissing you with fervour, as one of his hands starts to trail up your thigh and underneath the skirt you’re wearing. His hand doesn’t stay on your thigh for very long. His fingers trace the inside of your thigh and press up against your clothed cunt, where a wet spot has already started to form on your panties.

He smirks at the knowledge and press the pad of his fingers more firmly against your underwear, right where he knows your clit is already peaking out from beneath its hood. A soft breathy sound leaves you. Not quite a moan, but not quite a sigh. It’s something in between them.

The sound of a crash followed by a shout reminds you that the manor isn’t empty. You could easily be walked in on. Not that Bruce seems concerned, ignoring the sound and continuing to rub you through your panties. Your hands come to rest against his chest and you half heartedly push against him.

“Bruce, someone could walk in on us,” you say softly. “We should go upstairs.”

He looks at you like you’ve started speaking a language he doesn’t understand.

“This is my home. If I want to fuck you on the table, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He makes it sound like you don’t have a choice. Dominance radiating off of him in a way that has wetness seeping out of you. If you really want to go upstairs to his bedroom, he’ll happily take you. Just say the word. You decide to not say anything other than a simple “ok”.

Immediately he’s on you again. Lips moving against your own once more while his fingers are busy beneath your skirt. Not two seconds later does the sound of ripping fabric reach your ears as he ruins your underwear.

“Bruce!”

It’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever done it. From the moment you met he’s always ruined them, one way or another. And every time you complain about it. Like clockwork he shrugs, followed by a simple “I’ll buy you more”.

Your skirt quickly follows as does your top and bra. He doesn’t bother completely undressing himself. Settling for shoving his pants and boxers down, letting his cock spring free. Then he’s dragging you to the very edge of the table and enters you with a single thrust. Which is made easy by how slick you already are.

The stretch has you moaning as all thoughts you had previously of the other people in the manor flee your mind. Bruce moans with you. The feeling of your wet heat squeezing around him making it impossible for him not to.

Out of courtesy, he gives you a few seconds to adjust to him before he’s pulling out only to slam back inside of you. The moans that each thrust forces from you is louder than the last. To the point you’re almost sure that they’re likely echoing around the manor. But you’re mind is too over come by the pleasure that comes from his cock hitting so deep that you don’t completely care.

Each hard thrust has the feet of the table scraping against the hardwood floor as they steal the breath from your lungs. Your nails find purchase in his shirt as you fight to keep yourself grounded. You’re almost completely overwhelmed by how good you feel in such a short amount of time.

Bruce feels the same. The kisses pressed to your skin are messy and uncoordinated. A far cry from how he usually is. Like he doesn’t know which part of you to focus on. First he’s kissing your lips then one of your nipples is in his mouth before he comes up to your neck and back again. The feeling of your cunt wrapped around him completely short circuiting his brain.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise. Eyes rolling into the back of your head as your body suddenly grips him like a vice. It’s all too much for him. Fingertips digging into the flesh of your waist hard enough to leave bruises as he moans against your skin as his hips stutter in their rhythm. His cock twitches as he hits his own climax seconds after your own, filling your cunt with his release.

He slumps against you. His head coming to rest against your shoulder as he stills for a moment, breathing heavily, as he recovers. A few moments pass before he’s lifting himself off of you and slowly pulling out. What had once been neatly styled hair falls in front of his eyes as they’re glued to your cunt, watching as his release drips from you and makes a mess of the table beneath you.

Just as you’re starting to feel self-conscious from the intense way that he’s looking at you, his eyes meets your, pupils blown wide and he smiles.

“Are you up for round two?” he asks.

You bite your bottom lip and nod. If Brucie wants to fuck you sensless today, who are you to argue?

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #batman smut #bruce wayne smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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risingode · 2 months ago

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loml (loss of my life)

summary: in which ellie's only ever cried in front of you three times. yet the fourth is the most devastating of them all.

pairing: ellie williams x y/n

genre: angst

wc: 962

please comment or message letting me know your thoughts! it helps motivate me :)

once again inspired by taylor swfit :)

a/n: hello everyone! it has been quite a while since i have uploaded on here. i've had a lot of changes in my life since the last time i posted a writing of mine, primarily, i am now in my third (!!!) year of university. crazy to even think about tbh. anyways, i know i primarily write about jungkook from bts, but recently i was gifted a ps5 by my brother in law and the first game i bought was tlou part 2 remastered because i never quite got over the game, or more specifically, ellie williams lmaooooo. anyways pls enjoy this short little drabble, i am excited to get back into writing! and yes, i will keep writing for jungkook as well, i'm just mixing it up a bit!

Ellie Williams was an enigma to the world, and right now, her mystery is unfurling in the cruelest of ways. The room before you is a tapestry of shattered dreams, clothes scattered like discarded promises, each garment a silent witness to the betrayal unfolding before your eyes.

Your heart, once so full of trust and love, feels like it's disintegrating. A heart-shaped void appears on the floor beneath you, a grotesque reflection of the pain ripping through your chest. There, in the dim light, your fiancée lies entwined with another woman, their bodies a stark betrayal of the vows once promised to you.

It's almost absurd, the way a love that once made you feel invincible can crumble so easily, as if it was all a cruel joke. The sight is so surreal that you question its reality, your mind unable to reconcile the image before you with the life you thought you shared. Your feet are rooted to the ground, as if some invisible force has tethered you to this unbearable truth.

The diamond ring on your finger, once a symbol of unending love, now feels like a shackle, its weight a painful reminder of the promises that were so carelessly broken. You stand there, numb and hollow, the ache in your chest growing more insistent with every breath.

Her voice is a faint murmur, drowned out by the protective haze your mind has wrapped around you, shielding you from the full weight of her betrayal. The woman who promised to stand by you for the rest of your life is now an almost surreal presence, a distant echo as the reality of the situation sinks in.

They scramble to untangle themselves from the bed—your bed. Clothes are hastily pulled on, and you feel a wave of nausea rise up, the bile surging before you can even hope to stop it. The force of the moment propels you into action, and you sprint through the house, your heart pounding with the realization that every corner holds a painful reminder of the life you built together.

The couch you assembled in your first apartment, the dishes you chose together, each one a piece of your shared dream, perfectly matching the white and royal blue of your kitchen. The kitchen where you cooked meals side by side, dancing to songs from artists you discovered together,

“This one’s the song I want to walk down the aisle to,” you’d said, stirring the pasta as you both cooked together.

Ellie looked up from where she stood, buttering garlic bread. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling as you watched her. “Do you like it?”

Her eyes twinkled with that familiar warmth as she walked over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist. “I don’t care what song you walk down the aisle to,” her tender voice whispers into your ear, “as long as the person standing at the end of it is me.”

The air is cold against your hot skin, a reminder of how real everything you just experienced was. You couldn’t seem to care, though, almost prying open the door to your poorly parked car. The silence of it deafening as you give yourself time to catch your breath, finally it was quiet. Still, the sounds of their shared moans and whimpers echoes in your mind. The silence doesn’t last long, a loud thump breaks you out of your dissociated trance. Your neck snaps towards your driver’s side window, Ellie’s tearful face is the sight you’re met with. You think back to all the times you’ve seen her cry before. You conclude it’s three.

The first time was when she was drunk, confessing her feelings, afraid you didn’t feel the same. You had held her close, whispering reassurances.

“Oh, Ellie, you’re silly to think I don’t like you too.”

The second was when you were rushed to the hospital after a fall at work. The memory is a blur of bright lights and pain, but Ellie’s tear-streaked face as she clung to you is vivid.

“You scared me so bad, baby,” she had sobbed into your shoulder.

You had tried to lighten the moment, chuckling despite your discomfort. “I just have a mild concussion. The only thing I’m worried about is how I’m going to step back into that office without a bag over my head. I’m so embarrassed.”

She pulls away to look at your pouting face, noticing a light purple bruise decorating your pretty eye. She frowns, leaning in to leave a kiss on it. “Shut up, you’re never leaving my side again.”

The third and only time you cried alongside her was the day she proposed, her hand shaking in your grasp as she got down on one knee.

“You’re the love of my life, Y/N. I don’t care how many years pass, or how many hurdles we come across, I will always be there for you. I can’t imagine loving anyone as much as I love you, baby.”

You’re choking on your tears, your hand feels almost numb at the tightening of her grip. You reach your empty hand up to your chest, willing your beating heart to still.

“Will you marry me?”

Now, in the cold car, you’re confronting the fourth time, a cruel twist of fate that you never anticipated would be this moment. You thought the tears would come on your wedding day, as you exchanged vows to love and cherish each other, for better or for worse. The irony makes you laugh, a broken, hollow sound, as you shift the car into reverse.

Ignoring the pleading sobs muffled by the glass, you drive away, each mile feeling like a mile further from the life you once knew and the promises that were so easily shattered.

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