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yieldtotemptation · 10 months ago

Text

RITUAL ft. Yujin

yujin x male reader smut

7k words

Let’s be clear: you’re well aware of what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

For you, it’s just a job. You’ve been fired from plenty before, and there will be plenty more after.

But for her, for Yujin, it’s her career. Her life. Her everything.

And yet, here, in the cramped confines of a bathroom stall, your hand on her ass and hers diving down your jeans; you can’t let go of the nagging suspicion that maybe that’s the fucking point.

“How much time do we have?” Yujin’s lips are on your neck, tiny, hot breaths tickling your skin, nimble fingers at your waist, negotiating with your zipper.

“We had fifteen minutes, an hour ago,” you remind her. “We’re gonna miss soundcheck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Yujin’s unbothered, dismissive of anything that isn’t freeing your cock from its denim prison. “They’ll wait for me. They always do.”

There’s that hint of arrogance, that unshakeable confidence of youth, the invincibility that comes with being that absurdly hot. You can’t blame her at all for it.

What Yujin wants, she gets. You've seen it first hand.

It’s one of the many things you’ve learned about her over the past few weeks.

Well one of the few that don’t concern how good her cunt feels when she rides you, or how her eyes roll to the back of her head when you hit that spot just right, or the way her voice goes hoarse when she screams your name.

“Oh, it’s so perfect.” Yujin’s seen your cock before, tasted it, taken it, had it in every way possible (in every place available), yet that still doesn’t stop her eyes from lighting up the second she sees it springing out from the waistband of your briefs, standing tall and throbbing painfully. “I’d say this is worth being late for.”

You’ve got a groan for her when she takes you into her hand, her grip firm and familiar. A half-hearted protest, too: “Yeah, but if we’re late, Princess Yujin gets a slap on the wrist, whereas I get fired.”

Yujin scoffs at that. “Well, I am your boss, so I think I get the last say if it comes down to it.”

Part of you wants to correct her, wants to explain that technically you’re not her employee but an independent contractor hired by the touring company. However, that part of you needs to shut the hell up, because the intricacies of employment contracts for musicians-for-hire really don’t seem pertinent at this moment.

Regardless, it all becomes trivial in the face of Yujin. So annoyingly, unfairly pretty, not even the unflattering harshness of the bathroom lights are capable of marring her in the slightest.

You’d probably give her the world if she asked.

She’d happily settle for your dick.

Her hand’s moving now, her fingers dancing around your shaft, exploring the contours of your cock from base to tip, and she's forcing you to resign, “Your logic, as always, is flawless.”

“See?” Yujin smiles up at you, that wide, confident grin that’s graced a million posters, been on every magazine cover and TV channel, and is now laser focused on you. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

Her point's made with a squeeze around your length, stroking you in earnest, building to a rhythm that’s become so familiar over the past week—quick and precise, dangerously efficient. Like she was made for this. Made to tease your cock. As natural for her as breathing, really.

Yujin’s had plenty of practice, after all—on the morning of every concert, in the evening back at her hotel, on tour buses and in dressing rooms. On a plane once, even. It's the same torrid routine that’s now become a required pre-show ritual. A quiet spot, a secluded room, and she steals you away, bringing you to the brink and back.

And to think it all started because she asked you to help her ‘calm her nerves’.

Or more correctly, fuck all the worries and concerns out of her pretty little head.

Still, she's never pushed it this far, never cut it this close.

You lean back against the stall door, your breath catching in your throat, the cheap plastic giving slightly under the pressure. Outside you can hear it, hear the bustling sounds of the venue coming to life—staff moving about, the distant roar of fans, the occasional clang of sound equipment. But in here, it’s overpowered by the noisiness of her palm sliding along your shaft, slick with her saliva, and it fills the small space, echoing across the cold tiles beneath your feet.

She’s undeniable—you know you’ve spoilt her. You’ve let her get her way with you far too many times, let her push this arrangement past any semblance of professionalism. Let her poison your mind with whispered sweet nothings that have you pounding her into the nearest available surface whenever she gets a twitch of stage fright.

But you’re also acutely aware of the fact that without these moments, without the promise of her tight, wet cunt wrapped around your cock, you’d be out there on that stage sleepwalking through just another concert with nothing but a drum kit and a bunch of songs you could play with your eyes closed.

“Fucking hell, Yujin, you look too good doing that,” you manage to get out, doing your best to endure her fingers gliding along your length, to last under the microscope of Yujin's dark, hungry eyes.

Another thing about Yujin: there's a special thrill she gets just from watching you, eyes glued to your face, taking in every single nuance of agony she’s wringing out.

“So fucking—” you settle on the most obvious word in your lexicon, “pretty.”

Yujin keens at the praise, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her teeth grazes the soft skin of her bottom lip. It's hardly new for her to hear this, to have people rave about how she's the hottest piece of ass this side of the equator. Yet there's something about hearing it from you that has her eating up your words every time. "Am I, now?"

You nod, voice momentarily failing you as she pumps your cock, her grip never wavering, never faltering, like she’s milking you, milking words of adulation from your lips.

You still haven't pinned down exactly what it is about you that unwinds Yujin, that makes her chase you so hard. Maybe it's because you're slightly older, a touch more mature than the usual plastic smiles that try to charm her out of her pants.

Or maybe it's because you said 'no' the first time she sniffed in your direction, and then made her scream 'yes' every time after.

Whatever it is, it has Yujin’s other hand reaching up to fiddle with the choker at her neck, flooding your mind with memories of your hand around her throat, her gagging on your length, her eyes watering while you fuck her face.

“And what about this outfit?” She asks, oh-so-innocently. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Yujin,” you say, like she doesn’t already know the very obvious answer. You’ve seen her in it all—tiny hot pants, tight little bralettes, that fucking leather catsuit. Yujin’s a fucking goddess in anything she wears, even a blind man would burn from the sheer heat radiating from her body. “You look fucking incredible, as always.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“I heard a ‘but’,” Yujin ponders, her hand still working your cock like it’s her favourite toy. “Like: ‘but the shorts are too short, and everyone’s gonna see my cheeks when I bend over’.”

A blatant invitation to take a glance, to look down, down at those denim shorts so tight against her curves, the fabric stretched so taut that it might split open at any moment. Look down at her thick thighs, the way they flex and release as she jerks you off, every movement making the material cling tighter to her skin, moulding themselves around the outline of her perfect, round ass, those juicy cheeks that you’ve had the honour of spanking and biting and bruising.

“Or is it: ‘but your top is cut too low, your tits are gonna spill right out’?”

She’s drawing your gaze upwards, over that smooth, creamy expanse of skin, her stomach flat and toned, up the thin fabric of her flimsy excuse for a shirt, that dips just enough to tease the tops of her breasts, squeezed together and pushed up by her bra. It's so thin, wrapped so tight around her, highlighting the faint outline of her nipples poking through, already stiffened and calling for your tongue.

“Or maybe it’s: ‘the outfit looks good, looks nice and slutty, but you’d much rather rip it off me and just fucking ruin me like I deserve?'"

Yeah, that’s more like it.

You take that as permission, and reach for the hem of her top, eager to finally see those tits, to feel their warm weight in your palms, to have her stripped and laid bare like she knows you’d love to. But Yujin’s too quick, slapping your hand away with a laugh.

“But unfortunately, there’ll be none of that, drummer boy.” Yujin stops, her grip on your cock tightening for a brief, painful second. “Can’t have you ruining my outfit before I go on stage, can I?”

There’s a challenge there, a test to see if you’ll argue, maybe grab her, throw her against the wall and show her just how little of a fuck you give about anything that takes place outside of this toilet stall. But you know she’s right. You're the adult here, remember? Besides there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

You settle for her lips, leaning down, pressing the pad of your thumb against her chin. You tilt her head up towards yours, only for Yujin to pull back, leaving you kissing air. “Seriously?”

Yujin grins, clearly delighting in denying you again, in making your blood boil and cock throb. “Can’t ruin the make-up either,” she explains, making sure to bat her long, fake lashes for extra effect.

“So, I take it that means the pigtails are off limits too?” You ask, idly toying with the ludicrously slutty hairstyle that’s framing her face, bobbing slightly with every stroke she gives you.

“Now you’re learning.”

So, with a frustrated grunt, you keep your hands at your sides, resigning yourself to Yujin’s sweet torture. It’s maddening, just standing there, panting and so horny, at the mercy of Yujin’s slow strokes. “And no concern for my outfit, whatsoever.”

Yujin’s eyes wander over your choice of clothing, and laughs, rather insultingly, if you're honest. “I’m sure all the fans will be very focused on the drummer’s fashion choices,” she says, trusting you to pick up on the sarcasm.

You feign injury. “Ouch, I put a lot of thought into my clothing.”

“Sure you do. Thoughts like: how easy will it be for your little fuck buddy to tear them off?” Yujin’s thumb finds that sensitive spot just beneath the head of your cock, swiping over it with a smugness that’s both infuriating and incredibly hot.

“You’re going to get it later for that one,” you warn, your hand curling into a fist.

“Oh, I know.”

Yujin picks up the pace, her hand a blur, running up and down your shaft, fingers sliding across your slit, smearing the pre-cum that’s beaded there over your cockhead. And there’s a glint in her eye, that needy look that tells you she’s getting off on this, getting off on having you, having someone she shouldn’t be left alone with, squirm and beg and be so desperate for her.

“Look how big you are for me, daddy.”

There’s that word, that sweet, sweet ‘daddy’.

The first time she called you it was an accident, a slip of the tongue during a particularly intense moment when you had her against the window of her hotel, tits squashed against the glass, cunt dripping with your cum. But every time since, it’s been deliberate, calculated, a button she knows she can push to make you give it to her as rough as she wants; as rough as she craves.

“Look how big you are in my tiny hand.” She’s got you moaning now, melting between her fingers, bucking your hips for that extra bit of friction. “You love it when I jerk you like this, don’t you, daddy?”

‘Daddy’ again, rolling off her tongue like a fucking love letter, a song to send your head spinning and your cock pulsing in her hand.

There’s another challenge, can you last a little bit longer? Can you resist the urge to cum all over her fingers? Paint her pretty nails a fresh shade of white? Or would you rather wrap your hand around her lovely neck and force her to admit that she loves all this just as much as you do.

You swallow down the groan that’s building in your throat, your teeth grinding together to maintain some semblance of control. Yujin catches it, sees the effort it’s taking you, and she shakes her head, her lips pursed in a perfect little pout.

“Don’t hold back, daddy,” Yujin's chiding you, disappointed with your restraint. “I want to hear it. I need to hear how good it feels, how desperate you are. Need you to show me just how much you want to see me filled with your cum.”

She twists her hand down on your cock, squeezing when she reaches the base, her other hand coming down to cup your balls, tickling them with her fingers. That has a moan escaping your lips, a low, desperate sound that makes Yujin preen.

“That’s it,” she’s overjoyed, getting what she came for, basking in your pleasure, “tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want to cum for me.”

And so you do. You tell her, your voice strained with the effort of keeping your orgasm at bay. Not yet, not until you’re deep inside her, not until you're sure that not a single drop will go wasted. “You're too fucking much, Yujin, too fucking hot,” you manage, the words a choked noise that you hope she can hear over the blood pounding in your ears. “You’re driving me fucking mad.”

Yujin’s strokes keep building, one on top of the other, and she’s pressing herself against you, the warmth of her, soft breasts pushing into your chest, her lips sucking at your neck, kissing into you hard. After all, who will notice? Who gives a fuck if the drummer shows up on stage with a few extra bruises on his skin?

You fall into the crook of her neck, your forehead on her shoulder, as her lips make their way up your throat, across your jaw, until she’s nipping at your lobe, whispering in your ear, “You’re desperate for my cunt, aren’t you, daddy? You want to fill me up right before I go on stage?”

“Yujin,” you grit out, and you’re holding her, hands on those perfectly round cheeks, holding on for dear life, pulling her close to you so that she can feel just how right she is. The words spill out of you like a confession, “I need to fuck you now, Yujin. I need to feel your cunt, make you cum so hard you won’t be able to fucking move, let alone dance.”

And Yujin leaves one last, lingering kiss on your pulse. “So do it, daddy.”

Her words are a fucking gunshot, and you’re off to the races.

You spin her around so fast she yelps, your chest to her back, your cock trapped between her ass cheeks. Her shorts are barely an inconvenience, yank them down, denim catching on her hips, sliding down to her ankles, leaving her in just her panties.

Yujin gasps, the cool air meeting her bare skin, and she braces herself against the wall of the stall, needing something to keep her on her feet. She’s all soft curves and sweet smells, so insanely proportioned, like she's built for this, curvy and thick in all the right places.

While she’s distracted you sneak a kiss onto the creamy-white skin of her shoulder, hard enough to give her a mark to match yours, a badge of honour that brands her in the same way she’s done to you.

Her panties never stood a chance, completely drenched to the point of ruin, sticky with anticipation, snug against her lips. You pull them aside, thumb brushing against her swollen clit, making her hips jerk forward. She’s on your time now, you’ve got the green light to turn the tables and drag her through the same torment she’s put you through.

“Look at this,” you’re in her ear now, taunting, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Yujin’s cheeks burn red, and she’s pushing back against you, grinding her ass into your cock. “Of course I am. I can’t help it,” she’s a little breathless, a little shaky, “I need it.”

“You’re so beautiful,” your hands like magnets on her bare ass, squeezing, marking her in places only you'll ever know. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” Yujin whimpers, as you slide your finger down, between her legs, tracing her wet slit, testing her tightness, feeling her warmth, feeling how ready she is. “Please, fuck me now.”

You can’t resist her, you never can, not with so little time left and so much of her to ruin. Your cock dips, lining up with her pussy, the tip nudging at her entrance, and all it takes is one strong thrust, and you’re pushing into her, burying yourself to the hilt in a swift, brutal motion.

There’s a scream from her, a grunt from you, blending and echoing through the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and the stall walls. Someone’s going to hear it, someone’s going to come in and see you fucking the star of the show and that’ll be it for the both of you.

But really, fuck all of that.

Fuck the concert, the venue staff, the fans, the tour managers, the PR nightmare that will follow.

Fuck everything that isn’t inside this stall, that isn’t Yujin’s tight cunt squeezing around your cock, that isn’t the way she’s shuddering in your arms, gasping your name, needing her daddy to fuck her harder, faster.

There's no easing her into it, not like you know you should. You fuck her hard, just like she’s begged. Your hips snap against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out the noise outside, again and again, in and out, over and over.

Yujin’s never needed much to get started, always so easily soaked, so easily ready. She'd told you as much one late night (or one early morning): "I can take it, take anything, as long as it's coming from you. "

Her walls clamp down around you, she’s already pulsing, her cunt desperate to wring you dry. You’re gliding in and out of her, using her, letting her mold herself so perfectly around you, her juices coating your cock, making it slicker with every thrust.

“Yes—that’s what I fucking need.” Yujin cries out, her voice high-pitched, her head thrown back, and the flimsy plastic isn’t enough anymore, she needs you to hold her steady, to dig your fingers into her hips and nail her into the wall.

Each stroke, each thrust into her cunt, each time you fill her, stretch her—each one could be the last one, the one that has you exploding inside her. Could be the one that overwhelms you, the one that makes you forget where you are, that there’s anything that exists besides fucking this needy, little brat.

It’s the way Yujin clenches around you, tight and perfect, like she’s made just for you, like she’s never been fucked this way before, will never be again.

(Even though you have. Even though you will.)

Each time is like the first, you’re discovering her all over again, peeling back layers of this beautiful, untouchable idol, and finding something new, something beneath the sheen of purity and perfection. Something that makes you want to ruin her, bring her down to your level, to roll around the filth with the rest of you mere mortals.

And Yujin knows it.

There’s a need to make her feel it, and there’s her fucking pigtails, dangling in front of you like a carrot, flicking up and down in front of your face with every thrust. You need to grab them, to yank her back onto your cock, to force her to take it as hard as you want to give it. It’s almost too much to resist.

But even in your haze you know better. Instead, you settle for that choker on her neck, your thumb sliding under the black leather band, feeling the pulse of her blood racing beneath her skin. You grip it, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her gasp, to make her cunt tighten, to make her cry out—

“Gah—God—fuck—”

Strangled cries have her screaming, have her needing you to go deeper.

“Fuh—fuck—yes—right there—right—fucking—there—”

She’s chanting, almost sobbing, doing her best to take everything you’re giving her, everything she’s needs, everything she deserves. You’re tapping into that deep, dark desire within her. The one that gets off on being treated rough, the one that loves having a daddy, the one that needs to be nailed to a wall and reduced to nothing but a shaking, mewling mess of climaxes.

You dare to snake a hand under her top, you’re not going to mess her outfit, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a taste of what’s underneath. Your fingers stretch under her bra, testing the elasticity of the cotton, before finally finding the swell of her breasts, cupping it, filling your hand with it.

Yujin’s moan is all the encouragement you need, a wordless permit to squeeze, to pinch her nipple, roll it between your thumb and forefinger until it’s a hard little nub.

“Oh fuck yes—touch me. You love touching me, don’t you?” She's feeling it, really feeling you, the stimulation of your palm on her breast, the sting on her nipples. “You fucking love my body.”

It’s the damn truth—these past weeks have been a crash course in Yujin, and you haven’t found an inch you didn’t immediately fall in love with. Every curve and dip and line, every soft place and every sharp edge; the weight of her in your arms, the way she fits against you, how she responds to your touch like she’s been waiting for it, for you, for fucking ever.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, daddy, just like that.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, Yujin. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

You slur words into her, words that make her shiver, make her tremble against you, make her so fucking happy to hear them. It’s the words that she loves, hearing you talk like that, like she’s the only one who can make you feel this way. And maybe she is.

So you keep talking, keep whispering those loving, filthy soliloquies into her ear, keep telling her how good her cunt is, how desperate you are for her body, how much cum you have to give her. And her body has an answer for you each time, each syllable a caress that sends shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Yujin. So beautiful when you’re like this, when you’re all mine.” You can feel it boiling up inside you, that pressure building with every smack of your hips against her ass. “I’m going to cum so hard for you, princess.”

There’s the guitar, the bass, the keys, the band tuning up outside, noise filtering into the stall, faint but unmistakeable, the only thing missing is the beat of the drums, the only thing missing is you.

Yujin’s grinning, knowing she’s the one keeping you occupied, knowing it’s her cunt that you’re buried in, that’s not letting you go.

“If only they knew,” she’s giggling like a schoolgirl (she might as well be with those pigtails), “if only they know how good you’re fucking me right now. They won’t have a fucking clue, will they?”

“Such a fucking tease, Yujin.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and sends a coy, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you, you little slut,” you answer, not bothering to mince your words. Your hand tightens around her choker, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to keep her right there, panting and needy and yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing out there. I see how you dance, how you move. Like you’re forcing them to picture you fucking, making them all want a taste of what they’ll never have.”

The truth makes her shiver against you. “They all wish they could do this to me, all wish they could fuck me and fill me like you are.”

There’s a tension building inside her too, the blend of your words and the reality of the performance she’s going to have to put on afterwards. It has her body tightening like a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.

And you’re going to be the one to release it.

You venture a hand downwards, gracing over her stomach, her belly button, until you reach the wetness of her pussy. There's her clit, ripe for teasing.

You fuck your cock in deeper still, matching the swirl of your finger with the pounding of her cunt, timing it just right to make her leak all over you.

“That feels so—fuck,” Yujin purrs, so, so blissful. “Only you—only you, daddy. No one else will get to have me—fuck—fuck me like this.”

“Whenever I want, any time I want,” you’re telling her, promising her, even though it’s more likely to be the opposite. That it’s Yujin that will seek you out on those lonely nights and those quiet mornings, or just whenever she’s bored and needs someone to fuck all the nerves and stress out of her system.

“They’d be so—gah—so jealous if they knew. I see it when they look at me—how much they want me,” she’s straining to say it, but needs you to hear it, needs you to know it. “I see it—read it in places they think I don’t look.”

She’s lost, lost in a sea of her own musings, thoughts of how everyone with a working pair of eyeballs wants to fuck her. Relishing in the knowledge that she's found the only person that can fuck her right, and that their cock is buried in her cunt, their fingers working her clit.

“They call me a slut, a whore, but that’s not true, is it, daddy? I only fuck you,” Yujin repeats, “I’m only a slut for you.”

There’s an edge to her voice, a raw, animalistic need that makes you want to prove her right. Want to erupt inside her so badly that she’s forced to carry a part of you inside her when she’s on stage.

“Yours to use,” Yujin taunts. “To fuck, to fill...”

Jesus.

“To break.”

Fucking.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my clothes, fuck up my hair—fuck—my makeup. Go out on stage with all the marks you’ve left on me, with all your cum—gah—all over me.”

Christ.

It hits you like a sledgehammer, adding another layer of taboo to this already fucked up situation. The thought of it is fucking wild, ridiculous to contemplate, you’re sure it’s all just part of the game, another button Yujin’s pressing for her own thrill… right?

“Then everyone would know—everyone would know that it’s you—that you’re the one that’s fucking my brains out when no one else is watching.”

You’re all over her and deep inside her, lips on her throat, her jaw, hands at her tits, her cunt. Devouring her, all of her, from those tightly binded pigtails all the way down to her carefully manicured toes.

And then she stops dancing around the subject and demands it.

“Ruin me. Fuck me, please, daddy. Just—kiss me, now.”

“You said—”

But Yujin’s already twisting around at her waist, angling her body so she can seize your lips, smear her lipstick across your teeth, flood your mouth with her tongue. She’s got fistfuls of your shirt, pulling you closer, as if she’s trying to claim you, claim every inch of you as property of An Yujin.

Now that you’ve got permission, you thread your fingers into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her by the pigtails like you’ve been dying to, kissing her like your life depends on it.

You’re getting rougher with her now, tugging her head back, peeling her lips away from yours, sliding your cock out of her. You ignore the whine, ignore the tears. It’s game over for her makeup, for her hair, her outfit. She’s a beautiful, chaotic mess—so shamelessly yours, so perfect in every way.

The separation barely lasts a second, you’re lifting her up, turning her and depositing her atop the toilet seat, spreading her legs wide, putting her on display.

This is the real show—Yujin looking up at you, eyes dark with need, tits out and heaving with every breath; thick, toned thighs glistening with her juices, your precum; and her pussy, all puffy and so ready to be filled again.

“Daddy—” Yujin starts, and ends, as you’re inside her again. Inside her tight, welcoming cunt, her back arching off the cold porcelain, her legs wrapping around you, ankles crossing and locking in place.

Just one hard thrust and you see it—it's in the watering of her eyes, the wobble of her lips.

She’s close, and you’re not far behind.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, nearly lost somewhere between your haggard breaths and the sloppy wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

But you hear it, and it’s all you need.

It’s her pigtails in your hands again, strands wrapped around your fist, and you’re taking a front row seat in the spectacle that is Yujin falling apart.

“Please, fuck me.” There it is again, louder now. “Fuck my tiny little pussy, daddy. Make me yours.”

It’s every single sound out of her mouth, every folding and crumpling of her perfect features, every single drop of sweat sliding down her neck, every time she says fuck me, or break me, or over and over again—make me yours.

You want to savour this, burn this image into your mind, live off the memory of Yujin’s cunt pulsing around you, but there’s no time, no time to do anything but kiss her again; clumsy, hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Please,” she’s biting into your lip, licking into your mouth, clawing at your shoulders, “say my name.”

“Yujin,” you give it to her, offer her name like a sacrifice. “Yujin, I’m so fucking close.”

The porcelain is doing its best to bear your weight, to survive the punishment you’re hammering into Yujin’s tight, perfect body, to outlast your relentless fucking. “Cum for me daddy, cum for me.”

But it’s her, it’s Yujin that crosses that threshold first, coming apart until she’s nothing but a mess of whimpers, moans, and cries of your name. Of pleases and thank yous, until she’s just a hot, tight cunt getting used for your pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—daddy, I can’t—it’s so—”

It’s all there across her face, all in the way she’s shaking, the way her cunt is gripping you, her walls fluttering around your cock like a fucking heartbeat, tightening and releasing in endless waves that crash down on her.

“So good—you’re so good—you’re so—fuck—fuck—cum—cumming—"

Her entire body seizes, tenses all at once, and you’d be worried if you hadn’t seen it countless times before, if you didn’t know to expect her to lose all control of her limbs, to not be able to do anything but stare at you, all teary eyed and feeling so, so good.

But you keep going, hips pumping, cock driving into her, keeping her steady, helping her climb to her peak, filling her tender, creaming cunt over and over again. You want to make this last, want to keep her like this, unable to think about anything but you, unable to think about anything that isn’t your cock.

“So fucking good for me, Yujin, so good, princess.”

“God, fuck—daddy!”

It’s the praise that pushes her over, unravels her, has her mouth frozen in the shape of your name, like the idea of you is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. That, and her nails digging into your skin, adding to the tapestry she’s already engraved on your back.

And then the silence comes, and that’s the real killer.

Yujin’s always loud when she gets fucked, always desperate to tell you how good it feels, needy for you to know how good you are to her. But when she cums—when she loses herself on your cock—it’s like she relinquishes all ability to articulate, to make any sound other than a whine or a gasp.

You know what she wants to say—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—know what she wants to tell you—thank you, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you—and it’s your responsibility to see her through it, to plunge your cock deep into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt, to have her rocking and creaming all over you, again and again and again.

And then she falls apart.

So beautifully, so perfectly.

But you’re not done yet.

Your thrusts come in thick and fast, making the whole stall shudder, making your vision swim. Yujin’s still reeling, snapped back into the land of the living by the force of your fucking.

She’s leaning forward, pressing her forehead to yours, able to form whole words again, whispering something that you can’t quite catch, something sweet and needy and demanding.

“I’m all yours, daddy.”

It’s a trigger she’s been waiting to pull—the moment she says it, you let go.

There’s no holding back anymore, you’ve been fighting it for what feels like hours, trying to keep your shit together, but it’s no use. You’re going to cum, the only question is, where.

You can’t shake the image of her covered with you, painted all over her face, her chin, her neck, her chest, her perfect, perfect tits. You want it, want to see it realised, want to parade her out on that stage looking like a fuck doll—your fuck doll.

But not now, not today.

So instead, you bury yourself inside her, so, so deep. Yujin’s nodding, teasing “deeper, deeper, please,” begging you with her whole body, watching you with those eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, licking at her lips, bracing for you to fill her.

It’s your turn to shake, your turn to let go of that knot in your gut that’s been twisting ever since she dragged you into the bathroom, pushed you into the toilet stall and told you she needed this.

You throb, tighten, the base of your spine tingles, and that’s all the warning you get before you’re cumming, rushing Yujin’s greedy cunt with your hot, sticky load.

“Daddy, daddy—daddy—yes!”

It’s an addiction now, she needs your cum like she needs oxygen, and you need to fill her as if you’ll die if you go another day without pounding her cunt.

“So good, so fucking good inside me—all yours, all yours—"

It’s a thousand blissful little moments stacked on top of each other, her clenching, you throbbing, her grinning, you grimacing, but it all comes together in this heated space that leaves you both boneless, breathless catastrophes.

Yujin’s the first to come down, slumping against you, drooling down your chest, staining your shirt with a sheen of her saliva. Her legs go slack around you, finally letting go of your waist, still shaking in the aftershocks of her orgasm. You can feel your cum leaking from the corners of her cunt, oozing down the inside of her thighs, sliding past her knee, down to her ankles.

A finger under your chin to tilt your head to her, to kiss you. One of those quiet, intimate kisses that will have you spending the night trying to decode its meaning. But, for now, there’s just the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“Thank you, daddy,” Yujin says, so sweetly, so sincerely, and it’s like a knife twisting in your chest.

“Always.”

And slowly, carefully, you’re pulling out of her, even though she’s still clenching, still trying to keep you in. Your cock exits her with an audible slosh, and you need to brace yourself against the stall door, lean into it hard as you take in the sight of Yujin, sprawled on the toilet seat, well fucked and utterly ruined in all the best ways.

She reads your mind, “You really made a fucking mess of me.”

“I only claim fifty percent of that responsibility.”

Yujin pouts, makes sure you’re watching her, and dips her fingers into her defiled cunt. “This is all you, daddy.”

She drags out her digits, holding them up for you, your cum glistening on them like a prize. And then she’s slipping them between her lips, flicking out her tongue to catch a drop that dribbles down her wrist. She licks it all up, slow, savouring it, making sure you’re watching, making sure your eyes are glued to her as she devours the last traces of you from her hand.

That sound she makes, that little “Mmm” of satisfaction has you feeling heady, makes your cock twitch, eager to be back inside her, to fill her right back up so you can watch her do it all over again.

“Cumslut,” is the only word you have her for her, as she slides her fingers in deeper, tickling the back of her own throat like it's the most natural thing to do. Her cheeks hollow out, and after a long, dramatic suck, she pulls her fingers from her lips with a wet pop, all shiny and clean.

She corrects you. “Your cumslut.”

And then a switch is flipped, and she’s putting herself back together.

Yujin’s graceful, at odds with the confines of the cramped bathroom stall she’s just been fucked in. It amazes you every time, the way that she moves. All liquid and soft, as if she’s not really touching anything, as if she’s floating.

She licks droplets of cum off her lips, scoops the remainder up her legs, her thighs, and you’re just staring, gawking at her with something akin to awe, because she’s just so fucking beautiful, so utterly composed, so untouchable.

You help her, you try, help her tug down her shirt, pull up her panties, her shorts, help her slip back into the role of Yujin, the perfect idol, the star that can’t be tarnished by something as dirty as a quickie on top of a toilet seat.

She nods towards the stall door, and you let her past you, help hold her steady as you lead her to the bathroom mirror, give her a chance to assess the damage you've wrought on her. The smudged lipstick, the kiss bruises, the hair sticking to her neck—all evidence of you.

And yet, she smiles, looking back at you over her shoulder. Like she’s got it all under control, like you haven’t ruined her, not really. Not yet.

“Well, that’s something,” she says, her voice a little too breathless for the breeziness she’s aiming for.

But then she’s got her compact out, the tiny bag she's had hidden in her back pocket specifically for occasions like this. You stand back, giving her space to work her magic. Cheeks are patted for colour, lips glossed for plumpness, eyes relined with that dangerously smoky look that makes them pop.

“How do I look?” She turns, looking at you through the mirror, hand on her hip, posing.

“Like you’ve just been fucked in a toilet stall, honestly.”

That makes her laugh. “Good.”

She’s heading to the door, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her top, stopping along the way to give your forearm a quick squeeze.

There’s that look in her eyes again.

One you’ll be revisiting once the show’s over and the doors are closed.

“I’ll take off first,” she says, tying her pigtails back in place. “Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious.”

You catch her hand before she can get away, pulling her face close to you, wiping away a stray bit of cum still shining on her chin. “Good luck out there.”

And there’s that smile. That smile that’s going to make an audience of thousands fall in love with her. That’s going to make you fall in love with her, if you’re not careful. “Don’t need it,” she says, pressing her lips to yours, ruining her lip gloss all over again. “I got you, daddy.”

#kpop smut #yujin smut #ive smut #male reader

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pinkaditty · 17 days ago

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Drunk Ghouls (Frostheim Part 1; Jin Kamurai and Tohma Ishibashi)

starting this off by saying THIS WAS SUPPOSED 2 BE LOW-EFFORT! A FEW PARAGRAPHS PER CHARACTER AT MOST! why do i do this 2 myself. note that these will probably vary in length per character bc i want 2 try. 2 keep it short. (update: i failed.)

woke up at 4:48am with a dry mouth thinking about haku nibbling my ear. anyways. that snowballed in2 this. enjoy.

a/n: also. side note that’s completely irrelevant but. im. so sick. of there not being enough words within language 2 express feelings i want 2 convey in my writing. does anyone else have that issue or am i just insane?? i complained about it 2 my therapist and she said “well. you know. you can make up words. shakespeare did and he really was ‘just some guy’.” and you know what. i might start fucking doing that. if some english white boy with black teeth and homosexual urges can make up words then so can i. i spent hours looking 4 a word that meant “to reluctantly pity someone/thing” but apparently that is a word that does not exist and im frustrated because saying “you felt reluctant pity towards [subject]” does NOT hit the same as “you felt [epic awesome word meaning ‘to reluctantly pity someone/thing’ here] towards [subject]”.

ok. im done. sorry.

summary: the ghouls are drunk. you are tasked with taking them back to their dorms.

cw: the ghouls are drunk!!!! some angst (?) in jin’s part, improper use of medication in tohma’s part, drunk ghouls, some fluff. never proofread, as usual. might be slightly ooc bc im never confident writing these ghouls and these are. unusual situations for them.

JIN:

Quite frankly, you don’t know what he was doing at Rui’s bar. And you don't care. You might be a little bitter that your initially relaxing evening got turned into yet another errand for the King of Frostheim. But, whatever. There was nothing you could do about it. If you didn’t bring the King back to his castle, who would?

He can hardly manage to support his own weight, so he's mostly leaning on you. You would've suggested he use his sword, but no chance were you going to let him swing that thing when he couldn’t even stand upright. He's quiet for most of the walk back. He'd occasionally groan in response to a killer headache, or gasp if he felt like he was going to vomit, but otherwise, he hardly made a sound. He kept his breathing even and his expression seemed quite flat. You wouldn't know he was drunk if he wasn’t tripping over the stone path and leaning his weight over you.

When you finally make it to Frostheim and into his bedroom, you haphazardly shove his limp body off your shoulder and onto his bed, on which he collapses without much complaint. You'd wanted to purposely ignore the state of his room so you wouldn't feel any semblance of pity towards him and reluctantly end up cleaning. You figure you could at least close his curtains so he isn't rudely awakened by the sun when it rises. But if you're being honest, you might want to leave them open so he gets his morning interrupted to rectify your interrupted evening.

Just as you’re about to head over to his curtains, you feel a hand close around your wrist. With an iron grip, Jin yanks you onto his bed. In moments, you find yourself wrapped up in his embrace, your cheek awkwardly pressed against his chest and your arms stiff at your sides, held there by his grip. You struggle, already aware that you don’t stand much of a chance, but protesting anyway. “Can you let me go?” Your words are unfortunately muffled with half of your face pressed into his chest. You don’t want to sound combative in the event he gets annoyed and you have to deal with annoyed drunk Jin instead of just drunk Jin, but you’re tired, it’s late, and you can hear the call of your bed in the chapel. It has never been more alluring.

Jin hugs you tighter to his chest in response, curling himself around you. You still, realizing that this may be a case where struggling will only make the “knot” tighter. “...No.” You feel his lips move against your hairline, making you shiver slightly. “Stay here.”

An order from the King is an order that you have the rare privilege of ignoring. You suppress your urge to struggle against his grip and use your words instead. “...I have classes in the morning.” The most basic excuse ever, but maybe he’d care about your education. “I’m still not well-versed in anomalies yet, and I only have so much time to learn—” Jin growls at the implication of the curse eventually ending your life, “—and I don’t want to fall behind.”

Jin is silent for a moment, and his grip loosens just slightly. It’s not enough to escape, but it allows you some wiggle room. You try not to move, remaining still. He appears deep in thought. If you play your cards right, maybe you’d get back to the chapel sooner than expected.

Unfortunately, luck is not on your side. Jin ends up pulling you closer, and you’re right back to square two, his body curled around you and you pressed against his front. “You will have time.” He speaks against your hairline again, his warm breath puffing against your forehead. You muse that you’re lucky you can’t smell the booze on his breath. You helplessly sigh, yielding to his grip and loosening your tight shoulders. You weren’t going to be free anytime soon. You’re submitting yourself to your fate when he adds “...I’ll hire you a tutor. Stay here.”

For a moment, his offer strikes you as thoughtful. But then you’re reminded that the reason you’re here is because he refuses to let you go, which isn’t very thoughtful. Regardless, with his arms cinched this tight around you, you couldn’t complain much for fear of him squeezing the life out of you a bit too early.

You grumble, but ultimately relent, unable to fight against his superhuman strength and his ability to solve all his (and your) problems with money. You lay there, not reciprocating his affection but not resisting it either, becoming less and less sure of how much time has passed. You wish you had access to your phone or something to keep you busy. You were too awake, pressed flush against the King of Frostheim, whose body temperature was quite warm from an entire evening drinking and whose light cologne was beginning to tickle your nose. You were overly warm, wiggling your nose to keep from sneezing, and craving your bed. This was becoming miserable.

Jin’s breathing slowly becomes even. You know it would be rash to assume he’s fallen asleep, but if he’s distracted enough, maybe you could slip away. As you start to move a little bit, trying to very gently shimmy yourself out of his grip, you hear him murmur something.

“Please…”

You freeze. Was he still awake? You can’t look up, still pressed to his chest and your head directly underneath his, but you can listen. You stay still, hoping by some miracle he falls back asleep. His breathing sounds uneven again and you can hear his heart loudly thumping against his ribcage.

“Just stay here with me… Just a little while longer…”

Something in you lurches suddenly. That’s right. The great Frostheim King has experienced a deep loss before. You weren’t there to witness his reaction when the news got out, but you had heard about it. The loss of a parent was something one tended to carry for the rest of their life, especially if they were close.

Idly, you wondered if he feared the rumors the news attempted to spread. His mother had succumbed to a hereditary illness. Did he fear that one day, he, too, would have to watch his world crumble around him, unable to make sense of anything anymore? Did he fear that his cognitive function would rot along with his ability to express emotion properly? Did he fear the loss of himself as much as he hated the loss of his mother? Did he see himself in that grave instead of his mother?

A begruding empathy fills you. You didn’t like how Jin called you “servant”. You didn’t like how Jin found it perfectly acceptable to order you around. You didn’t like how he would interrupt your routine simply because he believed his needs mattered more. And yet. Your thinking reminds you that he’s still human. You aren’t sure if it’s this fear that drives him, or if it’s what keeps him awake at night and makes him sleep through the day, but it’s still a fear, isn’t it? A real, reasonable fear. He’s still a human. A human who made a deal with a demon and proceeded to devour said demon, permanently changing him, but a human nonetheless. The fear was real and it was reflected in his heartbeat, still thumping loudly against his chest.

You sigh, relaxing into his grip again. Slowly, you lift one of your arms as best you can under his iron grip and place it on his side, minimally reciprocating his grip. Maybe some comfort would do him some good, even if lackluster.

He seems to relax into your touch almost immediately. You still aren’t sure if he’s awake or not, but his grip gets more comfortable, though not any less tight. You sigh again, considering this a half-victory at best.

As you relax into his chest, you note his heartbeat slowing down. His breathing slowly becomes even again. You don’t really want to smile at having successfully calmed down Jin himself, but you allow yourself a small curve to the corner of your lips.

Eventually, his steadily beating heart and even breathing lull you into a peaceful doze. At least with his head above yours, maybe he’d be the first to suffer the morning rays.

TOHMA:

Seeing Tohma drunk is like learning vampires were real. You’d never completely written off the possibility, but learning it’s a concept with genuine merit instead of a mere myth is more jarring than you’d expect. And lugging Tohma across campus back to Frostheim proves to be quite challenging. His days in Vagastrom were well-reflected in his crushing weight, and his particularly long legs made it hard to maneuver yourself and him simultaneously in a way that prevented either of you from toppling over. Next time, if this ever happens again, you’re getting a wagon. Lugging a long-legged beefcake across campus wasn’t doing wonders for your back.

He hardly makes any noise, and seems more uncomfortable than anything. He doesn’t resist your help, but squirms uncomfortably when you try to support him at his waist, and winces at any loud noise on campus. You wonder if something’s wrong with him, but can’t be bothered to pay too much attention when you’re already breaking your back trying to get him back to his dorm.

When you finally tumble inside his room at Frostheim, he shrugs himself off of you, cradling his head. You’re offended for a few moments at his lack of thanks, but you notice his stumbling beeline towards a pill bottle on his dresser. Time seems to slow as you recognize the medication. Alprazolam. The same medication Leo exposed Tohma for taking regularly. It takes a moment for the dots to connect, but once they do, a small surge of panic shoots down your spine. He probably shouldn’t be taking those, not after drinking alcohol.

“Tohma—”

Too late. He gulps a few down—dry, at that—and promptly shuffles over to his bed. He crumples onto it and eases himself onto his side, pressing his fingers into his temples, his face twisted into a pained expression. You groan inwardly.

You have half a mind to drag him off to Mortkranken to see Yuri—or Professor Nicolas, at worst—but your back hurts at the mere idea of that and you were sure Yuri would be less than happy to see another Frostheim student in need of treatment at his dorm. You watch him carefully, peering at his unmoving form. If you were lucky, maybe you wouldn’t need to. Ghouls heal quicker, and hopefully the effects of the alcohol would wear off faster. Regardless, you couldn’t leave him alone, lest he spontaneously stopped breathing due to the combined effects of the alcohol and the medication. So it looks like you’re stuck here for a while.

Tohma hardly seems to notice that you’re in the same room, and barely responds when you hesitantly seat yourself next to him. The smallest flicker of acknowledgement in his expression, and that’s it. His eyes are screwed shut, and his usual sardonic smile is long gone, replaced with a pained frown. Witnessing Tohma’s emotions clear on his face was an unusual sight, but you’re aware he can probably feel your gaze, so you turn away. You make sure to glance at him on occasion, ensuring his body still rises and falls with his breathing.

You aren’t sure how much time passes as you sit there, watching Tohma out of the corner of your eye. But after some time, he slowly relaxes, the tension melting from his expression and lifting from his shoulders. He gradually takes on a more relaxed position, moving his hands from his temples and blinking his eyes partially open, his lips slightly parted with light exhales. He doesn’t move much apart from that, still in a fetal-like position.

Trying not to disturb him too much, you lean over him just slightly, checking his complexion. His gaze slides over to you, though he makes no other move to acknowledge you. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem any paler than he usually is. His breathing has remained steady. You assume the Alprazolam kicked in at last, but it appears some of the alcohol is still in his system, what with the slight pink flush on his cheeks, and his bangs sticking to his forehead. You find yourself reaching out before you know it, but quickly retract your hand. Surely he’d be fine. Maybe you were overthinking it.

You turn away and breathe a sigh of relief. You’re readjusting your position, wondering if you should leave or not, when a gloved hand takes hold of yours. You turn to Tohma questioningly, but you don’t resist as he pulls your hand towards him. You freeze up when he places a chaste kiss to your knuckles, before the ghost of his usual, haunting smile reappears on his face. You pray internally that him kissing your knuckles wasn’t a sign of impaired judgement and rather an honest reaction. You’d prefer that over really having to drag him to Mortkranken. “Thank you for taking the time to look after me, Miss Inspector. I apologize that you have to see me in such a state.” Well, at least he doesn’t sound out of breath. That must be a good sign. And, finally, you’d got your thanks.

You simply shake your head, signaling to him not to worry about it. You stretch your hand in his grasp and press your thumb into the center of his forehead. As if on cue, the flimsy smile he put on melts away, replaced by a more neutral, calm expression. You think you might prefer him like this.

You can’t very well leave with his hand still around yours, but you aren’t actively complaining. You had already accepted you would be here a while. You yawn, feeling your own exhaustion catch up with you. You stretch, or at least, do the best you can with one of your hands held hostage.

Tohma speaks up again. “May I make a selfish request, Miss Inspector?”

You turn back towards him curiously. The look in his eyes is surprisingly earnest despite the lack of any active emotion twisting his face. You would think he was about to confess something serious, with the way his blue eyes seemed to zero in on you. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, instead pulling your hand closer to him again. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss your knuckles again, and you stiffen, preparing yourself. However, Tohma flips your hand so your palm is facing up, and gently places his cheek within your palm. You look at him questioningly, not pulling away. You wonder if this is better or worse than simply receiving another kiss to your knuckles, because you’re honestly not sure. Any more signs of this and you might actually haul him to Mortkranken.

“I’m terribly sorry to be requesting so much of you. But if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you could stay with me tonight.” You’re partially caught off-guard by his bold question and partially wondering how he manages to maintain such eloquence when drunk and under the influence. You try not to let too much of a blush color your face, turning away from him slowly to make it look like you’re mulling the question over. The warmth of his cheek in your palm was surprisingly soothing. The weight of him was already becoming familiar. It was strange.

Well, not much point in resisting this, anyway. You’d already accepted you’d be here a while.

You sigh, tilting your head towards the ceiling before slowly leaning back and easing yourself onto his bed next to him, letting that be your answer. You think you feel the gentle press of lips against the corner of your palm, but you pretend to ignore it, even as your cheeks color.

If you both fell asleep like this, hopefully he’d still be breathing by morning.

if i made up new words using my limited knowledge of latin, french, and creole and put their definitions in my masterlist and used them in my writing would that be too much. am i crazy.

ok real quick: in case it wasn't like. glaringly obvious. tohma's written to have anxiety here. i know he claims to take those pills for headaches BUT i wouldn't be surprised if he has some level of anxiety.

OK ANYWAY i wrote these two fics bc i felt inspired. drunk ghouls. what might they do? kaito and luca will come out but i have no idea when. and then ill move on 2 vagastrom.

shameless note as per usual that i love likes, but especially comments, tagged reblogs, and asks detailing how much you liked my work! let me know if you enjoyed it!

songs i listened 2 while writing this:

here (in your arms) - hellogoodbye (cute song about falling in love and enjoying the time you spend with said person in their arms. felt fitting 2 the theme.)

taglist: @cupcakesmoothie @aayakashii @sunskosh @despairingy-obsessed @glamorousspoon @mmy-meow @dailyvahine @diluxama @obscuarysghoulnextdoor @disassociationdive @andy-solo1 @luna-v-roiya

want 2 join or be removed from the tkdb taglist? let me know!

#minors dni #tkdb #tokyo debunker #tdb #tokyo debunker x reader #tokyo debunker mc #tokyo debunker jin #tokyo debunker tohma ishibashi #tokyo debunker tohma #jin kamurai #tohma ishibashi #jin kamurai x reader #tohma ishibashi x reader #jin kamurai x mc #tohma ishibashi x mc

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

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Death Wish 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

The time when your father is out of the house is always the most peaceful. All the same, the anticipation of his return keeps you on edge. You never really know when he’ll be back. He could be gone for days at a time or only a few hours. With news of his new out-of-town assignment, you can at least breathe for a moment.

He leaves without a goodbye. The word sentimental has never been used in the same vicinity as your father. You and your sisters watch him go, less forlorn than you may appear. Relief washes over you as the door closes.

“Can we go shopping now?” Adrienne asks. She’s the youngest at eighteen.

“We should,” you say. “Kitty, you have the money?”

“In my purse,” the eldest assures you. Kitty, thought your mother always insisted on her full name, Katherine, is almost thirty and wears it plainly. “More than enough.”

“We should try to buy extra in case he waits again,” you say.

“Yeah, you always are the most practical.”

“Can we go to the bakery?” Adrienne asks. Mr. Mulano gave me some money the other day for helping her air out her townhouse. You wouldn’t imagine the dust. I still have a rash.”

“If you have the money,” Kitty resigns.

“I do and I want to spend it on us. We’ll get canolis. They were always ma’s favourite.”

You give a glum smile. Kitty is the most like your mother. The sweetest. Always thinking of others. And she looks like her too. It’s probably why you and Adrienne get in front of her when the storm starts or even why your father doesn’t tend to go after her as much as you.

And she took your mother’s death the hardest. You grieve more for the life she lived than the life that she lost. She had a monstrous husband and three helpless daughters. She spent her days scrounging despite having a made man and was battered to the bone in trying to protect what little she had. When she died, there was no shield left between you and your father’s temper.

“Yes, let’s go to the bakery,” you agree. “I’ll pay for coffee. I have some change in my purse.”

You get dressed in a carefully picked outfit. It’s warm out but you wear a long-sleeved white blouse. You balance it with a tea-length beige skirt. The shirt covers the bruises mostly, though you have to blend a bit of makeup around your neck and your face as always is painted to hide the darker spots. Not much can be done for the split in your lip.

You go out and the sunshine feels warmer than usual. That shadow still looms. His shadow. No, not your father’s. Barnes’. You’re as embarrassed as you are terrified. Why did you do that? Your father? Dead? You must have seemed so naive. That’s not how it works.

You shrug it off and go about your day. It’s a rare occasion that you can just enjoy being with your sisters. You do the shopping first. You fill the cart with all you need, and a few extra staples just in case, then go to the bakery.

Nova is always busy and for good reason. They have more than just coffee cakes and pastries. They have a full sit-in deli and coffee roasted in Sicily.

You offer to sit with the cart as Kitty and Adrienne stand in line. Kitty wants to look at the delicately iced specials through the glass and Adrienne wants to be sure she only gets decaf. You’re all too happy to have a seat.

You sit with one hand on the cart and the other on your purse. You look down at the worn leather. The brown bag was your mothers. You didn’t get a lot of what she left behind. Your father threw most of it out, though you know he hawked her jewelry when he got his new car. As much as he proclaims his love for her, he doesn’t show it otherwise.

The bell above the door rings amidst the buzz of the closed space. They’ll have to open the windows soon to let the heat escape. You glance over carelessly at the new entrance. You snap up straight as your eyes meet the bright blue ones. As if looking for you, the boss finds you, a calm, unreadable expression beneath his dark beard.

You stare back at him and squeeze the strap of the purse. He fixes his tie and nods his head at you. Your lashes flick in surprise. Then, he faces the horde as they start to quiet. Those ahead of him take notice nd hush, stepping aside to let him through.

Kitty gasps as Adrienne grabs her arm and moves her away from the front of the line, giving up their turn for the mafioso strutting toward them. He stops before he reaches the counter. The entire place watches.

“Go on, ladies,” he insists, “it’s on me.”

You blink and shrink back against the metal frame of the chair. Your sisters don’t move at first and when they do, they use the same caution as when your dad’s huffing and puffing in the corner. They speak to the cashier in low tones and turn to Barnes. They thank him with their hands clutched.

He placidly puts in his own order and digs out his wallet. The cashier tries to wave him off but he insists. You only catch a few words from your vantage.

He gets his coffee first and box of pastries. You never imagined him having much of a sweet tooth. The sight of this deadly man in his dark suit in this place is absurd. He doesn’t come to collect the protection fee, men like your father do. No, he’s there for a coffee and dessert. At least, you can’t believe that it would be for any other reason. Especially not you

It can’t be.

He turns and struts out without a look back. You stare after him as a low murmur crawls through the bakery. You peek through the window as he passes. His blue eyes glint in your direction and his cheek dimples. Your world is small, too small for coincidences. You’re starting to think there’s more going on than just a job out of town.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob au #au #drabble #series #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america #avengers #death wish

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swirlyyygal · 2 months ago

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“Up Late..”

Being woken up late into the night was something you hated, but it means you get to admire Joel.. So it’s not all that bad.. (≧◡≦)

Jackson!Joel x F!Reader

CW/Tags: NOOT PROOFREAD, Age gap (Joel is like 60 sum I think but reader is unspecified), crybaby reader, glasses STAY ON 🤤, cockwarming (eventual riding), drowsy reader, clingy reader (im projecting 💔), praise, pet names, no y/n, domestic vibe, quick boot humping, reader has hair (type and length r up 4 interpretation), fingers in the readers mouth, tummy bulge (RELEASE ME), Raw but pullout method is used, Small mention of feeling around teeth (not detailed)

A/N!: “Geto next” so I’m a big fat liar. Don’t even freaking joke. I saw this pic and I KNEWWW I needed to write a little something (￣▽￣٥)… Kinda short bc I just got really into it.. This is more self indulgent than anything seewwwwww…. Again! Not proofread!!

~~~

Late into the night you awoke, sitting on the edge of your mattress. Feeling the weight of your body slightly sink it down. Your eyes began to adjust to the darkness as you looked around, it couldn’t have been less than 12 am. FML. Usually when you wake up in the middle of the night, you’re never able to fall back asleep.

It was a torturous sleeping pattern that you had ever since you were a child. You thought it’d get better now that you were roaming Jackson, but they just didn’t quit. So you’d usually just kind of sit in bed till 6 am and fall asleep, then get waken up only 2 or 3 hours later.. 5 if lucky.

Joel knew about this pattern, he didn’t see it because granted he was asleep, but he knew about it.

Tonight was different, sorta. You woke up around 12 like usual. But instead of wide awake, you were still a bit sleepy. Just barely hanging in between the line of knocked out and awake.

Mumbling something to yourself, you gently placed your feet against the cold hardwood floor. Stumbling through the halls all the way down to his workshop in the back.

His workshop was quiet, on the occasion he played music, but he told you how it messed with his mind and preferred silence. Which was such a foreign concept to you considering you always had your little CD player with you.

You saw the dim lighting of the room illuminate through the crack of the door. It creaked when you pushed it open. He didn’t notice. Probably his bad ear. You stood there in your oversized tattered t shirt and panties, just kind of adjusting your vision to admire him.

You didn’t know why he still had his stupid jeans on, and that big coat. Even his boots. It was like he was ready to just get up and leave at any time. But you loved it. You loved his look. But what you really loved was that he wore GLASSES. He sorta used his glasses when he was younger, but he never used them for a long time. He can see enough, but not when everything is just “too damn small fa’ me ta’ see..”. In his words atleast.

You liked them though, as much as they annoyed him, you enjoyed seeing them adorn his face. You thought it made him look dashing with the orangish-red frames.

It took him a good 5 minutes of you just standing there for him to notice. He jolted a bit, twitching before realizing it was just you. He really needs to get his reflexes in check… Being alone with you, in the same room or not, made his reflexes shut down by 60%.

“Good lord angel you almost ga’me a whole heart attack..”

He grumbled, not mad just shocked.

“Couldn’t sleep?..”

You nodded. Rubbing your eye while making your way over to him. Settling by his leg under the table.

Joel looked down to see you hugging his lower leg. Arms wrapped around the muscle and cheek resting against his knee. He looked at you warmly, eyes sleepy, but his eyes were always like that so it wasn’t too far off.

He stared at you for a moment, and you stared back. Just sitting there while dozing in and out of consciousness. He loved your sleepy expression. It seemed very vulnerable to him. His calloused hand ran down to stroke your hair, no fingers running through, just to pat your head like some kind of pet.

You relished in the attention. It wasn’t straightforward. Well it was but in a kind of domestic way. You liked when he acted all domestic with you. Your fingers stretched around his leg and stroked along the jean fabric.

“Just what are ya’ tryin’ get into lil’ lady?..”

He chuckled, it wasn’t in an annoyed way. It was kind of warm the way he said it.

“Nothin’..”

Your tone drowned and dragged.

You slightly adjusted your body to get a tighter grip. The action making your barely covered core slide over the top of his boot. You whined. But he just thought it was one of those sleepy noises people would make.

“Right.. Jus’ go to sleep sweet’art..”

He rubbed your cheek with his thumb. Admiring how the fat would bunch up when pressed against any kind of surface.

He brought his hand back up to the table and continued to read whatever instructions were given. Or whatever small little thing he had to put together. You could hear his huffs and the sound of paper crumbling because it was so quiet. The sounds of the night didn’t provide much background noise anyway.

You stayed there for a moment. Not doing much except admiring how he looked from below. Something you’d done many times before but never get tired of it.

Even though you were on the edge of knocking out. Something was even stronger. Feeling the top of his boot pressed firmly against your pussy, which was already getting warm and wet by the moment.

That was just GREAT. You didn’t wanna bother him, that’s annoying. And he already told you to go to sleep, plus his concentration would be in RUINS if he had noticed you grinding up against the leather. So you fought. You fought the urge to move. But you were slowly losing the fight.

The urge was too much to ignore. It started to hurt the more you ignored it. You whispered “sorry..” before slowly repositioning yourself at the foot of the boot. Just slightly going back and forth so he wouldn’t notice. And he didn’t. He didn’t even bat an eye the first time. So you imagined he wouldn’t notice the second time.

And the second turned into the 5th, then the 16th.. Then it became a pattern. You’d rub yourself back and forth on the tip, friction providing you with enough pleasure to not need him just yet. You felt your mouth fall agape with no noise coming out as to not let him hear. The grip on his leg got tight, something you couldn’t control.

Truth be told. Joel knew. He wasn’t stupid, and he sure wasn’t deaf. The sound of clothes and quiet whines didn’t go through his head blankly. Plus he already felt your cunt pressed against his foot, it wasn’t paralyzed or nothing. He knew, it stuck with him, and went right down South. His brows knitted together as he decided to let you know he knew. Bouncing his left leg up and down, pretending to just use it as a habit.

The sudden pressure of you pushing down and him bouncing up making you let out a guttural whine. Eyes closing as you bit your lip. He definitely caught you now.

He looked down, pretending to be oblivious.

“What the hell was all that about?.. Didn’t ya’ say you weren’t doin’ ‘nothin’..”

He mocked you. You were caught red handed. You felt your face get hot as you shook your head. Resting it against his knee but you didn’t stop grinding. You were way past that point. And he sure wasn’t gonna stop bouncing his leg. He leaned back, pushing his glasses up his nose, watching you grind pitifully against the boot while hugging his leg tightly. A grin appeared, not condescendingly, but smiling warmly down at you. Like telling you it was alright.

Pouting out your bottom lip, with those glossy eyes.. You continued to grind. Chasing the high you had before, yet now it was more intense because he finally realized you were here. Mouth falling open you bit his knee, teeth rubbing against the rough denim texture while trying to keep your mind straight. You knew it was futile thought. Every time, it seemed like pleasure would totally take control of your mind and that is all that you could even think about. More pleasure, more heat, more of him. It was all centered around that pleasurable experience.

You watched as he bit his bottom lip, hand going over his mouth. As well as the growing bulge in his jeans. You continued to move, and he continued to bounce. You looked dazed. Partially because of the sleep.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?..”

He joked. No smile, no chuckle, just a dry huff. But you knew he was joking, you knew he was messing with you.

“Mhm.. Yeah”

“Need my help?”

“Y-yeAh..”

Your voice cracked when it hit that spot again. You just ran your hips in circles. I mean. You felt on edge, but it wasn’t getting you there. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough. You wished it was but it was never enough without him.

The look on your face tugged at his heart strings. That sad, pathetic look in your eyes only made him itch more and more. He knew that look all too well. He knew it like the back of his hand.

He sighed, not annoyed just in a ‘I give in’ way.

“Up ya go..”

Mumbling. Reaching down for you and lifting you by your underarms. You whined at the loss. He rolled his eyes and chuckled.

He flipped you around so your back rested firmly against his chest. He brought his right hand over to the side of your face. The middle and pointer finger pushing against the plumpness of your lips.

You opened up your mouth, letting them slowly side into your mouth. He first felt around at your teeth, pressing them against your canines, incisors, then your molars. He had this weird thing about feeling around your teeth, you didn’t know why. Then he rested them against your tongue, the weight of them relaxing you and lulling you to sleep.

Slowly you wrapped your lips fully around them. He felt the warm, wet feeling engulf his digits and your tongue swirling around. He kissed your cheek and under the eye.

And as soon as they were in, they were out. He dragged them out as slow as possible, leaving a line of spit connecting before he brought that hand down to your panties. Slipping the wet fingers past your fabric and touching your own wetness. He bit the inside of his bottom lip. Rubbing his erection on your ass. Perv. But you were too.

“Did my boot really do allat to ‘ya? Guess ‘ya don’t need me no more..”

He teased. But your mind could barely register a joke and not a joke. You shook your head, leg tensing when his fingers circled your clit.

“Mm-mm.. No way..”

You reached behind yourself and palmed his growing bulge. He laughed. His hands leaving you, gently pushing your hand out of the way and going down to his zipper. Losing his grip on it a few times before finally getting it down. He pulled his jeans and boxers down at the same time and watched it hit his stomach. He saw the bead of glossy precum fall down and he groaned. Even at his old, prehistoric age, when he was with you he was able to get hard like he was in his 20’s again.

“What’dya need to sleep darlin’? ‘Cause I think I know, but I wanna hear ‘ya say it.. Loud and proud baby..”

Your pout pushing out your bottom lip. Words weren’t your strong suit in this type of mindset. I mean, you were already in some kinda subspace, and then combined with your drowsiness. It was a disaster in your mind. If you knocked on your skull, it’d sound like a coconut.

“Wan’ it inside.. Jus’ in.. No moving..”

He nodded.

“Go figure. Wanna feel all warm inside huh? That it, ain’t it?”

Like I said. He knew you like the back of his hand.

You nodded too. In a millisecond he lifted you up higher and pushed your panties to the side. Spreading your legs with his ankle so he could get in easier. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear to brace you for it. Thick and girthy like always. A blessing but a major pain.

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes and you breathed in all shaky and heavy. He shushed you and kissed your eye. Making sure that tear never went too far down.

You felt full immediately. Your walls adjusting to his size. Initially, it was just pain. After the initial pain, it was replaced by aching, sobbing pleasure.

“I’ve gotta work now. So sleep.”

He patted your stomach. Feeling the bulge where his cock rested.

The feeling at first was hard to adjust to. In the outside you looked collected but inside you were about to lose it all. You watched infront of you as his hands carefully and calculated, worked at the small wires and gears infront of him. He looked so used to it. Like he too wasn’t kissing your cervix.

He was dangerously deep, like. Almost too much to handle deep. Tears spilled from your eyes as you tried to not mess up his concentration. Also promising him you would let him work and you just wanted him inside. Because you did. You just didn’t realize how hard it would be to do something like that.

It seemed so easy when described. But in practice, it was a major pain. Your hands rested in your lap and your head flew back against his chest. Still staring down while he worked with tweezers as if those same fingers weren’t feeling around your tongue a moment ago.

It felt like you two were becoming one. With how deep he was inside, you wouldn’t doubt it.

It had been no more than 5 or so minutes before you started practically sobbing from not being able to move. You looked down at your trembling legs on top of his own. Cold wet drops fell down onto the skin of your thighs. He shook his head.

“Now you told me you just wanted to sit on it? Don’t go cryin’ angel..”

His lips grazed your cheek. His beard and mustache pricking your skin. He kissed away the tears that couldn’t and wouldn’t stop falling.

“Hurts..”

“Aw I know, I know. It’s alright sweet’art. It’ll take me no more than 20 minutes..”

He stopped and went back to his work. It PISSED you off how easily he could do that. Like this was something he did all the time. Something he was used to. Annoying old bastard.

Those 20 minutes felt like a whole 20 years of just pain and anguish. A drop of sweat fell down your forehead when you tried to keep it together. And mind you, the waterworks didn’t stop.

It was hell honestly if you could call it that.

You felt pathetic. Everything in your body was telling your to move, to give into your desires and go against your own word. As much as you wanted to. You just couldn’t. You didn’t wanna and every fiber in your body was telling you not to.

Maybe it was the fear of disappointing him, maybe it was just you being stubborn, probably a mix of both. And believe me, you wanted to move. Your hands gripped the fabric of his jeans with a fever he knew. He knew because he’d seen the sheets do that more than once. He bit his tongue. He also wanted to give in.

To grip your hips, dig his fingers into the flesh of your skin and have you bounce on him right at that moment. But he just couldn’t, he was strong to his word. Stubborn in simple and informal terms. Wasn’t helping that he couldn’t exactly focus with his dick all up in your walls.

He played it cool. Making it look like he didn’t feel you squirming. Making it look like he was actually reading the instructions and piecing together the gears to the wires. In reality, he was totally fucking around. You didn’t know what kinda work he did, so it was easy for him to play it off like he was actually getting something done. You both were stubborn, and weren’t gonna go back on your word just for a minute.

He turned his face to the clock, praying silently that the 20 minutes passed, and they did. He took the deepest sigh ever, like he had just come back from a battlefield.

Dramatically he dropped his tweezers and gadgets. Letting them scramble on his scratched up table before gripping your hips with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“You did great lil’ lady.. Absolutely fuckin’ perfect..”

You looked back at him. Eyes already red and puffy from nothing. He leaned his head down to your shoulder. Lips kissing your skin with desperation. His glasses getting pushed up and fogged.

“You can move now...”

You gripped his thighs. He hissed feeling your nails. As soon as you even lifted yourself up slightly you felt like you were about to cum. Shaking your head to deny yourself you kept up to ride him.

Loud and pathetic moans left your mouth in the quiet of the night. Brows furrowed with a type of relief you hadn’t felt in a long time. You weren’t even edging, but it sure felt like it.

He watched it. Letting his strained back lean against the chair. Hand running through his hair and readjusting his glasses so he could see this in full and clear view. His right hand ran up under your tank top, lifting it from the bottom. His calloused and tough palm gripped your boob. Massaging it in his hand. He could feel how hard your nipples were on his palm.

With every bounce you felt him reach just ever so deeper. You could even see the bulge in your stomach. It pissed you off.

Every twitch felt 20x more aggressive, 20x more sweet, and 20x more powerful. You almost lost your grip on his thighs a few times because of how wet your hands were. You regretted wiping your eyes. URGH STUPID.

He noticed the crying, obviously. It had been going on for the past 30 sum minutes. Ever since you placed it inside, he watched just how much you could cry. He wondered how your tear ducts weren’t all dried up. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but he liked it. Not in a weird sadistic way, he wasn’t a perv like that. But in a way that made you seem so vulnerable. In a way that was like “I feel so good I’ll just start crying bc my emotions r too much”. He liked it. He liked it because it was real.

Letting go of your breast, his slapped your hip. Not hard enough to leave a mark, just a warning.

“Therreeee we go.. You were just itchin’ for this moment weren’t ya angel?..”

You nodded pitifully. FML FML FML. You never usually felt this pathetic. He didn’t see that in his eyes. But you did. That contributed to the tears. You couldn’t lie though, around him, you kinda liked feeling pathetic. In a sorta, open way.

You tried to think hard about that in the moment. But the only thing reaching through your mind was needing that dick. The sound of rustling jeans, and the feeling of jeans against your bare ass, added a nice friction.

“Pretty pussy.. It feelin’ alright?..”

You could hear he tilted his head to the side. Your head turned back to see him. Nodding lazily like you were just a bobble head.

“Mhm.. I hate doin’ that.. Never never again..”

Words babbled between high pitched whines and echoing moans. You could feel your legs trembling and tightening over and over again because of your pleasure and nearing orgasm.

He chuckled at your words. Tapping your tummy again right where he felt his tip.

“Didn’t like it much either. Almost didn’t last..”

He admitted under his breath. You heard a few words. But most of them were filtered out of your mind. And hard to hear because of how loud you were being.

You didn’t want the whole community to hear you. But you couldn’t help it. Every pound into you made.

“Full.. Full..”

You cried. He patted your tummy again. Sort of calculating how deep he reached you. And when he managed to see how much he dug into you, his cock twitched.

“Good observation sweetie..”

Quickly wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. Back pressed tightly against his chest. He bearhugged you so tight your felt your ribs almost crush in. It was a perk, and a pain. When he pulled you closer the tears just got worse. The overwhelming feelings twitching your legs up.

It didn’t stop you though. You kept riding him like it would kill you if you stopped. His glasses began to get fogged up again due to his heavy breathing. Head falling back and his glasses pushed into his eyes. The lens touching his eyelids as he basked in the feeling of your tight, warm walls squeezing him dry.

Biting your bottom you kept riding him like a total psycho. If anyone were to see the faces you made in the moment you would just have to kill yourself.

You felt a sort of twisting in your stomach

“Imma cum… I wanna..”

He heard your plea and placed used one hand to grip your jaw. Holding open your mouth with just a hint of aggression. You noticed that when he was on the verge of cumming, his grip got tighter, his jaw clenched, and his voice was strained.

“Cum with me.. Do it with me baby..”

He kept your mouth open, his pointer finger slipping into your mouth.

Not long after he commanded you to do it with him. You did. Your orgasm hitting your like pebbles, but quickly turned to a whole bunch of boulders being thrown at your head. You felt your mind spin and your legs tremble. Then turn into jelly as it rushed over you. Everything felt unreal. And usually sensitive.

Not long after, maybe a minute after he came too. Just before he came he lifted you up. Pulling himself out just in time so his seed spurted all over your upper body. You watched it come out in strings of clear white. Painting your skin like a donut.

You both rid out your highs. Letting yourself grind against the upside of his cock, while he blissfully enjoyed the feeling of your swollen lips on his.

It felt completely well needed. After having to endure the pain that is cockwarming for a while. A long sigh left his mouth. As did yours.

Both your breathing patterns began to match with each others. Every exhale and inhale was lined perfectly with one another’s.

He let his finger out of your mouth. Watching as it was drenched in your spit. He rubbed it against his coat. Making sure all his fingers were dry before rubbing the underside of your eyes from all the salty tears.

“Ya need me to get a rag?..”

He grumbled. The lens of them a bit foggy from your head being pushed up against them. So he couldn’t see much clearly. But he could see the mess he made on your body.

“No.. No no.. Wait wait..”

Your voice scratchy from all your whining. You didn’t want him to move, and didn’t think he could move.

It stayed quiet. It always did after sex.

He kissed your eye again. A little ode to how much he cared.

He could finish those projects tomorrow morning. If you didn’t try this again.

E.N: HOLY NICHE 💔🕊️. It was kinda hard for me to write from this position since I hadn’t done it before. Especially cockwarming. So I’ll have to work on that!! (٥⁀▽⁀ ). I really hope this was a good read, reblogs, notes, and comments l appreciated!! XOXO - Mimi

#joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us #joel the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 month ago

Note

hello!! Would you be able to do prompt 119 & 124 with Mingi and gender neutral reader? ^o^ maybe they are playing some video games and reader keeps winning and teasing Mingi til he snaps

➯a/n: wwwwahaha i'm so normal about this i - yes absolutely 😫

Sore Loser

❥Song Mingi x gn reader

119 + 124: "i know you can take it" + "maybe i should stick my dick in your mouth so you'll shut up"

✈︎queued for: mon 26th

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: dom mingi is still a huge softie, messy blowjob / face fucking, gagging, a very small bit of mean dialogue but otherwise praise + encouragement, pet names (babe, love)

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

18+.MINORS TAKE A HIKE.

🝮

"Man, when did you start sucking so bad?"

"Shut up."

You laugh at his serious tone, taking a peek at him. He's focused on the TV, a small pout on his lips. "Aw," you push his shoulder with yours playfully, "someone's a sore loser~"

"I am not-" He stops his whining quickly to focus on the game again, shoving your shoulder back gently. "I'm just rusty."

'You have died' appears on his side of the split screen. "Fuck..."

"Ohhh, I'm just rusty, he says. We've been playing for like an hour, Min. How am I still kicking your ass?"

"Will you quit it?"

"When you actually beat me, maybe."

He huffs softly, speaking before he even registers the words tumbling out of his mouth, "maybe I should stick my dick in your mouth so you'll shut up."

"Huh?!" You look over to him with wide eyes, and he bites his lip as he realizes what he said.

That's not a bad idea, actually.

"Maybe," he leans forward, "I should put my dick in your mouth, that way you'll —"

🝮

"— shut up," he groans as he thrusts into you mouth, making you gag. "Put that tongue to use."

When you hadn't objected after he repeated himself, he pulled you off the couch and put you to your knees, already hardening in his sweatpants at the way your skin was heated to the touch just from his threat. You're probably thinking the same thing he is; you should tease him more if this is how he'll act.

And you are thinking that. Mingi rarely gets rough with you — but it's unbelievably hot when he does. When he gets so needy or worked up that he takes what he needs.

When you stick your tongue out, flattening it against the bottom of his cock; his eyes nearly roll back into his head. His fingers are digging into your head, pulling you up and down along his length.

"Fuck, that's it," he breathes out, almost with relief from the pleasure your warm mouth is providing. The way you look up at him, letting him guide your head as fast or slow as he likes at the moment — all of it is making him just as dizzy as you're getting from the small amount of oxygen you manage to take in through your nose.

When you choke, your throat making you cough as his tip invades it, he pulls you up and rubs your head softly while you chase your breath. "Too rough, babe?"

"Just sudden," you pant after a few more coughs, smiling up at him with your slick lips. "Try again?"

He grins down at you, leaning back on the couch and spreading his legs further. "Go on, love," he hums, going on to put his hands behind his back so he doesn't grab onto you instinctively.

He just about starts floating when you sink your mouth back down on him, bobbing your head a few times before taking a deep breath and taking his tip into your throat. He notices the way you hold back your coughs, your throat contracting around his sensitive head.

He bites his lip, holding himself back from thrusting. "You got it, babe," he whines quietly as you lock eyes, "all the way, you can do it."

His head falls back onto the couch as you slide further down, slowly and steadily until your nose is pressed against his pelvis. "Shit-" He curses, his chest rising and falling quick. His hands fidget behind his back — he wants to grab at you so badly. But his need to be sheathed in your throat wins over, giving him the strength to hold back as you stay still for what feels like an eternity to let your throat come to terms with the thick girth.

"C'mon, love," he almost begs, his thighs tense under your grip, "I've fucked your throat a million times. I know you can take it~"

You sputter around him, spit and pre-cum splattering on your chin; dripping onto his balls. The way your throat clamps around him drives him past his self controls limit — he grabs your head in one hand, holding you still as he thrusts into your throat slowly. His other hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together.

"There we go, I told you," he moans deeply as the sound of his cock plunging into your throat fills the air. "I told you, I know you can take it~ So perfect~"

You close your eyes and squeeze his hand tightly, breathing deeply through your nose as he steadily picks up his pace.

You can already tell you won't be able to talk right when he's done with you, but it's so worth it.

🝮

#stars ask and receive #request #ateez #ateez smut #smut fic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #song mingi x reader #song mingi #mingi fic #mingi smut #mingi x reader

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bked0n-lorazepam · 1 year ago

Text

"Prom Gone Wrong" p. hockstetter Oneshot

---------------->

“I’m not showing too much cleavage, am I?” I ask my friend Cassy, pulling up on the silky red dress I was wearing to cover my breasts. It was prom day, the same day I was dreading since Ollie asked me to go with him.

Don’t get me wrong, going out in a beautiful dress was my dream since I was a little girl. It was just the fact that I didn’t want to go with Ollie.

He wasn’t my type, and he was known for not actually dancing with girls at prom and taking them in a janitor’s closet to fuck them instead. He’s never piqued my interest, but since nobody else asked me to go, I accepted.

“Honey, you look gorgeous! Let those girls free, the world needs to see how hot you are.” Cassy said before throwing her head back and taking a shot, her favorite thing to do before a party. I nervously smiled at her and fixed my hair before leaving the bathroom.

“Yeah, I just don’t want that creepy English teacher to dress-code me.” I walked to my vanity and sat down on the stool, pulling out a tube of lipgloss from my purse and applying it to my lips.

Cassy shrugged and sat down on my bed, bending over to put her black heels on. “If he looks at you weirdly, I’ll beat his 62 year old ass.”

“Thanks, Cassy.” I roll my eyes and laugh, reaching forward on the vanity to open my jewelry box. When I did, a polaroid of me and an old friend fell out of it, and I picked it up and stared at it.

Me and him used to live in the same neighborhood before I had to move away, and we were the greatest of friends. Sure, he was a bit of an oddball, but it never deterred me from him. We grew apart, though, and went our separate ways throughout highschool. Now that we were both seniors and could attend the senior-only school dance, I had a small amount of hope that he’d ask me. I wasn’t sure why, but I just did.

“All right. I think we’re ready.” Cassy stood up and smoothed out her dark green dress in my full length mirror, and shortly after putting the photo away I did as well. “Let’s go dance.”

–

The DJ was playing Again by Noah Cyrus when we arrived, and the lights in the cafeteria room were red. That seemed to be the theme as Cassy and I walked around trying to find our dates. It took a couple of minutes for her to find West, and she bid me goodbye while interlocking her arm with his.

It was well into the night and I couldn’t find Ollie, and I had accepted the fact that he probably stood me up for another girl. I was leaning against one of the tables that held fruit punch, and I downed the last drops of the drink in my cup before deciding to step away from the ear-damaging crowd.

Making my way out of the cafeteria, I sighed when I walked out of the doors and entered the empty hallway. The sound of all the others were muffled, and the only thing that you could hear were the soft tapping of my heels.

Wandering aimlessly through the quiet highschool, I walked past one of the closets in a darker part of the building. A loud thump against the door and a couple of moans told me all I needed to know, and I scoffed at their lack of decency.

“That’s it, take this big dick!” I stopped in my tracks when I recognized his voice.

Ollie.

Now, I know I had tried to convince myself earlier in the night that he did in fact stand me up, but a part of myself also didn’t quite believe it. I had thought of multiple excuses he could’ve had, and even though this one had the biggest chance, it still hurt.

Was I not good enough? Not pretty enough? I still would’ve turned him down if he asked for sex, but why didn’t he even try?

Spirals of thoughts turned and twisted in my head as I continued walking around the school, except this time I had a place I wanted to go. Me and my old friend used to hang around the place after hours when we were younger, and there was a girls bathroom that was supposed to get renovated decades ago. Of course, the school board never got around to it, so it was a good place to skip and hide away in. It was on the second floor of the school, directly above the cafeteria.

A remix of 180 by Bastián and Glory Box by Portishead seeped into my ears as I opened the door, and it continued to echo around when it closed. It was a larger bathroom than the others, and I walked up to the mirror that took up half of the wall. There were scarce lights, so it was rather dim around the other areas of the room.

I looked at my face and touched up on any makeup that faded, and then took my hair out of the low bun it was in. I played around with my hair, and scratched at my head, softly moaning at the self-massage I was doing.

I froze when I heard the door creak and close, and then I locked eyes with the intruder in the mirror.

“Patrick?” I muttered, spinning around to face him. He wore a black suit with a red undershirt and a black tie, and I made a small note that the same color matched my dress. His hair was slightly tousled, and a stranded curl rested on his forehead.

We both took in the sight of each other before I cleared my throat.

“What are you doing here?” I tilted my head, staring into his green eyes.

“‘Could ask you the same thing.” He stated simply and started a low stride towards me, his eyes roaming over my body once again. It made me feel bare, to be on such a display for him. I remembered how low chested my dress was and pulled it up nervously, and even in the dim lights I could see his smile.

Patrick had always towered over me in height, and he took advantage of it now while circling me. I folded my hands in front of me and played with fingers as he did, waiting for him to be done with his inspection.

“Well, don’t you look pretty.” He stopped in front of me and grinned. It was obvious that I was nervous, even a blind person could see it. I hadn’t talked to him since middle school, and seeing him now intimidated me in a way.

“‘Could say the same thing to you.” Shrugging, I turn around to look at myself in the mirror again.

Patrick huffed out a laugh and stepped behind me, placing his hands on my waist. Being so close to him made my breath hitch, but I couldn’t let him know. I pretended it didn’t affect me and pulled out my lip gloss, reapplying it to my lips. It was red and shimmery, which was one of the reasons I had chosen it out of the many others in my purse. The other reason was that I knew it was his favorite.

When we were in middle school, my mom had bought it for me for my birthday. Patrick and I were hanging out one day, and I had decided to put it on because I thought it was pretty. He of course noticed, and asked me a simple question that led him to be my first kiss.

“Can I try some on?” Patrick whispered in my ear, his thumb rubbing circles on my hip. I froze again, and put the applicator back in the tube. I locked eyes with him again in the mirror, and he kissed at the spot on my neck below my right ear. His soft but chapped lips caused goosebumps to run all over my body, and a warm feeling to form in my stomach.

“Well?” His rough voice sent shivers down my spine, and I turned around and backed away from him. He stepped forward towards me, and the cycle repeated until my back hit the edge of one of the sinks. I swallowed down the lump in my throat that caused me to be silent, but before I could speak, he did instead.

“Jump.” It barely registered in my brain what he wanted me to do, but it clicked when his hands grabbed my waist and lifted me onto the sink. My legs wrapped around his hips, and my arms went around his neck.

I didn’t think before I did, but before I knew it my lips were on his. It was sloppy, hungry, but it fit with how we felt. I grabbed at the hair on the base of his neck and he grabbed at the red fabric of my dress.

We didn’t pull away from each other, but probably for different reasons. I had a thing for Patrick since I’ve known him, and I didn’t want to pull away and have him disappear again.

I didn’t know why he was so frantic like me, though. Maybe he felt the same, or maybe it’s all a heat of the moment kind of thing. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to end.

Patrick’s hand moved slyly up and down my body, and mine stayed in his hair. I always liked how long it was, it matched his face shape well. And since he hated going to the barber, it worked out for the both of us.

I whimpered when his fingers pinched my thighs, and finally pulled away to breathe while he smiled at my reaction. We both panted and looked at each other, eyes filled to the brim with lust. Patrick licked his swollen lips, tasting the flavor of the gloss.

“Cherry?” He asked with a toothy grin.

I nodded breathlessly, my mouth dryer than a desert. “Your favorite.”

He hummed and pulled me in for another kiss, even more eager than the last. My hands left his hair and roamed down to undo his tie, and I cursed into the kiss when I couldn’t get the knot undone. Patrick snickered and reached his hands up to do it himself, my own hands cupping his face.

When he took the tie off, he pulled my hands away and placed it in them. Confused as to why he was pulling away, I opened my mouth to ask, but stopped immediately.

He kneeled in front of me, mischief flooding his green eyes. Patrick grabbed my legs and spread them, and he kissed at my ankle. He continued his charade of leaving marks all over and up my left leg before switching to the right one.

His hands roamed behind me to pull me closer to the edge of the porcelain sink, and then they moved back down to the insides of my thighs.

They reached up for my underwear, and he didn’t even need to tell me to lift my hips. It was like an automatic response to his touch, one that I couldn’t help. He noticed as well, and swiftly pulled down the damp red fabric and threw it aside.

“You’ve got quite the theme goin’, huh toots?” He laughed and placed a kiss on each of my knees. I ticked my tongue and lightly tapped his side with my red heel, urging him to hurry up.

“I like to match.” I lean back onto the sink and run my fingers through my hair, biting my lip as he shuffles closer to me.

His eyes were trained on mine, and he lifted up my dress, disappearing under the silk. I gasped when he blew air on my groin, and threw my head back when I felt his tongue on me.

Patrick ate like a starved man eating his last meal, not even coming up to take a breath. His hands held my thighs apart so that they didn’t clamp around his head, and all that could be heard throughout the bathroom were my moans and the soft sound of music.

Panting and gasping when he sucked on just the right spot, my fingers went under my dress and tightened themselves around his hair. He groaned into my cunt, and that was what threw me over the edge.

“Patrick, I’m gonna-” He didn’t let me finish my sentence and his thumb on my clit, rubbing it in just the right way to make me scream his name.

He let me ride my high, slowing down a bit, but not stopping. I whined and tried to tug his head away, but he didn’t let up. Finally, after a couple of complaints, he pulled back, leaving a few last licks and standing up.

His face was stained and shiny, and he wiped it away on his sleeve. Embarrassed, I looked away while he did. He took off his blazer, and grabbed my chin. He kissed me once again, and the warm feeling came back shortly. He grasped my hands in his and guided them towards his shirt, and I caught on. I unbuttoned it and he tossed it away from us, ignoring my grumbles of how dirty the floor probably is.

Patrick unbuckled his belt and let it drop, and then unbuttoned his pants. He pulled them down just enough to where he could let his cock out, and once again pulled me closer to him. Wrapping my legs around him and putting my face into his shoulder, he started to align himself with my entrance before I yelped,

“Condom! Use a condom.” I pulled away from his shoulder and looked at him, my concerned expression opposite of his unamused one. He rolled his eyes and started rocking himself against me, sliding in and out of my folds.

I moaned loudly and grabbed his shoulder, covering my mouth with my other hand. Patrick smirked and went faster, a knowing look on his face.

“Still want a condom?” He asked, and I shook my head with doubt.

Patrick was smug as he lined himself up again, and his lips caught my whine as he thrusted inside slowly. He kept going until he bottomed out all the way, and he cursed the whole time.

“Fuck. Ease up on me, dollface. You’re real fucking tight.” He groaned, and pulled out almost all the way. I whined and scratched at his back, and he rammed himself back in. The process repeated, and the bathroom was filled with moans and swears once again.

I could feel him twitch inside me, indicating that he was close. I had already come twice around him, and was crying at the overstimulation.

“Patrick, it’s too much.” I cried against his neck.

“I know, fucking hell, I know. Just a little longer, you can do it. Just give me one more, baby.” He reached his hand down and thumbed at my clit, making me fall off the edge once again. The constriction around him made him moan loudly and pull out of me, leaving a mess all over my thighs.

We sat there for a couple minutes, breathing in each other's air. I leaned my head back against the sink’s mirror and stared at him as he stepped away to pick up his tie, wiping away the white liquid on me with it. He tucked himself back into his pants, put his belt on, and the rest of his clothes. He threw the tie into the small, empty trashcan to the left of us and kissed me.

Patrick didn’t pull away until we both couldn’t breathe, and then he stepped away from me, and walked to the door.

“Eleven PM tomorrow, here.” He opened the door and walked out.

Patrick left me alone with my thoughts, and I stayed sitting on the sink for a while longer. Thinking over my night and what he and I were now, I realized that we were still at the school dance, and that I had to find Cassy and drive her home.

#x reader #fem reader #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #pennywise #stephen king #it #smut #patrick hockstetter smut #patrick hockstetter x reader smut

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hoiststowline · 9 days ago

Text

_ultra magnus x reader

distraction is scarcely a term within Magnus’ vocabulary. while he may be momentarily pulled from the task at hand due to unanticipated circumstances, he’s never found himself sidetracked by conversations or situations beyond his control. he’s learned to cast any and all doubts aside for the sake of the mission, consistently and constantly in search of the same goal he’s chased for many years.

you’ve mostly, if not entirely disrupted and turned upside down his definition of adhering to a straight-lined, point a to point b schedule. in normal circumstances, such an interruption would have him seeing red, infuriated with himself that he was so easily cornered and strong-armed into yielding to such uncontrollable emotions.

how he’s ever previously labeled you a distraction was in poor judgment, and something he’d take back immediately if ever granted the chance. you don’t know he’d internally called you such, perhaps you never will- but it still carries guilt each time the memory crosses his path. you are a welcomed change of pace, a well received relief that has breached his gruff exterior and stiff personality. others cannot see what lies beneath, accustomed to his bluntness and unable to bypass his anti-social mannerisms.

the harder he pushed you away, finding himself undeserving of your kindness, the more you retaliated and laboriously persisted. always gentle, but standing firm in trying to breach his armor to find the long stowed away compassion. little did you know, it was always there, reserved for someone special, never able to deny you in the minutest of situations.

“That is now the fourth time you have woken yourself up,” Magnus rumbles somewhere above you, the servo that was draped over your legs curls a little more protectively around your form. “If you are tired, rest.”

it’s extremely difficult to not succumb to the desire of sleep when he is so warm, the hum of his systems practically coaxing your eyes to slip shut. this always appeared to be the end result after a well-deserved reunion, exhaustion consuming you after setting sleep aside for a prolonged time, if only to spend the maximum amount of hours awake with him. last time you checked, it was nearly three am, and if Magnus was aware of the hour, he’d certainly be lecturing you on the importance of a good night's rest, even if his desire to remain by your side is just as potent.

“Are you going to?” you whisper, wondering if he purposely turned out all of the lights to his room, a ploy to drag you further into the clutches of sleep.

there’s a blink of silence before he answers. “Am I going to what?”

after poorly stifling a yawn, you attempt to tilt your head rearward to catch his expression. as expected, he’s peering down at you curiously, a simple raise of his brow alerting you all you need to know.

“Sleep.” you return, head now resting on his upper torso as your palm splays overtop the servo at your front. “When’s the last time you got some rest?”

a curt ex-vent is answer enough, but he still responds. “I hardly can discern how that is correlated to the matter in question.”

“That probably means it’s been a while,” as your words begin to meld together, your focus returns to its original spot, the seams of Magnus’ digit as he draws absentminded shapes across the length of your leg.

“A deal, then?” he hums, and you can feel him moving behind you, carefully lowering himself in full to the berth.

you find yourself heavy-lidded once more as he runs his lips over your shoulder, then up to your neck, and lastly placing the third kiss at the crown of your head. every time, as if like clockwork, he always deposits the same three kisses in the same three places, an endeavor to try and get you to sleep.

“I will,” he mumbles, nearly stumbling as you bundle into his side, impossibly tiny fingers grabbing at any plating that was within reach. as if he wasn’t quite close enough, needing him to be within reach at all times. “If you do the same.”

“Oh…okay.” and when he finally presumes you’ve drifted off, you slip a little deeper into his slide, kissing the top of his servo in one last unspoken good night.

#sul tf writes #transformers #maccadam #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers x human #transformers headcanons #tf x reader #ultra magnus #tfp ultra magnus #ultra magnus x reader #ultra magnus headcanons #ultra magnus transformers #ultra magnus imagine #ultra magnus idw

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laursdomain · 3 months ago

Note

could I please request a leo valdez x gn!reader where leo comes back from a quest after like a really long time (a year or smth) and is like 'oh my gods what if they've moved on' and its like this really romantic reunited moment? based on Would You Fall In Love With Me Again from Epic?

you waited?

pairing: leo valdez x gn!reader

genre: angst & fluff

synopsis: unlike other demigods, Leo Valdez took his sweet time on quests. more particularly, its been a year since he last returned to Camp Half-Blood, his especially grueling quest taking up too much of his time. he can't help but think his partner has already moved on. he couldn't be farther from the truth.

warnings: cursing(like 1), overthinking, mentions of deaths, guilt, happy ending!!

w/c: 1.7k

a/n: ahh first leo and gn fic!! i hope you enjoy, i actually listened to the song as I read the fic over before posting haha, its about the same length :3 also this song is so leo coded; i tried making the banner as gn coded as possible, sorry if the hold handing one isnt!!

ྀིleo valdez masterlist

༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴

Leo Valdez took great pride in many things. In his ability to build, the fact that he has a rare quirk as a son of Hephaestus, and his determinism to take risks. Especially when those risks come to quests. Unlike other demigods, such as Percy Jackson or Jason Grace, Leo never rushed his quests. In fact, he took his time on them, wanting to make sure every little detail was set in stone and completed.

He didn’t intend to be on a quest for a year, really. Leo tends to get sidetracked easily, he can’t help it. Maybe it’s his fatal flaw, as Annabeth calls it. Now, Leo sat atop of Festus, eager to get back to camp. His hair whips in the wind, he could use a haircut. You would have to cut it for him.

The thought of you sends a pang of emotion through Leo’s heart, and he can’t help but be excited to see you. That quickly fades the moment his overthinking nature takes over. What if they fell out of love? Leo had be gone for a year, things like that were bound to happen.

But, Annabeth and Percy didn’t lose the love they had for each other when Hera removed all of his memories and separated them for months. But those were only months, not a year. Leo sighed in frustration, annoyed with his own burdening thoughts. He attempted to do some breathing exercises, a pathetic attempt to calm his mind—but it didn’t work. The only cure to his overwhelming mind? You.

Leo’s heart began racing even faster as the familiar landscape of Camp Half-Blood came into view. Shit, maybe he should’ve gotten you flowers or chocolates or something considering he’s been gone for an entire year. Steam rolled out of Festus’ metal nose, his own way of telling Leo he’s not turning around.

Festus not-so-elegently lands near Bunker 9, his usual resting spot. Leo knew you saw Festus, everyone probably did. And he knew that once he reported back to Dionysus and Chiron, he would have no choice but to face you.

Leo sneaks into the Big House, waiting outside of Mr. D’s office as he waits for him to finish up whatever mindless game he’s playing.

“Aphrodite, if you’re listening, please help me with this,” he looked up to the sky, muttering out the words. His intentions were true, and he hoped that his friendship with Aphrodite’s daughter, Piper McLean, would grant him some favor with the goddess.

“Are you seriously praying to Aphrodite in front of my office?” Mr. D’s voice comes from behind him, gaining his attention. He sheepishly smiles at the god, not given an opportunity to explain his reasoning before he’s dragged into the room, an expectant Chiron waiting for his report.

One gruesome hour later, Leo is finally dismissed by the two camp leaders. All he wanted to do was lay in his bed for hours, he desperately wanted a mattress after a year of sleeping on Festus.

is it you? have my prayers been answered?

is it really you standing there, or am i dreaming once more?

You thought you were hallucinating. You thought your mind was playing tricks on you were you thought you saw the familiar shadow of the metal dragon you’ve grown to love. Alongside his creator.

When you sought out his usual resting spot, behind Bunker 9, you nearly fell to your knees crying from the mere sight of the dragon. The only thing that stopped you was that there was no Leo in sight. You assumed he was with Dionysus and Chiron, that was the usual protocol after a demigod completes a quest.

So, you swallowed your emotions, patiently watching the Big House from a distance, waiting. Waiting for your boyfriend to eventually emerge. Though, you couldn’t help the overwhelming thoughts. Had something happened to Leo? Festus wouldn’t return without his owner, no matter what…right? You’re pulled out of your thoughts when your sibling nudges you, pointing to a figure coming out of the house. Your eyes widen, the breath leaving your throat as you see him. Your Leo.

You were sent into flight or fight mode, rushing over to him. “Leo!” Your arms wrap around his neck as he stiffens under you. After a moment, his body relaxes as his arms finally embrace you, making their way around your back.

You took in everything about him. His arms were warm, they always were. A perk to his ability. He smelled like smoke and grease, a scent that lingers on him whenever he’s near Festus. His hair was much longer, tickling your cheeks as you hugged him. You didn’t mind the longer hair, it gave you even more of an excuse to tangle your fingers in it. And most importantly, his heart was beating, and he was here, in your arms.

He pulls away, looking away from you. You frown at his action, cupping his cheeks with your hands as you force him to look at you. “It took you long enough.”

“You waited?” He mutters, uncertainty laced in his voice.

You furrow your brows, confused by his question. “Of course I waited, why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s been a year,” he points out, as if it’s the most obvious reason. He takes in your raised brow, probably saying something like “so?” He realizes he has to be more specific, a conversation he didn’t desire to have. “The quest was…heavy.”

“Heavy? Heavy how?” You question, lowering your voice so the conversation can stay between the two of you. Though, it was fall, and most campers were not at camp. Only a couple of campers stayed, yourself included, but you two were the only ones outside. Your sibling was kind enough to go back into the cabin, giving you some privacy.

left a trail of red on every island

hurt more lives than i can count on my hands

Leo gulped, unsure how to word his sentences. “I uh, had to hurt people. A lot of people actually.”

He watched as one side of your mouth tips down, something you always did. Whenever you did so, he always kissed that side of your mouth, making some cheesy remark that you’re too pretty to frown.

“Were they bad people?” The question leaves your mouth, and Leo is caught off guard by the question.

“Some.” He answers, slightly hanging his head. He hated that some of those people, those caught in the crossfire of it all, got punished for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He felt like a monster.

I am not the love you knew before

“Hm,” you ring out, eyebrows furrowed as you take in his words. Leo patiently waited for your conclusion, fearing the worst. “Well, we are demigods. It happens.”

Leo snaps his head up, eyebrows furrowed. That was the last thing he expected to hear come from your mouth. “What?”

You laugh, “what?”

“It happens? Baby, I killed people. Plural, not singular.”

“I understood that, Leo.” You respond, brushing some of his curls back.

“I’m not the same person you last saw,” he whispers, his words holding weight.

You tilt your head, analyzing him. Your finger holds up a couple strand of his hair, “messy, untamed brown hair? Check.” Your fingers go to his white shirt, lightly pinching it between your fingers, “dirty white shirt? Check.” Finally, your hands cup his jaw, “the beautiful brown eyes I fell in love with? Check. I think I would know if you weren’t the same person since I’ve last seen you, love.”

Leo hangs his head, but not in shame. Rather, in embarrassment. He felt embarrassed that he assumed all these things before even speaking to you. He couldn’t help but think the worst, it’s a bad nature he’s always had. He smiles at your words, a light blush coating his cheeks.

“No matter what quest you go on, no matter who or what you have to eliminate to complete it, you’ll always be my Leo. Nothing can change that. I’ll always love you, and you’ll always return to me.”

“I love you, mi amor.” He whispers, pulling you closer to his body. The silent confession lays over you like a blanket, making you giddy.

“I love you too, Leo Valdez.” You smile, bringing his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

The kiss is filled with so much love, passion, and longing. A kiss that was long overdue, a year overdue. Leo smiles into the kiss, tilting his head to kiss you deeper. Your hands slide further up his face, the tips of your fingers tangling in his hair. You let out a breathy laugh, and he takes that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting you after a year. Once the need for air starts to become too much, Leo leaves your mouth, placing small pecks around your mouth. First, at the ends of your mouth, then right in the middle. His kisses spread all around your face, causing you to laugh as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, and finally your forehead.

“You’re not allowed to go on a quest for a while,” you lightly scold, but your words hold no threat.

“Trust me, I’m not planning on leaving you anytime soon.” You smile as his words, your heart melting. “Now, can you please cut my hair for me?”

“Of course, baby. Come on,” you intertwine your hands, leading the way to your cabin. Leo’s thumb rubs small circles along the front of your hand, swinging your interlocked hands back and forth as you close the small distance to your cabin.

Leo may had been gone for a year, but nothing will ever change the love between you. He may have seen things that make him feel different, but if theres one thing that’ll never change about him—its his love for you. And sneaking into your cabin at night to cuddle with you. If Chiron doesn’t know, it didn’t happen, right?

i, i love you

༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴

#laurs⁴⁴⁴ fics #leo valdez #leo valdez hoo #leo valdez pjo #leo valdez x reader #pjo #hoo #pjoverse #riordanverse #pjo fandom #gn reader

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 2 years ago

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: Office Sex w/ Aaron Hotchner

a/n: okay, why do i kind of love this? i've been a little under the weather recently so kinktober updates will be a little slow and probably off by a day or two but i'm trying!

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

You make Aaron act out of character.

He doesn't do PDA, nor is he an insatiable man, but he often finds himself thinking of you and the curves of your soft body.

He can barely focus knowing that there was no else in your unit besides you and him. You were down there in the bullpen tempting him with your presence, lingering at your desk doing paperwork as well.

The clock ticked tauntingly, signaling that the time had struck 12 AM.

He felt his hands twitch, the one clad with a pen turning almost white. There was no one else here and he needed you. Badly. Technically it wasn't unprofessional because the two of you were in a consenting sexual relationship, and it was after hours.

You couldn't focus knowing that Aaron was up there, the deep orange glow of his desk lamp bleeding through his barely opened blinds. Your core ached and your stomach tightened with indescribable need. There were only so many times that you could cross your legs and squeeze your thighs against your sex before you got restless.

You hadn't realized how deeply you'd zoned out before your eyes met with your boss's, who peered down at you from the top of the staircase.

He called your name, "I'd like to see you in my office for a moment." Was all he said before departing back through the door ajar he left ajar.

You tried to hide how fast you had gotten out of your chair, though the length in which it shot away from your person was a dead giveaway. Your shame melted away when your foot met the first step, descending up the stairwell in a hurried manner.

You hadn't even had the chance to enter through the door before Aaron's large, warm hand gripped you by your wrist, pulling you into the room before shutting the hardwood with your body.

"Aaron!" You yelped in surprise. "Need you." Was all he mumbled before slamming his lips down onto yours, hands gripping at your waist. Your eyes quickly fluttered shut, your nails digging into his hair to keep him anchored to you.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, nearly shoving itself down your throat in an attempt to swallow you whole. A loud whimper crawled out of your throat and into Aaron's, the man swallowing it with lustful fervor. Your lungs were constricting in pain at the lack of air, spit bubbling at the corner of both your lips due to the sloppy makeout session.

You had to yank his head away from yours to swallow lungfuls of air.

"I wondered how long it was going to take you to come and get me." You said breathlessly. "I didn't come early enough." He said with the same amount of breathlessness. "Good thing were the only ones here, huh?" You teased with a slightly wolfish smile on your face. "Yeah, good thing." He said before joining your lips together again.

He was careful as he swayed you over to his desk, carelessly knocking things out the way so he could sit you upon it. You jolted at the sound but nonetheless kept your lips locked with his, your fingers making quick work to push his suit jacket off his body.

Your pencil skirt was tight around your thighs, but that didn't stop him from forcing it up your hips. Your panty clad lower body was now exposed to his frisky touches, a large palm coming to cup your sex.

You gasped, arching your back slightly, your grip on his tie tightening.

"Fuck…" You whined, gyrating your hips desperately in an attempt to grind down on the skin. "That feel good, sweetheart?" He asked roughly, his voice strained with need. "So good, baby." He watched you feebly try to get friction, only to see you grow frustrated.

"Aaron please— 'Need you to fuck me now." You begged, yanking at his tie in an attempt to undo it. His bushy brows furrowed, "Are you sure?" He asked unsurely. "Yes, I'm sure. I know you can feel how wet I am, please…" To emphasize your point, you took it upon yourself to shove his hand down your panties, the pads of his fingers gliding over your soaked folds.

"Okay, okay," He reassured you with gritted teeth, his voice strained. "I got you, honey." He could feel his self-control chip away at every exposure of your boldness.

He unbuckled his pants, sliding the leather out of their loops before unzipping his and successfully ridding himself of his slacks. You shucked your panties down your full thighs, the lace getting caught on your high heel for a short moment before fully slipping off.

He spread open your legs.

"Goddamn, sweetheart." He murmured in fascination. The sight of your glistening labia made his cock pulse. He felt the same sense of urgency that he felt not only minutes earlier rush through him. The fire in his veins coaxed him out of his underwear, hand stroking his cock to full hardness.

"Can I?" He asked. "Yes." You breathed.

With a teasing tap of his tip to your clit, he prodded at your entrance, slowly slipping into you. You moaned loudly, nails coming to dig at his button-up covered shoulders.

"Aaron baby…" You mewled, walls clenching down on him in an attempt to suck him deeper. "Shit." He choked on a curse. He pushed farther before completely bottoming out.

"Move! I need you to move." You cried. Who was he to deny you?

Pulling out swiftly, he slammed into you. Your legs tightened around his waist as he set a brutal pace. You leaned back on your elbows, neck extended and exposed. If only Aaron could bend down to mark up your pretty, soft skin.

Your heel was hanging on by a thread on the tips of your toes, with each rattle of your body when he fucked into you threatened to knock the damn thing off.

"You look so gorgeous, honey. So fucking pretty." He groaned. The feral noise drove you closer to your end, along with each jab of his tip to your g-spot.

"You're so deep, Aaron, fuck!" The coil in your gut was tightening dangerously. He raised your hips a bit and that sent you reeling, a pornographic moan tearing through your throat and piercing through the serene air of his office.

Usually when you got this loud in places where you could get caught, he'd slap a hand over your mouth, but he didn't bother, because there was no one there. There was something erotic and scandalous about the fact that he was fucking you in his office where he'd have meetings or interviews.

Just thinking about the fact that no one would know what happened here besides the two of you sent his hips pistoning into you harder; his eyebrows furrowing.

"Gah! I- I'm gonna cum!" You squealed, nails attempting to grip onto the wood of his sleek, dark mahogany desk. You didn't care if there'd be marks there.

"Please can I cum?" You asked through the blinding pleasure that nipped and frayed at your nerves. You couldn't bring yourself to disobey him because of how needy and demanding you've been since you'd gotten here.

"You can cum, my sweet girl." He grunted, a bead of sweat running down his temple.

With a few more strokes your orgasm overtook you. Your body shook uncontrollably, your eyes screwing shut at the feeling as you creamed all over his dick.

His thrusts grew sloppy before he slumped forward, emptying himself inside of you. The warmth of him made you shiver, your womb feeling nice and full. He stopped his thrusting when he heard tiny whimpers of overstimulation leave you.

"You okay?" Aaron asked gently. You nodded, your chest heaving up and down.

"Can we go on the couch next?" You asked through a sleepy smirk.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @zippertwat @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

#♡ ― nsfmeau !#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober day eleven #plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size!reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader #aaron fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner kinktober #aaron x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x plus size reader #aaron hotchner smut #smut #fanfiction

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golden1u5t · 1 year ago

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addiction | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: fluff + smut + angst

ꨄ summary: spencer's working through his addiction and you hate to see him in pain. you was to try and take his mind off of things, even if it'll only last a little while.

he'd been awake for hours past the time he usually went to bed, you had already gotten comfortable in bed after he told you that it would only be an hour before he joined you. you knew he was going through a lot and you were there to help him through but the only problem was that he tried to push you away every chance he got.

you glanced at the clock on your nightstand, it was almost 3 am, before you decided that you couldn't let him stay awake any longer. you got out of bed and walked to the living room, the sound of your feet on the floor was silenced by the carpet so spencer wasn't alerted of your presence until you stood in front of him.

"spencer, it's almost 3 am. you should come to bed." you sat down beside him and put your hand on his arm. the book he was reading was still on the same page as it was when you'd left him to go to bed, your heart sank as you realized that it meant he'd been sitting in the same spot probably staring off into space for hours.

"i'm not really tired." he mumbled, his voice cracking as he spoke. his hands slightly trembled as he flipped the page on his book. you gently placed your hand over his to stop it from moving over the page, you took the book from him and placed it on the coffee table.

"you don't have to sleep but i would like it if you'd come to bed with me, you've been sitting here for hours." spencer didn't bother saying anything else, knowing that you were right. so, he stood up and latched onto your body and let you guide him to the bedroom. "i know it's late but would you like a shower or a bath?"

"yeah, i- a shower would be nice." he nodded and sat down on the bed while you went into the bathroom to start the shower. after a few minutes you called him into the bathroom.

spencer started to undress to get into the shower so you turned around to leave, wanting to give him his privacy but he grabbed your arm before you made it out the door. he asked you to stay and there was no way you were going to say no to him.

he stepped into the shower while you stripped your clothes from your body. pulling the shower curtain back, you stepped in behind him and placed your hands on his back. you could feel the tension leaving his body as your hands traveled over his skin.

this was the first time since everything happened that he could say he felt relaxed, your touch was like heaven to him, healing him of all his pain. your voice sounding like an angel to him, gentle and full of love.

spencer he melted back into your arms as you pressed your lips to his shoulder. you moved your hands down his front side until you got to his lower stomach. you hadn't exactly planned for this to happen when you ask him about a shower but when you placed your hands on his back and could feel how tensed he was, you knew that he needed something to distract him from everything.

"is this okay?"

"yes, please." he breathed out, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand to his hardening cock. you wrapped your hand around his length and swiped your thumb over the tip, to which a whimper fell from his parted lips.

any other time you would have teased him a bit, just to rile him up, but you knew that he couldn't take that at the moment. you moved your hand over his cock at a leisurely pace. you squeezed his cock ever so often to mimic how it would feel if he was inside of you, the feeling of your cunt contracting around him.

"mommy.." he gasped and grabbed onto your wrist, his hips stuttered forward as he started to fuck your hand. you pressed your lips to the shell of his ear and trailed kisses all the way down to his shoulder.

"i got you, baby. you're okay." you mumbled, swiping your thumb over the head of his cock once more. spencer doubled over as his pleasure peaked, not caring about the water that was getting in his face. his cock twitched in your hand as his cum spurted onto the shower wall, thankfully the water washed it away.

spencer stood back up straight as you let go of his cock, he moved behind you so the he could catch his breath without the water streaming down his face. you turned to face him and placed your hands on his face, leaning up and pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

#golden1u5t #myrarants #spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x fem!reader angst #spencer reid x fem!reader fluff

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deansbite · 9 months ago

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AFAB READER!! 18+ mdni

alec had been leaning back on the couch, you've been sat on his lap, his cock has been sat in your cunt nicely. It'd been god knows how long since your walls had adjusted to his length. and ever since then, he hadn't moved an inch.

unless — you were actually done whining and moaning about his dick lodged in you and were focusing on the show, then he'd intentionally thrust just a tiny bit deeper before retracting.

you could barely even handle his full length, much less having him go deeper — you didn’t even know he could go deeper than he already was.

and that would repeat until now. you were settled and finally could get your mind off of the fact that you were cockwarming him. but alec.. well, he had other plans.

“i can barely see the tv screen now. c’mon, baby lean back, that way you can lean to the side and i’ll be able to watch.”

“but you already.. uh — nevermind.”

“i what? c’mon you want to talk back, so go on, i’m all ears.”

“alec i didn’t mean it like that —”

“ohno, nono, don’t take it back, tell me.”

and as you opened your mouth to oblige and continue, alec raised his hips — quick, with his superhuman speed.

you yelped when his tip rubbed against your cervix — which was probably bruised with the amount of times he thrusted up into you in the span of god knows how long.

“speak up, come on.” alec urged, his smut tone evident. his hands eventually rested on your hips, guiding you to bounce up and down on his length whilst he assisted with some occasional thrusts.

you instinctively clenched around him. “so fucking tight.” he gasped out.

“c’mon, i know how much you enjoy this, hell, i do too. but, i am gonna need you to finish that fucking sentence of yours.”

“i can’t —” you yelped as he slammed you down on his length whilst raising his hips at the same down.

you weren’t paying attention when one of alecs hands went up and he stuck his fingers into your mouth. you immediately swirled your tongue around them. alec seemed pleased — considering his fingers were like a plug to make you shut up.

both you and him knew he had a lot of stamina so he would go on for however long he wanted — which usually ended up with you so fucked out you can barely even form coherent sentences.

“that’s it, atta girl, finally taking the hint and closing that pretty mouth of yours.”

all you could do was whine which was just a slight bit fainter and much softer with his slender fingers in your mouth.

alec kept the same harsh and quick pace of you bouncing and him thrusting up occasionally. which caused a few groans to escape alecs mouth.

he could immediately tell when you were close. “hold it.”. he knew if his fingers weren’t in your mouth and you weren’t currently sucking him into your warmth, you would probably stomp your foot and complain.

but he could really care less. “i wantcha to fucking control it. if you can control how whiny and how much you complain, the least you could do is hold your goddamn orgasm.”

he was slightly annoyed. and both you and he knew if you didn’t listen, he’d make sure you’d regret in one way or another.

“shit, could fuck this soaking pussy all day. you’re so warm — fuck.”

and so he did, his thrusts not coming to a halt no matter how long he’s made you hold in your orgasm and even if you did cum at least six times within the span of an hour, he kept going.

that was simply Alec McDowell.

um!! yea this is not a lot because i wasnt in the mood to write a lot but i hope. this is good enough

tags: @fallbhind @beausling @gibson-g1rl @dollsltt @psychicnatural

special tags: @pearlzier @deanswidow (cause from what i know they love alec!! (not as much as me but</3))

uhh yea this was fun to write

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sometimesanalice · 2 years ago

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Leave a Light On {vol. i}

Summary: When Bradley had given you a key to his place, what he probably didn’t expect was to find you there at 2 am sitting at the piano you’d helped him find.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 7k

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(this was the story I was working on back in January, before the 'Like I Can' series and anything else on my masterlist. I'm so excited to share it with you all! This will be a 2-part series.)

When Bradley had given you a key to his place, you imagine he probably thought you’d check on his plants every now and then. That you’d pop by to give them a quick water and then be on your way.

Maybe that you’d take the Bronco out for a quick spin, so that his baby it didn’t sit there too long going unused. You were one of a very small handful of people he trusted to drive his most prized possession. There was something special about being behind the vintage wheel with the sun on your face as you cruised along the highway, even if it wasn’t the same without him sitting there smiling next to you.

He’d already put his mail on hold with the USPS, but you knew that he knew he could count on you to rescue any stray package that might slip through the cracks and make its way to the front door of his charming craftsman bungalow.

What he probably didn’t expect was for you to be there sometime past 2 AM sitting on the creaky bench of the old, but well-loved, piano that you had helped him to find.

You should be tucked away under the comforter of your own bed, in your own room, at your own place.

Instead, your fingers are navigating over the black and ivory keys trying, yet again, to make it through a tricky passage on a song that you’ve spent the better part of the last three months trying to perfect.

He was coming home soon and you couldn’t wait to hold him, to love him, to surprise him.

Each time he leaves, it gets a little easier to miss him. You wear your longing like a locket rather than an albatross around your neck, always there but easier to bear.

Rooster had a way of filling a space in a way you’ve never experienced before. His larger than life charisma was one of the first things that had caught your attention, followed by that damn smile of his.

He was always humming in the kitchen.

Or whistling in the car.

Or playing the piano to decompress after a long day.

Or listening to something on his mom’s refurbished record player.

His presence always so tangible and warm, like a blanket pulled fresh from the dryer. With Bradley around, you could wrap yourself up in the sheer comfort of him.

And when he was gone, it was the quiet that you struggled with the most. A constant reminder of just how far away he was. No texts or calls or voice memos throughout the day. No little everyday sweet somethings that let you know he was thinking of you.

The sound of silence followed you everywhere. Its heavy companionship making itself known regardless of how loudly you sang along to his favorite songs on the playlist he had made you or how many times you played through the song you were learning just for him.

You had grown up in the silence, you knew it well.

Parents who stayed together because it was easier than splitting the house and sharing the kid. And on the rare occasions it wasn’t quiet, it was loud. The kind that was inescapable regardless of how much you buried under the covers or how far you tucked yourself away in the corner of the backyard.

Until one day the glossy, satin walnut upright piano appeared along the wall in your barely used dining room. And then it soon became your favorite way to cover the quiet and to mask the loud.

Looking back on it now, maybe your parents had wanted something to fill the silence too.

The hours and hours of lessons you and Bradley had both been forced to sit through as children was something that the two of you had bonded over pretty early on. And while he had kept up with playing, it was something that had fallen to the wayside in your life. First with school, then with a career, and now with purposeful avoidance.

There was once a time when reading sheet music had come as easily to you as reading a book. And then one day, they were just a bunch of random dots scattered in between and across five lines on a piece of paper.

There was once a time when you didn’t even need to look down to know where your fingertips were flying to. And then one day, all your fingers could do was stumble and trip over the keys as you winced at the dissonance it created.

And when Rooster had learned about your mutual musical upbringing, he had made it his personal mission to try and get you to play something for him. He was so sweet, so sincere in the way he’d ask you, all big brown eyes and hopeful smiles.

It had always made your chest tight to brush him off. It was something he clearly wanted to share with you, but that part of you ached like a phantom limb. You didn’t know what would be worse embarrassing yourself or disappointing him with your lack of skill when it was something that you used to be so proud about.

It was easy to dodge him at first during nights out at the Hard Deck with your understandable Not with all these people here’s to your practical Mozart would just bring the vibes down’s to your evasive Maybe next time’s.

And when his polite requests were met with empty answers, he took it a step further.

One night in his bed, the curtains fluttering as the sea breeze mingled with his sandalwood scent, he’d whispered into your heated skin, “I’ll get you to play something for me one of these days. Maybe I just need to find the right form of bribery.”

His teasing innuendo juxtaposed deliciously with the deliberate touch of his fingers and tongue as he’d played your body to a perfect crescendo.

It reached a point where you couldn’t stomach to see the dejection in his eyes, the hurt he tried so hard to hide when you’d deny him yet again, that you had to own up to your closely guarded secret.

The confession had whooshed out of you in one breath, leaving you feeling deflated and defeated afterwards.

When you eventually mustered the courage to look at him, he’d been wearing the softest look of understanding on his face, as if he could sense the toll it took to admit the loss of that part of yourself. Then he gathered you in his lap and held you, all while the tears of frustration simmered behind your tightly squeezed eyes.

And when he offered to help remind how to read that language without words, to help you remember the letters of the keys beneath your fingers, it had made your heart hurt a little less.

You weren’t ready then, not like you are now.

But nothing gave you as much pleasure as it did to watch Rooster seated in front of the well-worn and well-played upright piano of Penny’s at the Hard Deck. There was nothing more exhilarating than seeing him in his element so at home on the bench, scuffed and scratched from performers of the past, as he shared that part of himself with everyone in the bar.

He made it look so easy. So damn effortless. His thick fingers flying purposefully over the keys as he played from memory. His joyous enthusiasm electrifying and substantial enough to get the whole bar singing along with him.

It always drew him a lot of attention.

How could it not? He was magnetic on a bad day and captivating the rest of the time. And entirely too handsome for his own good.

Interested eyes, curious eyes, hungry eyes followed him around more often than not after an impromptu performance.

However, those brown eyes of his were always set on you.

Never wavering, never straying from you as he’d weave his way poco a poco, little by little, back through the packed bar. Handing out high-fives to people on autopilot as he passed by to return back to your side. Glistening with the sweat he worked up and grinning widely as he’d greet you with a How’d I do, sweetheart?. Those big, capable hands sliding around your waist, in the back pocket of your jeans, under your top to rest on your low back.

The two of you never stuck around for long after he wrapped up. You didn’t mind helping him find ways to put that excess adrenaline to good use. Usually in the backseat of the Bronco.

You’ll never forget the first time Bradley serenaded you. The song meant for you and you alone.

If someone were to cut into that soft, pink part of your brain, you’re pretty sure they would find that memory pressed there like flowers between the pages of a book. Forever apart of you.

It was the song that always took you right back to that little vinyl shop along the pier. And back to that date that had almost derailed it all.

When Rooster had picked you up to take you to dinner all those months ago, he had seemed a bit antsy and absentminded.

Sure, he had gotten out of the Bronco to come fetch you like a gentleman, instead of sending some half-assed Here text like your ex had been fond of doing. You thought for sure he’d be hustling you back inside after he caught a glimpse of what you were wearing once you opened your front door to greet him.

So you were surprised when he’d simply pressed a dry kiss to your cheek and escorted you to his car with a hand placed respectfully between your shoulder blades instead of cheekily in that space between your low back and ass.

That spot that toed the line between decent and indecent. That spot that made him smirk when you’d give him a pointed lift of the eyebrow, because the two of you knew exactly what he was doing. And better yet, liked it.

However, that night it was almost like he was going through the motions, like he was already somewhere else.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent except for the white noise of the highway as he drove. The circular knob for the radio set to the left.

Off.

Which in hindsight should have been your first warning, since Bradley was never not listening to the Oldies station. A vintage vibe for your vintage boy.

When you were finally seated across from him at that new trendy Thai place you had been dying to go to, his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping out some unheard tune. On the tops his thighs. On the top of the table.

His eyes were landing everywhere else other than on you. On the large leaves of the potted palms, on the ornate pattern on the gold silk that was swathed across the ceiling, on the intricate hand-painted tiles on the floor.

You’d been trying to carry on a conversation for the past fifteen minutes and were feeling completely on edge when you had to repeat yet another question for him.

The anxious feeling growing in the pit of your stomach had been getting more and more difficult to ignore. You could tell he wasn’t really there, what you were trying to figure out was whether or not he just didn’t want to be there with you.

And god, the drinks hadn’t even come out yet. There wasn’t anything for you to distract yourself with other than your water glass, and even that was already empty except for a few melting ice cubes.

His half answers and noncommittal noises were rapidly clearing things up for you.

He’s breaking up with me.

It was at that crushing realization that the waitress had returned with your drink orders. The bright orange concoction that she set in front of you had been topped with a lovely purple orchid and glittery swizzle stick.

A happy looking cocktail for the girl who thought she was going to have another great date with the guy who was saved in her phone as “Golden Boy”.

“Have you two decided on what you want to eat? Or would you like to hear the chef’s specials again?” the waitress had asked, her gaze bouncing back and forth between you and Bradley.

You could tell that she was sensing the brewing tension between the two of you.

“I don’t think we’ll here much longer, maybe just the check--”

“Sorry, if we could have a few more minutes to decide--”

You’d both started speaking at the same time only to turn to the other wearing matching faces of absolute confusion. He’d gone ramrod straight in his chair, his fingers finally still on the tabletop. The shock in his eyes was apparent, and you could only assume it was there because you beat him to the punch.

The waitress had looked at you sympathetically before saying she’d come back in check in a few minutes and then quickly spun on her heel to take her hasty leave.

It was the look that she’d given you that had really sealed the deal for you, and wasn’t that just great? You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rest of the waitstaff was already hearing about the couple fighting at Table 12 and taking bets about whether or not they’d break up.

Lucky them, dinner and a show.

You’d reached the fruity drink in front of you, the condensation from the glass leaving a ring on the table and took a large sip for moral support. Feeling the weight his stare on you the whole time as you savored the tart taste of passionfruit as it burst across your tongue.

He’d just have to wait. It was your turn to ignore him.

As you’d swallowed it down, it had left you feeling more than a little angry that it tasted so good when you were feeling so shitty. He knew how much you liked an over the top cocktail, why couldn’t he have picked some dingy hole-in-the-wall to do this at rather than ruin this place for you? The hot prickling sensation of righteous indignation filled your chest.

You really didn’t want it to drag out any longer, setting your liquid courage back down you’d met his stare and got right down to it, “If you’re going to break up with me, Rooster, can you just do it now? I’d like to still be able to order Pad See Ew in the future without thinking about you and this moment.”

You removed the napkin from your lap, folding it up primly before placing it back upon the table as you waited for the final nail in the coffin to be pounded in on the remains of the happiest-and-easiest-and-clearly-too-good-to-be-true relationship you’ve ever had.

“Wait, what? I don’t want to break up.” His eyes were wide and searching, the hurt in his voice had been evident. And it was the first time all evening that he seemed to be present with you, like your Golden Boy had finally showed up to the date. “I thought things were going well. More than well, actually.”

“Yeah. I mean, I did too. Until tonight,” you’d agreed, defeatedly. “I’m really confused here. You’ve been completely distant tonight. Not to be vain, but look at me,” you gestured to the sexy lowcut dress you’d worn for the evening. It was something you’d been saving in your closet for the right occasion. And you’d thought it was going to drive him wild, but he hadn’t even given it a second glance.

You’d leaned in a bit, lowering your voice, “It’s a boob and leg dress, Bradley. I look really fucking hot, and frankly, I didn’t even think we were going to make it here once you saw this. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve missed a dinner reservation. And you haven’t said a single thing about it.”

It felt like a silly thing to be upset about in the grand scheme of things, but his inattentiveness that evening had stung more than you’d wanted to admit to.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I noticed,” he’d retorted hotly. His eyes had been heated as he’d matched your movement and leaned in further across the table. “Half the men in here noticed it too the second you walked in.”

You didn’t bother trying to hold back your scoff of frustration, the man was infuriating.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re making me feel like being here- with me- is the last place you want to be right now?” You’d given up on trying to sound unaffected, this was not the evening you had envisioned. It felt like being blindfolded on a rollercoaster, unable to see what exactly you were hurtling towards.

“I got my new orders today,” he’d blurted out, his eyes trying to read yours for the reaction. “I’m being send as aerial escort for a diplomatic mission. I ship out next Monday for six weeks.”

He’d told you later that he was grateful it wasn’t a longer one, he knew he was lucky because he could have just as easily been sent away for a deployment longer than you’d actually been together.

“Oh.”

You’d known that that moment would have happened eventually with his job, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. However, it was one thing thinking about it theoretically rather than looking at a ticking clock with a deadline.

“Cards on the table, sweetheart?” He’d waited for you to nod before continuing on, “I am really fucking into you. I’m trying not to put pressure on this, because I’m pretty sure you’re my dream girl. I wanted to take you out for a nice meal, get you a couple of those complicated fun drinks you like. I even looked at the menu in advance, they have one here that they light on fire and it seems like something you would love.”

He was right, it was something that you’d love. You had even eyed it when you first got the menu, but you hadn’t wanted to get anything that would draw you more attention when you already felt like you had too many pairs of eyes on you.

“Then I wanted to take you home with me and tell you after we had a great time out. I wanted to ask you to save that Sunday before I leave for me, so that we could spend the whole day together.” His fingers had started playing that unheard tune on the table again. “I wanted to show my girl the best time, to keep her wanting to come back and to stick around. So that someone else doesn’t catch her eye, so that I don’t lose her to someone better than me while I’m away.”

His confession had your heart taking up residence in your throat. Having him lay it out for you so clearly and knowing that he’d felt as serious about you as you did about him was everything you had wanted to hear. However, one thing nagged at you.

“Bradley, you make me happy. Like really, really happy. I’ve only got eyes for you. If I’m being honest, this stopped being casual to me around our third date. And I trust you enough to know you’d tell me if this”, you’d gestured between the two of you, “wasn’t what you wanted anymore before starting up with someone else. I hope I have that same trust in return, because if you’re worried about me stepping out on you while you’re away, I don’t know how this is going to work. And I really want it to work.”

“Shit, I’m really striking out here. Batting 0 for two,” he’d sighed out more to himself than to you, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. “Our third? Really? I thought for sure after that disaster that you were going to block my number.” He huffs a laugh, cheeks turning the same shade of pink that they had that chaotic evening on the beach.

“Bradley, it was comically bad.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at the memory of it. “You were trying so hard and you were so flustered. It was so endearing.”

“Who would have guessed getting attacked by seagulls and coming home covered in sand flea bites could have been so appealing?” He joked self-deprecatingly.

“Me, I could have. Since I was with you,” you said sincerely, “No one I’ve dated has ever put half as much effort into trying to make me happy as you have.”

The two of you exchanged a soft, tentative smiles.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had a wandering eye or anything, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with you as he reached for your hands and threaded his fingers through yours, his palms slightly sweaty. “This deployment is different for me. I’ve never had to ask someone to wait for me before, never had anyone who wanted to. And I’ve been really in my head because I was trying to find the right way to tell you, to ask you.”

You were still getting to know all of the expressions of his face, but the look of open insecurity he was wearing was new to you. And you’d felt something deep in your chest release and unlock.

For how easily he owned a room, for how confident he could be, getting to see these tender parts of him because he trusted you with them had made you ache in the most bittersweet of ways for the man who was in front of you.

You held his gaze, taking in his anxious expression. How anyone couldn’t want this man or didn’t think he was worth the wait was incomprehensible to you.

“So Sunday the seventeenth, huh?” you’d said with a grin.

His relief was palpable as he’d squeezed your hand a bit tighter, “Yeah, baby, you up for it?”

“A perfect day with my dream guy?” you mused, squeezing his hand back, “Yeah, I think I’d be up for that. I’m up for all of it.”

Not just the date. Not just the deployment. You already knew. With him, you wanted it all.

When the waitress returned a few moments later, Bradley ordered a green curry for himself and the Pad See Ew for you. Along with one of those complicated, fun drinks that arrived with fanfare and flames, all while he played with your fingers.

And after you were finished, she’d dropped off a fluffy looking coconut covered dessert that she’d stated was on the house as walked away with a wink.

You’d totally called it, dinner and a show.

As you’d left the restaurant, he tucked you in close under his arm pressing kiss after kiss to your temple as you made your way back to the Bronco.

And later, when he had taken you back to his place for the night, your boob-and-leg dress forgotten somewhere on the floor, he’d apologized again. This time with his mouth on your body.

Twice.

It had been a fluke, really, finding that record tucked away in that small, but well-kept shop on that Sunday before his deployment.

You’d surprised him with a certificate for a haircut and hot towel shave at an upscale barber for a little pre-deployment pampering. He’d gotten his hair trimmed the day before and he was somehow looking even more sunkissed than usual. His patterned shirt was mostly buttoned up and he had on your favorite pair of jeans- the ones that might have been a bit too snug, but did devastating things for his ass.

It was the outfit he’d been wearing when you had first met.

You and Bradley had spent a lazy, perfect morning at the beach reading and lounging and trading sea salt kisses before changing and to grab a bite to eat. He’d held up a towel up around you to slip into your sun warmed dress, behaving himself for the most part. But you’d still caught him sneaking a peek from over the top of the terry cloth.

After eating a late lunch at his favorite little café that served the best cioppino, you’d popped in and out of the various shops that dotted the boardwalk near the pier. It might have been the bottle of wine you shared, but he made sure to stop at every photobooth you passed along the way, collecting strip after strip of snapshots and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

His hand staying in yours the whole time.

When he’d spotted the tiny record store, he’d cheerily pulled you along with him wanting to look for new additions for his ever-growing collection. It was his newest hobby after getting his mom’s old record player restored. You had even helped him build the sideboard he had specially ordered for it to display his prized collection in the living room of his home.

You could hear him talking excitedly to an associate about some Jerry Lee Lewis albums, who offered to take a look in the backroom for him. You never had good luck when you tried to search for specific things, so you were happy to meander around a bit aimlessly and see what spoke to you.

Casually flipping through the stacks, you’d gasped when you landed on what appeared to be the holy grail of all vinyl records ever made.

“Bradley, look!” You’d held out the record for him like a prize. And he abandoned his own search to come join you on the other side of the store.

“Soldiers’ Sweethearts, huh?” He grinned at your find, his eyes crinkling around the edges. The navy colored jacket highlighted a trio of glamourous looking women, each of the three records featured a different performer and their covers of songs popularized during WWII.

“Mm-hmm,” you’d preened, feeling entirely too pleased with yourself. “You’re a soldier, I’m a sweetheart. I’ve never seen anything more perfect in my life. I have to get it.”

“Well I’m not a soldier, technically,” he’d chuckled, as you’d rolled your eyes at him. The joke had you scrunching your nose, and his mustache grazed you as he leaned in close to press a quick kiss to it. “But you’re definitely a sweetheart, sweetheart.”

You were still trying to learn the ins and outs of that part of his life. But you’d liked how he never made you feel stupid when you had questions. More often than not he seemed excited to answer them for you, that you were interested in what he did.

Rooster gently took your newest most prized possession into his big hands, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Flipping the album over, he’d scanned the tracks listed on the back for the three records. “Some classics, but a lot I don’t think I know. Definitely some intriguing titles, like ‘Daddy’,” he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a grin that could only be described as lewd.

The man was a menace and had no problem finding new ways to make you blush. You were grateful that the shop was empty except for the two of you, as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

“What about ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight’? Have you heard that one before, sweetheart?” His large body moving in and crowding yours, the smell of his cologne making your thoughts go a bit fuzzy around the edges. Your heartbeat kicked up in tempo as he brushed a piece of hair off your forehead.

That find was definitely a jackpot.

Him and those records.

“Mm, or how about ‘Make Love To Me’?” He’d murmured into your ear, his free arm slid slowly against your waist, making a home for itself low on your back. The warmth from his hand seeping through your dress and into your skin.

It was heady being the target of all his heated words and teasing tone. The pull in your low stomach getting more intense with every moment you’d stayed pressed against his hard body. You could see how his pulse was pounding arditamente con forza, boldly with force, from how close your face was to that thick throat of his. And you had wanted to--

“I knew we had it somewhere!”

The associate’s cheery announcement as he returned from the backroom startled you back into yourself. Feeling flustered you’d tried to pull away, but Bradley just kept his arm locked around you as he’d made his way to the counter.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. We’ll take this one too,” he stated as he’d smoothly placed your Soldiers’ Sweethearts album on the top of the pile he had accumulated. Only letting go of you to pay.

Naturally, you’d wanted to play the record the second you made it back to Bradley’s place.

He set it up for you before giving you a lingering, deep kiss leaving you to your own devices as he worked on the final few things left on his to-do list before his deployment early the next morning.

You were happy to make yourself comfortable on his wide seat couch with an Old Fashioned listening to Jo Stafford’s soothing voice with your eyes closed, wanting to luxuriate in the moment.

One where Bradley was less than twenty feet away puttering around in his kitchen and humming and murmuring to himself.

One where you could call out to him and he would be in front of you in a few long strides.

You wanted to avoid thinking about the next day and the beginning of your new normal.

One where you couldn’t expect text messages from him throughout the day.

One where concern and uncertainty would follow you around like a dark cloud until he came back home to you.

But he was here for now. And you wanted to savor it all, to soak up all of its sweet, syrupy goodness like the expensive cherry in your glass.

He must have sensed the turn in your thoughts because his sandalwood scent gave his closeness away before his voice did, “What do you say, Miss Soldiers’ Sweetheart? Can you spare a dance for me?”

You opened your eyes to see him standing before you with his hand outreached for you. The smile so gentle and open on his face, made it impossible for you to do anything other than wordlessly nod your head in agreement as you’d let him pull you up from your comfy perch.

“Apologies in advance for any injuries caused by my two left feet,” you joked a bit bashfully as he wrapped his arm around you.

“Lucky for us, I was gifted with two right feet. Don’t worry, we’ll even out each other,” he murmured.

He pulled you into his gravity, pressing your joined hands against his chest where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. The hand on your lower back urging closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head where you had tucked it into that safe space where his neck meets his shoulder.

take me in your arms, and never let me go whisper to me softly while the moon is low

True to his word, he’d guided you in a smooth, easy rhythm. The confidence in his steps as you were held within his sturdy arms was enough to make you feel secure in your own movement. With him you were completely taken care of.

hold me close and tell me what I wanna know say it to me gently, let the sweet talk flow

Your other hand slid up slowly from where it was resting on his shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck as your thumb traced the thick column of his throat.

Come a little closer, make love to me

He held you tighter, held you closer, as the song came to an end. The easy rhythm turning into a gentle sway that continued as the next song began. And the one after that.

That night in his bed he moved against you with such purpose, such tenderness. The sex with Bradley was always stunningly good, he was never content to let himself come until he’d rendered you thoroughly boneless and breathless. He was easily the best you’ve ever had, but that night it was different between you two.

The mood weighty and intense, both of you exposed in a way you hadn’t been before. But there was no mistaking the deliberate way he touched you, the unwavering way he rolled his hips against yours, the unguarded way he held your gaze as if he was committing that moment to memory as he made love to you.

He’d held you close to his warm body, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps, as you shivered through your orgasm. His mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered soothing sweet somethings until he followed you over the edge.

For Bradley, you were up for it. For him, you’d be up for all of it.

yesyesyes

Things were a bit too quiet for you.

You heart clenched in a different way when you looked at Penny’s piano on those evenings you spent with the Dagger Squad without him. The ache was still there, but so was a new kind of longing. Part for him, but also for yourself.

But you’d made it through that deployment with the help of your three favorite sweethearts: Jo, Vera and Anne. Although you always queued up one song in particular anytime you found yourself missing him a bit more than normal.

And when Bradley returned back home to you six weeks later, it was easy to fall right back into him. That quiet period was almost too easily forgotten when he was around to fill a space.

That night at the Hard Deck when he serenaded you for the first time, it was normal for him to strut over to the old jukebox to unplug it. His timing impeccable as always, silencing whatever country song Jake had queued up.

What wasn’t normal was the way he took you by the hand leading you directly to the old upright and pulled you right onto the bench next to him.

There was already some sheet music spread across the shelf, you’d noted as he’d wiped his hands on the outside of his jeans before settling his hands on the keys. It only took you a couple bars of the intro to realize what song he was playing, already completely enamored before he’d even opened his mouth to sing.

It was your song.

Nothing in the world could ever compete with Bradley Bradshaw’s deep, raspy voice singing just for you. The significance of the song meant for you and him alone.

You heart had swelled in your chest until you thought it might burst from happiness. Never in your life had you been so thoroughly swept off your feet. It was a gesture came from his heart that made a home in yours.

Ever the showman Rooster put on a full performance, his aviator sunglasses sliding down his nose as he really leaned into it.

Your wide grin had turned to laughter when a few members of the Dagger Squad jumped in as back-up vocals, singing into their beer bottles in a way that obviously had been rehearsed. You didn’t know how he managed to keep it a secret. While Rooster was a vault in his professional life, when it came to his personal life Bradley couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

The whole bar was having fun with the jaunty tune, some couples dancing along in smooth circles on the sticky wood floor as he crooned. He’d leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek every now and then in between verses, and you’d felt yourself fall for him even harder.

He’d pulled you into his lap once he was done playing, as the din of the resumed chatter softly cocooned you. You’d seen all you needed to know reflected in his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

“Will you play it again?” you’d asked against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.” And you rested your head on his shoulder watching his fingers get into position on the keys once more as he played the few opening notes.

Somewhere you heard a groan followed by a grumbled, “Not again.”

“Shut it, Bagman,” you bossed at him, not even bothering to look in his direction. You only had eyes for Bradley.

“You heard the lady,” he chuckled. “Shut it, Bagman.”

And then he played it again.

take me in your arms, and never let me go

You should be asleep in your own bed and not at his place with only the soft light of the lamp above his piano and a now cold cup of tea to keep you company.

Tired of tossing and turning, you’d given up on the idea of getting any sleep at your own place after the second hour of trying. Throwing on your slippers, you’d grabbed your keys and then drove over to his place, still in the oversized t-shirt you’d put on before bed, in hopes that scent of his sheets would help lull you to sleep.

But all it did was make you miss him more.

It was too quiet without his soft breathing next to you as he held you close and tucked against his chest.

Too quiet without his records.

Too quiet without his happy humming.

Too quiet without him.

The sound of the tea kettle on his gas range had helped fill the silence, but it was his piano that had called you as you had waited for the water to boil. The sheet music you had left there from the last time you were over beckoning like a siren’s song.

It was your secret.

Only for a few more days, only until he came home.

You wanted to surprise him, to sweep him off his feet the way that he always did with you when he played for you.

During that first deployment, for the first time in years, your fingers yearned for the feel of cool, smooth keys beneath your fingers.

You hadn’t even told Bradley, the one person who would understand it the most, that you’d been thinking about it. Let alone that you were actually taking classes again. Making up excuses about manicures or errands or spin classes for why you were busy for an hour every Tuesday at five PM.

The thing that had once hurt your heart the most, was now the only thing that helped soothe the ache of missing him. The only thing that made you feel close to him when you were thousands of miles apart.

You wanted that familiar comfort of making music. You wanted it because you missed him, but you also wanted it for yourself.

A co-worker had given you the name and number for her kids’ instructor, Mrs. McMullen, an elderly woman who started teaching after her husband passed away. It took you couple weeks to work up the courage to make the call, the sticky note burning a hole in the pocket of your purse you had tucked it into.

You had been an anxious mess the day of your first lesson, hands shaking like you’d had one too many shots of espresso. It felt strange, a little surreal sitting there in the body you’d grown into on the padded bench in her cozy living room. One of the walls filled with shelves and shelves of sheet music, her own personal library.

And for a brief moment, you were transported to a different year on a different bench in a different room. Now and Then. Older and Younger. Both versions of you there to learn. All too familiar, yet entirely new.

You started with the basics. A reintroduction to those lines on the page and the notes that spoke their own language for those who knew how to read it.

Your fingers wanting to move quicker than your sluggish mind, like an echo of a memory of how it used to be. You winced and apologized after every wrong note, until she put her hand on yours, her skin looked as delicate as her fingers did, and said gently, “We learn by doing, mistakes only mean that you are trying. Once more, once again.”

After that first lesson, you’d gone back to your car and promptly burst into tears. Overwhelmed tears, happy tears. That tender part of you still soft, however no longer aching.

You’d left feeling lighter as you pulled away from her house to go meet up with everyone at the Hard Deck, but also with a packet of sheet music to practice for your next lesson.

When Rooster had told you about getting his new orders, when he had asked you again if you were still up for it. You’d told him the same thing you had at that date, you were up for it all.

You would take the sadness with the sweet any day of the week for as long as he was yours.

You’d known how you would fill the space he left behind. And exactly how you wanted to welcome him home. You’d been excited to put that certain song just for him in your cart, and then tacking on one more song to your order, a song that would be just for you.

Both you and Mrs. McMullen had be surprised at how you’d been able to pick things back up over the months, you still weren’t anywhere as good as you were when you were younger, but it wasn’t nearly as daunting as it used to be. And when you showed up to your next lesson after your songs had been delivered, she was more than happy to help you figure out ways to simplify the songs a bit so that you’d be ready when he returned.

And now you’re bent over Bradley’s piano with a pencil tucked behind your ear as you played through the hardest bit of the song, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve gone over it tonight. This morning? You were in that liminal space between yesterday and today. Where the time on the clock was just a suggestion because it felt neither here nor there.

You had practiced and practiced the song you had wanted to play for him once got home. You’re pretty sure Mav wasn’t supposed to tell you the significance of that particular song, but it had made your heart flutter wildly in your chest when he’d told you. And every time you’ve heard it since then.

It was polished, it was perfect, it was ready. All you needed was him.

The one you’re playing now con amore, with love, is the piece you pull out when you long for him the most.

The cover of the song had made you think of him from the moment you’d heard it. It was more lyrical and delicate than the original, and captured just how you felt about him. Just how much he meant to you. Sometimes you sing along with it, sometimes you just let the keys and pedals express the things you otherwise could not.

It was the song of your heart.

Your fingers trip over one of the notes yet again, probably from the lack of sleep, but you weren’t ready to crawl back into Bradley’s comfy bed. Not just yet.

Sighing, you pull the pencil from behind your ear, muttering to yourself out loud as you note the spot on the page. It was already filled with little pencil marks, some older and some newer. All made because you were trying.

Once more, once again.

Breathing out slowly, you settle your hand back on the keys-

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

Read {vol. ii} here!

He's a sneaky one, friends! I have Part 2 in the works, not to worry! We have to see how it all plays out! (put intended)

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for the grand finale!

Here's a link to the Soldiers' Sweethearts Album, if you're curious!

But this is their song, the one Bradley serenaded her with! Jo Stafford's version of 'Make Love to Me'

I ended up making two moodboards for this part!

Here's the more colorful one! And here's the more yearn-y one!

You can check out my other stories here!

And a big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me spam you about this one!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x female reader #rooster x you

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axxa-the-allikatt · 9 months ago

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PILLOW PRINCESS~

***

Trust, these are 3 am thoughts and I barely understood it when I reread it, probably cuz my brain was already asleep. So if you understand it, hope you enjoy 🫠.

***

Top Male reader X Dom boyfriend Nagi Seishiro

***

Nagi was a sub top in the relationship. At least that’s what everyone expected.

M/n had the same expectations, until him and Nagi had actually gotten into bed for the first time, drunk and mindless. It had begun with Nagi leaning in for a rough kiss, hastily swallowing M/n’s tongue. Before M/n could figure out what was going on, he’d felt his back crashing against the wall, leaving him breathless, both due to the force and the unusually greedy kisses.

Now, as M/n’s hands gripped the white haired boy’s lean hips, he heard the boy let out a high pitched moan into the kiss. After what felt like an eternity, Nagi finally pulled back, his hands messily tangled around the taller boy’s neck, before he began leaving feathery kisses along M/n’s jaw, down to his collar bone, then farther down his torso, until the white haired boy was on his knees, looking up at M/n through hazy, lust filled eyes.

“Mhmm~ Lemme suck you off? Pretty please?~” he whimpered, his hands clenching by his thighs, his expression making M/n lose any shred of self control. “Go on, pretty boy~” M/n cooed, but made no attempt to take off his trousers. Nagi leaned forward, pressing his cheek against M/n’s inner thigh, as he bit onto the zipper, pulling it down using his teeth, then pulling down the boxers, as M/n’s cock sprang up slightly.

Nagi stuck his tongue out, licking the tip, eliciting a low moan from M/n. Little by little, he took it into his hot, wet mouth, until he was sloppily bobbing his head up and down the taller boy’s now rock hard cock, mouth barely going past half of the length before it grazed the back of his throat, his gag reflexes kicking in.

He brought up his hands, wrapping them around the remaining length, moving them in rhythm with his pretty pink lips. M/n’s hands were tangled in his fluffy hair, gripping it with such force, as though his soul would fly away if he didn’t. Nagi’s little moans and gags vibrated against his shaft, sending shivers up his spine, as he felt the heat pooling inside him.

As M/n felt his mind start to get mushier than it already was, he sensed the feeling of something wet under his bare feet. Looking down, he realized that Nagi was barely conscious, sticky white liquid dripping down his thighs, collecting on the floor. He let out a frustrated whine, as Nagi tried to pull back. No! Not yet! He was so close!

Grabbing a fist full of his hair, M/n yanked Nagi back, his cock hitting the back of the boy’s throat with such force, it was enough to snap him awake. As Nagi gripped at M/n’s thighs, M/n bucked his hips, reaching for the climax that seemed so close, yet was taking so long, which in reality hit him like a freight train not a minute later.

M/n pulled back, his milky liquid splashing to the floor, a few drops landing on Nagi’s face, which the boy made a show of licking off. Both of them froze as a knock sounded at the door right beside them, bringing them back to reality. An half hour ago, after a get together party, both of them had realised how drunk they were and had booked a hotel room right beside the bar and arcade.

The person at the door knocked again, this time asking out loud whether anyone was inside, and would they like dinner in bed? M/n cleared his throat, before stuttering out a ‘no thanks’ and that they would rather not have dinner. The person at the door replied with an okay and the footsteps disappeared down the hallway.

The two boys let out a sigh neither of them knew they had been holding. “Uhh, well, looks like we’re not going home tonight” M/n muttered, reaching down to pull his pants up. His movements were abruptly stopped as Nagi grabbed his wrists. “Let me ride you? Pretty please?”.

Oh fucking god. Where had he learnt to say pretty please so sweetly? “Are you sure, snowflake? I mean, it’s our first time, you sure you’re not tired?” M/n asked gently , standing back up, hands playing with Nagi’s fluffy hair.

“Mhm~ You always make me feel so good. Lemme do this, N/n?~” He replied, his voice low, what with all that throat fucking.

And who was M/n to say no to his sweet, sweet boyfriend? Especially when he was acting so unusually energetic when it came down to sex.

Oh well, M/n would be more than happy to be a pillow princess if his pretty prince was willing to take the lead.

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #fanfic #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro #seishiro nagi #nagi x reader #nagi #top male reader #top male reader X sun bllk #dom character #dom Nagi seishiro

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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You Make Me Wanna 6

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, best friend’s dad trope other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note:Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

As unsurprised as you were when Faye shunned you, you’re even less put off by her sudden reappearance. She does this. There was a whole month in high school when suddenly she was too busy trying to fit in with the local Regina George and her minions. You know she only came back then because she had to work to impress them.

You’re not insulted. You know who and what you are, even without her father reminding you. You reread the text, tempted to hit those three dots and tap gleefully press ‘block’. You’re still friends, even if she can be a shitty one. You care about her.

‘Can we meet?’

You already have your response typed in; ‘where?’ You’ve been trying to send it for the last hour. Something keeps you from push your thumb against that arrow. Is it worth it this time?

Before you can think too much, your phone vibrates again. Almost as if she can sense your doubt. ‘Please. It’s serious.’

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. As if you don’t have enough to deal with.

You send the text and grab your bag. The kids are already asleep, your mom’s here, probably sleeping too. You hurry to the door without a response. This is it. The last time. You’re going to tell Faye exactly that. Next time she can call her dad. You don’t need the trouble. Besides, she’s doing all this to piss him off, it has nothing to do with you.

You put your shoes on and leave as quietly as you can, double checking the locks behind you. You stomp down the front walk as the streetlights shine down and head down towards the bus stop. Your phone shakes. What the hell?

At least it’s close. You read the address again. You know it. Two blocks away on Wilmington; dealer district. This isn’t good.

You put your chin down and set your eyes ahead of you. Don’t look at anyone, just keep going. You sling your purse around your body, keeping your hand on it. You have your phone firmly in the other.

Wilmington. Even your mother has enough sense to warn you against going around there. You head down and count the numbers from the corner of your eye. You slow as you near the house in question. What do you do? Knock on the door? You don’t know if that’s a great idea. Looks like a flop house.

You hear your name and a shadow ripples on the crooked porch. You look up as a dark figure staggers to the top of the steps. Faye looks willowy and drawn out as the moonlight hits her skin. The skin around her eyes baggy and discolored and she’s wearing the same outfit she wore to the club.

“What the hell?” You hiss as you march forward. She stumbles down the stairs and you barely catch her, “Faye?”

“I’m sorry. I was scared,” she murmurs as she latches onto you, “you gotta help me.”

She reeks, she’s shaking, and she’s slurring her words.

“Are you high?” You whisper at you hold her at arm’s length.

“Not anymore,” she sniffles, “please, my head is killing me.”

“What the fuck?!” You barely keep from shrieking, “how-- why the fuck would you do that?”

“That guy... we were just snorting a little and then... I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Faye,” you whine, “are you out of your mind?”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t...” she shakes her head and her voice drifts off, her frazzled eyes dimming, “I don’t know...”

She scratches her arm and you notice the scabbing there. You sigh and shake your head. You’re so tired of this. As if you don’t have enough to deal with at home with three siblings. Faye isn’t your problem, she won’t be after this.

“Fine. I’ll take you home. Your dad can deal with you--”

“No, please. You can’t,” she pleads and grabs you again, “I can’t-- He’ll kill me.”

“Faye, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I don’t have anywhere else to take you.”

“I’ll stay in your room--”

“No,” you say bluntly, “I have work and my siblings can’t be around you like this.”

“Why are you being so mean?” She whines.

You grit your teeth and look around as you hear voices from unseen mouths. You exhale and grab her wrist, dragging her hand from your arm.

“Let’s get out of here first,” you turn and tug her after you. “Fucking Wilmington? Wilmington?”

“Please, don’t be mad,” she snivels, “my dad’s gonna lose it if he knows. I need you. I need you to be nice--”

“I need you to stop fucking me around,” you snarl, “don’t you understand? Every dumb shit decision you make her brings down on me?”

“Huh?” She staggers heavily in her dirty wedges.

“Your fucking dad. Thinks he rules the whole damn world. And who is he gonna blame for this? You’re in my neighbourhood. You think I want to deal with him?”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers.

“You’re not,” you insist, “this is the last fucking time.”

“Please--”

“No, Faye,” you spin on her as you turn off of Wilmington. You have to keep yourself from shoving her, instead letting her go and throwing up your hands. “You have everything. You get to go back to school, you get to go home to your nice little suburban castle, you get to have your dad pay for it all. I have to go work at the goddamn grocery store and watch my life spin down the fucking sewer. I get to lay awake at night and worry if my siblings are gonna end up over here or if my mom’s going to come home at all when I haven’t seen her in two weeks!”

You ball your hands to fists, overwhelmed by the eruption of repressed emotions, “you get to smile and cry and get out of it all.”

“I...” she breathes, “I... didn’t know--”

“You never cared. Never listened,” you drops your arms and slump. “Go and live your life. Live it up in college, move somewhere nice, get married, do all that fun shit. I’ll stay. I don’t get that choice.”

The roll of tires near as you stand in tense silence. Faye mopes and hangs her head, swaying and scratching, “can I just stay one night?” She whispers.

You sigh again.

You sense a car draw up to the curb. Great, some jackass thinks you’re a street walker. You’re ready to tell him to fuck off but swallow the sneer. You could still say so.

Walter steps out on the other side of the car, “Faye,” he snarls.

“See,” you turn to her again, “don’t you realise who he’s going to blame now?” You face the man’s broad shadow, “don’t worry, Mr. Marshall, I was just telling her to go home and never come back. You win. I quit.”

“Both of you, get in,” he growls.

You scoff and Faye cowers behind you, “daddy--”

“Faye, just go,” you try to nudge her ahead of you, “I have to go home.”

“I said both,” Walter stomps around and rips open the back door. “In.”

“Here, she can go--” you urge Faye towards the backseat as she fights weakly.

As you push her head down and she surrenders, curling onto the seat, you’re shoved from behind. You barely keep from hitting your brow on the metal and throw your arm back at Walter. He catches your wrist and twists your arm behind you.

“It’s late. I’m on duty. I can’t leave you here,” he insists.

“What do you care?” You hiss and fight him.

“Don’t make me get the cuffs.”

You recoil at his threat and fall inside the car. You turn back to sneer at him but his face in covered in black shadow. Your nostrils flare and you shake your head. You bite down on a million insults and pull your legs inside.

Once he has Faye safe, you’ll figure a way out.

#you make me wanna #walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #night hunter #drabble #series #au #the club

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brookiesblurbs · 19 days ago

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Heyyyyy I just found you account! I was wondering if you could write some Shane fluff? Like him being super protective of fem!reader who doesnt have any survival skills and even tho it should annoy him so much he just thinks reader is cute and wants to take care of her??

New follower!! I’ll go and read everything on your blog now

Xoxo byeeee <3

SOLITUDE !! ୨ shane walsh.

SUMMARY — shane teaches a sweet girl how to shoot a gun and is a little vulnerable with her. WARNINGS — guns?? is that a warning? daryl being clocked for zero reason by shane. WC — 1.8k A/N — it's three am, popped a energy drink and shoved this out of my asshole. it's probably ooc idk i've... never written for shane and like. he was only normal for like two episodes. lowkey went off the ask a bit i'm sorry bae i'm buns at writing cute readers. also have no idea why i used pronouns instead of 'you' but i haven't written in six months and lowkey forgot how to write fanfics HAHA anyways i had fun writing for twd this made me excited to get more asks! this'll be the average length for requests so i can get them done in like two hours. bro i thought i was so funny sneaking the let me tell you somethin in

The silence of the desolate world around him amplified Shane’s solitude.

Ever since the walkers appeared, emptiness had become a companion Shane didn’t remember inviting into his life. The roads were eerily quiet, the air heavy with the faint stench of decay, and only the occasional rustle in the bushes reminded him that danger was always lurking nearby.

Shane had learned one thing the moment the CDC started sending out those first vague warnings about a virus: he was on his own. But being a protector was in his nature. He could thank his years as a sheriff for that. Shane was a lot of things— harsh, abrasive, even violent when the situation called for it— but before all of that, he was a protector. It was a promise he had made to himself, and one he had made to Rick: he would die before he let anything happen to Carl or Lori. So far, he’d kept that promise, even though it had cost him his peace of mind and any chance at sleeping soundly through the night.

A girl wasn’t in his plans. She was this sweet girl, God, far too sweet to be mixed up in this. She couldn’t have been more than a few years younger than him, and she was brilliant, in her own way. She wasn’t dumb by any means. She knew her way around Atlanta, and she was good with things he wasn’t. Emotions mostly. Everyone was treated the same by her. Gently. She was far too skittish, though. Took too long to make decisions that were a matter of living or dying in a world like this. If it was anyone else, Lord only knew how Shane would react.

Shane had this instinct, the same he had with Lori and Carl, towards her.

“Now, listen. No, no, no. Both hands.” Shane spoke, his tone flat and huffed out, like usual. His patience was a flaw of his. Especially with her, because it seemed like he was speaking in tongues anytime he said anything to her. “I don’t care if you see Rick and I shootin’ with one hand. You always use two hands, you hear me, girl? Alright, there ya go.”

Shane had been teaching her how to use different guns for the last hour. She was the only adult of the group who had no training whatsoever, and in Shane’s mind, the most important thing to him was knowing she’d be alright if a Walker came up on her.

“This is a G17.” He tried again, standing behind her as he watched her aim it. He shakes his head when she looks up at him with that deadpan look. “’S’a Pistol. Called G17 because it has seventeen rounds.” He takes out the magazine to show her the small silver bullets. He hands her one to show her how to reload it. She promptly drops it, and he believes this is his punishment for saving her butt instead of letting her get herself killed.

“Good Lord. Have you ever shot a gun in your life?” Shane’s tone is snappy now, talking to her like he would one of the males in the group.

“Why would I? I’m not a sheriff.” The indifference in her voice irks him even more.

“Thank God for that. You’re more likely to hit Daryl in his big ass head than a damn Walker.”

“This is pointless, Shane.”

Shane gets that little scrunch in between his brow, and he’s getting irritated. He takes a step back and runs his hands over his face. “It ain’t pointless. This is meaningful stuff I’m tryin’ to teach you.” He's trying to keep his voice level.

"It's pointless!" She argues.

“Let me tell you somethin’, girl! If you can’t learn how to shoot these geeks in the head, you ain’t makin’ it. That’s just the way it is. You gotta adapt, otherwise you’ll end up just like Ava. You want that? Huh?” Shane’s snapping now, his tone sharp and cutting. That impatient look hardened into a piercing, unforgiving glare.

It nearly broke his heart seeing the way she flinched when he yelled.

Everyone has warned her about Shane. Dale has been relentless with his talks with her, about how he knew men like him back in the war. Angry, aggressive, violent. Those words have been drilled into his head. She’d treated him just the same as everyone else. Like he was human, and not some dog.

Shane wouldn’t hurt her. God, he’d never even think about laying his hands on a girl, especially not her. He’d grown to care for this group of lone wolves, even if he’d never say that out loud. In an ideal world, he’d be able to keep everyone safe. Never did he want to scare you.

“Shit.” He murmured, all the ice leaving his voice immediately. Might have even been soft. “I didn’t mean’ta snap like that. Come on, I’ll show you one more time, then we can head back. Been a long day.”

She nods, although she still seems a little dazed by him yelling at her.

“I don’t wanna die.” She says quietly, aiming the gun back up. Shane set up an empty bean can on a log, and her eyes locked on it. Shane’s head snaps back over to her as she says it. It’s so quiet, he thought he imagined it.

“I know you don’t.” He moved behind her, gently lifting her arms up. His hands are calloused, but his touch is soft. Shane doesn’t need to touch her, but he wants to. It’s his way of apologizing for snapping without needing to say it vocally. “Aim above the target, just a little. Firm grip, like I told ya.”

“I don’t think I really have a choice on whether I’ll live or not.”

“Yeah, well. Tough, girl. You ain’t dyin’ and I ain’t lettin’ you.” He mumbles. His brown eyes aren’t looking at her, but at the target. His face is scrunched, like the thought of her dying made him feel ill. She can see his expression out of the corner of her eye. “Look at the can.”

She steadies the gun on the can. “I don’t get why you’re taking care of me.”

“I’m not takin’ care of you. I’m teachin’ you how to do it yourself.” Shane says.

They’re so far away from the camp and so deep in the woods that even a gunshot wouldn’t alert Walkers, especially not with a pistol this quiet. He made sure to take her far enough away, that way she could get a shot in.

“I don’t wanna learn how to kill.” She murmurs. “More than I don’t wanna die.”

Her finger finally rested against the trigger. And right as she’s about to pull it, Shane does something odd— his hands move to cover her ears. His forehead moves to rest against her hair. She pulls the trigger, and his hands are enough to keep her steady from the recoil and to block out the ringing that follows the bullet. It’s more of a crack than a bang, and it startles her a little. You never really get used to the sound of guns.

His lips press softly against the side of her head, and she realizes then that he wasn’t just touching her to protect her from losing her hearing— he knows this was frightening for her. She didn’t want to learn how to shoot, because she didn’t want to have to kill. And Shane knew this was eventually going to save her from other humans, even if he wasn’t there to protect her. He takes the gun from her shaking hands and puts it back in his holster, but his hands shift right back to cradle the sides of her face.

“You’re good. You’re full of good, that’s why I care. That’s why I’m teachin’ you this. Without good, we’ll all lose reason to keep goin’. You’re— You’re the reason the group keeps goin’.” Shane’s voice is shallow, and he keeps swallowing in between each sentence, because being vulnerable was like swallowing poison to him. “If something were to happen to Carl, or to you, it’d wreck the group.” A pause. “Wreck me.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. She’s not sure how to respond, and if she did, she didn’t want to make his walls come back up. Shane, on the other hand, seems to be grappling with his own thoughts, his head tilted slightly as if weighing the unspoken words lingering between them.

Shane glances at her, his expression softening just a fraction. There’s something in his eyes— gratitude, perhaps, or relief that she didn’t say anything. All she can hear is the chirping of birds, and Shane soft breaths against the side of her head. She peeks past him. There’s a clear hole in the can, where the bullet had passed through. She gently elbows Shane.

“Look at that, Shay!” She exclaims, and she’s beaming. “Fuckin’ bullseye!”

Shane starts laughing, and he’s not sure if it’s because she’s cussing, or because she called him by the same nickname Rick used to. Either way, he’s not as tense. He pulls away from her and pats her on the shoulder.

“That’s my girl! Now we gotta find one of them sonabitches for you to practice on. With a knife, though. I ain’t trust your aim enough to be wastin’ bullets.”

She’s laughing too, and the sound makes Shane a little dizzy. The tension from earlier has faded, but she’s going to remember his words. She’s going to use them as a reminder to stay alive.

“Let’s go back to camp. I’m hungry.” She says after their smiles dim.

“Yeah? Got some yummy frog legs already for ya.” He teases, slinging an arm around her shoulders. He grins at her disgusted noise.

“You are nasty as hell. I ain’t eatin’ that.”

“Guess you’re goin’ hungry then, missy. We’re fresh outta beans.” Shane laughs again as she gently shoves him. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and Glenn’ll be playin’ his guitar tonight.”

“You aren’t gonna have ears after I tell Daryl you called his head big.”

“Yeah, you do that, and you ain’t eatin’ for a month.”

They fake argue the whole way back to camp, their laughter weaving through the trees, a rare sound in the world they now inhabit. By the time they step into the clearing, the familiar sight of the camp greets them like honey. Glenn is strumming his guitar near the fire, just like Shane had hoped for.

Rick is crouched by the fire, his hat pulled low over his face as he pokes at the glowing embers, coaxing the flames higher. Dale is seated nearby, gesturing animatedly as he recounts some story to T-Dog, who nods along with a look that’s part amusement, part confused as hell. Across the way, Carol is tending to some stew, the smell faint but warm, mingling with the wood smoke curling into the night. All four of them are smiling. Even Daryl, who’s using his knife to carve into a stick, seems to be content listening to Dale.

It’s domestic in a way Shane hasn’t felt in a long time. And for once, the loneliness that so often claws at his chest feels light enough to ignore.

#twd #shane walsh #the walking dead #rick grimes #daryl dixon #jon bernthal

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