#i think this happens every time they bang it out

[ivyues]

Friendly Fire: Stray Kids' reactions to accidently causing their S/O a minor injury

Bang Chan

Chris gasped, immediately reaching out to steady you. "Oh my god—babe! Are you okay?" His eyes were wide with panic as he carefully looked you over. When he noticed you rubbing your arm, his expression twisted with guilt.

"I wasn’t looking—I just—ugh, I’m so stupid," he groaned, ruffling his hair in frustration. Then his gaze dropped to your arm, and he let out a dramatic sigh. "You’re gonna bruise, aren’t you? I literally just hurt my own girlfriend – what kind of boyfriend does that?"

You tried to reassure him, chuckling softly. "Chris, it’s fine. It was an accident."

But Chris, still looking at your arm, was clearly having trouble letting it go. He stepped closer, lowering his gaze with a mixture of guilt and curiosity. "No, seriously. Let me see it," he said softly, his voice suddenly tinged with concern. He gently cupped your arm and lifted it so he could inspect the spot where the small bruise was starting to form. "It looks... pretty bad, huh?"

You gave him a small smile. "It’s not that bad, really."

Over the next few days, Chris becomes obsessed with checking on the bruise. Every time you roll up your sleeves or he catches sight of it, his face immediately drops. His expression fades into one of pure regret, his brows furrowing as if he just got reminded of the worst thing he’s ever done.

"Ah... it’s still there," he mumbles, almost to himself, his lips pressing into a guilty pout.

"It’s fine, Chris," you reassure him, but he just shakes his head dramatically.

"Fine? Fine?! Look at it!" He gently takes your arm. "It’s so dark—I knew it was going to bruise badly. I swear, I have to be more careful with you…"

He sighs deeply, rubbing his face with his hands before looking at you with the saddest puppy eyes making sure he's the gentlest with you from then on.

Lee Know

You were reaching for a spoon just as Lee Know went to shut the drawer. Before either of you could react, the drawer shut on your fingers. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you quickly pulled your hand away, wincing at the sting.

Lee Know’s eyes widened in immediate shock. "Yah!" His voice was sharp, but his hands were quick, grabbing your wrist to inspect the damage. "Why would you put your hand in when I was closing it?" His brows furrowed in a mix of frustration and concern.

You pouted slightly. "I didn’t think you’d close it that fast…"

He let out a sigh, shaking his head before pulling you towards a chair. "Sit. Now." His tone was firm. He quickly went to get an ice pack, muttering to himself about how reckless you were.

Returning, he carefully pressed the cold pack against your fingers. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, softer now. "Does it hurt a lot?" he asked, his voice quieter.

You shook your head. "Not too bad."

He clicked his tongue, still frowning. "Be careful next time."

After a few minutes, you tried to get up to help him again, but before you could even take a step, Lee Know placed his hands on your shoulders and firmly pushed you back down. "Nope. You’re staying there," he said, not even looking at you as he went back to what he was doing.

"But I can still—"

"No, you can’t," he cut you off. "Do I have to tape you to the chair?”

By the time he was finished, he walked over to where you were sitting and, instead of saying anything, leaned down and rested his head on your shoulder from behind.

A sigh escaped him as he relaxed against you. "You always do this," he murmured. "Getting hurt, then making me feel bad, and then acting like nothing happened."

Changbin

Changbin had always been careful with you. Always mindful of his strength, always gentle with his touches. But today, he was distracted.

You had just walked into the room, planning to give him a back hug. He was standing by the counter, completely focused on his phone.

Just as you stepped closer, he suddenly turned, his elbow swinging and catching you on the forehead.

The impact sent a sting through your skin, and your hand flying up to the spot instinctively.

His eyes widened in horror. 

“Oh my God.” His voice was already laced with panic. “No, no, no—baby, I didn’t see you!”

You winced but tried to shake it off, offering a small smile. “Ouch. I didn’t know elbows were part of your workout routine.”

But he didn’t laugh. His lips pressed into a thin line as if he was trying to hold back how upset he was.

He gently reached up, fingers brushing over the spot he had hit. His touch was featherlight, hesitant, but you still winced slightly at the pressure. The way his jaw clenched told you he noticed.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was barely above a whisper, guilt thick.

“It’s okay, Binnie,” you reassured, placing your hand over his. “I shouldn’t have sneaked up on you.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then quickly opened the freezer to grab a small ice pack, wrapping it in a paper towel before hurrying back to you.

“Here, hold this.” He gently placed the cool pack against your forehead himself, making sure it wasn’t too cold against your skin. “It might not swell, but just in case.”

Your heart melted at the way he was looking at you – soft, regretful, completely focused on taking care of you. He sighed, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple – careful, apologetic. “I still feel awful.”

“Don’t, but… can I still get the hug I originally wanted?”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin playfully snatched the paper from your hands, grinning as he held it just out of your reach. “Hey, let me see that—”

But before he could finish his sentence, the edge of the paper scraped against your finger.

You flinched, a sharp sting shooting through your skin. “Ow—”

Hyunjin’s smile vanished in an instant. His eyes widened in pure horror as he dropped the paper like it was on fire. “Oh my god—Y/N! Are you okay? Did I just—? No way, tell me I didn’t—”

You looked down at the tiny red line forming on your fingertip, letting out a small sigh. “It’s just a paper cut, Hyunjin. I’ll be fine.”

But he wasn’t convinced. He gently took your hand in his, holding it like it was the most fragile thing in the world. “Oh my god, I hurt you,” he mumbled, guilt heavy in his voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

Without another word, he scrambled to grab a small first aid kit from the nearby table. “Give me your hand,” he muttered under his breath as he carefully placed it over your finger.

Once it was securely in place, he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft, lingering kiss over the bandaid. His warm eyes met yours, filled with so much sincerity it made your heart flutter. “That should help it heal faster,” he said softly.

You bit back a smile, warmth spreading through your chest. Unable to resist his adorableness, you playfully shook your head.

Han

Han had only meant to play around, nudging you lightly with his shoulder as you walked side by side. But he didn’t realize you weren’t standing all that stable – and before either of you could react, you stumbled, losing your balance completely and landing on the ground with a small thud.

The moment you hit the floor, Han’s playful smile vanishes. His eyes go wide with panic, and he’s crouching beside you in an instant.

“Oh my god—wait, are you okay?!” His hands hover uncertainly, torn between helping you up and checking for injuries. Then, when he sees the glint of unshed tears in your eyes, his heart clenches painfully.

“I—wait—did I actually hurt you?” His voice is laced with pure guilt. “I swear, I didn’t mean—ugh, I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head quickly, blinking away the tears before they can fall. “No, no, it’s fine. It didn’t even hurt that bad.” You sniffle, willing yourself to push past the sting of the fall. But Han clearly doesn’t buy it.

“You’re crying,” he points out, lips pressing into a worried pout. “Where does it hurt? Do you need ice? A bandage? I can carry you—should I carry you?” His panic is growing by the second, now making tears of his own form on the waterline of his eyes.

His dramatics finally crack a smile out of you, and you nudge his arm lightly. “Hey, I said I’m fine.”

He blinks, then exhales in visible relief. “Oh, thank god. You scared me, you know?”

He lets out a small whine before nuzzling his head against your shoulder, his way of silently apologizing. You huff a soft laugh and ruffle his hair affectionately. “Next time, tell me if you’re about to fall over so I can not be an idiot,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled against your sleeve.

Felix

Felix had been playfully pulling you along, his warm hand wrapped tightly around yours as he led you through the bustling streets. His deep, honey-like laughter rang in your ears as he turned back to flash you one of his signature sunshine smiles.

"Come on, love! Keep up!" he teased, eyes twinkling with mischief.

But in his excitement, Felix didn’t realize how fast he was going. As he quickly tugged you around a sharp corner, you barely had time to register what was happening before your shoulder slammed into the hard wall.

The impact made you stumble, a small yelp escaping your lips. Immediately, Felix froze, his grip on your hand tightening before he spun around to face you, panic overtaking his features.

“Baby!” His hands were on you in an instant, gently cupping your face, eyes darting frantically from your expression to the point of impact. “Are you okay? I swear I didn’t mean to—ahh, why am I so stupid?” He groaned, eyebrows knitting together as he carefully examined you.

You laughed lightly, rubbing your sore shoulder. “I’m fine, Lix. It’s just a little bump.”

But he wasn’t having any of it. “Nope. Not fine. I just threw my love against a wall.” He pouted, his lips forming a deep frown, the corners of his mouth trembling slightly.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, offering him a warm smile. “Lix, really, it’s okay. I know you’d never hurt me on purpose.” You gave his fingers a playful squeeze. “Just maybe don’t go full-speed next time?”

Felix sighed, but then his expression softened. This time, his grip was gentler – fingers lacing through yours with careful intently. “Let me make it up to you,” he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles before guiding you forward at a slower, more considerate pace.

Seungmin

Seungmin’s laughter faded the second the coffee cup tipped, the warm liquid splashing onto your hand. 

“Ah—!” You flinched, quickly pulling your hand away as a sharp warmth spread across your skin. It wasn’t excruciating, but it still stung.

His eyes widened in horror as you hissed in pain, quickly pulling away to rush to the sink.

“Oh my God—Y/N—” His voice was sharper than usual, edged with panic as he followed you. He hovered beside you while you let the cold water run over the burn, his hands balled into fists like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, even though the skin was still an angry shade of red. You could already see the guilt settling into his features, his jaw tightening.

“No, you’re not,” he muttered, then exhaled sharply. “Come on, let’s go get it checked.”

You turned off the faucet and shook your head. “Seungmin, it’s just a little red. It’s not even blistering. You’re just—.”

He didn’t let you finish, gently nudging your shoulder. “Still. What if it gets worse later? What if it’s worse than it looks?” His brows furrowed, frustration laced in his concern. “Just—please, let me take you.”

You sighed, but the way he looked at you – so genuinely upset – made it impossible to refuse.

“Fine.”

Seungmin didn’t waste another second, grabbing his keys and leading you out, his hand hovering near yours like he wanted to hold it but was too afraid of hurting you again.

I.N

I.N and you were playfully messing around, laughing as you teased each other. He reached out to lightly nudge you, but he miscalculated his strength. You stumbled forward, losing your balance and falling onto the pavement with a surprised yelp.

The moment your knee made contact with the rough ground, a small sting made you wince, though thankfully, it was just a light scrape – no blood, just a little redness.

I.N's eyes widened in sheer panic. “Oh my god—are you okay?!” He practically flung himself down beside you, hovering over you with frantic hands, unsure whether to help you up or check your knee first. “I— I didn’t mean to— I swear! Oh no, are you hurt?” His words tumbled out quickly.

He spotted the small scrape on your knee, and his face fell, guilt washing over him instantly. “Ahhh, I’m so sorry! I was just playing, I didn’t think—” He stopped himself, shaking his head before carefully reaching for your hand. “Here, let me help you up.”

Even as you reassured him that it was just a small scrape, he wouldn’t let it go. He dusted you off gently, his brows furrowed in worry.

Then, suddenly, he perked up as if struck with an idea. “Wait! I’ll give you a piggyback ride,” he announced, turning around and crouching slightly.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how serious he was about it. With a small sigh, you climbed onto his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He hoisted you up effortlessly, adjusting his grip under your thighs as he began walking.

masterlist

[imsofreakingtired]

Hiii I love ur writing 💕 and I was wondering if u had any cowboy sevika hcs :)

anon i know you asked for headcanons but my maladaptive brain took me elsewhere-

destined to meet again

artist: @/olgasnoww on twitter

content warning(s): set in a wild west au; some au-typical violence (masc fem reader, but ambiguously described)

"it's been a shining star, it's been a blue sky gonna tell you something 'bout my story."

~~~

Dusk was falling, and the salon was still and nearly empty. The hot, dry air was putting everyone in a stupor, and the wind whistled a lonely song across the brittle grass and sweeping sand. 

With a bang, the doors of the salon swung open violently. Heads snapped toward the noise. Standing in the doorway was a tall figure in a dusty red cape. She wore a wide brimmed hat with a bandanna covering half her face. Peering over the cloth flashed steely grey eyes. 

Immediately, the three men sitting at the front table jumped up, pistols pointed at the stranger. 

It happened in a heartbeat. The cape whipped aside, a glint of the revolver, three gunshots. The men lay dead. 

The stranger sauntered over to the bar, where the barkeep stood quaking in terror. She sat down, tapped the table lazily with her right hand. Then she pulled down the mask. 

If he didn’t know it from the moment she walked into the salon, the barkeep knew he was a dead man now. The silver lined scars webbed over the left side of the stranger’s face were recognizable to every single person living in this side of the West, from the old men in their banks to the little children who heard of those scars as bedtime stories to scare them into good behavior. Rumor had it that she had tattooed the silver along her very scars, to bear them as a trophy and a warning to strangers. It matched the grey in her eyes. Many a rancher who survived an encounter with her weren’t able to recall those cold grey eyes without a shudder. 

The barkeep’s throat went dry. 

Sevika Jain—the Brute of the West—was in town. 

She gestured to the bottles lining the pantry. With shaking hands he poured her a drink, which she tipped back. As he refilled the glass, she looked over at the bodies on the floor. 

“Hope they got a chance to tell their wives they loved ’em,” she mused with a dry chuckle. Her voice was deep and smooth, as if she held the wind of the west in her lungs. “Isn’t that right, Chuck?”

The barkeep’s heart quailed with loathing. “You ain’t got a heart in that chest of yours,” he said furiously, despite the sweat staining his underarms. 

She just laughed again. 

A door banged shut in the back of the salon. The barkeep heard this, and took renewed courage. “In trouble now, aren’t you?” 

She swirled the whiskey in the glass. “What makes you think that?” 

“You wouldn’t have come crawlin’ back to this town if you weren’t in some pinch. Your men finally walked, didn’t they?” 

Idly, she pulled aside her cape, and for the first time revealed the infamous mechanical arm. As it gleamed in the fading light, the barkeep shrank back. It was a sinister contraption imitating the shape of a human arm, except there was a shining revolver in the place of where the hand should have been. It was this arm that rippled terror throughout the west. The arm that earned her her titles. 

“S’long as I got her, there’s nothin’ but the devil that can bring me to the ground.” 

She downed the second drink. Wiping her mouth with the back of her human hand, she glanced at the barkeep. “I got a meeting with your mayor.” 

He gave her a nervous jeer. “You’ll get it in prison where you belong.” 

The revolver clicked. “No,” she said. “I’ll get it now.” 

Outside the salon, a voice thundered, “You’re done for, Jain!” 

Sevika turned around. She could hear hooves pawing the dusty ground outside the door. She stood and walked slowly out the doors, and found herself face to face with a half circle of six armed men, the sheriff at the center. 

“Hands where I can see ’em!” He barked at her. 

She raised her right hand, brought it to her shoulder, and ripped off the cape. Before they knew what was happening, she raised her left arm to the signboard of the salon and shot it off. It crashed to the ground with a billow of dust. The sheriff and his men began shooting, and Sevika disappeared into the salon. They charged after her. 

Glasses shattered and tables cracked and splintered under the feet of the horses as they galloped through the salon. Sevika jumped over the bar counter for cover, turned around, and took out three of the six men in a single line of shots. Then she turned her revolver to the liquor bottles lining the shelf and shot them through, drenching the place with alcohol. With a spark from her gun she lit up the table. 

A rush of flames and smoke overwhelmed the place. Gunshots fired at random, bullets whistling over the crackle of burning wood. By the time they had made it out of the wreck, a horse from the salon stable was missing, and Sevika was nowhere to be seen. 

☆

You stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, inspecting your reflection. You had just taken a bath to clean the smell of sex and cigarette smoke off your skin. Your poor mayor father, running the town and living the height of propriety, could never know that his daughter was running off every other night to meet her girls at Red’s House of Sin. 

Visits to Red’s always left you winded and a little bored. The initial thrill was ebbing away, and you knew the day was drawing closer and closer when your father would attempt to marry you off to the stuffy old doctor in town. You were thirsting for a way out, one way or another—out of this town, away from the miles and miles of dusty canyons and sharp toothed hares. 

You mused over the rumors you heard at Red’s tonight—the place was buzzing with talk of some notorious outlaw having been spotted on the plains. What was the alias? The Brute? Some of the girls claimed that they’d had her once or twice before, but when you pressed them they insisted they couldn’t remember what she looked like. All they knew was that she had a fearsome scar on her face and a gun for a left arm. And that she was as handsome as the devil. 

You snorted at that. There was room for only one handsome woman in town. 

Suddenly, you heard your window shatter and a muffled curse. You whirled around. A tall, muscular figure hoisted herself clumsily over the windowsill and sank down to the floor with a loud groan. The right sleeve of her shirt was bloody, the left sleeve—wasn’t there. In its place was a mechanical arm ending with a shining silver revolver. You stared at her. She looked up at you and raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. Her crooked lips curled into a smirk, she reached up and tipped her hat at you.

~~~

a/n: this has, quite against my best wishes, ballooned into an idea for a whole ass fic so umm,, to be continued 😭

[delugyu]

hi!! i was wondering if i could request a one shot based on the GGUM mv where yeonjun is a cocky and bratty k pop idol that belittles everyone and basically the reader is like his mananger who’s had enough of his behavior and decides to teach him a lesson and he’s super submissive.

btw i LOVE your writing. cold, curse city was amazing <3

jumped for joy when i saw submissive yeonjun YAYYYYYYY (also thank you!!! hehe)

(wc: 2k / warnings: mean dom!reader, sub!yeonjun, reader’s kind of a bitch but yeonjun is too so it’s okay, degradation, humiliation, oral kinda idk eating pussy thru the panties, unprotected sex, edging..?)

you’re pretty sure that the biggest source of your headaches on any given day is the man you’re watching right now—on a tuesday at eight in the morning—who’s trying to convince you that the interviewer deserved it earlier when he called her an idiot.

“yeah, no. that’s never happening again,” you say plainly, cutting off his long-winded explanation. if only he could catch on when you’re trying to leave no room for argument, but unfortunately he has the most major case of lacking respect and decorum that you’ve ever seen.

“so you think it was okay for her to say that being bratty is my whole brand?” he asks.

“well, if you keep acting the way you do, then you can’t be surprised if that’s what people focus on.” you won’t lie: his brash personality is definitely good for gaining attention. his PR team never has to work too hard, since they know yeonjun’s going to do something stupid to get him on the news anyway. you’re jealous, cause you’re over here busting your ass to make sure he doesn’t go too far and ruin his career.

“i’d be selling a fake image if i was out there kissing babies and shaking hands,” yeonjun says.

“so the better alternative is running your mouth until half the country wants you beaten up?” you don’t want him to act like someone he’s not, but you also don’t want him to be such a dick to everyone.

“stop acting like you know me or the things i want,” he says. it lights a fire inside of you, rage burning at his insinuation. “i don’t want a nice, clean image. i fucking hate it when you try to force that onto me.”

he walks away into his dressing room, probably done with you and this conversation, but you’ve had it. you’re pissed, and he needs to learn that he doesn’t sit on top of the world. you mutter out quick apologies to the staff you push past in your haste to follow yeonjun.

before you can step into the room, yeonjun slams the door in front of your face. “yeonjun, are you fucking kidding me?!” you bang your fist against the door when turning the knob doesn’t work.

“go away,” he says from behind the door. you let out something like a growl in your frustration, feeling like you might just rip all your hair out. it’s too early to already be doing this.

“why do you throw fits every time i try to tell you to have some respect? you can never just bite your tongue for a second.”

you’re met with silence. you hate when he starts tuning you out. you’ll have to pop a few tylenols after this to keep your headache from killing you.

you start up once more, “you think anyone’s gonna look at your art before they look at you as a person? what’s the point in making good music if the person behind it is such a jackass?”

again, no reply. you sigh, running your hands down your face as you try to collect yourself. this isn’t worth it. he’s never going to change.

“i’m thinking i should just quit and let you deal with whatever asshole comes in after me,” you say, just trying to stir him into giving you a response now. you usually keep yourself from going back and forth with him like this, but he’s been on your nerves way too much recently. you were bound to explode with how much he’s been testing you.

the door finally opens. you don’t waste a second when you push it wider and enter the room, shutting it behind you. he’s crossing his arms, eyebrow raised like he’s waiting for you to scold him some more.

“you actually gonna quit, or was that all talk?” he asks.

you scowl and push on his shoulders until he’s sitting on one of the chairs. his eyes widen for a second like he’s surprised you actually put your hands on him. he should be grateful you don’t do worse.

“listen, i’m not going to take your shit anymore. i’m not giving you a choice. you need to have some respect.” you look down at him with ice cold eyes. he squirms a little in his seat; you almost find it funny.

“i don’t know how you expect me to do that. this is just how i am,” he counters.

“shutting your mouth would be a good start.” you put your hand over his lips when he opens them to start talking again. “see, you’re already trying to bark. just listen.”

you keep your hand there, and you’re kind of surprised that he doesn’t even try to move you away. your other hand grips the back of his chair so that you’re leaning over him, and you finally feel like you’re more powerful than him. you feel like he might listen to you for once.

“if you don’t want to be seen as a brat, then don’t be a brat,” you say. “you can have a tough image without annoying everyone. people see you more as a toddler than as some cool guy.”

his eyes dart down, and you realize that, with you leaning over him, he has a great view of your cleavage. he’s staring at your tits. scandalized, you grab his jaw to tilt his head all the way up, so he can either stare at the ceiling or look at your face. he chooses the ceiling.

“are you trying to make me hate my job? do you want me to quit?” you ask.

his eyes find yours at that, and you’re a little surprised to not find any fight in them. he shakes his head and keeps his mouth shut.

“you can answer now,” you say, letting go of his jaw.

“don’t quit, i like you as my manager,” he answers quickly. you huff out a laugh.

“well you sure as hell don’t act like it.”

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes—and sounds completely sincere, too.

you stand up straight, assessing him silently. you let your eyes rake down his body, noticing how he doesn’t move an inch. looks like you’ve finally put him in his place. it’s such a shame that it practically takes you bullying him to get to this point.

“so you’re gonna cool the tough guy act?” you ask.

“i dunno, maybe you should test how obedient i can be,” he prompts with a growing smile. wow, and you were doing so well.

“get off that chair.” immediately he does, standing up and waiting for his next instruction. you laugh at how pathetic his switch up is. you’d love for the nation to see yeonjun now, so eager to follow your orders. how far will he go?

you decide to test it out. “kneel.”

he’s just as quick to follow through with that, too. a power rush is already surging inside you, pumping adrenaline through your body. he looks up at you from his position on his knees. there’s still some space between you, though.

“come a little closer. crawl to me.” your pleased smile stays on your face as you watch him obey, keeping eye contact as he inches toward you.

“this is so funny,” you say as you look down at him. for the first time in your life, you see him look embarrassed. his eyes dart off to the side, unable to take the torment. “eyes on me. don’t you dare try looking away again.”

his cheeks glow with a subtle red tint, you notice as you take in his face. “would you be so kind as to apologize to me again?” you ask.

“i’m sorry,” he answers promptly.

“hm. better than that.”

he looks confused, but you know he’s desperate to follow because he’s quick to oblige. “i’m sorry i was such a brat to you and everyone else.”

“you were a brat. what do you think brats like you deserve?”

you feel him shiver. “punishment,” he answers meekly.

“that’s right.” you place your foot on his crotch, not paying any mind to how hard he is already. “what a shame you were so bad. you could’ve came today.” you take your foot off him and spread your legs apart. “get me nice and wet for your cock.”

“w-what?” he stammers, looking up at you all scandalized.

“i’m not in the mood to repeat myself.” with all the eagerness he’s ever had, yeonjun grips onto your thighs and dips his head beneath your skirt. he starts licking your cunt over your panties, tongue working adamantly against you like he’s scared to do it wrong or poorly.

you sigh, relaxing into the feeling. this is better stress relief than any amount of medicine could give you. maybe you’ll be resorting to this more often.

he wraps his lips around your clothed clit and sucks, then swipes his tongue across the swollen bud. he’s deeply focused on pleasuring you, repeating any little action that makes your legs twitch. you hate to admit it, but he’s getting you wet so fast.

“guess this is the only way to shut you up, huh?” you ask, and you feel him nod in response. “should i do this more then?”

“yes,” he pulls away to say, replacing his mouth with his fingers rubbing quickly against you. “do it as much as you want.”

“is the promise of pussy the only way you’ll—fuck, just like that—respect me?” his fingers run wildly over your clit, desperation oozing off of him.

“only yours. i’ll do anything for it.” he presses into your core, grinding his hand against you. “you’re so wet. please sit on my cock.”

you hum, wanting to say no and torture him more, but you can’t deny how bad you want to feel him inside you.

“sit on the chair and undo your pants,” you instruct. you slide off your panties as he does that.

you sit on his lap and give his dick a few quick jerks before aligning it with your entrance. he makes more noise than you do as you sink onto him, which would make you snicker if you weren’t so busy adjusting to his size.

“you moan like a bitch,” you hiss out as you finally take all of him in. you stay bottomed out for a minute, letting yourself get used to the stretch, grinding your hips every now and then to hear him whine.

“please move, i need more,” he says after a minute.

“don’t tell me what to do.” you start moving anyway—not because he begged you to, but because you’re getting needier for your orgasm. “this isn’t about you, brat.”

he keeps whining as you bounce on his dick, throwing his head back and dropping his mouth open. he sounds so much better when he’s moaning like a whore instead of bitching at everyone on earth.

you gasp when you feel his fingers on your clit, playing with the bud with endless need. even when he bites his lip, little noises keep spilling out of him, and a part of you is almost afraid that someone’s going to hear him.

“i’m close,” you say as you lean back a little, letting his dick hit a new spot inside of you. his eyes shine when he sees your body start twitching.

“i want you to cum so bad, please please give it to me!” his begging throws you ever the edge, biting your lip so you don’t make any sound. breathy little noises escape you instead, which yeonjun seems to like just as much.

you swat his hand away when it becomes too much, catching your breath while you ignore yeonjun’s twitching dick inside of you. yeonjun’s losing his patience, grabbing your hips needily.

“i need to cum too,” he says, brows upturned and almost looking pitiful. you enjoy the feeling of him inside you for a couple more seconds before getting up.

“isn’t that too bad,” you say. his jaw drops, and he goes speechless yet again. “don’t look so surprised. didn’t i tell you that you won’t be cumming today?”

the betrayal on his face suddenly makes this job worth every penny.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 9

Source for pic

Trouble 9

Word Count: 5471

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I've left very ominous comments in the last chapter, saying something big would happen in chapter 9... I didn't get to write the part I wanted, but I still think some big stuff happens in this chapter... I'll let you all be the judges of that! So tell me all about it, will you?

Masterlist

BANG, BANG, BANG! 

Your hands cover your ears, but not even that can keep out the deafening sound of the incessant pounding on the front door. 

Desperate sobs make your shoulders shake as tears flow freely down your already tear-streaked cheeks. 

You're so tired. 

“Make it stop… please, please, make it stop.” You whisper, pleading with whichever deity is willing to listen because you've run out of options. 

“Come on, Trouble! I know you're in there!” Zoro? “If you don't open this fucking door, I swear I will break it down!”

The relief that washes over you is immediate and dizzying. It's Zoro. It's not your stalker. It's Zoro! 

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Don’t open, Kitten.

Ignoring the text, you get up swiftly and if you thought relief might stop the tears, it's the exact opposite. You're crying even harder. For a split second your fingers tremble against the doorknob, weighing your options. There's a little voice in the back of your head telling you that Zoro will get hurt because of you, that you'll regret it, but another shout from Zoro keeps your thoughts from spiraling further. 

“Trouble!”

Bzzzz.

Unknown: If you tell him anything about our little secret, I WILL hurt him.

“I'm going to count to three!” Zoro shouts.

Yet he doesn't even get to one. You need to see him. Unlocking all the bolts with shaky fingers, you swing the door open almost all the way, your hand flying to your mouth as you try to stifle a sob. 

“Fucking finally! I've been texting all day, trying to call. I only just got out of work because every time I was about to leave, there seemed to–” Zoro pauses his angry tirade, his eye scanning you from top to bottom, taking in your heaving shoulders, your wet and puffy face, the bags beneath your eyes, and most likely the way your clothes hang looser from lack of sustenance and stress. “The fuck?”

You can't speak. He's all you can think of. A beacon of light, a safety net tethering you back when you were lost in a spiral of fear. 

“Zo…”

He reaches but pulls back instantly, his head cocking to the side as he assesses you. You avoided his touch like the plague last weekend, hell, you've been avoiding him all week. 

You've avoided him for a lifetime, it seems. 

Like a spring, you jump forward, your arms instantly wrapping around his broad torso, and his scent hits you like a truck. He's home. He's safety. He's everything. 

“Hey, hey, it's okay. Whatever it is, Trouble, I'll take care of it, okay?” When his strong arms envelop you in warmth, you bury your face against his shirt, not caring one bit if you're about to leave snot, drool, and tears all over it. You need to be closer. You need to feel safer. “Did something happen to Shanks?”

You shake your head. Thank God your father is away. If he saw you like this, he would break. Though maybe if your dad were home, you wouldn't even have a stalker… 

Zoro's hand tangles in your hair, settling against your nape as he cradles you closer to him, and you can't stop the tears. You're crying for all you've suffered, for all you've endured, and for what's sure to happen because you're in Zoro's arms, and there’s no way your stalker is going to let you get away with this. 

But just for a bit, just a little bit, you need to revel in him. 

“Then let's talk inside.” Zoro whispers your name, trying to coax you away from him long enough to enter and close the door, but you still cling to him, as if letting go means going back to the nightmare you've been living in. “Hey, I just want to close the door, okay? I'm not leaving.”

He's not leaving? 

You want to tell him to go, that he can't stay with you, that you'll only bring him suffering. Who knows what your stalker is capable of? You can't risk Zoro, you just can't! Before you can stop it, images of Lucci’s face without eyes and the clerk without hands swim in your vision, and you wince. 

But you don't protest. 

You only cling harder. 

Zoro sighs and drags you inside the house, never letting go of you. After closing the door he guides you to the couch probably meaning to sit next to you, but you hold him so tight that he pulls you to his lap. Your legs to the side and arms still wrapped tightly around him. You sense as he lays a soft kiss on the top of your head and then leans his chin where his lips had been. Zoro's hand still runs soothing circles on your back and it's unlikely your sobs are going to slow down anytime soon. 

“You're all right, Trouble. I'm here. I'll never let anything happen to you.”

You're so exhausted and drained that you barely realise you're falling asleep. Until darkness claims you. 

-*-

To say that Zoro's mad is an understatement. He's more than mad, he's furious. 

At first, he was mad at you. For a lot of things, actually. Avoiding him, ghosting him, pretending that what you had - or what was starting to develop - meant nothing to you. But mostly, he was mad at the way you kept ignoring all his calls and texts. That was driving him insane. 

But now… 

Now, he's fucking seething. 

He's going to find out what - or who - has left you in this state, and he's going to make it right. Because there's no way you look like this just because you're tired or because you miss your dad. 

Fucking bullshit. 

You look like a ghost. A starving ghost at that. 

A heavy sigh parts his lips as he runs a hand down his face. One fucking thing at a time. You need to eat. 

After you rest. 

Your breathing evens out after a while, but the way you're clinging to him makes him wait a while longer before moving you. He makes sure you're comfortable on the couch before putting a blanket over you. 

His chest aches at the way your breath hitches as you inhale. Your brows furrow, and your fingers now grasp the blanket instead of his shirt. 

He's seen enough shit in his profession to realise the telltale signs. And it's pretty fucking clear that you're scared of something. 

He's going to find out what. 

As he turns to go to the kitchen and prepare some food for you - even if he has to force-feed you - his eye falls on the garish bouquet of fresh roses on the table. 

“Fuck.” 

Didn't you say the gifts had stopped? He remembers that clearly. Could the flowers be from someone else? 

Zoro approaches and inspects the roses with an analytical eye. They're ordinary. And there's no card. 

No fucking clue. 

Mumbling another string of curses, Zoro rummages around your cabinets, and the action only makes him madder. The bread is stale and mouldy, the vegetables and fruit are withered, and the opened milk in the fridge has gone sour. It looks like you haven’t gone shopping or had a decent meal in days.

Zoro finds an unopened bottle of milk that’s still good and some cereal, so that will have to do for now. He’ll force it down your throat when you wake up, even if you protest. One quick look around the house makes him realise you have all the windows and doors bolted and the curtains drawn. 

He wouldn't find that suspicious any other time, after all, you’re all alone inside a big house. But considering you’re scared witless, this looks mighty suspicious. 

He returns to the living room, giving the bouquet of roses the stink-eye, and sits on the couch next to you. His keen eye not missing the way you shiver slightly, even though he’s covered you with a blanket, or the way your lower lip trembles with each breath. 

Then, his eye falls on the small end table, where your phone rests.

Zoro’s hand twitches, and he lets out a low grunt. That damn phone. You didn’t part with it at Robin’s, and every time you looked at it, you only got more distressed. Should he…?

No, he can’t. It’s your privacy, he can’t intrude. All he can do is be there for you and–

“Fuck it.” Zoro’s hand reaches for the phone as a small whimper escapes your lips. You can be mad at him all you want later. For now, he needs to understand what the hell is making you look like a ghost of yourself. And especially what’s making you push him away.

He takes a deep breath and swipes the screen.

It’s locked. 

Fuck.

Maybe this is a sign that he shouldn’t be doing this? Except, he believes in signs as much as he believes in coincidences. 

He doesn’t.

So, with slow movements, Zoro grabs your hand and places your index finger over the phone. The breath he releases when the phone unlocks is slow and relieved. It feels like he’s about to figure out the reason you’re acting so weird. 

And everything you’re hiding from him. 

His eyes scan up and down as he searches for any suspicious texts. Sure enough, there are his texts and missed calls. You didn’t even read them.

And then…

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

What the fuck?

-*-

You blink slowly, adjusting to the brightness of the morning, and feel strangely well-rested. It doesn’t take you long to understand why. What hits you first is his strong scent, something you’ve come to associate with safety, and then you realise you’re hugging him.

“Morning, Trouble.” Zoro’s voice is husky, he was probably sleeping too. You blush involuntarily, realising this is what he sounds like in the morning and not minding one bit the thought of waking to this sound every day for the rest of your life.

“Hi. You stayed…”

“Of course I did. Sleep well?” 

Yeah you did. You slept like you haven’t in what feels like forever. The stalker threat is still there, you feel it taunting you in the back of your mind, like an ever-growing presence, but Zoro’s mere presence manages to keep it at bay. 

“I did.”

“Good.” He’s still holding you tight, and you don't make any move to let go either. “I was sleeping on the other couch, when you started to whimper and tremble. I didn’t want you to wake up because it looked like you needed the rest, and you seemed to calm down when I touched you, so…”

He leaves the rest unsaid, and you hold him tighter. God, you really needed him. 

After a while of silence, Zoro starts to shift, so you sit up as well, stretching. 

“You don’t have anything to eat, Trouble. Why haven’t you gone grocery shopping?”

Shit. “Oh, I’ve been postponing it. There’s so much to do around the farm.” Lies, lies, lies. “And there are always eggs from the chickens, I’ll never starve.”

“The food you have has gone bad, or nearly bad. Have you been eating?” Zoro’s eye pierces yours and you pass a hand through your hair to smooth your “bed hair”, as well as to try and deflect his inquiry. 

“I ate a lot of takeout this week. Didn’t really feel like cooking, I’ve just been so tired.” It’s mostly true…

“You told me the gifts stopped.”

Fuck.

“What is this, Zoro? Am I under questioning? Should you take me to the station for this?” You get up with a huff, knowing he’s inching towards the truth fast. 

“I don’t know, should I?” He also gets up, his face turning into a frown. “You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks!”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“Yes, I have!”

“You’re scared shitless.”

Your hands shoot to your hips, and you stamp your feet. “I am–”

“Stop deflecting! Don’t lie to me, damn it! I thought we were friends!” Zoro sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Don’t shut me out.” 

He stares intently at you, his hand reaching to touch you, and you sigh. Of course, he knows something is up. Averting his gaze, you turn and start walking away because you know that if you stay, you’ll tell him everything. And you can’t do that. You already risked a lot just by letting him spend the night. “I really need to use the bathroom now. We’ll talk later.”

He doesn’t stop you, but you still hear his muffled imprecations, and even though you don’t look him in the eye as you grab your phone, you sense him tracing your every move. 

-*-

“Eat.” You took a while in the bathroom, and even though you entered looking more like yourself, you now look scared and pale again. The texts flooded your phone as soon as you closed the bathroom door.

Unknown: Naughty, naughty, naughty. The whole night with the cop? After I warned you? Unknown: Oh, Kitten, you have no idea how absolutely mad I am right now. His arms around what is mine?  Unknown: I told you I didn’t want to hurt the cop, but I don’t think I have another choice now. Unknown: I thought you were going to behave. You’ll need to be punished. 

It kept buzzing, but you didn’t dare to read any more. The more you read his threats, the more scared you would look. And you can’t let Zoro know what’s going on. Not when his safety is at stake.

“I’m not hungry.” You say as you shove the cereal bowl Zoro placed in front of you as soon as you left the bathroom. 

“Eat, Trouble, or I swear I will force it down your throat.” He growls as his hand bangs the table. When you flinch slightly, he sighs and leans back in his chair. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be hard on you. It’s just…”

Zoro gets up from the seat in front of you, rounds the table, and kneels next to you, touching your legs so you turn to him. As you look at his expression, you feel your heart shattering into tiny pieces. He seems so lost.

“I can’t do this anymore. I see you struggling, I can see you’re scared! You’re not yourself. And the fact that you don’t let me in… Trouble…” He places both hands on your legs, his face inches from yours, and you don’t want to pull back. “I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you, you know that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly. It would be so easy to tell him everything. He’s right, he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, you know that. “But what about you?” Your voice sounds small, almost as if you speak in a low volume your stalker won’t be able to listen.

“What about me?” Your hands raise on their own as you cup his face, your thumb tracing lazy patterns on his cheeks as your heart thumps incessantly against your chest. 

“Who’ll protect you, Zo?”

Zoro’s eyebrow raises, and he tilts his head slightly, as if struggling to understand your question. Then he smirks, that mischievous smirk that makes your stomach flutter, and places his hands on top of yours, squeezing tight. 

“I don’t need protection, Trouble.”

How you want to believe him. It would be so simple: someone’s stalking me; I’m being watched; I’m scared.

Any of those sentences could work. Zoro would go full protective mode and never leave you alone. You can do this. You can.

He’s right. He’s strong, and he’s a cop. He doesn’t need protection. He’s Roronoa Zoro.

“I–” But, obviously, it can’t be this simple. As soon as you open your mouth, your phone buzzes and buzzes and buzzes again. 

You know it’s him. So you instantly tremble and before you get the chance to grab the phone, Zoro’s hand shoots to your pocket and he fishes it out. Your knees weaken as you gasp.

He’s going to find out everything.

Zoro’s eye falls on the screen of the buzzing phone, and his eyebrow raises again.

Then he sighs and passes you the phone. “Your dad is calling. You should pick it up.”

Zoro gets up as you pick up the phone, not exactly knowing if you should feel relieved, or upset that it wasn’t your stalker. “Hey, Dad!” You try to sound cheerful, but it’s so, so hard. Especially when Zoro’s leaning against the kitchen counter, legs and arms crossed and a scowl on his lips, like he was expecting to see something else on your phone.

“Hi, Bug! What's up?”

You chuckle slightly. “What do you mean? You called. What’s the news?” God, you miss your father.

“I called? No! You called me, Bug.” He chuckles as if you’re spewing nonsense. You’re about to contest because you were in the middle of an important conversation when he called, but then you bite your tongue as your eyes widen in realisation. 

This was the stalker’s doing.

Somehow he orchestrated this call just to interrupt your moment with Zoro. This realisation makes your blood turn cold. What else is he manipulating in your life?

What else can he do?

“When are you coming home, Dad?” You can’t disguise the anxiousness in your voice, and Zoro immediately picks it up. He straightens and starts walking towards you again. 

“Oh, I’m not sure, Bug. I had the trip arranged for Monday, but the business is still going really well! I’m not sure how this is happening, but the fair is already over, and we’re still having meetings with buyers!” 

Is this being orchestrated, too? Just to keep Shanks away? Just so you’re alone?

Your heart thumps harder and harder against your chest as the feeling of being trapped returns tenfold. 

“That’s good.” Your voice is small and timid. All you want to do is tell your dad to rush home. You need this nightmare to be over. But then again, is Shanks being home really going to stop whatever the stalker has planned for you?

You highly doubt it. It will probably just endanger your dad. 

“Got to go, honey. Thank you for calling, I’ll let you know when I’ll be heading home soon, okay?” You mumble in agreement. You didn’t call. And you doubt he’s going to come home any time soon. 

You finish the call, and though Zoro looks like he has a lot more to say, he just tells you to eat, and this time you do. This call was a veiled warning. No talking to Zoro about the stalker. 

No one is safe.

-*-

Zoro doesn’t leave, but you shut down again. He helps you with the chores, and you can see him struggling to hold his tongue back. It’s like he decided to change his approach from outright interrogating you to giving you time and space so you can talk to him when you feel ready to.

Though you know Zoro is not a patient man, so who knows how long this is going to last.

Besides, even though you wish for nothing more than to tell him all that’s going on, are you willing to risk it? With not only Zoro’s safety on the line but clearly your dad’s too?

Your phone keeps buzzing in your pocket, and it takes a bathroom break for you to read the disturbing texts.

Unknown: Don’t you think he’s overstaying his welcome? Unknown: Kitten, things will go very, very wrong if you keep indulging him. Unknown: Tell him to go home, or I’ll make him go. And you won’t like it.  Unknown: I’m losing patience with you. Don’t test me. You KNOW what I’m capable of.

“Zoro.” You’ve finished your morning chores, and Zoro is washing his hands in the kitchen sink. Your heart feels heavy, and you don’t want to do this. “You can go now. I’m going to rest a bit more, maybe do some reading…”

“I’m not leaving.” He simply states. “Nami’s birthday party is later, or have you forgotten? What’s the point in leaving when we’ll just have to meet later? I’ll stick around and help.” He scoffs as he cleans his hands on the dish towel. “I really want to see what excuse you’re going to use next instead of the ‘I’m tired’ one, since I’ve been helping you all day.”

Shit. He really wants to get to the bottom of this, doesn’t he?

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

“Nami’s birthday party! Damn it.” It’s a good thing you had already ordered Nami’s gift about a month ago because you didn’t even remember the party was today. Heck, you still haven’t said anything to her, maybe you should call? “We’ll meet there, Zo. There’s no need to stay here.”

“You’re pushing me away again.” He says bluntly, an annoyed expression on his face, and takes a step towards you as if to prove his point. 

You take a step back, shaking your head and hitting the kitchen chair as you do so. With a curse, you keep shaking your head.

Bzzzz. 

“I’m not.”

“Bullshit.” Zoro steps forward again, closing the distance. “I’ve tried asking, I’ve tried to give you time. I’m all out of options, Trouble. I thought you trusted me. What’s going on?” Though his voice is gruff and rough, you can perceive the worry hidden underneath. 

You shake your head again, your steps taking you away from him until you hit the counter and stop. “Nothing’s going on. I keep telling you that.”

“Bullshit.” Another step and he’s right in front of you. “Let me in.” He sounds softer now, and you almost crumble. Your fingers twitch as you struggle to keep your hands pressed against your thighs, when all you want to do is hug him. 

“Zo…”

“Just tell me! Whatever it is, I can help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

Your hand reaches for your pocket instinctively, but this time, it’s not your phone that’s buzzing.

“Fuck!” Zoro sighs and steps back, reaching for his phone. His brow arches when he sees the caller ID, and he picks up the call. “Cap?”

You can hear the gravelly voice of Captain Mihawk on the other side of the line, but you can’t make out the words he’s saying. 

“A bomb threat? What?” Zoro tenses, his muscles clenching as his eye searches yours, and you can see him struggling. “Yes, I’m busy, damn it.” He sighs again, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “I’m on my way.”

Then, he turns off the call. “Grab a bag, you’re coming with me.”

A gasp stays lodged in your throat. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. “What?”

“I’m not going to leave you here alone when you’re clearly scared, even though you don’t want to tell me what it is. You can stay in the car, or I’ll drop you at Nami’s. Come on.”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. “No.”

Zoro’s face turns away from his cell phone just to stare into your eyes. “Trouble?”

“I’m fine.” You’re not. But you don’t think the bomb threat is a coincidence, and you’re scared that if Zoro takes you away from this house, he will hurt him. And you can’t have that.

“It was not a question. Let’s go.” Although his tone brooks no argument, you can’t heed him. 

“Zoro, you can’t tell me what to do.” Your voice nearly trembles, and you will all your power to stay strong. “We’ll meet later.”

Zoro’s phone buzzes again and he curses at whatever he reads on the screen. “Trouble, come on.” He extends his hand your way and you cross your arms, because all you want to do is take it and never let go. But your phone buzzes once more. 

“We’ll meet later.” You’re supposed to sound assertive, but you just sound afraid.

Zoro takes another step forward, his hand trembling slightly in the air as he waits for you to accept it. He looks at you in disbelief, almost trying to break your will with his look alone.

And damn it, if it isn’t working.

Just take his hand, ask for his help… it would be so easy. Let go…

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

“What?” Zoro answers his phone with an angry growl, and this time you can make out the words Captain Mihawk utters, as they are also angry ones.

“Get your ass in the car and onto the site, Officer Roronoa, now. This is your first and last,verbal warning.”

Zoro turns off the phone as his jaw clenches and unclenches. He strides into the living room, grabbing his jacket and car keys, and then he strides back to you again. “You get dressed and go to Nami. I don’t want you all alone, okay?”

You nod, not wanting to commit verbally to something you already know you’re not going to follow. 

“Trouble…” He sounds so exasperated that your heart constricts further, so you take a step forward, grasping his hand in yours and holding his gaze, completely ignoring the warnings from the buzzing of your phone. 

“I’ll be fine, Zo. We’ll meet later.”

Zoro groans as his phone starts to buzz again, then, without any kind of warning, his hand grips your nape, fingers tangling with strands of your hair, and he pulls you into an unexpected kiss. 

It’s sudden, desperate, and all-consuming. He grunts and you groan, and for a few seconds all you can think about is how perfect his mouth fits against yours.

And then it’s over. 

“Later then.” He says with a raspy voice as he rushes out the door. You’re still feeling light-headed from the abrupt kiss when another buzz rattles your nerves. 

Unknown: If you thought I was mad before, Kitten, you have no idea how furious I am right now. Unknown: You WILL be punished.

-*-

You spend most of the day in a haze of terror. You know it was him who made that bomb threat. So, if he did that, what is he really capable of? He hurt Lucci and the clerk boy, and they meant nothing. What will he do to Zoro?

You don’t even consider your punishment to be anything other than that. That’s where he’ll hurt you most: through Zoro, and you bet he knows it.

After you received the text saying you’d be punished, your phone stayed eerily silent again. 

You take that opportunity to change phones for an older one you still keep around. It’s just an older version, slower, but it still works perfectly.

Even if it only stops the creepy texts, it’s already something. 

You need to find a way to stop him. And the more you think about it, the more you come to the conclusion that you need Zoro’s help. You can’t keep pushing him away. Maybe, if Zoro tells Captain Mihawk of what’s going on, he’ll be safe. 

There’s nothing safer than police protection, right?

So, you’ve made up your mind. You will say something to Zoro, even if it's in writing. You’re done cowering in fear, it’s time to stand up.

-*-

You go to Nami’s early, and you think that changing phones is working because you left the house and no text came through. Your chest feels lighter, and you can even breathe better. Zoro texted a while ago to check in on you, saying he’s fine, but the case is a mess and that he’ll explain later. 

You can’t help but feel like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and you’ll finally be free. You just know it. 

“You look better, sweetie!” Nami exclaims after a while. You’ve been smiling, joking, trying to be cheery. It’s her birthday, and you don’t want to be a bummer. The unease in your stomach is still making you queasy, but your terror will soon be over. You know it.

“Zoro kissed me.” You blurt out with a small chuckle, wanting to share a piece of happiness with your friend, almost as if it were meant to restore a sense of normalcy. Then, you sigh and tremble slightly. The stalker texts are still haunting you, even though you decided to fight him. 

“Finally!” Nami exclaims with a laugh. “The pining was getting pathetic.” She hugs you and pats your head. “I’m happy for both of you, I really am!”

It takes another hour before Vivi meets you both at Nami’s house, and you all leave for the restaurant to meet your friends. Then, it takes another fifteen minutes of lively chat inside the car before you reach the location. 

It’s not until you set foot in the restaurant that your phone buzzes. 

You reach for it with a small smile on your lips, thinking it’s Zoro. 

It’s not.

Unknown: You think you can get rid of me just by changing phones, Kitten? You’re really going all out, aren’t you? Playing with your fate… with the cop’s fate… Unknown: It’s okay, Princess. You’ll learn. I’ll make sure of it.  Unknown: You’ll soon find out where you stand and what you get from defying me.

-*-

Zoro calls Nami, saying he won’t make it to dinner, but he’ll meet you all at the club. When she asks if everything’s alright, he assures her it is. They just got delayed. So, after making sure he’s fine, Nami says he’ll have to cover the drinks tab at the bar to make up for missing dinner. 

Zoro ends the call without answering, and the smile that curves your lips is a bit strained now. The longer Zoro’s away from you, the more your resolve falters. You need him near you, that’s the only way for you to be strong. 

You spend dinner in a dichotomy of feelings. You either feel happy and excited to be with your friends or uneasy and stressed because Zoro is still away, and the stalker’s threats loom over your head. 

Even though you haven’t received any more texts after the last one, you can’t help the ominous feeling that he’s letting you enjoy a night of normalcy before he follows through with his threats.

When you all reach the club, your anxiety is through the roof.

The club is packed full, and music reverberates around you so loudly that it makes your chest thump and your ears ring. But Nami seems happy, and it’s her night. The group has a VIP table reserved for Nami’s party because Nami knows everyone, but you doubt the crew will spend much time there. The girls flock to the dance floor, Sanji follows with a silly grin and you offer to go get drinks from the bar for the remaining friends.

Zoro texted ten minutes ago, saying he’s on his way, and you’ve been rehearsing how you’re going to tell him. The music is so loud in here that you’re pretty sure you can talk to him without anyone hearing you. 

This is it. The nightmare is ending. You can wait a few more minutes. You’ve got this.

Reaching the bar with a small smile, you flag the bartender and order an array of drinks for you and your friends. The bar is completely packed, and the music is louder than at the booth you’re all in.

Still, you sense it.

It’s a prickle on your nape. A feeling of being watched creeps over you, and the little hairs on your neck stand up.

You’re still inhaling sharply, your senses on high alert, when you feel him.

He presses against your back, squeezing your front against the counter. His massive form dwarfs your figure as his arm wraps around your own, trapping it against your waist. A huge hand holds your wrist with such force that the bracelet you’re wearing bites into your skin, making you whimper. 

You want to scream, but his other hand wraps around your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, he doesn’t need to. The simple gesture is enough to exert his power over you and silence your voice. 

He’s massive. Bulky. Strong.

His hand grips your wrist tighter, and you close your eyes, already feeling tears pricking them. Then, his lips hover over your exposed neck, and he breathes against your ear. A low growl makes his chest vibrate against your back and you stifle a sob.

“Hmm… Kitten. You’ve been such a bad girl.” His coarse goatee hairs rasp your skin, as his voice rings low and velvety smooth. Somehow, it sounds oddly familiar, though you can’t quite place it. 

Your limbs lock as your breath leaves your lungs in heavy gasps. Terror has you frozen in place. You can’t scream, can’t flag anyone to help you. You’re completely at his mercy.

“And you know what happens to bad girls?” His hand grips your wrist tighter, and you know it will bruise. “They get punished.”

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache

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[janenthusiast]

JAN & WAYNE HSHSHS *autisms everywhere*

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

So Much Love in Oklahoma

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler saves you from a tornado one day. The next, he shows up at your doorstep.

a/n: absolutely no clue about tornados. or oklahoma. don't come at me for inaccuracies

also!!! i'm currently working on some tyler smut too, but you are so definitely allowed to come request things (or just talk to me)! my inbox is wideeeee open, especially when it comes to mister owens <33

masterlist | twisters masterlist

What happens that particular Tuesday afternoon should have been impossible. That's what goes through your head about a bazillion times in the following days. The chances of what happens even happening are about as close to zero, you think, as the possibility of you discovering a cure for cancer.

(They're not. Of course. But it feels like that.)

Because you're not even really in Oklahoma. You're just driving through Oklahoma. You're not from a place where they give you a 'How to Deal with Tornados' manual in school. You're entirely, completely, wholly unprepared for what's brewing as you drive down almost empty highways with the radio all the way up.

So when suddenly, you're in the middle of a storm, with the wind picking up until it drowns out your music and rain and hail slashing against your windows, you're absolutely terrified.

It forms within a few minutes, goes from barely grey skies to a horrible, horrible whirl of almost black clouds, and the insecurity you'd been feeling turns into the gut-churning realisation that you're unquestionably fucked.

Some part of your brain tugs out a deeply buried memory of cars being sucked into tornados on the news, so with your heart racing a few hundred miles per hour and your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold onto the steering wheel anymore, you maneuver your car onto the side of the road, just in time for you to be climbing out of the passenger seat as another car comes to a shrieking halt next to yours.

You're getting drenched within half a second, you're honestly not that sure whether your cheeks are wet from the rain or your tears, and on top of that, you almost trip as you set your trembling feet onto the ground below. The other car's driver bangs their door shut with a resounding thud that makes you flinch so hard you think your soul leaves your body. Your head shoots up as he shouts at you, already three steps away from his truck:

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

He's drenched, too - his hair sticks to his face and his shirt clings to his skin and his pants are stained at least a shade darker. But unlike you, he's not shaking, he's steady as a fucking rock, steady and quick, already reaching out for your arm before you can even begin to think. Your brain lags behind, foggy and cloudy and scared, so fucking scared. You're so terrified you can hardly open your mouth.

"I-", you stutter, then he's wrapping his big hand around your arm and tugging you away from your car, away from the road already.

"We need to get the fuck down!", he calls, pulling you with him onto one of those many, many fields that surround you. "There's a ditch over there, see that?"

You're wide-eyed, shaking, basically being dragged along by him - one foot in front of the other, that's what your brain's concentrating on right now, which is easier said than done. You trip over your own feet every other step. But the guy just wraps his arm around your waist and hurries further.

"Do you see that?", he asks again when you don't respond. Your mind races even faster than your heart does, but you force yourself to concentrate on his voice. The panic doesn't lessen, but his question shifts your focus. Ditch. Ditch. Not the storm raging around you, no, you're looking for a ditch. You're focusing on finding a ditch.

"Yeah", you breathe, your eyes finally catching on the ditch only a bit away.

"Yeah?", the guy shouts. "We need to get there. We need to get low."

With that, he picks up his pace once more and you stumble along, bumping into his side, watching the ditch come closer and closer and closer until your feet are drowned in dirty, muddy water.

"Alright, get down!", he shouts, unwrapping his arm from around your waist to help you into the cold, cold water. "Hold onto the ground!"

You aren't thinking. You can't think. Your brain has shut off completely. Panic numbs every part of you. All you can do, all you can possibly do, is concentrate on the voice of the man who's crouching down beside you. It's like his words have replaced your own thoughts, and like a marionette, you stretch out your arms and dig your fingers into the grass. Which is way easier said than done. You're pretty sure you feel one of your nails break as you try your hardest to find something, anything to hold onto. And then the wind hits.

If you'd thought you'd experienced heavy winds before, you were wrong. So wrong. No vacation in a surfer's town could possibly compare to this.

"Fuck!", you scream, instinctively dropping your head onto the moist grass below. The wind pulls and pulls and pulls at you and you imagine yourself being dragged by it - dragged away, away into certain death. But then an arm wraps around you, and the guy next to you is not next to you anymore but half on top of you, securing you in his arms, holding you close, pressing you to the ground.

"Stay down!", he shouts as you cling to the grass. "I got you."

I got you.

You replay that in your head like a mantra - he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. You're trembling, you're shaking, you're cramping, you're trying to hold onto the ground with all your might as the wind grows and grows and grows and pulls and pulls and pulls at you.

You want to scream. You think you're screaming. But it's so loud. It's deafening, the roar of the wind and the thunder. You can't hear yourself scream.

He can, though. He can. And he tightens his arms around you and repeats "I got you, I got you, I got you". And you believe him. You have to.

You're crying now, you're sure of that. Some part of you hurts. Maybe all of you hurts. You're scared. You're not just scared, you're terrified. It's loud, it's loud and it's everywhere, all around you.

And then suddenly - there's nothing.

It disappears within seconds.

There's no sounds. None. There's silence, deafening silence. Forget the calm before the storm - this is the silence after the tornado.

You take a few shuddering breaths. You're trembling, trembling from head to toes. You're soaked. You're cold.

"Alright, it's gone", the guy says - the guy that's still got his arms wrapped around you, who's still on top of you. "You did it."

He pulls his arm away from you and rolls onto his back next to you. Water sloshes around as he goes.

You don't move an inch.

You can't move.

You're stuck, you're frozen in place. Your fingers are cramped into the dirt and the grass and you're frozen.

The guy sits back up again and reaches out for you. He smooths his hand down your back, surprisingly warm against your ice-cold skin.

"Hey", he says softly. "You're okay. You can get up."

You pry your fingers from the ground one by one, flex your trembling hands and push yourself upright. It takes a few seconds for reality to sink in - you're in a ditch. In a ditch. You're soaked, soaked with muddy ditch water. Your shoes are drenched, your legs splattered with dirt, the hem of your dress soaked in brown. And you're cold. Ice-cold and trembling. And your legs hurt, your arms hurt, your fingers hurt. Three of your nails are cracked.

You're sitting in a ditch in the middle of Oklahoma and you'd just been through a tornado. A fucking ditch in Oklahoma and a tornado.

And a guy, a guy who's brushing his hand down your arm and eyeing you up.

"Alright, let's get you out of here, you're shaking", he says and for the first time, you turn your head and look at him. Actually look at him.

He's tall and he's blonde and he's drenched, too, drenched in that same dirty, muddy water as you. His hands are big, big and pleasantly warm as he grabs softly onto you and carefully maneuvers you towards him.

You don't really remember the next minutes. Not what you're doing, at least. It's a hazy, fuzzy passing of time - you barely remember that you're moving. You're cold and scared and still in shock and somehow, your eyes have locked onto him, onto this guy who you realise probably just saved your fucking life. Because when you come back to reality, he's wrapping a blanket around you - a dry, warm blanket - and the spot where you'd parked your car is empty.

Empty.

"My car", you whisper, staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing. The guy wraps the blanket tighter around you before he looks over his shoulder and glances around.

"Your car's not that important", he reassures, even though his voice is heavy. Heavy and raspy, you realise. He's got a certain Southern twang to it that you hadn't noticed in all the chaos before. "Much more important is that you're alive."

You nod half-heartedly (he's right, some rational part of your brain shouts, while the practical part mourns the shit ton of money you'd just lost) and settle your eyes back on him.

You don't know what it is, exactly, but something about this, something about the warmth of the blanket and the way he's rubbing your arms, something about him, about his voice and his words, slowly peels away the layers and layers of terror that are clinging to your pounding heart.

You swallow hard, reach up to tug the blanket tighter around yourself and shift your focus. Not the car or the tornado or the fact that you're drenched in dirty ditch water - him. This guy in front of you, who's looking you up and down to check if you're hurt. It's easier that way. It's easier to calm down when you're not thinking about any of it. It's easier when you're staring at him, counting to ten, slowly regaining your sanity. And what's suddenly also easier is realising that this guy in front of you is very much easy to look at. Even though his hair sticks to his head, even though his jeans are stained brown. He's what you'd expect as a reference picture next to the word "handsome" in a dictionary.

All of a sudden, you're not as cold anymore. All of a sudden, you're rather flushed. Because if he's drenched and dirty, you must look about the same. And you don't think you want him to see you like that. You'd much rather meet him in a bar or something, when you're dressed up and clean and preferably not terrified.

"Thanks", you get out, a little too quickly as you tighten the blanket further around yourself. "For, uh, for saving my life."

The guy's lips quirk up and he grins, a lopsided, half-cocky grin that makes your heart leap.

"Anytime, sweetheart", he drawls, then reaches up as though he wants to tip his hat - just that he's not wearing one, so instead, he settles for brushing his hand through his hair, just a second too late to seem intentional from the start. "Why were you out here anyway? Half a mile back is a gas station with a basement."

"I didn't-", you start, hesitant to admit just how unprepared you'd been for what had happened. "I didn't know it was a tornado. I thought it was just a bad storm or something, I'm... I'm not from around here."

He nods at you, his lips already parting when you suddenly twitch away from him and sneeze - once, then twice. His grin has dropped by the time you look up at him again and excuse yourself. God, is this embarrassing.

"You need dry clothes before you catch a cold", he says, his eyes travelling down your soaked dress and your bare legs. "I've got a shirt in the trunk, give me a minute."

He walks towards the back of his car and opens up his trunk and you're hit with two thoughts at the same time. The first is more along the lines of goddamn, are his shoulders broad, but the second - arguably the one that should be more important - is why the fuck his car is still standing in the very same spot he'd parked it before the tornado had hit.

Especially when your car is absolutely nowhere to be seen. Your car and all your things inside it. Oh, god-

"Here you go", he says, holding out a dry copy of the shirt he's wearing, red checkered cotton. He's about to go on when you blurt out:

"Sorry, why's your car still... you know, there?"

His lips pull into that impossibly charming grin once more and he points at the underside of the truck.

"Tornado-proof", he explains, just the slightest bit cocky. You follow the invisible line he's drawing to two... what looks like giant screws? twisted into the ground below.

"Oh", you let out, not too intelligently - but really, what are you supposed to say?

He just chuckles and holds the shirt out for you again. You take it carefully, your fingers grazing his. He's so warm, so fucking warm. Meanwhile you're shaking even underneath the blanket he'd given you. Though that's also starting to get soaked.

"You can change in the car if you want", he offers, already pulling open the door to the passenger seat. You don't really have to think hard about it. You're drenched in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get home, and this guy has just saved your life. So you unwrap the blanket and give it back to him with a smile and a thanks.

It's tight and cramped inside the car, even as you roll the seat all the way back. You pry the drenched dress off of your body and only then remember to turn around and check if the guy is watching you (as handsome as he is, he's still a guy). But no, he's turned away, has his hands rested against his hips and is staring intently at the slowly clearing sky.

You turn back with a smile and get rid of your soaked bra, too, before you pull his shirt on over your head.

Damn, it smells good. He smells good. And it's very comfortable, you have to admit. Plus, it's dry, which is most definitely an improvement.

You take a few seconds to consider whether or not to pull off your shorts... but they're drenched, too, and the guy seems respectful enough to not risk a bladder infection for. So you take your shoes off, and your socks, and your shorts. And then you crack open the car door again and knock softly against the window.

"I'm done", you call out, loud enough that he can hear. He turns back and his eyes drag down your body - or what of it he can see through the open door - and even though he looks right back up at your face, you can't help but feel flustered. You ball your wet clothes up in your hands nervously.

"Alright then", he says, takes a step closer and reaches for the door handle. "You said you're not from around here, where were you driving?"

Ah, right, that part.

Honestly, with so much happening in so few minutes, you'd about blocked out everything else. Everything normal.

"My parents, uh-", you start, trailing off when you realise that's not much help for him. "About three, four hours from here."

"That's quite a drive", he chuckles. "I live maybe half an hour from here, how about I take you with me so you can eat and drink something? Maybe you can borrow a pair of Lilly's pants. And you could phone your parents."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you narrow your eyes at him, taking a second too long to even understand all of what he's saying before taking another second too long to sort how you'll respond. Then you start with what you find most important.

"I've got my phone", you tell him, pulling it out from where you'd just deposited it in the centre console. "I had it in my pocket."

You'd taken it with you more reflexively than consciously when you'd stumbled out of your car - but truly, what self-respecting adult didn't take their phone with them when they left anywhere?

The guy just raises his eyebrows and glances at your phone.

"And it still works?", he asks, a little incredulously.

"Yep", you smile - for the first time, you realise, since the tornado. "It's waterproof."

More because you'd been scared you'd drop the love of your life into the pool or the ocean on vacation, but a tornado in the middle of Oklahoma worked as well. At least you now knew you'd spent your money wisely.

"Smart", he grins. You can't help but grin right back.

He's charming and he's respectful and he looks so goddamn good.

"Who's Lilly?", you ask then, because that had been the second thing you'd wanted to say. He hesitates for a half a moment.

"A friend", he says. You squint at him. He doesn't look like he's lying, but he does look like there's something you don't know about. God, if he turns out to be a cheater- "I'll introduce you if you'd like."

You raise your eyebrows. Alright, so not a cheater. And, if you're interpreting correctly, another invitation to come with him. Not that you'd been about to refuse the first one.

"Sure", you say, as casually as you can. "I didn't really feel like standing around half-naked on the street anyway."

...

A few minutes later, he's driving his weird car/truck with the screws on the bottom down the empty highway. Though 'empty' is the wrong description, really - here and there, trees, road signs and utility poles are scattered on the pavement.

You're driving in silence. Well, silence as in neither of you talks, not as in actual silence. Alongside the motor, the radio had turned on, playing one country song after the other.

"You never told me your name", the guy says suddenly. The very much stranger, who's very much right - you'd never told him your name.

"You never told me yours", you counter, because that's also the truth. He'd never told you his name. You knew his friend's name, but not his.

"Didn't think I'd have to", he mutters under his breath, so quietly you barely catch it. "It's Tyler. Tyler Owens?"

He says it like it's a question. You don't know why. So instead you just answer with your own name and Tyler, as you'd come to know, repeats it with a smile on his lips.

God, you don't think it's ever sounded that good.

"Pretty name", he says, all casual like that doesn't get your heart racing again. Pretty. He'd called you pretty. Almost unconsciously, you brush your hands through your hair.

"Thank you", you mutter. As if to distract yourself, you add: "So, Tyler, what do you do?"

...

Exactly half an hour later, Tyler takes your hand in his and helps you out of his car. His house - the one he's sharing with Lilly, you'd found out, with Lilly and the rest of his Tornado Wranglers - is big and inviting. It's a little way off from any other houses, which you personally think is quite nice. Not that you say that, though.

Tyler walks you inside without having to unlock the door. He takes two steps, then he calls out "Guys, we've got a guest", which immediately results in a surprised shout of "whoops" and the sound of a set of feet scurrying up the stairs. Tyler has barely pulled off his shoes (after politely asking you to wait just a second) when a head pops through the doorframe at the end of the hallway.

"Boone was naked", the woman grins before settling her eyes on you and throwing you a wave. "Hey there, I'm Lilly."

She glances down at your bare legs.

"A little cold there?", she asks and even though her words are sarcastic, her voice is anything but.

"A little", you answer truthfully, smiling at her as she steps out into the hallway.

"You want a pair of pants?", she asks, seemingly without giving a single thought to who you are or why you're standing half-naked in her hallway.

You glance at Tyler, but he's grinning and only shrugs at you, so you turn back to Lilly and nod at her. She seems sweet, really sweet, and very kind. She takes you with her to her room (up two sets of stairs, the fucking house has three floors and a basement) and shows you her closet, the very definition of unbothered even as you nervously rummage through her clothes.

"Hey, you can take a shirt too, if you want", she says, flopping down onto her bed and rolling onto her side to look at you.

"Oh", you let out and glance down at the shirt you're wearing - Tyler's shirt, that very country, checkered shirt that's way too big for you. "I'm fine, thanks."

Honestly, if it were up to you, you would never wear anything else ever again. Tyler's shirt is soft and comfortable and - most importantly - it smells like him. You really just want to tug the hem up to your nose and breathe in his scent (but that would be weird, so you don't).

"Alright", Lilly drawls. "Your choice."

...

Lilly shows you the bathroom, gives you the wifi password and tells you to come down whenever you feel like it. You realise half a second too late that you haven't told her your name yet and crack open the bathroom door to call out for her.

Honestly, you like her. You really like her. And you really like Tyler, too. He's handsome and he smells good and he's respectful and he's nice and he saved your fucking life today. You don't even want to think about what would have happened to you if he hadn't driven by.

In the bathroom is the first time you can really breathe. You throw some water at your face and blowdry your hair. Ten minutes later, you're walking down the stairs into the hallway again - this time, when you stroll through there, you're wearing comfortable pants, fuzzy socks and take your time to look around.

You'd already called your parents back in the car with Tyler. They'd been about as shocked as you'd expected, had needed a few minutes to even understand just what you were telling them, but then they'd offered to come pick you up immediately. Tyler had provided them his address and now here you are - knocking at the open door to the kitchen, where all of the Tornado Wranglers sit around the table. All of them, except for Tyler, who's leaning against the countertop and looks up at you with a grin when you step in.

"Hey there", he drawls, his eyes raking down your body once more today - you've tucked his shirt into Lilly's pants and you could swear his eyes linger on your waist. "Warm and dry?"

"Very", you grin back, then nod at Lilly. "Thanks again."

She shakes her head and waves you off.

"Hey, no big deal. Do you want some pasta?"

...

It's comfortable there, in the kitchen of these strangers who are feeding you pasta and lending you clothes. You've settled onto the countertop next to Tyler and now and then, when you're dangling your feet or he's taking a bite, your legs graze his arm. He's changed into dry clothes too, you realise as you brush against him for the first time, and he's even warmer now than before.

"Tyler's told us all about you", Boone says after a few minutes of easy conversation. You raise your eyebrows and turn your head, staring at Tyler from the side.

"Has he?", you ask, because you hadn't even told him enough about yourself to warrant any use of the word 'all'. Sure, you'd talked on the ride here - but mostly about him, because - as it had turned out - what Tyler Owens did wasn't a normal job like doctor or lawyer, but instead professional Tornado Wrangler. Which, of course, had then dominated the conversation for the rest of the drive.

"Yeah, like how you were driving to you parents and didn't know what to do in a tornado so you just kept on driving", Boone grins, scraping the rest of his pasta off his plate. "And how he made you go in that ditch and-"

"Alright, shut up, Boone", Tyler interrupts, even though there's no real malice behind his words. "She knows the story. She's in it."

"I'm just saying", Boone goes on, entirely undeterred as he puts his now empty plate down on the kitchen table. "If you'd filmed that, it would go viral for sure."

You have to snort at that.

"Yeah, because of all the indecent exposure."

...

When your mother rings the doorbell three hours later, you're in the middle of the second round of a boardgame Dexter had pulled from a drawer. You'd been paired with Tyler for the first round and - somehow not surprisingly - that had worked quite well. You'd won just so against Dexter and Dani (Lilly and Boone hadn't been too much competition) and Dani's "We never get to play this right 'cuz we're always five people" after Tyler had high-fived you with a victorious cheer had warmed your heart. At least they'd enjoyed themselves - at least you hadn't been a burden.

"I call dibs on her", Lilly had declared when the second round had begun, so Tyler had teamed up with Boone instead.

"Oh, oh, botany!", you call out, just as the doorbell finally rings. Lilly jumps up and high-fives you.

"How in the hell did you guess that?", Dani asks, sounding all but exasperated at this point as Tyler pushes out of his seat and walks towards the front door. You shrug.

"Pure talent", you joke, then you climb off the couch as well. "Alright, it was so nice meeting you all, but I think my taxi's out front."

They all hug you goodbye and tell you to come around again anytime - Boone even hands you one of those t-shirts Tyler had told you about in the car. You can hardly hold back a snort. Though Tyler had told you about the shirts existing, yes, he must have accidentally forgotten to mention that his goddamn face is printed on them, paired with the very... comedic phrase "Not My First Tornadeo".

You thread through the hallway with the shirt and your phone in your hands, only to be hit with the sight of Tyler hugging your mother on the doorstep. Or your mother hugging Tyler, more like. Either way, you're suddenly frozen in place.

But then your mother opens her eyes and sees you standing there and she lets go of Tyler with a sharp cry to come running at you instead. She throws her arms around you with so much vigor you're almost knocked off your feet. You meet Tyler's eyes over her shoulder - crinkled with lines of laughter as he smiles at you. Your eyes dart away again just as quickly.

"It's fine, mom, I'm okay", you reassure.

"Yeah, thanks to Tyler", she mutters into your hair. "I already told him we'll pay him whatever he wants for saving our daughter."

"And I already said I don't want any money", Tyler clarifies.

...

The next morning, you wake up comfortably late in a warm bed. You walk down the stairs in fuzzy socks and start the day with a simple cup of tea.

A simple cup of tea and Tyler Owens' YouTube channel.

You'd looked him and his Tornado Wranglers up the very second you'd sat down in your mother's car. Then you'd subscribed to every channel you could find. And then... you'd kind of got obsessed. You'd watched so many of their videos that by one am, you'd simply fallen asleep to one of them.

"Aunt May's gonna be here in half an hour", your mother informs you casually, a stack of plates in her hands as she rummages around in the kitchen. You're still sitting at the table in your pajamas, a spoonful of cereal in your mouth, your phone propped up against a water bottle in front of you, playing a Tornado Wranglers video from a year ago.

"Seriously?", you get out, chewing on your cereal before you can swallow it down. "Mom, I still have to shower and get ready and all."

She throws you one of those eyebrows-raised glances that immediately let you know she's judging you for something.

"We only let you sleep this long because you almost died yesterday", she says matter-of-factly, then she eyes your phone. "And if you weren't watching Tyler's videos so obsessively, you would be done by now."

"Really, mom?"

You let out a resigned sigh. She only shrugs and grins at you. She's a little bit right, anyway.

"He's good-looking, I get it", she says, then she strolls out of the kitchen, chuckling to herself while you curse at her. He is good-looking, fuck this. You need to get it together before the rest of your extended family arrives.

...

The doorbell rings for the umpteenth time that day, just as you step out of the bathroom and smooth down the front of the red-checkered shirt you're wearing. You call some version of "I got it", down the hallway, not too sure if anyone even hears - they're all in the backyard anyway. Then you open the door with a smile on your face, a smile that instantly pulls into a wide grin when you see just who's standing there.

Because it's not another aunt or uncle or cousin. It's no one in your family, not even close.

It's Tyler.

Tyler Owens.

"Hi", he says. Just that. Hi.

You lean against the open door and cross your arms. Your grin only grows.

"Hi", you echo.

His eyes rake down your body and it seems like whatever he'd wanted to say gets stuck in his throat as he realises that the shirt you're wearing isn't your shirt, really. You can't help but bite down on your lip.

Look, you hadn't expected this. You hadn't expected him. None of this was a scheme or a plan or anything even close. You'd just seen it lying there this morning, right next to Lilly's pants on your desk, and you hadn't been able to help yourself. It smelled so fucking good.

"Nice shirt", he grins, eyes snapping back up to yours.

"Thanks", you grin back. "I got it from this guy after he saved me from dying in a tornado yesterday."

Tyler chuckles.

"Seems like a great guy."

"So great", you agree. "Even though he prints his face on t-shirts."

Tyler is just about to retort something - all toothy grins and laughter lines - when your mother calls out his name, very obviously pleasantly surprised as she comes down the hallway. She smiles at him, big and wide.

"What are you doing here?", she asks, stopping next to you to ask the very question that had been on the tip of your tongue too when you'd opened up the door.

"Oh, I'm just bringing these back", he says and holds up his hand to show a stack of neatly folded clothes with your bra right on top. You have to bite down on your cheeks to stop from outright grinning.

Okay, so even if wearing his shirt hadn't been a scheme, and even if you hadn't expected to see him... You might just have done something to ensure you would see him again. But hey, he's about the most handsome man you've ever laid your eyes on, you'd be damned if you'd have to watch him on the screen of your phone for the rest of your life. So yeah, you may have accidentally 'forgotten' your wet clothes in his bathroom after you'd hung them over the heater to dry. You just hadn't thought he'd find them so quickly.

"And you drove four hours for that?", your mother asks, more baffled than you are. Tyler only shrugs. Your mother reaches out for your clothes, grabs them from him and puts them on the cupboard in the hallway. Then she looks at him.

"You're coming in, yes? We're having barbecue now and cake in a bit. I'm not letting you drive four hours here just to deliver her clothes."

...

Twenty minutes later is when you get Tyler alone for the first time. Your mother has schlepped him with you through the whole garden and introduced him to every single person there - "He's the guy who saved her yesterday!" (because, obviously, your story had been about the only topic anyone had talked about so far) - your father first and foremost, who hugs Tyler so tightly that for a moment you're afraid he'll break him.

You catch up with Tyler just as he finishes loading his plate with food, finally on his own after your mother has excused herself to go cut up more bread.

"How'd you find me?", you ask, sipping at your ice-cold coke and eyeing him up. It's the one question that had been burning in your mind for the past twenty minutes. How in the hell had he managed to find you? It's not like you'd left a note with your address next to your clothes (though in hindsight, you don't remember how you'd meant for him to bring them back to you).

He looks almost bashful for a second.

"Boone noticed you'd followed our account", he explains then. "He figured out your last name from your handle and searched the phone book of the city on your mom's license plate. And then he read out all the names until I recognised your mom's because she'd introduced herself to me yesterday."

Your eyebrows raise, further and further the more he speaks. You swallow. Silence falls for a second, then two.

"You know, some people would call that creepy", you say, but your lips tug up into an involuntary grin that gives away more quickly than you'd wanted that you aren't one of those people. Tyler grins right back at you.

"Personally I think it would've been more creepy if I'd kept your bra."

...

It's 9:20 when your mother comes over. You've long since switched from barbecue to cake, then to snacks. Your feet are tucked underneath Tyler's legs, propped up against the side of his garden chair and he's running his fingers up and down your calves.

You'd spent the afternoon chatting away and laughing, barely talking to anyone but him. Your 'family get-together' had turned into more of a date. You certainly aren't about to complain, though.

"Tyler, you're staying the night, right?", your mother asks, a fresh plate of chips in her hands that she puts next to the almost empty one on the table in front of you.

"I don't want to overstay my welcome", he says, all gentlemanly even as your mother rests her hands against her hips and stares him down.

"Young man, you're welcome in this house any time, for however long. I'm not letting you drive home four hours. You're staying the night." Then she points at you. "She's still got a couch in her room that you can sleep on. I'd offer you a guest room, but half the family's staying here and we're already out of air mattresses."

So an hour later, you're rummaging about your room, picking up clothes off the couch and stuffing them in your closet to make room for Tyler. He's leaning against your doorway, looking around, taking in the mess that is your childhood bedroom.

"Nice posters", he says, and you throw him a look over your shoulder that could be deadly. He's grinning all sarcastic, only chuckling as his eyes meet yours. "You could put up one of my shirts here."

You have to snort at that and before you can even really think about it, you've pulled the shirt Boone had given you yesterday from where you'd put it down on your desk. You throw it at him carelessly and he catches it with no effort at all, which - paired with that fucking grin - shouldn't be as attractive as it turns out to be.

"Knock yourself out", you say, then you turn back around to your closet and tug out bedsheets for him. "My old poster glue should be in one of the desk drawers."

You don't think he'll seriously do it, but you seem to have misjudged him. Badly. Because he gets to work immediately.

You watch him for a few stunned seconds before you decide to just leave him to it. So while you turn the couch into a makeshift bed for him, he glues that goddamn "Not My First Tornadeo" shirt to your wall.

"Fits perfectly if you ask me", he declares eventually, barely concealing the amusement dripping from his words. You smooth down his sheets before you look up at your wall. He's put the shirt up in one of the few empty spots, right between your Maroon 5 and Destiny's Child posters.

"Yeah", you snort. "Perfectly."

You give him a toothbrush and let him use your bathroom. While he's gone, you change into your pajamas, fold his shirt carefully and put it on a pile with Lilly's pants and her socks. Honestly, a little part of you already mourns the loss of it - but another part of you already has hope for another shirt. Maybe in a different context.

"What're you doing?", Tyler asks, shutting the bathroom door behind him. You don't look up as you fold the other clothes you'd thrown onto your desk yesterday.

"I put Lilly's things and your shirt there, you can take it back tomorrow", you explain, starting a second pile of your own clothes next to his.

"Keep my shirt", he says. That finally makes you look up at him.

Which isn't a good idea. Not at all. Because he's standing there in nothing but his briefs and good fucking lord-

You'd known he's handsome. You'd known he's broad. But you hadn't known he's fucking ripped. You shouldn't stare. You're very aware. You definitely shouldn't stare. It's incredibly rude to stare. It's very inappropriate to stare. But goddamn, this man is built so perfectly god himself must be jealous.

You have to forcibly blink yourself back to reality. You're definitely red in the face when you finally manage to meet his eyes again. And he's raised his eyebrows in a way that tells you he's reading your every emotion right off your face.

"Sorry, come again?", you croak out, brushing your hand through your hair and realising just a second too late that your eyes have travelled down too far again.

"I said you should keep my shirt", he repeats, a very, very obvious grin on his lips. "It looks better on you."

"Okay", you agree, a little too quickly. The heat in your cheeks comes from more than just the half-naked view of him now. He thinks his shirt looks better on you. You don't even care if that's a line. "I'll... I'll go brush my teeth real quick."

When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Tyler has made himself comfortable on your couch. It's a little too small for him, you realise, but he doesn't seem bothered. He's pulled the covers up to his hips - you can still stare at his chest, to your delight. And he's put one hand under his head, flexing his bicep in a way that has you hurrying over to your own bed so you won't jump him right then and there.

"Alright, goodnight, Tyler", you breathe, adjusting your pillow and wrapping your blanket around your body as if grabbing at it will somehow ground you.

"Goodnight", he echoes, and then you turn off the light.

It's quiet. The only noise is the laughter of your family a floor below, all settling into bed themselves. It's quiet and it's dark.

And you're staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing.

Oh, god. He's so fucking hot. He's so fucking hot you want to throw yourself out of the window. He's so fucking hot and he's on your fucking couch, barely ten feet from you. He's so fucking hot and he'd driven four hours here just to bring your clothes.

"Tyler", you say, barely two minutes after you'd turned the light off. He hums in response - still awake. You don't know what you'd expected. "Thanks again. For, you know, for everything."

"Anytime", he replies, and even though you can't see his grin, you imagine you can hear it. You nod into your pillow. Then silence falls again.

It lasts maybe another two minutes.

"Your family's nice", he says then. You can't help but smile.

"Thanks", you mutter.

"I like your mother", he says. Your smile only grows. You turn onto your back and stare at the dark ceiling.

"She likes you too."

It's the truth.

Tyler stays quiet. You don't even try to close your eyes this time - you can hear him breathe, deep and relaxed. It's calming. You're sure it could lull you to sleep. If you were anywhere near tired, that is. This way, you just blink at black nothingness.

"Were you really a Destiny's Child fan?", Tyler asks eventually, his sheets rustling.

"Yep", you say.

That's it for that conversation.

You don't know what it is, the darkness or the silence, but something pushes on your chest and weighs you down, warming your skin as it settles on your body. It's a tension, thick and heavy, one that had grown with every scrap of conversation.

"You know-", he starts again, but this time, you've got enough.

"Tyler", you interrupt, turning onto your side and pulling your covers with you. "Get up here."

You can't see him as he throws his bedsheets off himself, can't watch as he heaves himself up, can't look at him as he strides over to your bed - but you hear the rustling of his covers, you hear the couch creaking, you hear his steps on the floorboards. And you feel the mattress dipping when he finally sets his knees on your bed.

You don't wait until he's actually in there. You don't think you could possibly wait until he is. You just push yourself up, grab onto the first part of him you can get your hands on (his shoulders), cup his face in your palms and pull him into you.

Right into your kiss.

Tyler Owens kisses you for the first time in the darkness of your childhood bedroom. For the second time in the morning light in your bed. For the third time in your parent's kitchen, right as your mother walks in. For the fourth time in his truck, after your parents all but throw you out of their house and force you to go home with him. For the fifth time in front of his own house, where his crew watches through the window.

And after that, Tyler Owens loses count of just how often he kisses you. Because he kisses you every day for the rest of his life.

[sanatomis]

cw. none except satoru being disgustingly cute (part 2)

satoru isn’t used to people calling him anything other than his surname. gojo-san to most, gojo-sensei to others. it’s simple, and gets the job done.

only a handful of people stick to calling him by his given name. to them, he’s satoru. it’s easy, and rolls of the tongue, and he greatly prefers it over the sound of his surname. it makes him feel like an actual person.

satoru never entertained the possibility of being called anything else other than those two names. he didn’t think it would ever happen.

for once, he was glad to be proven wrong.

“tough day, pretty?” you ask gently, and he sighs with a nod as he throws himself into your opened arms. his body moulds easily into yours, and he lets out a heavy groan as he settles onto the couch with you. the groan is loud, and over-exaggerated.

it’s so satoru.

you have to stifle a giggle.

“everything went horribly wrong,” he grumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “the higher ups were up my ass again, my students laughed at me again, and when i finally made it to that bakery you liked they were out of your favourite pastries so i couldn’t get them for you—again!”

“oh, my poor baby,” you coo, and gently push his bangs out of his face. he nods in agreement, faking an immense amount of sympathy for himself. “‘s okay, at least you tried, hm? i think that’s very sweet.”

satoru hums, as if he’s deeply thinking about your words. “’m still your baby?” he mumbles, deciding that’s the most important thing right now. his eyes briefly flutter shut, consumed by utter bliss as you play with the hairs on his undercut.

“mhm, still my baby.”

“yeah? what else am i?”

this time you do giggle. he does this sometimes. you aren’t exactly sure why—but on tough days, satoru likes to crawl into your arms and listen to you call him every cheesy nickname under the sun. it’s easily providable and makes him so very happy, so you always indulge him.

“my honey bun.”

“and?”

“my boo bear.”

“mhm.”

“my sweetheart.”

“yes?”

you laugh softly. “my mochi,” you coo, and pinch his cheek. it’s a little squished because he’s laying on your chest, but it emphasises your point.

he grins under your touch. it’s adorable.

“keep them coming, please?” he asks, and you do. you always do, unable to refuse him. especially when he asks so sweetly.

“my sugar cookie.”

“my muffin.”

“my baby cakes.”

“my angel.”

“my love.”

“my husband.”

“h—huh?” satoru stammers, looking up from your chest. he lays his chin on your sternum, baby blue eyes blinking up at you. they’re filled with awe, surprise, and utter glee. “that’s, i’m not. . .”

“just testing the title, baby,” you tell him, and continue playing with his hair. he bathes in your touch and you smile softly as he grabs and kisses the palm of your hand. “what do you think, hm?”

“i think you should call me it again.”

“oh?”

“mhm,” he mumbles.

“my dearest husband.”

“again.”

“my handsome husband.”

“again.”

“my sweet husband.”

“again, please?”

you hum, impressed. “my well-mannered husband.”

satoru chuckles, and lays back down on your chest. his white hair tickles against your skin, and he sighs in content.

“i think i want to be your husband for real.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he mumbles and nuzzles further into your hold. “y’ve got the same ring size still, right?”

“i sure do,” you say, a content smile on your lips as you watch him slowly doze off to sleep.

“hm, good to know.”

for satoru, those nicknames make him feel as if he’s something even greater than a person—it makes him feel yours.

he’s not just gojo, the strongest. he’s not just satoru, the at-times somewhat immature adult with the sweet tooth of a child.

he’s yours. your baby. your honey bun. your boo bear. your mochi. your boyfriend. your love. and for satoru, there’s no greater thing in the world than that.

[devil-in-hiding]

Okay but Virgin!Reader who is absolutely terrified of intimacy. It’s not a lack of knowledge on the subject; she’s knows more about it than a retired pornstar. But she just can’t handle the thought of giving herself away, especially to someone she doesn’t know or feels like she can’t trust! Back where she comes from, trust is a privilege and respect is a must. But what happens when she meets brutal, gruff, and one hundred and ten percent dangerous Simon Riley, who’s way more experienced and has a history of fucking just to let off some steam.

Ughhhhh 😵‍💫

Simon is your neighbor. Your first interaction is when he almost knocks you over in the hall, only offering a grunt and cold glare before slamming his apartment door shut.

It remains that way for a year or so, the rare times you do see him home. Nothing is ever said, but he acknowledges you with a grunt, and you always return a small nod of greeting. He’s cold and gruff, but every time he gets home from wherever he goes, you have to hole up in the living room to escape the moans and his headboard banging into your wall. the following mornings you can hardly look him in the eye as he stares at you rushing towards the stairs.

It’s not until after a particularly bad date, who is stubbornly trying to invite himself into your apartment, that Simon actually speaks.

“Jake please, I had a nice time but I have to get up early for work.” You protest, trying to block your doorway and the guy scoffs. “C’mon, you gonna leave me hangin like that?” He frowns, trying to shoulder past you.

“I would like you to leave now.”

“Listen here you little bitch, I’ve had to put up with staring at that rack all night, the least you can do is-“

“Think the lady told you to get the fuck out mate.” A deep voice growls, and the two of you jump, and your eyes widen at seeing Simon there, and there’s a dark look in his eyes as he stares down your ‘date’

“Hey man, this is none of you-“

“Considering this nice woman is my neighbor, I’m making it my fucking business.” He states before quite literally lifting Jake by the scruff of his neck and throwing him out into the hallway. “I see you bothering her again and I’ll kick your sorry ass up and down this god damn complex you got that?”

Jake is gone before Simon is done talking. You hear him take a deep breath, shoulders relaxing before he turns to face you, and you’re surprised by the concern showing in his eyes.

“That fuckhead didn’t hurt you, did he?” He asks, and you’re shocked this man’s voice can be so soft. You’re frozen, just staring at him before you find your voice.

“N-no, no I’m okay, he was just trying to shoulder past me.” You stutter out, nervously playing with your fingers. Your heart stops when one of his large hands reaches up, gently brushing your hair away from your face.

“Sorry it took me so long, couldn’t tell if it was you I was hearing.” He admits, and your heart flutters. He knows your voice?

He talks to you more after that, helping you with groceries when your hands are full, stopping by to ask if you’d watch his apartment while he’s away on deployment. You start to look forward to the two knocks on your door, finding Simon waiting for you, crinkles around his eyes letting you know he’s smiling at you.

But the women still come, along with your nights camped out in the living room, you’re heart just a bit heavier every time.

(might turn this into something)

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Verdict Due

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1)

Innocents Among You (Part 2)

The Guilty Plea (Part 3)

Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: You head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

Simon's steps are slow, lacking energy or purpose. Releasing the buckles strapping his vest down to him, he finally arrives to his door, lifting the camo from himself.

His forehead pressing into the wooden door, he finds it harder and harder to open everyday, seeing reminders of you every moment of everyday, when he closes his eyes, when he lays down in bed. Hell when he opens the door. He hated this room now.

Outside of the place that you both had made your home away from war, from battle, from the base, this was where the two of you had once spent most of your time.

He raised his head off the door, before bringing it back down on it, then doing it again, this time hard enough to hurt. "Fuck," he cursed, cursing himself, his stupid decisions, the times he'd never get back, the mistakes he'll never be able to erase. Huffing out bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut, he's still for a moment, before banging his fist against the wall. "Fuck!" There's a crackle along the wall, a clatter of dust and dried paint hitting his feet.

A shuddered breath leaves him, swallowing down his grief, his anger at himself. But, he can't help it. He's ruined everything.

Simon's head stays there against the doorway, he doesn't want to go in.

His head turns a bit, seeing a figure down the hallway, straightening up, dark eyes squinting. "Johnny?"

Quiet and Still. The Scotsman's mouth is set in a hard line, he runs a hand down his face, smearing the mess he'd made of himself. "I..." he breathes deeply. "I saw her today."

"You what?" Simon perks up, eyes wide. He looks past his comrade, seeing the open doorway of your room, "She's here," he speaks, voice alight and hopeful. Making his way past Johnny, "She's here?" he asks this time, bracing himself at her doorway.

But, the room is a mess and void of you. He'd nearly forgotten how the soldiers had left it, the day it happened he could watch it, it would've been too finalizing of what he thought was your betrayal. Today was meant to be the day they'd clean it all up, due to plaguing themselves with missions and ops that required long weeks, long hours. No one wanted to think about what they'd done.

But, now they'd only made another mistake in waiting too long. And now you had to be greeted by this mess.

"I didn't know it was--" Johnny couldn't turn back to the room, back to Simon, as he spoke. "I didn't know we did so much to her. I thought--how long--how could I--" he shakily began. "--how could you?" Simon's eyes flicker to his friend, dark circles and sunken cheeks seem to worsen. "She was so...she couldn't even look at me, Si. Like I'd make her sick, like I'd--hurt her again...I've never--" his fingers claw at his chest, hoping to rip away the ache in his heart, eyes haunted to tears and staring into the dark of his memory as he thought back. "I'd never--" he can't finish.

"She was here?" Simon asked again.

Johnny's clouded eyes look to Simon, opening his mouth before opting for nodding. Clearing his throat, finally seeming to get a handle on himself, "Just left."

"She what?" Simon bolts out towards the stairs, pushing through the doorway and jumping down the first flight to rush through the rest.

As he gets to the lobby floor, he shoves through the door, revealing the hallway to him, running down the long stretch before ramming into the side wall to catch himself at the corner. He continues down the way, running as fast as he's able, before bursting through the side doors of the front lobby.

He sees you immediately, beyond the glass doorways.

"(Y/n)..."

He's running before he can think to get his legs moving.

---

Leaving the dormitories, finally leaving behind the spare hospital wear that you had swapped for your own clothes, you waved down the first vehicle you'd seen.

The driver letting you into the truck, the two of you unaware as he begins to drive off, Simon shoving his way through the residential doors and coming to a stop in the middle of the street as you drive away.

You, having hopped a ride with one of the soldiers making his rounds, the Jeep shakes with the changing terrain, providing more conversation than the trooper that was much too quiet. Shifting his shoulders, adjusting his fingers around the leather, glancing one too many times through the mirror.

It was getting weird. But, you were a familiar face on the base, unfortunately now, it used to be because you were good at your job, the best sniper they had on the force. But now, it was because you were the first proclaimed traitor of the force in decades and the first to be wrong about.

So, the new attention is nothing to be pleased about.

"Find something interesting to look at, soldier?"

Back straightening, body stiffening and eyes facing the road, the trooper swallows thickly at having been caught eyeing you. "No, ma'am!"

"Then I suggest you keep your eyes on the road."

"Yes, ma'am!" clearing his throat. "Sorry, ma'am, I don't mean to stare."

Arms crossed, head turned to watch the smaller buildings go by, your jaw clenched. "It's fine..." you breathe, before relaxing a bit more as the drive goes farther and farther away from the residential areas. Eyes flickering over to the still tense trooper, you mutter. "Ease."

His shoulders drop, head turning, flustered. "Sorry, ma'am."

It was always strange to be called 'Ma'am' by fellow soldiers, usually you were only a year or so apart, others you had been younger by ten years or older by five. But, this trooper was new to the force, young, clearly still jumpy, you had been the same after your first missions on the Task Force.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the trooper then speaks, shakily.

"You don't have to keep--"

"About what happened to you," he continued. "I'm not sure if you heard that yet, but it's--that sounds--I can't imagine. I'm sorry that happened to you."

For a moment too long you're quiet, holding your breath, staring at the scenery as it whistled on past, the wind whipping through your hair. Your nails tearing into your skin as you rake them over your scars, smearing the line of blood left after ripping out your IV line, abandoning it as you found a ride.

"Get any cool scars out of it, at least?" he jokes, lightheartedly.

Your eyes snap his way, his eyes widening before he looks back to the road, back to stiff.

You open your mouth to speak, but you can't. You're just angry, too angry to find the words. But, you don't want to take it out on him, he was just attempting to alleviate whatever burden he imagined to be on your shoulders. But, all it was was a reminder, this was all anyone could think of anymore, when it came to you, this ordeal.

The apologies, the reminders, the quiet looks, the whispers, the fucking gnawing pain still splintered through your spine, you were tired of it.

The car pulls up to the largest administrative building on the base camp, hopefully you were right and this was where Laswell was posted up.

Quickly pulling the car handle as the trooper steps out of the vehicle to assist you, you hurriedly speak as he reaches to touch you. "I've got it," you hiss out, harsher then you meant. Stepping down and off the platform, onto the sidewalk, you forget you don't have your IV pole to at least stabilize you. So, when you stumble, he grabs your arm, his other resting on your shoulder.

"Woah!" his grip lacks gentleness, though not bruising, it's enough to set you off.

Your arm goes back and over his arm, shrugging him off, roughly. "I said I got it!" Your palm pushing into his shoulder and sending him back and off of you, he shifts back and nearly off his feet, catching himself.

"Alright, jeez!"

You're stumbling back into the light pole luckily a few steps behind you, leaning yourself against the cemented metal, you balance yourself. Shaking off the buzz in your ears and rubbing away the tension built along your skin, taking a few shuttered breaths, turned away from the soldier.

The trooper takes a few steps away from you, expression lifted to frustration and annoyance, rolling his eyes, brows furrowed and back pedaling to the Jeep. "Fucking crazy," he mutters to himself, adjusting his gear and stepping up back to the vehicle.

But, he doesn't make it very far until you're on him.

"What the fu--!"

Taking the opening of his kevlar and yanking him out of the vehicle, unable to catch himself fast enough to get to his feet. You hold a steel grip on the collar of his uniform, literally holding him up by his straps, pulling his entire bodyweight off the ground, leaning down so you're face to face with him. "Say it again," you snapped, eyes dark and boring into his skull. "I wanna have a good excuse for what I'm about to do to you."

He was taller, probably stronger, but looking up at you, he could see the years of mayhem and chaos that's burned itself into your irises, made you the lieutenant he'd tripped up on properly respecting. "I didn't--I didn't say anything! I'm sorry, ma'am, it won't--it won't happen again!"

Nostrils flared, eyes flickering between his wide, fearful ones, your hands loosen around his gear. He falls forwards, landing on his forearms with a groan, releasing a relieved breath.

He looks up, watching as you turn and make your trek into the building. You had seemed so fragile before, with a limp in your walk, scars head to toe and those braces along your legs, he assumed you had no fight in you. He couldn't have imagined, five minutes, he'd be wrong.

---

"Laswell."

The Station Chief turns, manila folder files in hand, brows raised at the intrusion before her eyes widen at the sight of your tired figure.

"Gray..."

You don't wait to be invited inside, instead pulling up a chair as you let the door close behind you. Not fully out of a lack of respect but your legs were killing you and surely if you wait a second longer you'll literally tear a muscle. "You free?"

"Never. But, I can make time," she answers. "Is something wrong?"

You bite down on your tongue. What isn't wrong.

"I put in a request for council in resignation, ma'am. I'm just here to know if it went through."

"I did...receive your request," The woman is still quite surprised to see you, a bit off put at your presence, hearing about your scars was one thing, seeing them was another. "Of course. Though, I expected you to wait for my call before deciding to come to me."

"I'm sure," you feigned a slight chuckle that faded as soon as it started. You say nothing else but stare.

Laswell sighs, tossing down the folder she'd been holding. "Look, Lieutenant Gray--"

"Just (L/N)," you gritted out. "Please." You couldn't stand your codename at the moment, you didn't want to carry a single thing this team had given you.

"Lieutenant..." Laswell pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the long table, facing you, "You've accomplished much on the force, saved lives, eliminated threats that had the potential to level the united nations, your honors and distinctions. At the very least, here, your guidance is a treasure..."

"I'd like my resignation to be approved, Chief--"

Laswell continues. "I need you to careful think about what you're doing here, Gray--(L/n). I don't want you to be motivated by what's happened to you, you still have a place on the force, it doesn't have to be beside your team. Don't waste your talents in the field because of this experience."

"Experience," You scoffed at the word, nose cringing up in disgust at the downplay. "I didn't go on a rollercoaster at Disney World, god--I was tortured by my team for weeks while my fiancé threatened to kill me afterwards..." you were about to lose your mind. "What makes any of you think I'd want to stay here? Why can't any of you just respect my decision to leave? I'm resigning."

Laswell settles back into her chair, lips pressing together, she makes a hum of a sound. "I can arrange a transfer," she compromised. "But, my authorization goes through only after informing Price, he also needs to sign off on this."

Your jaw clenches, your fingers tightening around your clasped hands. "Then how about that favor you owe me?"

Station Chief straightens, brow lifting and arms crossed. "Excuse me, soldier?"

Sighing, reaching a hand into your bag, you bring out a folder of your own, some documents signed off. "I had to wonder who the evidence was sent to, given it was right after our mission and Price doesn't even look at his reports to sign off on something in under 24 hours, it wasn't him," watching as Laswell opened the folder, revealing her own name signing off on the interrogation, just a few of the photos that'd declared you guilty. "Thanks for ruining my career, Laswell."

She spreads out the evidence, her own signature on the papers, she breathes out. "And what are you trying to do here, Gray?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Trying to threaten me with what exactly--?"

"Nothing," you answered. "I'm asking for a favor, from someone I thought was my friend," you find it harder to say, Laswell's jaw clicks and she shifts in her chair. "You owe me that much."

"It's the job, (L/n). I was protecting our own, our resources were very promising."

"Until they weren't, huh?" you sarcastically gritted out.

"Yes..." Laswell sighs. "I do apologize, (L/n), but--"

"Just do this for me," you interrupted, pleading this time. "Please. I can't go to him, I can't even look at Simon, let alone Price. Forget about being in the same room with them. I just--I can't be here, this isn't where I belong anymore," looking down at your hands, the scars that circled your wrists. This was a final decision. "I'm resigning with or without you."

Rising from your seat, Laswell stands as you do, "You resign without clearance, they'll take everything from you. Your pension, your insurance, retirement, everything, you'll be dishonorably discharged, you understand that?"

"'Course, I do," you admit. "Honestly, I thought I'd be dead on a mission somewhere before I saw any of that, I don't expect anything out of this. Nothing's...worth any of this."

As you turn the handle to leave, Laswell speaks once more. "I just wanted to enlighten you on what I'm risking for you, signing off on this."

At that, you glance back to her, watching as the older woman sighs heavily, picking up a pen, opening up the manila folder she'd been holding onto previously. Opening it up to reveal your resignation papers.

"If I do this, when I call on you, Gray," Laswell says. "I expect you to be there."

As she wrote her signature down on the dotted line, you swallowed down the ache that's plagued you for weeks, "I swear."

As the station chief continues down the packet, turning to the next page and signing once again, you slowly slide back into your chair, sitting silently as you watch her sign off on your leave from military service.

You bring your hand up fast as a tear runs down your face, wiping it away before Laswell can see, sniffing quietly.

---

Walking slowly down the side hallway of the admin building, you stare out into space, your eyes glistening as you hold the signed resignation packet to your chest, pressing it to yourself tightly.

Passing the front desk, the security posted up at the elevators, you enter the main hall and come to a stop. Your grip on your documents tightening as you watch rain pour out onto the outer glass of the windows.

Watching the downpour outside, you can't seem to get your feet moving to just leave this place. That's all you need to do, just...walk right through it, into a car, past the gates, onto the highway. Just...go home.

As you flinch at the pitter patter of the rain hitting the building, a short burst of thunder, you try to inch your way closer to the doors but the closer you get, the more you can remember. The more you can feel.

The rain gets louder, and louder. It's cold, although you recall it being 90 degrees and in the middle of the desert. It must just be you.

Putting your folder away and into your bag, the automatic doors open for you, but it's too hard to step through. Staring out into the open landscape, the dividing border of the desert land and the gates surrounding the base. The dry ground now turning muddy, trucks driving by and the mud swelling up at the change in pressure, soldiers rushing through the rain, kicking up mud, flicking up umbrellas.

Breathing deeply, you scuff your shoes forwards, feeling the first drop hit your skin, it's warm, but it's no comfort. Gasping at the feeling, you stumble back into the building, the automatic doors closing.

Short gasps of breath quietly leave you, your nails burrow into the skin of your forearm, you stare at the rain as it pelts at the ground, flooding pot holes and falling into storm drains.

The automatic door opens again, you back up, shifting to the side, as an officer gives you a strange look as he walks past and into the rain.

Your hesitance to proceed into the rain was noticed by a few in the main lobby. Like Kyle, who still stood in his mission uniform, dropping off his reports to the main desk, getting off the elevator to see you staring up at the cloudy sky.

His eyes widening in shock, he's lost in his own world when he begins to take steps towards you, lips parting in disbelief, voice cracking as he breathes out to say, to beg or plead for forgiveness.

The automatic door opens again as you shuffle forwards to try to step outside, he doesn't fully notice your fear of the weather when he speaks.

"(Y/n)..."

You turn at the sound of your name and his eyes flicker to the large scar along your cheek, the red of your eye still, that had changed the color of your iris, maybe permanently. The way you hold your bag tight in your hands as if to shield it from the rain before yourself.

You don't say anything, he hadn't expected you to. You stare at him, surprised to see him, then the expression changes to terror, brows pulling inward and hands sinking into your bag to bring it closer. His heart aching at your reaction to him, his lips pressing together, he doesn't know if she should say another thing. Just let you go.

"(Y/n), I..." he can't help himself as he continues, breathlessly.

You back away from him, out of the building and into the rain. The moment it hits your back, soaking through your shirt, rain hitting the top of your head, down your back, you tense up and spin around.

Kyle's brows furrow, before worriedly witnessing as you curl into yourself instantly, crying out in terror, your hands coming up and over your head. "(Y/n)!"

Realizing what you'd done, your back hits the glass doorway, too late for the doorway to register you wanting to come back inside. You stumble to the corner of the building, just next to the doorway and under the too small gutter to find any shelter from the pelting water at your skin.

A loud sob leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut, you can feel the torture starting again, the unbearable freeze of your limbs, the force of crashing pounds of water along your spine. The screams they would pull from you...

Your torment lasts only a few seconds, suddenly the rain stops, but the sound continues around you. A coat settling around your shoulders and over your head, Kyle's hands on your shoulders, he's yelling over the thunder. "Come on, let's get you out of this. Come on, (Y/n)," he takes your arms. "Let me help you, please!"

"You did this," you cried. "I told you. I told you it wasn't me. But, you kept turning it back on! And then you'd leave it like that and it drove me fucking insane. I'll never be ok again, I can't--" hyperventilating. "Don't touch me, Kyle."

Kyle swallows thickly, head hanging low, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before leaning down to you. "I can't leave you here like this, please, love," he hauls you up to your feet. You shove him back, pressing yourself further into the corner, shaking, "(Y/n)--"

"Don't put your fucking hands on me. What don't you get, huh?" you spat. Pulling off the jacket he'd placed over you, tensing at ever drop of rain that fell over you after, but you toss it back at him. "I don't want anything from you. Never again."

"I'm sorry," Kyle clutches the jacket. "I'm so bloody sorry. I'm sorry for every damn thing I'd ever done to you. I'm sorry we didn't listen. I should've never done that to you. I didn't want to, I just--I thought I was doing the right thing for all of us," his voice breaks and he cries under the rain as his little sister, his family, hatefully stares him down. "I thought you'd give in, that it'd be over as quick as it started! I'm sorry I couldn't trust that you were telling the truth all that time."

"I don't want your apology!" you yell. "Cause you'll never know the same feeling. You'll never understand what you've taken from me. What you've done to me--" hiccupping painfully.

Kyle looks away from you, inhaling with a shudder, reddening eyes are covered as he raises his hands to run over his face.

"Your apologies. Your wishes for forgiveness," you seethe. " You should keep them. They mean nothing to me."

With that, you shove on past him, re-entering the building and rushing down the hallway, you turn the corner away from Kyle. Leaving the distraught man out in the rain, the automatic door sliding closed as he looks on after you.

Part 5 OUT NOW!

[screampied]

‘ SAVE A HORSE, MILK A . . DEMON ?! ’

ᡴꪫ sum. who would’ve known the king of curses can lactate? not you and certainly not him. this is dire, he needs help but more importantly - he needs you.

warnings. fem! reader, heian era, vırgin sukuna, pùssy drunk sukuna, established relationship, unprotected, láctation (sukuna), we literally milk him, squırting, nıpple play, brēeding, brief ōral (f! receiving), premature ejac, overstim, praise.

wc. 5.7k

an. elaborating more on here. need him so bad

“you, c’mere,” you pause dead in your tracks, feeling a bit special that the sukuna ryomen, your worthy king was seeking out for you. his voice was loud, it rang through the walls of his kingly chambers before huffing out a single breath. he rests on his throne - bawled fist smushing into the edge of his cheek and he grumbles. “quickly, woman. close the door behind you.”

without replying, you do as you’re told. closing the old wooden doors, they shut with a bang. the demon’s eye twitches and he does a quick scan around his domain — empty, good. “are you okay, my lord?” you break the silence with glossed eyes, gazing how his body language was more awkward than normal. he lets out a blow, flushed face growing heated the second your mouth opens. crimson red eyes peer into you and his hair was a bit more ruffled - sukuna’s kimono was halfway on and he looked like he was burning up.

“what do you think?” he snarls, and he rolls his eyes before staring at the ground. “tch, anyways. i . . require your pathetic aid, brat. i don’t ask for anything but—”

“just tell me what’s wrong.”

with a abrupt scoff, he yanks off the silky woven fabric of his kimono - callused fingertips brushing against the material. your eyes ogle at the sight he’s showing you, his exposed body. you’ve seen him shirtless countless of times but this time, it was different. the second your eyes rover toward his swollen perky nipples, you see it. pearly remnants of white droplets seep from him and you hold back a sheepish snort.

“oh,” and you’re stunned, hearing him groan. although it didn’t sound like an irritated groan as usual—it sounded more pleasurable. sukuna buries his sharp fingertips into his thigh before you inch closer, softening your voice. “my lord. are you . . lactating?”

there’s a long pause—his chest huffs and his pink cheeks puff out. the more you laid your eyes on him, the more embarrassed he became.

the air surrounding the both of you suddenly felt hot, and with one of his hands, he tightens his grip against his throne’s armrest. “no, i don’t even know what this is,” he gruffs, and his breath hitches once you come closer to fully examine him. your eyes skim down every part of his body. with his kimono hanging onto him by a thread, it’s almost falling off his body. you gaze at his perfectly sculptured body. his muscles—you could stare all day if you really wanted. people would kill to be this close to the king, and yet here you were. his pecs seemed a bit tender from appearance and his entire body was sheeny, covered with a shiny coat of sweat. his ancient tattoo markings that paint his skin—they were glowing a bit too, glowing an almost crystalline color. “tch. stop starin’ at it. it’s creepin’ me out.”

“sorry,” you hum, but you don’t lose sight at all. you couldn’t. averting your eyes back toward the problem, as you spoke—each nipple was leaking with creamy substance. “um, so how long has this been happening, my lord?”

sukuna slumps back against his throne in exhaustion. he’s breaking an entire cold sweat and his mind was in a literal euphoric daze.

his entire body feels like it’s sweltering with heat, it’s purely indescribable. but it feels good.

it takes him a good seven seconds before he finally murmurs out a hoarse reply. “ugh, it maybe started about a hour ago,” and he pauses, gnawing down on his bottom lip. you watch and you couldn’t lie—seeing him like this, so vulnerable and desperate—it did something to you. you’re so used to a ruthless cold-hearted king, it’s like this current sukuna was an entire different person, an imposter. briefly, ruby-red eyes meet back toward you. “just make it stop. please.”

“what—” you murmur, and your wrist was gently pulled upon. you don’t pull away from his grasp and he leads your hand closer toward his chest. his entire abdomen, it was so warm. sukuna was burning up, and now that your fingertips were brushing up and down against his skin, he was even hotter.

“don’t say anything, woman,” he curses, shame tremoring underneath his husky tone.

sukuna ryōmen was embarrassed, and his awkward body language was a dead giveaway.

the past hour was absolute hell for him, ironic considering. you can hear him panting between broken sentences before he lightly squeezes your wrist. “touch me. i think physical touch might h- help,” he grunts a stammer, back pressing into his steel made throne. “i read somewhere that you might ease my um . . issue if you touch me.”

“you mean ease your lactating?” you tease, taking the opportunity to get right on his lap. at the second you do, his breath hitches. the audacity, your legs wrap around his slim torso before meeting his glossed gaze.

sukuna grimaces. “don’t call it that, brat,” sucking his teeth in annoyance, he rests back against his kingly seat, eyeing you cautiously. a few of his arms grab ahold of your waist, pulling you closer. his pecs tense up at the proximity of bodies closing the remaining distance. his nipples were even more swollen by this point, and you couldn’t help but stare—gawk at the uncanny sight right in front of you. “but yeah. just do something.”

with the demon right underneath you, you felt him shiver once you scoot up against his lap. tresses of pink spiked hair were unkempt, sticking to his forehead as he’s just bathing in his own sweat. this entire situation had him hot, but your touch was only going to make it so much worse. he swallows the circular lump that forms in his throat only to then grow quiet as he watched you lower your head toward his chiseled pecs.

he’s so toned, you spot a few prodding veins roam down each of his four arms—perfectly coating his body along with his scars and ancient notorious marks. sukuna’s entire body was a canvas that you didn’t mind exploring. his entire body was painted either markings, you just wanted to see more of him.

the inside of his royal chambers was quiet, deadly quiet.

so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

“may i?” you murmur, using the padded print of your thumb to gingerly smear the dripping substance that leaks from his nipple. the way it poured out of him so effortlessly, it was so lewd.

you knew judging from his changing breath patterns that his pecs were where he was most sensitive. it wasn’t exactly rocket science.

although it’s the heian era—most would have took sukuna as a king who’s had his fair share of women. he has, but never anything intimate. he was secretly sensitive and shy, and furthermore, even touch alone was enough to get him off. with you though, he never minded your touch. it was his favorite.

“hmph. do your w- worst,” the demon grumbles, trying to have a bit of attitude but it’s clear he’s already wrapped around your pretty little finger.

he called you out of all his other servants and concubines for a reason. to him, he didn’t see you as either role, but rather just a human.

his human, maybe even his favorite.

at his bellowing comply, you bring your lips closer toward his chest. with hooded eyes—he ogles at the sight, his throne occasionally creaking at the moving pounds of weight that’s creating pressure.

as your head goes further into him, you do the least thing he’d expect. you latch your lips against his right nipple. sukuna lets off a throaty gasp, feeling your warm welcoming lips cling onto his pec with such ease.

“ugh, brat,” he groans, burying a few darkened nails into his left knee. it was tame—it was tame until your tongue decided to feature itself in, flicking slowly against his leaking nipple. you moan, fluttering your lashes shut as you savor the creamy taste that trickles its way into your mouth. “fuck, i said touch not s- suck.” and he finds himself pulling you closer, using a hand to cradle the back of your head. he’s never felt such a feeling. his pec was positioned right in your mouth and it felt so good.

you lean into his touch, sliding your twitching tongue in different directions purposely just to feel him squirm.

one of his arms drags you tighter, wrapping around your torso as you occupy your mouth.

the taste was sweet, it’s as if this entire thing was some sort of fantasy. of course—you had lots of questions, for starters—since when can demons lactate? rephrase that, since when can sukuna ryōmen lactate? but you were more of the ‘do first ask later’ type considering you were too busy to even ponder more of the thought.

sukuna bites his lip, feeling a strain in his boxers as he hears the occasional pops and slurrrrps of your mouth. “y- you’re fuckin’ nasty,” he huffs, but his voice cracks, butchering his once intimidating delivery entirely.

nasty but he didn’t want you to stop,

nasty but he felt himself getting hard the more you grind against his lap,

nasty but he’s holding back his needy bratty moans by biting his fangs down on his tongue.

sukuna purses his arched pink brows together into a frustrated furrow as his head tosses itself back. within seconds, you taste more of the candied flavor — it’s almost got a bit of a bittersweet honey taste to it. it sprinkles onto your sensitive taste buds and your eyes squeeze a bit, moving your head against each of his pecs to give them both equal amounts of attention. the demon’s nipples were even more red and swollen now, glimmering with your saliva dribbling from the centers. “hah, f- fuck,” he breathes, still maintaining a grip on the back of your head. you sit up to collect breaths yourself, licking your stained lips before he stares at you. his eyelids lower and he’s already whipped. “i— oh fuck.”

you raise a brow, opening your mouth to speak before you suddenly pause.

sukuna was quiet, too quiet.

with his kimono still half on, he’s practically shirtless. toned chiseled pecs stare at you right in the eye before you feel the heavy print of his dick directly underneath your shorts.

“my lord,” you sheepishly rub your neck, fingertips skimming against the few hairs that stand. there’s a certain wet spot that’s damp on the fabric of his lower clothing. your words were smooth, he could listen to you speak all day. with a smug smile curling against the corners of your lips, you throw your arms over his broad shoulders. “did you just . . cum?”

“nonsense,” sukuna denies you right away, the cutest grump of a pout stretching against his lips.

but, oh he did.

and it was a tough pill to swallow. sukuna, the sukuna who’s often known as his righteous title of being the king of curses, feared upon many, had just came. not only that, but he came from you sucking on his nipples. he came from the little problem he was currently having. out of all the enemies he’s beaten—this had to be the toughest one. he didn’t know how to deal with it nor did he know how to defeat it. the weakness was him.

and yet, that’s why he called you.

the feeling of your warm rotund lips attached to his nipples, he already missed it. it’s been seconds since you pried your mouth away and he missed it so bad. the way you sucked against his tender skin, your hot breaths fanning into his skin, making him even more hot.

sukuna was having withdrawals of you and your tongue slowly lapping up the excess ‘milk’ that dribbled out of each nipple.

this was crazy,

this is crazy.

he’s a demon for crying out loud—he’s never heard of demons doing such things. lactation. what even is lactation? sukuna knows such an activity was for women, not him.

but here he was, weak and panting like a dog, all for more of your beloved touch.

sukuna’s lying back, staring at you with docile blown irises—he’s at his worst, clammy hands never leaving the sides of your waist.

“fine. i . . came,” he murmurs in defeat, taking every spare second to gasp for air.

he’s drowning in sweat, probably drowning in his own heat too. with a pout continuing to compress across his lips, his voice lowers. but once you prepare to sit up, he lightly grabs your wrist. “fuck, don’t go yet,” he utters, knowing you did your part successfully in helping him. he hated how he was suddenly so weak, so dependent, so . . . submissive.

after all, you did help ease him a bit— although he was still begging for more.

it was as if some sort of sorcery spell was casted on him. this was a curse, yeah it had to be.

to sukuna, it couldn’t have been a more reasonable explanation. you peer at him as he speaks and he’s trying to find the exact right words without embarrassing himself. there’s a scowl that continues to marinate agaunst facial features before he sighs. “i- there’s somethin’ else,” he admits, hanging his head down in ignominy. he’s annoyed, sukuna groans at the words that were hanging onto his teeth—trying desperately not to slip them out but he can’t take it anymore.

he wants you.

he needs you.

“since you helped with my . . situation, it’s made me a little um—famished.”

you gulp, barely catching on to what he was implying—yet with a blink of an eye, you then find yourself arched over the arm of sukuna’s throne.

“i’m so fuckin’ starved,” he grunts, using a hand to caress the bare skin of your exposed flesh. serrated fingertips lightly graze against you as he feels everywhere that’s presented to him. the palm of his hand feels all up and down your curves, taking in your gorgeous physiques. he wanted to touch you. sukuna was horrible at expressing his feelings—yet he found himself humping his pillow at the thought of you. he didn’t know how to voice how bad he wanted you, but now that this moment was finally here, he couldn’t waste anymore time.

you’re so pretty, especially in such a erotic position. it seems as though a wave of clouded lust wafts in the air. sukuna tugs on the hem of your shorts, so needy to get a taste. he was dehydrated—but not for water.

“please,” a husky low voice pleads, groans and groans scratching out of his throat. you decide to tease him, wriggling your ass in the air right in front of his face before he hisses. “tsk. such a brat.”

“go ‘head.” you mumble, clinging onto the edge of the throne for support.

your positioning was a bit awkward but you made it work. you bury your head into your arms before he shifts—sitting up to prop himself right against you from behind.

sukuna wastes no time, dragging your shorts to your knees before scoffing at your laced panties. so soaked, his tongue eagerly licks against his lips as if it was natural animal instinct.

you weren’t just soaked, you were sopping.

he saw the dampened fabric and couldn’t help but lean in—placing his tongue right against the wet spot that formed. “ngh,” he purrs, and you feel the texture of his forked tongue tickle against your protected clit. you moan, biting back on your incoming words and growls before he gives your sloppy entrance a chaste kiss. “god, w- what’s wrong with me. i feel so hot.”

pathetically, he’s stammering out a bunch of words as he slowly laps his tongue against your sobbing cunt. sukuna grumbles in exasperation at how your panties got in the way of his ‘meal’ but literally forgot he had to actually pry take them off of you.

he was lazy though — so instead, he easily pulls them to the side to get a better and wetter view.

“so sloppy,” he snickers, admiring the way you’re dribbling with slick. it’s so ethereal, nothing like he’s ever seen before. a translucent tint colors down your drooling folds and you gasp once he starts to suck against your pussy. almost immediately, you throb right in his mouth and he feels the greeting pulse. “mhh—stay still, let me eat p-please.”

sukuna sounds so desperate—you don’t think you’ve ever heard your king beg.

he wasn’t begging for forgiveness, to cleanse sins, nothing of the sort. but alas, instead, he was just begging for pussy.

your pussy.

he couldn’t help it, especially when you tasted so good. your flavor was something he severely dreamt of devouring.

you might have just been his favorite for a reason. sukuna groans as his tongue maneuvers in multiple directions near your clit until he slurps vigorously against your tender labia. “fuck, m- my lord,” you whine, the stickiness between your thighs soaking more onto your skin.

you were dripping like a faucet, and it doesn’t take that long before his entire chin gets coated with your syrupy arousal.

it’s to no one’s surprise really, and he doesn’t even mind. he’s honored, lapping it up with his tongue before blowing his warm breath against your spiraling convulsing cunt. your breath continues to hitch and hitch as he dives his deeper. the button tip of his nose swipes back ‘n forth against your folds and you whimper.

he’s slurping you clean, through and through. sukuna’s got two wide hands to spread your ass apart more, delving his long pink tongue back and forth between your puffed entrance—you whimper out his regal title of his name and it falls off your tongue in such a sweet way every time. “y- your tongue’s so long, fuck. right there, don’t stoppp.”

but tasting you wasn’t enough - he wanted more.

strings of your webby slick entangle with his saliva as he suddenly departs his lips away. he’s gasping for air, swiping a tongue near your puckering hole before spitting right on it. a hand feels against your twitching cunt before he spanks it — his palm now coated with your slick.

you were sopping wet, and with how you just spurt on his hand, he wanted to make you wet even more.

it’s slow,

he watches with hooded eyes as your soddened entrance gets soaked and even more drenched. all from his hands and tongue. you could only imagine what he actually felt like from the inside.

“more,” was all he could moan out, and his pecs started to feel tender again.

his body was so strange—there’s a weird sensation that’s tingling in every part of him but it feels good.

you pout once he abruptly stops eating you out, only for him to flip you over. facing him and back on his lap, you’re met with the hungry eyes of a demon who wants more than just a taste.

he wants you.

with the help of his arms, he positions you upright on his lap again. you’re straddling him—but the difference was that you didn’t have any shorts on from before. “i- i want you to ride me, woman. can you do that?” and you can hear the faint plead in his voice—he looks desperate, he was breaking more sweats as each second passes.

“yeah,” you hum, cupping his face.

the demon surprisingly leans into his touch. the warmth of your palms made his heart stir into mush. a hand of his reaches down to play with the string of your panties that was shoved to the side but with quick reflexes—you grab his wrist. “nuh uh,” and he scowls, watching as you use your other hand to spring out his achy cock. “no touching just yet.”

he bares a fang at you. the nerve, if it was anyone else it’d be off with their head in an instant. but to sukuna, he found your teasing behavior to be quite . . cute.

of course, he’d rather perish than admit that thought to your face. just like how he secretly fantasizes about you but— he wants to keep at least some pride, even if it’s just a little.

“keh, you’re getting cocky, brat. remember your place,” he grouses, pink brows tugging amongst each other. his pout never left him and it only made him more adorable. sukuna’s eyes flicker down at your hand that’s now wrapped around his length. he swallows thickly, a breath of fresh air leaving from his full lungs. “hurry up. don’t got all da—”

“you talk too much,” you press your palm over his mouth, silencing the remaining of his sentence.

you’re met with a stone cold glare—but his vexed gaze gradually turns into a look of desired pleasure once you’re aligning yourself on his leaky tip.

his lips were so close to your palm - out of nowhere, you then feel his tongue lick against your hand. you refrain from giggling before feeling his angered tip slowly start to insert its way inside. the stretch, he’s so thick that your mouth drops open and you moan. he’s finally going inside—it’s better than he thought it would be. you’re so hot inside and it’s got his head spinning. gnawing on the skin of your lip, you let off a soft shaky whine. “fuck, you’re so big.”

he shakes his head, making you loosen your grip against his mouth before he boasts loudly. “heh, of course i’m big. you wouldn’t last a second with both of my cocks. i’d break you in hal— shit.”

he’s cut off by the rudeness of your cunt. you sink down on him and his tip poked a certain area inside of you that scratches your brain.

you bite back an incoming moan as your swollen cunt constricts around his length invitingly. his tip blushes inside—you reel into him, an attempt to steady yourself before already gasping for air.

the girthy stretch was immaculate, the base of his cock was tannish and already preparing itself to be milked. sukuna had a bit of a hooked curve. you felt it and you felt the stretch.

it was purely appetizing, almost drool worthy. just a few seconds in and he was already rearranging your insides. as you’re trying to start up a pace, you don’t know why but the thought of taking both of sukuna’s cocks made you a lot more wetter than you thought it would.

he’s mentioned it at least once or twice and you knew for a fact he probably would break you. there’s no probably, he really would. the demon was twice your size—alas anything was possible.

you lean in for a kiss and he instantly responds by returning the gesture. you taste so flavorsome and sweet - his tongue swirls against the lip gloss that paints on your mouth before he groans.

with lips moving in syncing tavern, you start to rock your hips a bit quicker.

the creaking of his throne gets louder until it’s just echoing, bouncing off the ancient walls of his chambers.

your cunt was just being ravaged by his hefty size, he’s just so big that you could barely even keep up your hips at first. sukuna’s hands—all of his hands roam over your body, clinging onto your hips and even a few feel near your chest. he gives your breasts a soft squeeze, a few thumbs toying with your perky nipples that poke out through the wooly-made blouse you were.

“f- fuuuck,” he swears between hot kisses, clawing a hand at your back.

as you rode him, his heartbeat starts to accelerate. you were a menace, rutting clashing hips gave him whiplash as the minutes pass. you were coating him in a mess of your own. sappy strings of your juices form into a saturated web with his own colorless mess that resides near his thickset base. you’re being so stretched. you cup his face once more whilst tongues fight and fight for dominance and tango together.

above him—you’re just a puddled mess.

sukuna couldn’t keep his hands off you no matter how hard he tried.

strained inhales escape out of him while he breaks away from kisses every few seconds. you were addicting - addictive.

his velvet red lips were all swollen and pursed up from your kisses and he’s desperately yearning for more of your syrupy forbidden taste. you were sweet, but your pulsating cunt was even sweeter.

with a quick piston of his hips, you felt your body jolt up. “hngh,” you gasp, wrapping your arms around his broad neck once more. from the neck down, his entire body was lathered with perspiration. sukuna was already feral, his hair was a mess and his fangs stuck out from his lips as he lies back. he hits every part of you so good, every single spot.

you’re struck in awe at how well his cock carves its way through your insides so perfectly, so thoroughly. it knows exactly where to go, never once missing the crevices of your pussy. despite having little to no experience—you could say he was definitely a quick learner. sukuna’s cock french kisses against your g-spot a plethora of times, creating a sloppy trail of them to send every part of your body butterflies. “ ‘m getting close, ‘kuna.”

“tsk. it’s still ‘my lord’ to you,” he corrects.

yet even though he’s trying to keep his cold façade - he’s failing miserably. sukuna’s bottom lip quivers as he cups your chin, hearing the filthy weeping squelches of your cunt grow louder. with each thrust, it gets more blaring to his ears and he groans at the tenderness he’s constantly feeling. “but ‘m gettin’ close too. so f- fuckin’ close.”

you hear how his voice shakes — his irises, they’re dilating from how you’re intently staring back.

but oh, he’s whipped.

a pair of hands grip onto your waist tightly, encouraging you to create more haste with your movements. your body swerves in swift arcs, feeling the sudden lock occur in your knees that’s buried into his thighs. he’s hitting you deep and he’s hitting you raw. you blabber out a few whimpers before slumping into his chest.

“fuck, fuck,” you sob out, reaching a hand down to spread two fingers against your pearled clit. you were throbbing, a sheath of your arousal then starts to cover his entire length the more you bounce. your folds were weeping as you grinded further against him. but as you’re chasing your incoming high, you lean in toward his pecs, taking one of his sensitive nipples into your mouth again.

and sukuna does the one thing you never thought he’d ever do.

he whimpers.

it sounds so pretty - so harmonic.

it’s like it happens on random—out of nowhere, he starts to lactate again. the familiar taste from earlier cascades down on your tongue and you suck a bit harder, moaning against his sensitive skin.

the jittery vibrations of your noises makes him groan, awkwardly ruffling your hair. “hah, g- good girl. milk me, that’s it. jus’ like that, keep going.”

and your hips slow down a bit so you can get a good angle. as you come to a brief stop, your body acclimates against him, but even still—you had a lot to get used to, especially with how well he stretched you out.

it’s pouring out a lot now, a bit of it starts to dribble down your chin and he just watches.

his cock twitches at the sight and you feel it from the inside. both bodies move rhythmically against each other and it feels like momentarily bliss.

your hand still has itself occupied between your thighs, playing with yourself to quicken your release.

it was right there, right at the tip of your tongue. sukuna moves a few strands of hair out of your face as you sucked against each pec. as he silently watches, if you squint you could see heart eyes forming in his pupils.

his nipples had so many nerves - so many nerves that he felt.

“god,” he curses, his thigh starting to bounce. you both were close, so so close.

sukuna feels his body temperature grow hotter the more your tongue whisks against each tender nub. it spills down the crevices of your lips. again, he’s just thinking how such a thing was even possible. you were so unapologetically messy too, he used a thumb to swipe the milky dripping substance away from the fissures of your plump lips.

you moaned, the stimulation of your cunt adequately sucking him dry continuously making you more and more aroused.

leisurely, an unpredictable wave of electricity prepares itself as you’re rutting into him on constant repeat. your unsteady rhythm had his jaw locked and he could barely utter out any final words at the moment because your pussy had him so utterly drunk.

the epitome of pussy drunk,

you finish first and it’s like you were shooting actual blanks.

your mind goes dimwitted as you’re gushing all over his cock, covering him in your obscene filth. “fuck, fuck,” you whimper out in a whine of individual babbles and doing so, your hips pick up again its recent speed. just for a moment. he groans at the skin against skin contact, throwing his head back and his adam’s apple bobs. it’s such a sight, you throbbed right between your legs.

sukuna crudely spanks your ass, his palm leaving a temporary sting before he squeezes it, admiring the precious recoil.

it takes you a second to realize you’re squirting. you were already dumb, but once you’re finally succumbing to pleasure, your mouth opens. “oh my goddd.” you elongate your moans, dragging out your sweet melodic words. your walls were preparing to wring him dry. from the inside—they cling onto him tight like velcro, you were attached and there was no pulling you off.

as you moan out your final vehement whines, you go back to sucking on his tender nipples and now . . . it was his turn.

“y’ jus’ squirt all over me ‘n ya still haven’t had enough,” he whews, his cock repeatedly and rigorously punctuating each single thrust. there’s a ringing in his ears, it’s loud and deafening. sukuna’s eyes grow droopy at the mere feeling and repetitive sounds of skin slap slap slapping every few seconds.

“ ‘m gonna cum—” and he pauses, gingerly pulling your head up so you can face him directly. your hips start to slow down again but it’s still got somewhat of a fair pace. with his bottom lip poking out, he’s still pouting visibly. “oi, brat. i- i can finish inside, huh? wanna fill you up. ‘m burnin’ up, fuck.”

you give him a nod, savoring his frosted taste that’s still remaining to drizzle onto your tongue.“mhm,” and as you’re still very much sensitive yourself, you slowly jerk back and forth despite how your pace wasn’t as fast as it was before.

“fuck, ‘m gonna give you so much,” he grunts, dewy lips mashing together as he spoke. he was so full and yet he had so much to give. sukuna feels himself grow inside you from each pump, he’s so thick that you’re just wholly tongue-tied.

the muscles in his abs tense and tighten before he grabs the fat of your ass with a single bare hand. “shit shit, take it all. take it all please.”

and at his feeble pulse, the moment finally comes where he shoots inside.

sukuna collapses back into his throne, bringing an arm hand toward himself to cover a broad hand over his face.

he grunts lowly into his palm and its sexy, his posture was so lazy and yet he was still so pent up. your limbs were just as limp as his, weak and defeated. a decent load of cum oozes into you raw and you gasp whilst his perky nipple was still in your mouth.

coincidentally enough, as he’s cumming—he ends up lactating at the same time too. more of his creamy substance pours onto your tongue while he’s pumping you full of satiny fresh ropes of sultry hot cum. it’s carnal.

you moan, losing yourself in such pungent nirvana as his taste suddenly turns sweeter.

sukuna was milked out entirely. he’s squeezing against your ass even tighter as he’s dumping such massive loads into your needy cunt. it was goopy—strings and strings of his cum tangle with your slick juices and you only imagined what it looked like up close. your hips moderately slow all the way until you’re just barely grinding against him now.

panting, you find yourself tracing the outline of his ancient tattoo markings with the tip of your finger.

your touch, by this point he was gonna cum again.

it’s a lot. actually, saying it was a lot was a bit of an understatement.

you don’t register how much he’s flooded into your pussy until you finally pry your mouth away from his chest, looking down at the impure sight.

so much, your entrance was filled to the very brim with such a nice amount, sweltering from the outside of your folds.

“you’re really sensitive,” you breathe, numbing thighs of your own gluing together against him. you didn’t want to move because it would spill out but it did anyway. a few wads of creamy ropes dribble down your swollen slit and you watch, scrapping a bit of it up with your thumb. “mmm,” you coo out, shoving and smearing the sticky strands of filth back inside. you felt so full, you don’t think you’ve ever felt more stuffed. the base of his cock was gummed with your slick along with a concoction of his own miry mess.

as you’re still trying to recollect breaths, you plant a kiss near the corner of his lips, watching it twitch at your touch. “my lord, you did so good. i didn’t think you’d cum from just getting milked.”

“s- sukuna,” he whines out his name as a form of correction. doing so, you lean into his touch once he cups your chin for the nth time.

his hold on you was always gentle—he’s got the most neediest look in his eyes, longing for you to continue to ‘aid’ him of his problem.

you worn him out— not only that but you milked him for all he was worth and yet he was still cumming.

“jus’ call me sukuna,” and your heart flutters at the sudden privilege. you’re still straddling him, keeping his cock warm before he leans in for a kiss.

you thought it was a kiss but instead, he inches his face toward your chin before lolling out his long forked tongue, licking the remaining excess milk that was running down your chin from earlier. “call me sukuna, mistress . . please.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

I found and read this cute story on AO3, about Frostbite being Danny's legal parental guardian. In the story Bruce Wayne runs into Frostbite (in his full yeti glory no disguise) who is setting up for school bake sale. Got me thinking about what if Danny's past rogues took turns filling in and doing parental stuff especially at school functions. Like Frostbite does the bake sale, Pandora shows up for his games, Ghostwriter goes to all of the PTA meetings, Clockwork goes to teacher meetings, so on and so forth.

The 43rd Annual Gotham Academy Bake Sale by Faeriekit

Ohhh, that sounds good! I'll get it a read when I have some time. Thank you for the rec!

Danny Fenton is one of the lucky few who have a very involved household. His various family members would always sign up for any school event the boy needed support in. It didn't mean that the boy won everything, but as a teacher for nine years, Emily has come to learn how much it mattered to just have someone show up.

She had seen students whose entire faces light up after spotting someone in the crowd in the same amount she saw a student's hope crumble after they scanned the room.

Danny was a polite young man, a bit on the shyer side, but kind and not a troublemaker, his previous school had her believe. If anything, he seemed to struggle with fitting in, but no students blatantly disliked him.

The general opinion of Danny matched, as her students would say, "I know him from class, but I don't really talk to him. He seems cool though".

Maybe that's why so many people were supposed by his family to march into the auditorium during Danny's talent show. Seeing him wave at the row before starting his gymnastic act had been such a surprise.

Now, Gotham wasn't a close-knit community, not with the size of their city and the millions of people living within it, but everyone would have noticed that Danny was adopted.

After all, he was the only one that wasn't glowing or a large humanoid animal. They cheered the loudest among the crowd; uncaring Danny got bronze- having lost to Joey's tapping dancing for second and Damian's spectacular multi-instrumental cover of a meme song for first place- and Danny beamed back at them.

Gotham was known for not being meta-friendly, but that was only due to a few mean people who shouted the loudest on media outlets. Many of Emily's students were meta, had family that were meta, or knew someone meta. It wasn't a common enough trait one would encounter a meta on every outing, but you would see them in Gotham well enough.

Everyone knew, but no one said it out loud. In the same way, she knew which students' parents were in the country illegally but worked harder than anyone else. Saying anything would help the cops, or worse, the rich running Gotham.

Even the most prejudiced Gothamite would rather be spat on then give them aid. And those who were so prejudiced to help the poor man's enemies, well, Emily has lived here long enough to know they vanished rather quickly. The smart ones kept their mouths shut.

No one could forget what happened to that guy who accidentally insulted Penguin. His grandmother had been an illegal immigrant on his mother's side.

No one messed with that side of the family.

"Hello, Mrs. Jackson." Danny's adoptive father, Dr. Frostbite said, ducking down to avoid banging his head on the door. On one of his shoulders was a box of hotdog wieners; on the other were multiple bags of bread. "I'm here for my snack bar shift."

Emily tilts her head back to look the Yeti in the eye. He had been shocked the first time they met, but she could admit that Dr. Frostbite was a relatively gentle and wise soul. "Welcome aboard. The girls are just about to take the field. You can put that down by the crock pot over there."

The mountain of white fur brushes by her with the grace of a king as Dr. Frostbite does as she says. There were no customers at the window, so she leaned on the counter and offered him a smile. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yes. I was saddened our team did not win, but Danny hit a home run." Dr. Frostbite's sharp smile could have been frightening if he wasn't oozing parental pride. "I caught it all on video."

Emily opens her mouth to respond when a hand lands loudly on the counter with a loud crack. Her heart leaps, and she looks into Danny's Ember. She isn't one of Emily's students, though she does appear to be a teenager in appearance.

You know. If it wasn't for her hair made of fire. Or her blue skin. Or her glow.

"I set a boy on fire," She announces with a cackle.

"That's so?" Dr. Frostbite gently rips open the box, taking out the hotdog packages. With one large claw, he rips a hole into it and lets the few weiners slide into the crockpot with a gentle splash. "What did he do?"

"Tried to slap me on the butt." She huffs, rolling her eyes, but her smirk doesn't lose an edge of smugness.

"Well done." Dr. Frostbite praises placing the lid back on. It always surprised Emily to see such careful actions from the large creature. "I assume you did so out of Pandora's line of sight?"

"Naturally. I don't want her lecturing me in front of the whole community." Ember scoffs, crossing her arms. Behind her, the top of Pandora's head can be seen swinging side to side over the dugout, keeping an eye on the ball.

She was the best volunteer referee because even the parents knew not to shout insulting things when she was present. Emily doesn't think she has had such peaceful games in a long while. Hopefully, Danny will try out again for baseball next year so the woman can return.

"Oh hey, you're Danny's English teacher, right? Mrs. Johnson?" Ember asks, leaning on the counter to give Emily a curious look.

When the blond nods, holding out her hand for a shake. "That's right. It's nice to see you again, Ember."

The girl's hair flairs a little as a grin grows on her face. Her hand is ice cold to the touch, but she's got a firm grip that her husband would appreciate. "Likewise. I got a message for you from Ghostwriter. He sent the notes for the last PTA meeting to you and the revision playwright for the musical you two were working on."

Emily's mood brightens up. "That's wonderful. Could you tell him I'll check it out when I get home and get to my laptop since my phone broke in the last Two-Face attack?"

Ember's hair flickers in the wind when she nods, but Danny bounces right up behind her just as she opens her mouth to speak. He's wearing his Gotham Acadamy Baseball uniform with pride despite them losing. "Hey, Frostbite, can I go with Tim and Duke to get Peoeria Pizza? We'll be back before the girl's game ends."

"Only if you take Ember with you," Dr.Frostbite says, nodding to his daughter, who looks alarmed to be included. "She needs more friends."

"Hey!"

"Sure. Come on, Ember, you'll get along with Duke. He likes old-school rock."

"It's not old-school!"

Emily laughs, watching the two siblings bicker as they stride away, blending into the crowd with no one batting an eye at the glowing girl anymore. How blessed that boy was.

"I'm glad Danny has gotten comfortable here. I always worried he never was going to have a normal childhood." Dr. Frostbite confesses to swirling the hotdogs around in the water to ensure each one is cooked.

"I think you and the rest are doing a wonderful job. You're a great father." She assures him, thinking wistfully of her William. He's been on deployment for a few months now and will likely miss the holidays again, but his contract is almost up. They may try for a child when he gets in the reserves. "How are things at the clinic?"

"Oh, wonderful. I'm grateful that Mr. Wayne has allowed the expansion of Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. Dr. Thompkins will be covering the east side of Gotham while I help those on the west. It's much more fulfilling than working in some hospital that demands funds for the silliest things. Back home, that would have been illegal. The people would have burned me at the stake if I had allowed anyone to pass away due to greed."

"My kind of people." She laughs. A sharp crack sounds from the field as the bat makes contact with the ball, and the crowd goes wild. It's a wonderful day.

[fatherbrat]

LET'S SNEAK, AOT MULTI

sum. various aot boys and how they fuck you while trying to keep your relationship a secret. inspired by lyrics from sneak by leon thomas :p

feat. eren jaeger. jean kirstein. connie springer. armin arlert.

cw. cheating/infidelity, missionary & doggy, face-sitting, a nasty blowjob, praise, riding/cowgirl, creampie, office sex, risky sex, hold the moan, reader has multiple orgasms, some angst if you squint, not proofread...

wc. 2.7k

EREN JAEGER “can i fuck you in the daytime, daytime? even though that pussy isn’t mine.”

Eren’s moral compass is a bit skewed.

But you wouldn’t dare tell him that. He’d only throw it right back in your face, claiming you're worse. You’re the one with a boyfriend after all. He’s single. Technically.

“Where’s the boyfriend?” Eren asks as soon as he crosses the threshold into your home. He doesn’t bother waiting for a response before pulling his shirt off.

You close the front door behind you and sigh. “He’s out of town. Look…” You hesitate, not really wanting to finish your sentence, even though you know it’s long overdue.

Eren turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown a conscience.” He doesn’t sound annoyed, or even surprised. More like…intrigued. Regardless, the words make you wince.

“He wants to take me to meet his parents,” you tell him, avoiding eye contact.

Eren lets out a whistle. There’s a moment of silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts, before you hear the sound of Eren unzipping his pants.

You stare at him. “What are you doing?”

He smirks. “I’m already here. Might as well go out with a bang.”

You don’t bother wasting any time pretending you weren’t hoping he’d say that. You strip, and almost immediately you’re pressed against a wall. Eren kisses you in a way that can only be described as needy, like he’s taking extra and stowing it away for later.

His hands are everywhere, squeezing and caressing and memorizing.

When he lays you down on the sofa, you aren’t expecting him to plant his tongue between your thighs.

“Eren–”

“Shhh,” he whispers, lifting his head to meet your eyes. “This is the last time, right?” He waits for you to nod before continuing. “Let me savor it.”

He makes surprisingly quick work of making you come and kisses you right after so you can taste yourself on his lips. When he fucks you he does it slowly, agonizingly, eyes glued to your face as he watches your lips part when he bottoms out.

Your nails dig into his back. “Eren, don’t tease,” you huff. “Faster.”

He smiles down at you, shaking his head slightly. “You’re so impatient,” he says, clicking his tongue. “What happened to letting me savor it?”

You squirm beneath him. “Fuck savoring. Fuck me.”

Eren doesn’t need to hear you say it twice. He picks up the pace, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as he grabs your waist.

“Gonna miss this pussy,” he breathes against your skin. The way he says it is tender, a stark contrast to the rough way he pounds you. You wonder, just for a second, if he really means that he’s going to miss you.

But Eren can see your mind wandering. He taps your cheek.

“Hey. Pay attention. You haven’t come enough times to start losing your mind already.”

His eyes narrow as he takes in the sourness of your expression, unimpressed by his statement.

He huffs and pulls out. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around and get on all fours.”

You frown but comply. He rests one hand flat against your back, pushing you down into the perfect arch before he prods your slit with the tip of his cock.

“Gonna make you see stars,” he mutters, before burying himself inside you.

And he does. His rhythm is dizzying, and it has you biting into the couch cushions, groaning with every stroke.

His arm wraps around your hips so he can lay his hand flat on your lower belly. When he travels lower and starts to circle your clit, all the muscles in your core tighten. He doesn’t slow down when you reach your climax. In fact, you think he goes faster.

“Fuck, Erennn,” you whine, dragging out the last consonant of his name as you dig your fingernails into your palm.

“I know, I know. Takin’ me so well. One more.”

You try to remember what he’d always say, something about good girls coming in threes, or maybe third time’s the charm. Something that meant he’d always make you come three times before leaving. It’s hard to think of what it was when you can hear him slamming against your ass.

He draws out the third one in no time, calling you his good girl as you moan into the sofa.

It’s bittersweet when he pulls out, and you wish he would make you come in fives or something. Eren gives you a look that tells you he can tell what you’re thinking.

He presses his lips to your forehead as he pulls his pants on and you can sense the goodbye in it.

“Take care of yourself, mkay? I’ll see you around.”

You watch him leave, wondering if you’ll see him for real.

JEAN KIRSTEIN “know you wanna keep this thing discreet. hear you calling through the streets.”

You’ve molded Jean into the perfect fuck buddy.

He’ll drop everything to come over the minute you text, doesn’t spread your business around, and always makes you come first.

“Right there, right there, fuck.” You grind against his face, throwing your head back as your grip around the headboard tightens. 

Jean hums into your pussy as you orgasm, grazing his teeth against your clit as you ride it out. 

Your body goes limp and he swiftly comes out from underneath you, laying you down on the bed gently as he peppers kisses across your skin.

“I’m gonna grab you some water,” he says, not waiting for a response before leaving your room. 

You watch him go, a small smile sitting on your face. He’s become so attuned to you, always at your beck and call, willing to cater to you in any way you ask. 

It’s the kind of behavior that makes you want to suck his dick. 

So, when he returns from the kitchen holding a glass of ice water, you ask him. 

“Do you wanna throat fuck me?”

Jean freezes, staring at you like you’ve grown a second head. You suppose you have—it’s been nine months since the two of you started fucking and you have yet to go down on him (not that he’s ever complained). Still, you’d be offended at the look he’s giving you if it weren’t for the obvious erection growing in his pants.

You tilt your head to the side, eyeing his crotch before meeting his gaze. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” he answers quickly, suddenly unfrozen and eager. He places the glass on your dresser, slipping out of his sweatpants and moving towards you. 

Jean watches you roll off the bed and onto the floor, sitting up on your knees and looking at him with an expression that almost makes him dizzy.

Something feverish blazes in his eyes when he stands in front of you, and you have to work to keep the excitement off your face when he tugs down his boxers. 

He strokes his cock idly, watching you look up at him. “You sure?”

This time you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “I’m sure.”

He taps his dick on your lips, tentatively, and you open up. He shudders when you run your tongue along the underside of his tip. 

Jean cradles your head in his hands as he pushes himself all the way into your mouth. There’s a shaky inhale from him when he hits the back of your throat. 

“Oh shit,” he breathes. 

You close your lips around him, hollowing out your cheeks, and something in him snaps.

The speed at which he thrusts into your mouth is almost violent, and he moans when you gag, the pads of his fingertips pressing harder into your scalp. He’s already sensitive from being rock hard the whole time you sat on his face, and his sloppy in-and-out, in-and-out motion drags your spit everywhere–your face, his pelvis, even your chest. 

The feeling of him hitting your throat makes your eyes water, and you feel him growing impossibly harder against your tongue when you look up at him with glassy eyes.

He doesn’t last long, not with you looking at him like that. He’s mumbling an apology as he fills your mouth, saying if you weren’t so perfect he would’ve lasted longer. You’re grinning as you swallow down his cum, watching how his eyebrows furrow as he looks at your neck, and he kneels down to kiss you immediately. 

When he pulls away, he’s looking at you with a soft sort of wonder. Admiration almost. A bashful smile pulls at his lips. 

“Can we do that again?”

CONNIE SPRINGER “she like rich niggas, i’m her type. bored at the crib, she tryna pipe.”

conniiieee come over, im bored ;)

Connie smiles to himself when he reads your texts, his dick nearly stirring to life at the implication of your messages.

Despite your agreement to keep your… situation lowkey, he always pulls up to your apartment complex on his motorcycle, practically alerting the masses that he’s about to come upstairs and rock your shit. 

You meet him at your front door, scowling. “Why do you always show up on that loud ass bike? I know you have a car now.”

Connie just smiles, scooting around you to come inside. “You keeping tabs on me, baby?”

You roll your eyes and kick the door shut. “Sasha won’t stop raving about how cool it is.” You do air quotes around the word ‘cool,’ trying to imitate the lilt in Sasha’s voice when she talks about it.

Connie drops his motorcycle helmet on the shoe rack by the door. “It is cool. If you’d stop being so stubborn and take me back I could take you for a ride.”

But there’s really only one kind of ride you’re interested in right now! Which is how you end up straddling him on the couch, pressing kisses into the side of his neck.

Connie’s hands rest loosely on your hips, letting you grind against him as slowly as you want. Your breathing is shaky, sweat coating your skin, a byproduct of the last four orgasms. You lift yourself off him on trembling legs, higher and higher until just the head of Connie’s cock remains inside you. You catch his eyes briefly, and the mirth swimming in them is the only warning you have for what he does next.

His fingers tighten their grip on your hips, tugging you back down on his cock harshly. A strangled sound escapes you, air catching in your throat with the sudden movement.

“Con-”

He kisses you, cutting you off as he bounces you up and down. 

“Last one, mama,” he says against your lips. 

You can feel an ache in your legs from them being bent underneath you for so long, your head is fogged up with leftover pleasure, and there’s a pressure building up deep in your stomach. This is why you keep letting him come over all these months after your breakup. He knows just how to wear you out.

Connie pulls you against him, chest to chest, and wraps his arms around you. He lets you rest your forehead against his as his cock brushes up against your g-spot, forcing moans out of you that can only be described as wanton.

“That’s it, baby. Nobody fucks you like this, huh?”

You shake your head, your nose nudging his. “Just you.”

Connie practically purrs in satisfaction, right before he comes inside you. You melt against him, the pressure in your abdomen releasing as you cry out. Connie’s lips sweep across your jaw, patient and gentle while he waits for you to come down.

When you do, he leans back, eyelids heavy with contentment. You can feel him softening inside you. You already know what he’s about to say just based on the expression he’s wearing, but you wait for him to ask before giving the same response you always do.

“Y’know we could do that all the time if you’d take me back.” He doesn’t sound as heartbroken as he used to, like he’s grown used to this back-and-forth the two of you have going on.

You give him a wry smile, wiping beads from the back of your neck. “We didn’t break up because the sex was bad, Connie.”

He kisses you then, soft and lingering. “Worth a shot.”

He cleans you up and you let him take a shower and rummage through your drawers for the few pieces of clothing you never returned to him. When he’s leaving, he throws a wink your way, picking up his motorcycle helmet with one hand and unlocking the door with the other.

"Text again soon, alright? Love you."

ARMIN ARLERT “always down for an afternoon delight, but i can never crash and spend the night.”

“We have to stop,” you whisper halfheartedly, tangling your fingers in Armin’s hair as he kisses you.

Armin smiles against your lips. “Why?” he asks, his hands traveling down the length of your pencil skirt. He starts kissing down your neck, mouth going lower and lower until his fingers reach the hem of your skirt.

He pulls your skirt up over your ass, letting it bunch up around your waist. You giggle when he turns you around and gently presses your cheek against the door.

“I’ll get fired if HR finds out,” you say, arching your back as he pulls down your underwear. Your wet cunt feels a rush of cool air when he does, and you gasp when Armin plunges his fingers in. You feel the weight of his chin on your shoulder as he presses his chest against your back.

“But she’s so wet,” he whispers in your ear. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like that HR could find out.”

You neither confirm nor deny, just humming and wiggling your bare ass in response.

He chuckles, the sound traveling straight down to your core. Armin doesn’t give any warning before he slips himself inside you. He pulls you away from the door after the fact, covering your mouth with one hand and wrapping the other arm around your waist.

The hardest thing (other than Armin) about keeping your lunch “meetings” secret is the fact that neither of you are particularly quiet. Armin muffles your moans with his hand and muffles his own by biting into the junction of your neck and your shoulder. There’s nothing to be done about the sound of his hips slapping against your ass or his cock sliding in and out of your pussy. All the two of you can do is hope nobody comes back from lunch early and walks past the copy room on the fourth floor. 

(But anyways, where’s the fun in it without a little risk.)

You moan into Armin’s hand when he hits a particular spot and he slows. He uses the hand on your face to tug your head back. “So noisy,” he says, lips brushing against your neck as he speaks. “I know you want the whole office to hear, but don’t be so obvious.”

Your walls clench around him and he hisses, picking up the pace once more.

“You like thinking about our coworkers hearing you?” You shake your head, but the way your pussy squeezes him proves you to be a bold-faced liar. 

Armin’s teeth graze your shoulder, his breath hitching as his hips lose their rhythm. 

“Go ahead then,” he whispers against your skin. “Let them hear.” He moves his hand from your mouth and loosely wraps his fingers around your neck instead. 

Another moan threatens to escape you, but you refuse, rolling your lips between your teeth in an attempt to keep quiet. 

Armin bites you then, and you gasp loudly. His thrusts become careless as he frantically chases his own orgasm. He brings his hand back up to your face, this time slipping two fingers between your lips and pressing down on your teeth so you can’t close your mouth. 

You can hear the faint sound of footsteps that signal the end of your lunch break. A door opens, and voices become audible as your coworkers get closer.

Armin smacks your ass, hard, and it’s enough to pull you over the edge. The two of you come together, him sinking his teeth into your skin to suppress his own moans. You bite down on his fingers, but it does little to help. You’re positive the entire office can hear you screaming his name.

(づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡

[pearlymel]

My lady—

Synopsis. Sometimes zayne thinks of you as his owner, well, as a cat at least.

Warnings. NSFW, no plot, fem reader, kinda subby zayne, oral (f and m receiving.) 1.6k words.

Notes. A little something to get ready for the upcoming bang bang cards. Also happy holiday's and new year!!

"Well aren't you being a good butler kitty for me?" You grin, enjoying every bit of this. It was rare to see Zayne like this or for him to act this way.

"I aim to please." And you shudder at his words, his other hand smoothly glides up from your ankle to your calf, the fabric of your dress riding up, up...

For a moment he's silent, content to take in the view while gently caressing your leg. But he can only be patient for so long. "Come here." he murmurs, hand tightening around your ankle once again.

Such a demanding cat, he's satisfied only once you're sitting right on the edge of the armrest, his body pressed in between your legs. By still holding your ankle, he pushes, encouraging you to rest your calf on his shoulder and to wrap the other leg around him. One of his hands rests on the armrest to support his weight, while the free hand traces a light path down your bared inner-thigh.

"I'll be whatever you want me to be," he murmurs. "Your butler, your pet, your— "

He cuts himself off, swallows hard. Careful. He doesn't want to scare you off with the intensity of his feelings. Instead he settles for a simple, "Your Zayne.”

“ah… you're a bold kitty too.” You half chuckle when he starts nuzzling his nose into the bend of your knee, "you smell good." Literally drunk on your scent.

The hand on your thigh moves higher, pushing your dress up further and you instinctively tug at his hair, “hey—”

Zayne lets out a groan when the hand in his hair grips tighter, "Pull harder, my lady."

“i don't want to hurt you.”

"You won't."

He nips at the skin of your inner thighs just a bit harder, licking the spot when your hand jerks in his hair again.

Zayne nuzzles against your clothed pussy, his nose brushing and bumping through the cloth. Another inhale, another low, rumbling sound of contentment.

You grit through your teeth, this was enough to actually turn you on and make the fabric a little damp from your arousal.. How embarrassing.

His fingers hook in the band of your panties, this time pulling harder. The sound of tearing fabric fills the room, and you gasp. The rest of them parting easily under his hands.

“Zayne—!” he doesn't give you a chance to react before he's leaning in and dragging the flat of his tongue along your slit. He starts slow, licking and sucking at your clit before teasing your hole with the tip of his tongue. His hands smoothly slide up your thighs, fingers digging in slightly as he holds you open for his ministrations.

Zayne loves it when you tug at his hair. He loves to tease you with his mouth, but he also loves this, the reaction.

The little twinges of pleasure-pain, the gentle scratches over his scalp and ears. The feel of your thighs, trembling just barely against his ears.

He can tell you're struggling. You're holding your breath to keep quiet, your squinting unfocused eyes. His head turns, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh to let his tongue curl over your skin in a soft swipe.

He wants to hear you, but he won't force you—not when you're so sweetly silent for him, "breathe, sweetheart.”

One glance down at him, and you part your lips to ‘breathe’ only for it to come out as a whine when he slides his middle finger in, slipping into your cunt easily.

His free hand slides under your knee when you start squirming, holding it up to keep you still, "don't move.” a whisper before he presses in further, curling inside your deepest most sensitive repeatedly that you forget you were supposed to be in ‘control’.

Not like this, a moaning, whining mess from one finger and his lips closing around your bundle of nerves. You don't even notice it happening next, when you're almost crying as you suddenly cum—

“Mmh, Zayne i can't—can't—” and you're gushing out embarrassingly fast, eyes rolling back with the back of your hand covering your quivering mouth.

Meanwhile Zayne was lapping and slurping on your release without hesitation to help you ride out from your high. Only when your tremors subside does he pull back, licking his lips. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, face flushed, hair messed up and lips swollen.

“Am i good enough for you, my lady?” that sweet breathless voice, one dangerous move that would bring you to your knees.

“my good boy,” you hum, cupping his cheeks while gently pulling him up with you on the couch, your hand ever so soft caressing his cheek that he blinks slowly when you peck his glistening lips.

Zayne's breath catches next when you push him down, eyes widening slightly. But he doesn't protest, doesn't try to stop you. Instead he watches as you undo his belt and zipper.

"What are you—" His words cut off with a gasp as you free his cock, wrapping your hand around the hard length. He's already leaking, the tip slick when your thumb circles it for a bit.

As much as he wants to be a gentleman, wants to put your pleasure first, he's desperate for your touch. He watches you through hooded eyes as you stroke him, hand gliding along his shaft. His breathing is ragged, chest heaving with each inhale.

“There, there,” you whisper while squeezing the base of his cock before you wrap your precious lips around the sensitive tip.

He's gone.

“M-my lady—haah—”, His head tips, his hips involuntarily jerking upward. His hands tighten on the sofa, the fabric creaking under his grip. But he doesn't do it again, and his hips fall back down onto the couch with a low moan, his chest heaving.

One hand drops from the side, brushing over your hair to comb through it as he rocks his hips slightly, just enough to slide a little deeper into your mouth. your tongue swirls around him, it feels all tight, warm, and wet at the same time.

He watches you struggle, sees your throat bulge around him. The sight is obscene, erotic, and it makes his cock throb in your mouth. He can feel your throat fluttering around his length, and it's almost too much.

He can't help it, at that point, holding back like that.

With a low groan, his whole bodyconvulses, and his back arch sharply under you. The grip on your hair tightens, but the sound he makes still manages to stay quiet; you can tell he's still holding back.

Trying to be good. For you. Even while he's practically shaking, while you can feel his body shivering against you.

He rocks his hips slightly, shallow thrusts that allow you to adjust. He doesn't want to hurt you, but he can't resist the urge to move, to feel you around him.

“My lady, i-im about to come, you can pull away if you dont like it,” he breathes out, but you decide against it, sucking harder even when tears prick at the corner of your eyes.

“A-ah, i… I—” His orgasm hits him like a freight train, back arching as he comes hard down your throat, spilling into you, pulse after pulse of hot, thick cum. “My lady, my lady—” he chants, hips jerking with each spurt.

He looks down at you, eyes hazy with post-orgasmic bliss. You look up at him, lips swollen with remnants of his release at the corner of your lips that you lick away.

“you taste almost sweet, ate too much sugar?” you tease, your voice hoarse. Yet he's still shaking, barely coherent. You can tell he likes it, by the way his mouth curves into a small, dazed smile.

Zayne is barely conscious, his words slurring together. His hand brushes your hair again, pushing it away from your face. "Come here...”

He pulls you up to curl close to his chest, the hand in your hair drawing you against him, he pulls you closer, nuzzling his face into your hair.

"My lady… " he whispers softly, “hm?” you hum back.

"my everything." The words are slurred together again, muffled in a low, half-whisper, but they're clear enough that you understand them. He draws you in closer, his arms wrapping around your torso, pressing you close to him. He doesn't care if it's too intimate or if he's being too clingy. At this point he just needs to hold you, to be close to you, and to savor your presence.

He's... so clingy now.

“is my kitty all high? Seems like I've spoiled him too much.”

"M'fine," he murmurs into your hair, lips brushing over it in a gentle caress. His head tilts forward, nestling into you like a cat seeking warmth. His hand strokes gently over your back, fingertips tracing down the curve of your spine as he presses closer to you. “it's alright, I'm here.”

He mumbles something else that gets muffled in your hair, though he's also still exhausted and coming down from the high of his orgasm, so he'll probably sleep soon, but he won't sleep until he knows that you're comfortable. He just wants you, that's all. Just having you in his arms is enough.

[globodamorte]

my siblings want to walk our fat cat out in the street and I'm so fucking scared

[jenosbigtoe]

mdni. nsfw 18+

pairing: best friend!fwb!lee jeno x reader x best friend!jaemin

warnings: 3some, unprotected sex, creampie, cunnilingus, cumeating, masturbation (m), lowkey mxm if you think about it, porn no plot (shitty “plot”)

@jenomov sorry for disappearing.. hope this helps 🤗

—

it was his idea first—you’re both single and horny and you know him the best out of anyone, besides your other best friend, jaemin. it was only natural he asked you, out of everyone, to relieve his needs while he relieved yours. like scratching each other’s backs, as he put it.

you couldn’t even pretend to hesitate about it. who cares if you’ve been best friends for years? it’s not like some fucking would throw that all down the drain—not when you’ve secretly been wanting to sleep with him and jaemin for years. it was bound to happen at some point. your best friends are hot as fuck—why wouldn’t you jump at the opportunity to fuck at least one of them? a greedy part of you wishes you could have both, but one is enough for now.

it seems that insatiable thirst you have for jeno is equally reciprocated by him—after sleeping together once, you’ve been seeing him at least every other day.

it was convenient enough. you already spent most of your time hanging out with him, jaemin, or both. except instead of playing mario kart or watching shitty sitcoms with him, more often than not he has you folded into acrobatic ways to drill his fat cock into your needy pussy.

and jeno fucks like a pornstar.

smushing your face into the mattress while he pounds you feverishly from behind. placing your legs on his shoulders so he can reach that sweet spot deep inside your pussy with his hot length. spitting on your used cunt and using his tongue to lick and fuck your hole like you’re his last meal on death row. it’s like he finds new ways to fuck you every time you hook up—and every time leaves you hungry for more.

it’s an absolute miracle jaemin hasn’t caught on by now. like really, did you both have to go to the bathroom at the exact same time for 30 minutes? did you both have to contract food poisoning and couldn’t make it to your weekly friday movie night?

it’s not like you even tried to hide it that well. fucking in your room right next to the guest room that both jeno and jaemin were supposed to sleeping in, until jeno snuck out to go see you. the sounds of sex—headboard banging against the wall, skin slapping on skin, breathy moans and low grunts—definitely should’ve alerted jaemin to exactly what you two were doing.

but jaemin still, at the very least, appeared to be none the wiser. it’s like he hasn’t even noticed the way you’ve been rubbing your ass on jeno’s boner all night underneath the thin blankets, when you should’ve been watching whatever corny horror movie that was on the tv. the way jeno is gripping your hips in a way that is more than friendly. jaemin’s back is pressed against the front of your body while jeno cuddles you from behind.

“i’m gotta go take a shower.” you fake a yawn, “i’m getting tired and i’m ready for bed.”

jaemin briefly glances over at you but you couldn’t read his facial expression in the dark. “okay. good night.” he scoots away from your body.

“good night.” you get up from jeno’s grasp and walk away, only to hear him tell jaemin, “i gotta go take a shit, i’ll be right back.” you smirk.

—

“mmph—fuck!” you curse against jeno’s hand pressed to your mouth.

with one arm gripping your waist and the other hand pressed against your mouth to get you to shut the fuck up, jeno snaps his hips into yours from behind, every movement jolting your entire body forward and sending shock waves down your spine.

“shit, baby, i can never get tired of fucking you,” he chuckles lowly.

his hips drill his cock deep into your dripping cunt, his fat girth stretching you out just like the first time. with every thrust, the tip of his cock drives deeper inside you, leaving you with an insatiable thirst for more, more.

“mmph, ah—“ you struggle to speak against the tight grip he has on your mouth.

he moves his hand from your mouth back to your waist, using all of his strength to press your body against him in a tight bear hug while he fucks you into the mattress. you suck in a huge breath of relief, gasping for air.

“jen, please! i need—“ you can’t finish your sentence as he delivers a particularly rough thrust right against your cervix. “fuck!” you squeal a little too loud.

he smacks your ass in warning. “watch it, princess. don’t want our jaemin to hear you being a cock slut for me, now do we?” his hips never falter their pace, his cock drilling into you with a mind numbing rhythm. “tell me what you want, baby.”

you drop your head. “jen, need— need more.”

he smiles and leans his head to put his lips close to your ear. “that’s my girl.”

if at all possible, his hips seem to be going faster, harder, deeper than before. you almost scream in delight, if it wasn’t for the fact that you knew he would be so mad at you. your pussy clenches around every ridge and every vein on his cock as he drags his length against your walls in an erratic rhythm.

“fuck,” he groans to himself, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

you don’t notice the bedroom door wide open, as jaemin watches the two of you with his arms folded across his chest.

“well fuck, why wasn’t i invited in on the fun in here?” jaemin’s voice ringing through the room has your heart dropping out of your ass as you jump in fright. jeno freezes on the spot, slowly swiveling his head to see his best friend watching menacingly.

jaemin’s eyebrows are furrowed and the veins on his neck bulging.

“no, don’t let me stop what you were doing. obviously you can’t even take your cock out of her even when you have an audience.” jaemin stalks towards the two of you with a predatory look in his eyes. you both can’t even begin to move yourself from the shock of it all. fuck.

you notice the thick bulge in jaemin’s sweatpants, the look of hunger on his face as he licks his lips. you recover from the shock first—when jeno begins to say, “holy sh-“ you begin to move your ass against his cock once more, using your juices to clench and fuck jeno’s cock right in front of your other best friend.

“that’s right, baby. fuck his cock for me,” jaemin’s smirk reminds you of a hungry beast, ready to devour a delicious meal right in front of him.

noises slip from your mouth with abandon, no longer caring who heard because you’ve already been caught. jeno catches on quick—his hips moving to meet yours, slowly speeding up to the animalistic pace he had been fucking you before. you barely even notice jaemin stripping himself bare as he walks to the side of your bed, standing to the side with his red hot cock in his hand standing hard and proud. jaemin spits on his hand and rubs his cock furiously, his face scrunched in concentration as he watches you fuck his best friend like an animal.

with the added audience, jeno seems to lose himself in your pussy faster. he likes it, likes having his and your best friend watch you get fucked. your cunt drips endlessly around his hot length, allowing his cock to slip in and out of your heat with ease. the pace of his hips quickly grow sloppy and you can feel his cock twitch deep inside your cunt with every thrust now—a sign you’ve grown to know all too well.

“shit—baby i’m going to cum,” he groans. you clench harder at his words, nearing your release.

with stuttering hips, he slams his cock balls deep in your hot cunt. his cock twitches violently as he shoots his white hot ropes inside you, talking his head back and moaning loudly. “fuck.”

you moan at the hot feeling of your best friend’s cum painting your walls. slowly, you turn your head back to face your other best friend, who still has his cock in his hands and a satisfied look on his face.

“get off her,” jaemin commands.

jeno can’t even think from the mind blowing orgasm he just had. he rolls off your body and lays flat on the bed beside you, panting to catch his breath.

before you can even move, jaemin climbs on the bed and flips you on your back. he climbs over your body and traps you underneath his, his hand gripping your face and leaving you unable to move.

“look at this little slut right here. fucking our best friend like i wouldn’t ever find out.” he crashes his lips against yours, sucking and biting at your lips like you were made of candy.

“mmph—,” you moan.

jaemin pulls away from your lips, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. “shut up, slut. you wanna act like a slut? you’re gonna get treated like one now.” jaemin crawls down your body and wraps his arms around your legs, forcing them apart. he uses his strength to keep an iron grip on your thighs as he inspects your cunt from below.

“i wonder how many times jeno has used this slutty pussy,” jaemin chuckles dangerously.

you squirm, with futile attempts to move out of jaemin’s crushing grip. you can feel jeno’s hot cum start to drip out of your cunt, despite your attempts to clench it inside.

you don’t notice jeno sitting up again, this time watching the two of you with renewed interest. his cock is hard again, standing erect as he starts stroking it.

jaemin uses his fingers to scoop the cum back into your cunt, causing you to gasp sharply and jerk your body around.

“holy fu-“ before you can finish your statement, you feel jaemin’s hot mouth press against your core, his tongue shoving into your used hole and licking up to flick your clit.

you scream at the sudden feeling, hands tangling and pulling onto jaemin’s dark locks. your legs shake from the attack of pleasure on your sore pussy. jaemin pays no mind—continuing to eat you like you’re his last meal.

before you can even realize it, your orgasm crashes down on your senses like a tsunami, waves of pleasure coursing through your veins as your brain goes blank.

your body tightens up and you toss your head back to moan loudly. jaemin’s tongue continues to attack your clit furiously, licking and sucking your through your intense orgasm. jeno rubs his cock furiously, his second orgasm approaching.

jaemin removes his mouth from your pussy with a loud pop—before he crawls back up to meet your fucked out face. he smashes his lips back against yours, making you taste yourself as he continues his attack on your lips this time. he pushes his tongue against yours to make you open your mouth—before he forces jeno’s cum right into your mouth.

you swallow it all—the taste of yourself mixed with jeno’s cum and jaemin’s mouth lingering in your own.

[vanteguccir]

Hey i have a request if u have time and like ittt!!

So basically matts fucking you and chris is tired of all the noise, so he walks in to matts room casually. Proceeds to pick up ur panties from the floor and stuffs ur mouth. And sum hot idkkkkkkkk i aint a writer

Love ur fics tho girl

── ୨୧ !　SMUT BLURB

matt sturniolo x reader

where chris had had enough of your loud moans with his brother and shut you up with your panties... and you're a exhibitionist little shit

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Oh fuck- Matt-" Y/N gasped, her voice breaking with every breath.

She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her veins. Her thighs - wet with her arousal - quivered uncontrollably, her toes curling against the bed as Matt thrust into her with raw, primal need.

But beneath them, Chris had had enough.

For the past thirty minutes, he had been subjected to the incessant banging of the bed against the wall and Y/N’s loud, unfiltered moans. He tried to block it out, putting a pillow over his head or playing random songs in the top volume on his headphones, but it was no use. The noise was relentless, invading every corner of his room, and his patience had finally snapped.

With a growl of frustration, Chris pushed back his blankets, stormed out of his room, and headed upstairs.

Y/N didn’t hear Chris’s footsteps approaching. Her mind too far gone in the pleasure coursing through her body. She moaned Matt’s name again, her voice loud and breathy, the sound echoing in the room as Matt quickened his pace, his own groans mixing with hers.

The door to Matt’s room suddenly burst open, and without warning, Chris strode in, his face a mask of annoyance. Y/N’s head was still buried in the mattress, her body still trembling as Matt froze mid-thrust, too shocked to react right away.

Chris, however, didn’t seem the least bit phased by the scene before him. He walked into the room far too casually, his eyes sweeping over the pair with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. His tongue slipped between his pink lips, wetting them while taking in the sight of Y/N’s completely naked form, her body bent over the bed, her fingers digging into the dark blue sheets, clutching them like a lifeline, and Matt’s shocked, wide-eyed expression.

"What the fuck, Chris?" Matt sputtered, his voice filled with disbelief as he finally reacted, trying to cover Y/N's boobs with his large hands and her ass with his own body, ignoring the loud whine that echoed from her with his movements. "Get out, man!"

But Chris ignored him. His gaze drifted down to the floor where Y/N’s discarded pink lacy panties lay. Without a word, Chris bent down, scooping it up, and then moved toward the bed. Y/N, still lost in the haze of pleasure, barely registered his presence until she felt slender fingers pressing her jaw with moderate strength, forcing her to open her mouth before something was stuffed against her tongue.

Her eyes widened in shock, muffled sounds of protest escaping her throat as she realized what had happened, her eyes meeting the blue ones that looked right back at hers.

Chris really had shoved her own panties into her mouth, effectively shutting her up. Her face burned with a mix of embarrassment and something darker, something that thrilled her in a way she hadn’t expected.

Matt, still in shock, didn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed off.

"Chris, what the hell is wrong with you?" He growled, though there was an underlying tension in his voice, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him as he searched for his brother's eyes.

Chris smirked, his gaze gleaming with mischief as he glanced between the two of them.

"If I’m going to be forced to listen to all this." He said smoothly, his voice low and teasing while his hands motioned from one to another. "The least I could do is shut her up. A guy needs his silent time, right?" He gave Y/N a pointed look, his lips curling into a smirk as he watched her squirm beneath his brother, her muffled whines filling the room with the feeling of Matt's dick moving only a bit inside her walls.

Y/N’s mind was racing, her body responding despite the embarrassment flooding her senses. The feel of her panties getting dump in saliva inside her mouth and the sheer absurdity of the situation had her heart racing in ways she hadn’t expected, causing her to press her face deeper against the mattress, trying to disappear.

Matt, however, was less amused. He shook his head, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"You’re such an asshole." He muttered, though he couldn’t deny the tension in the room had only heightened after Chris’s interruption.

Chris chuckled, clearly pleased with himself as he straightened up and turned toward the door.

"Just keep it down next time." He said over his shoulder, throwing one last smirk at them before sauntering out of the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Chris, leaving Matt and Y/N in the heavy silence of the room, Y/N's body reacted almost immediately. Despite the absurdity of what had just happened - or maybe because of it - her hips pushed back instinctively, seeking more of Matt. Her body begged for him to continue, her mind still reeling from the humiliation and thrill of being caught.

Matt's eyes widened at first, surprised by her reaction, but then a dark chuckle escaped his lips as he felt her ass press insistently against him, almost fucking herself on his dick. Her whines, now muffled, were desperate, needy. She wanted more. She needed it.

"Fuck." Matt muttered under his breath, his voice taking on a darker, more commanding tone. "You liked that, didn't you?" He murmured, bending his upper body and pressing his chest firmly against her back, his breath hot against the nape of her neck. "Getting caught like that... having him see you like this. Like the little whore you're for me, yeah?"

Y/N whimpered again, her body responding eagerly as her hips pushed back against him harder, silently begging him to keep going. Her face was still pressed deep into the sheets, her muffled whines escaping through the makeshift gag Chris had left in her mouth. She was trembling, her body aching for more.

Matt’s hands gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her skin as he laughed again, this time lower. He leaned his head, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered.

"You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you? Letting him see you so exposed and open, and now... you can’t get enough, can you?"

Y/N moaned into the fabric, her eyes rolling up her skull with his talking and the fresh memory of Chris's eyes on her, the sound vibrating against the panties in her mouth. Her body was practically begging for Matt to move, to do something, to give her the release she so desperately needed.

Matt grinned wickedly, the dark amusement still dancing in his eyes as he tightened his grip on her hips, pulling her back against him before pushing her forward again, forcing her to fuck herself on his cock.

Her thighs trembled when she felt his tip brushing only a bit against her sweet spot, and she let out another muffled whine, her hips rocking back against him again, needing him right there. The feeling of her body pressed so tightly against him, her whimpers of need muffled and helpless, only served to ignite Matt’s desire further.

"Alright." Matt murmured darkly, his tone teasing as his hand slid down, fingers brushing the curve of her ass, squeezing the flesh hard. "You want it? You’ll get it, but you have to work for it."

He pressed his other hand on her small back, forcing her to bent her upper body even more - if that was even possible, searching the control he needed. With a slow, deliberate movement, he ground his hips against hers, teasing her, dragging out the moment as she squirmed beneath him, her muffled cries growing more frantic.

"Is this what you want, baby?" He taunted, his voice a low growl as he pressed himself harder against her. "Because I can feel how fucking wet you're." He let out another dark laugh, enjoying the power he had over her in this moment. "And all it took was Chris walking in on us for you to become this needy mess."

Y/N's muffled response was a mix of whimpers and "Matt's", her body trembling as she tried to raise her ass more in the air, searching for the friction her body was begging for.

Matt's grip on her waist tightened even more, his fingers digging into her skin as he finally snapped his hips against hers hard enough to make her thighs shake and her fingers dig into the sheets.

"Alright, baby." He whispered, his tone full of lust and dominance as he positioned himself, ready to turn her into a cock drunk mess. "Let’s see how loud you can be now... even with your mouth so fucking full."

I never know how long and large I can go in a blurb 😭🤡