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sweetpascal · 5 months ago

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

gif: @andrew-lincoln

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: there are four more days remaining in the week before your mom returns. joel observes how easy it is for him to get into your head, thus creating a strict routine that makes it easy to break you down and put you back together again.

warnings: MINOR DNI. BIG AGE GAP [18/52], manipulation, gaslighting, dumbification, one slap to the face, sloppy make-out session, TW: isolation, oral [f receiving], hella pussy eating, multiple orgasms, joel fucking loves to eat pussy, joel is mean and condescending, squirtiinngggg

wc: 6.2k (are you really not surprised that i go overboard with what are supposed to be short chapters ???)

notes: i have really bad daddy issues and trauma if you couldn't tell already. i didn't know i needed perv!stepdad!joel that badly until i wrote him out and saw the swarm of attention he's been getting by all y'all depraved nasties out there (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

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Upon waking in the morning, you found your head throbbing and your mouth as dry as the Sahara. An unswallowable aftertaste lingered, repulsive, reminiscent of vomit mixed with glue. You winced at the bright sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains, groaned drowsily, and buried your head back into the pillow, pulling the fluffy blanket over your head.

A knock at the door was followed by Joel's voice asking, "Babydoll, are you awake?" Then the door swung open, and the sound of his boots echoed as he walked towards your bed. You responded with a groan, swallowing hard and stifling a hiccup.

Reflecting on the previous night felt like a nightmare. The only memories that lingered were informing your stepdad about the lake, spending time there with your friend, returning home, and vaguely recalling sharing a drink with Joel. Beyond that, everything was a hazy blur.

The bed sags beneath you as you curl up under the covers. Joel's husky laughter fills the air as he rubs your back, his hand's warmth seeping through the thick blanket, causing a delightful shiver. Then, in a jolt as if a shock to your frontal lobe, you recall everything. The shared alcohol, the kissing, Joel's deep voice as thick as honey in your ears, the throbbing in your lower half--all of it.

Jerking upright hastily, you grimaced as the intense sunlight dazzled you once more. You narrowed your eyes as much as possible, attempting to focus on Joel. He grins at your disheveled appearance, taking note of the little love bites all over your throat and the sides of your neck. You wiped away the blurriness that lingered in your eyes.

"I-I remember... what we did last night," you whispered the last part and covered your mouth with both hands, suddenly too shy to look at your stepdad and worried that he would reprimand you for getting too carried away. "Joel-" Your sentence stops because of the warning glare he sends your way. "Daddy," you try again, feeling warm inside when he gives you a nod. "I-I think I acted very... all over the place... and-and I did some naughty, dirty things with you and-and I'm so, so sorry."

Last night was erotic, dirty, and didn't ease his perversion. When you could barely hold yourself up and kept burping in his mouth, Joel decided to call it a night. He had picked you up effortlessly in his arms and stomped up the stairs, not even breaking a sweat. He undressed you, slowly and meticulous. He left on your bikini, not wanting his first view of your cunt being when you're unaware and unconscious--which was a lot fucking harder than he thought, and also ironic considering what he had done days ago. He couldn't help himself, however, when he buried his nose between your thighs and inhaled deeply, the heady scent of your pussy making his jaw ache and his mouth water.

Now, as he sits before you while looking into those pretty eyes of yours, Joel's hunger is nearly beastly, even fucking demonic. He wants to sink his sharp teeth into your delicate flesh and leave you broken and bruised with no other choice but to beg him for mercy, beg him to stop, beg him to put you back together again.

"Remember when I told you what adults do to feel good?" He asks you, his voice sweet enough to cause a toothache. When you give him a nod, he grips your thigh just enough to make you squirm. "Well, what we did last night is just that. You and I are adults, and we did somethin' that made us both feel good, right?" When he raised his brows at you, expecting you to agree with him, you immediately nodded as you processed his words.

"Good," he continues, sliding his hand further up your leg until he's gripping the meat of your inner thigh. "Daddy has a lot to teach you, sweetheart."

The sun was shining high and blazing down. Since you didn't get time to really enjoy it at the lake--your friend was too handsy for comfort--you decided to enjoy it in the backyard. Wearing the same bikini as yesterday, you laid on the grass on top of your polka dot towel with your sunglasses perched on your nose. Joel had prepared a drink for you: strawberry kiwi juice with a splash of passion fruit rum. It was delightful, striking the perfect balance between fruitiness, sweetness, and a subtle hint of alcohol.

As you laid out in the sun, you think back to the series of events that occurred after your mom's departure. There's a lingering feeling in the back of your mind that can't let you ignore the inappropriate relationship you and Joel now have. This is the same man that has been in your life since you were a child. This is the same man that has watched you grow into the beautiful, young woman you are now. This is the same man that is still married to your mother.

Each touch he lays upon your pliant body left a trail of fire. It was all so confusing and wrong. It's your stepdad, for goodness' sake. He's three times your age. But he also knows so much about the world and how to navigate through it. He knows everything and anything, and you'll be damned if you don't accept all the help that you can get from him.

A series of bangs from within the house jolted you upright. You pushed your glasses up and peered toward the backdoor. Silence ensued for a few seconds before the banging resumed. With a puzzled frown and concern etching your brow, you wrapped your towel tighter and hastened inside. Joel was nowhere in the kitchen, living room, or guest bathroom. As you reached for the basement door, the banging echoed from upstairs, punctuated by a loud curse and an even louder bang.

Following the noise, you hurry up the stairs, towel still tightly wrapped around your body. Upon noticing that your bedroom door was opened, you weakly called out, "Uh, Daddy?"

"In here, babydoll," you hear his voice coming from your bedroom, further easing the anxiety that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As you entered your room, your eyes widened, and an involuntary gasp escaped your lips. There stood Joel by the windows, wielding a hammer in one hand and clutching long, thick nails in the other. Unmoved by your gasp, he persisted in hammering the nails into the window frame, each blow forceful enough to send tremors through the floorboards. He was sealing you inside.

"What are you doing?!" you exclaimed, rushing to his side and frantically seizing his forearm to prevent him from driving another thick nail into the window frame.

Joel sighs deeply with frustration and merely shakes you off. He stares down at you, your eyes wide and frightful, tears brimming along your waterline. The sight stirs something deep in his gut. He wonders if this is what you'd look like if he shoved his dick so far down your throat that you pass out from the lack of oxygen, slobbering and crying all over his thighs and heavy balls.

"Sweetheart, we talked about this last night," he tells you gently, wiping away one of the tears that managed to slide down your cheek. "Don't you remember?"

He knows you don't remember because he made it up. He never told you about this. Seeing you getting caught off guard, falling for his rotten lies was a comical sight. He wants to laugh in your face to further drive the embarrassment deep in your heart and make you feel really stupid.

Your brows furrowed and you looked off to the side, wracking through your mind to try and remember the conversation you and your stepdad had last night. All you can see are images flashing through your mind of the two of you kissing and touching, but nothing of Joel mentioning nailing your windows shut.

"I-I... don't remember," you whispered up to him, eyes glancing up to look into his own. "Did I really agree to this?" You couldn't remember a damn thing.

Joel grins and lets out a gruff laugh. "Of course you did, silly girl. You don't remember 'cause you were a goddamn mess all over me." He can see that his crude choice of wording made you shrink in on yourself. He continues, "It's for your own good, babydoll. I'm only doin' this to protect you from the dangerous people out there that wanna separate us. That's why I can't have you goin' out with those bad influence friends o' yours anymore."

Everything is becoming clear now. The pieces are falling into place. Joel is acting this way because he loves you and wants to keep you safe. The reality that there are people who wish to tear you apart is genuinely frightening. Even if it means cutting all of your friends out of your life and only following Joel, you'd do so without hesitation. You no longer have your own voice. Now, when you think, Joel's is the only voice you hear in your head.

Lying in bed freshly showered, you hold onto one of your stuffed animals and look up at the ceiling. Shortly after hammering your windows shut, Joel had taken your phone and pocketed it, informing you that it was also for your own good and that media consumption will influence you to do things only a bad girl would do. And you're not a bad girl. You'd never want to give off that impression to Joel. All you wanted was to be good for him, to hear his praises fall from his plush lips.

But then, your mind started racing at the thoughts of him. His broad shoulders and strong arms, muscles that ripple with effort and exertion. There have been many instances where you caught yourself staring at the muscles of his back when he would be working on his truck. Your stepdad was a handsome man--there's no lie in that. You were just too young to really understand the intricacies of finding someone attractive.

But now at your adult age, feeling his lips and hands on your pure body, you needed more. You needed to hear his gravelly voice in your ear and his hot breath sweeping across your skin in a way that makes you shiver deliciously. You needed to feel him touch you everywhere, mainly focusing on your lower half. That feeling was still confusing. You didn't understand why it throbbed and why it'd get so wet and why you would feel butterflies in your tummy.

A knock came at your door. As it gradually swung open, it revealed the man who had been on your mind incessantly. Joel was there, clad in his day-long attire: a dark green flannel shirt, dirt-stained dark blue jeans, and his well-worn work boots. When he fully enters your room and closes the door behind him, you're left with a throbbing ache that settles deep in your core. There's an insinuation in the way he begins to unbutton his flannel, revealing the forest green t-shirt underneath. With parted lips, you shakily exhale and lean up further against the headboard.

"Barely had time to spend with my favorite girl," Joel remarks, perched on the edge of your bed, unlacing his boots. It's quite the contrast—his attire against the backdrop of your room's pastel hues and the pretty pink bed adorned with vintage floral bedding. "But now that I'm finished with grown-up stuff, I can finally give you some attention, huh?"

When he turns his head to look at you, he wolfishly grins at the sight of your labored breathing and dilated pupils. He hasn't even touched you yet and you're already affected by his close proximity. Then, the grin slowly vanishes, and the air grows thicker. The two of you stare at one another, neither of you speaking, but more so observing. You fear that Joel can hear just how fast and hard your heart was thumping in your ribcage. You wonder if he can even see it through your thin tank top.

Mustering up the courage to speak, you licked your lips and shyly look away from him as you say, "Stop looking at me like that." You fiddle with the hem of your tank top, slowly bringing your knees up to your chest to shield your nipples that are now poking through your top.

Joel had seen them the second he walked in. You knew he did. You saw his eyes scan your entire form when he shut the door behind him. He's not stupid. He bites down on his plump bottom lip and releases it as he sits closer. When he looks into your eyes, he can see that you really don't want him to stop.

"How do you want me to look at you?" He asks in a husky voice, so low and deep and thick with that glorious southern accent of his.

As you look at him, you feel a warmth spread under his intense, fiery gaze. His face, aged yet ruggedly handsome, is highlighted by the dimly lit shadows that play across the contours of his visage. It's clear why your mother chose him. His skin is a beautiful golden hue, complemented by thick curls of dark brown hair, lightly spotted with grays. Joel Miller stands before you, the very image of a Greek deity.

A hand on your ankle grounds you once again. Your body trembles, and goosebumps emerge along your arms and legs beneath the warmth of Joel's palm. He hums, lost in contemplation, watching the deliberate motions of his hand.

"You don't... You look at me in a way you're supposed to look at mom. And... And you don't look at me the same way stepdads are supposed to look at their stepdaughters," you murmur the confession to him, the cute curiosity in your voice making Joel smile.

His hand slides further up your leg until it reaches your knee. Then, he very slowly coaxes your legs to open. His eyes track where his hand is leading to. Your feet part to allow his arm to rest comfortably between your legs. Just as his large hand reaches your inner thigh, middle finger just barely skimming the hem of your shorts, you elicit a delicate gasp that has Joel looking up at you.

"You're a very special girl, babydoll," Joel speaks quietly and slowly, allowing you to hear and feel every word that leaves his lips. "Your momma... Well, she can be a bit difficult, ya know?" His hand very slowly rubs up and down your inner thigh, both of you now looking between your legs to watch his careful movements. "But you? Well, you're one of a kind, sweetheart. You're so different from your momma. You're so soft, so supple, so... easy to get in that little head o' yours."

Your hands tighten into fists on either side of your hips. Fighting back the urge to clamp your thighs shut around Joel's forearm, you keep watching, eager and curious to see what happens next. The closer his fingers get to your covered pussy, the more warmth he feels radiating from it. He feels the subtle tremble of your thighs against his palm, causing his fingers to dig deeper into your virgin skin.

"Joel...?" You breathe out heavily, your chest rising and falling quickly as the throbbing in your core only increases. This whole cat-and-mouse game is driving you crazy. The ache you feel is borderline painful, just begging to be relieved. "What... What're you...?"

Joel hushes you softly, his own lips parting as he rests his palm against your mound, slowly trailing his thumb down to rest over your covered, swelling clit. As he gently presses down, your hips jolt and you release a wanton whimper.

"Oh!" You exclaimed, your eyes so wide and mouth all open from the pool of warmth that briefly intensified in the pit of your tummy. "I felt something!" He lets out a low chuckle from your reaction.

He pressed his thumb down again, loving the little tremors he feels in your thighs. This time, he starts to rub slow, deliberate circles. You begin to feel the throbbing ache go away. It was now replaced with a tingly sensation you can feel all over your lower half. It was a liquid warmth that made your hips wiggle.

"Tha' feel good?" Joel asks, his breath calling across your knee as he presses a kiss to it. He trails the fingers on your mound further down to swipe up and down your pussy, just barely pressing against your hole. "Can Daddy take these off, babydoll?"

Barely registering what he asks, you still nod. You're in a hazy state, almost drunk and dizzy from what you're feeling. Joel kisses your knee once more before tucking his fingers underneath the waistband of both your shorts and panties and pulling them down agonizingly slowly. He briefly turns around to throw both articles of clothing aside. When he turns back to face you, almost all of the air is almost punched out of him.

With your thighs now comfortably spread open, you watch his reaction to your exposed pussy now on display for him to see for the very first time. You see his eyes darken and his jaw clench so tight that you're surprised his teeth didn't shatter from the pressure. Joel could barely think. All of his thoughts are clouded with permanent images of your virgin pussy. A soft dusting of hair covers your mound and pussy lips. Your clit was so swollen and pink, almost pulsating in time with your heartbeat. There was a sticky mess of slick leaking out of your tight hole. Joel's mouth waters. No matter how many times he swallows, it builds back up.

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart," he croaks, almost sounding in pain. "Your little pussy is the prettiest I have ever seen in my goddamn life."

Glancing down between your legs, your brows furrow at the wetness that keeps leaking out of you, now pooling onto the sheets. "What is that stuff coming out?" Your question came out embarrassed and shy, and Joel silently pats himself on the back for not groaning aloud.

"That's what happens when you're feelin' good, silly girl," Joel grins from ear to ear. His fingers touch your bare pussy for the first time, so soft and fucking wet under his fingertips. When he parts your pussy lips, spreading them wide like succulent flower petals, he can hear the faint wet noise, along with strings of your arousal connecting from one lip to another.

"Is... Is that normal?" Shyly asking him, your hips couldn't stop shifting. Having Joel play with your pussy like this was so foreign and weirdly not uncomfortable. It felt natural with him. You felt safe under his experienced, calloused hands.

Joel hums affirmatively. His attention was more focused on the wetness pooling on his middle finger. He fucking aches to sink his finger deep inside your cunt to feel your tight walls sucking him in. As he pulls his finger away, a string of slick follows and is shown to you.

" You see how messy you are, babydoll?" He smirks at the expression on your face. "Now, when you get like this, the only way for it to go away is for Daddy to clean it up with his tongue."

That makes sense. Joel knows more about this than you do. If he says one thing that might not be factual, you'll believe him with all of your heart. Also, the idea of your stepdad cleaning up your stickiness with his warm, wet tongue was exciting and you were curious to know what it feels like. He can see the realization settle on your face.

When you look back and forth from his finger and his mouth, the words spill out before you could stop them, "Will you clean me up?"

Joel's smirk widens, and he pops his finger into his mouth before he moves onto his knees. The taste of your tangy sweetness on his tongue made him go fucking insane. To know that he's the first man to touch you like this, to taste you on his desperate tongue made the ferocious beast within him thrash in its crate.

"Lie back, babydoll," he instructs you by gently pulling your body down, so you rest comfortably against the pillows. "Attagirl."

Joel's hands then gently slide under the crook of your knees, delicately parting your thighs and bringing your knees closer to your chest. This movement results in your labia spreading further apart, your engorged clit peeking out cutely while your empty opening quivers needlessly--so intensely pink and dripping with arousal. A soft groan escapes Joel's lips as he settles on his stomach, gradually moving his head closer until it rests snugly between your thighs. Lowering his head, his nose barely brushes against your clit as he takes a deep breath in. The aroma of your arousal causes him to see stars dancing behind his closed eyelids.

"Goddamn, you smell so fuckin' good, sweetheart," he sounds so wrecked and already fucked out. The fact that you have such a hold on him was catastrophic. This was a dangerous game he was playing. He knew there was no going back.

Opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out, he glides the warm muscle from your leaking hole all the way up to your clit. Upon feeling his tongue licking your pussy up and down, you let out a soft yelp that was quickly muffled from the palm of your hand. Your eyebrows twitch and your eyes flutter as Joel's tongue leisurely moves in circles around your clit before the swollen button is pulled between his lips and sucked on. The ceiling became blurry, your vision spotted with squiggly lines and black dots.

"Mmmm," Joel hums around your clit, the vibrations forcing another yelp from your covered mouth. He pulls his lips off with a wet pop before lowering his tongue to slurp up your slick messily and sloppily. "Tha's my girl. Jus' lie back 'n let Daddy clean up your mess."

Then, he starts ravishing your cunt. His hooked nose, his long tongue, his plump lips, his scruffy chin, his fucking sharp jaw were all covered in a concoction of your slick and his saliva. Joel's a messy eater, for sure. His big hands tighten in the crook of your knees, forcing your legs to spread wider apart and pinning you down further into the bed when you start squirming under his working mouth.

The wet sounds of Joel eating your cunt had you blushing from the top of your head to the painted tips of your toes. He flicks his tongue against your clit, leaning his head up briefly to spit onto your clit before eagerly licking it all the way down to your fluttering hole. The sounds you released are music to his ears. He's groaning and humming pleasantly against your soaking pussy. When he pulls away for a third time, strings of your slick are stuck to his chin and bottom lip. You glanced down at him with parted lips and unfocused eyes.

"Keep going!" You nearly wailed, hips trying to buck into his mouth, which he pulls away each time you buck up. "Please, Daddy. Oh, please, please, please keep going. I'm-I'm starting to feel so tingly."

Joel sits up suddenly, using one hand to go behind his neck to pull his shirt over his head. He yanks the clothing from his broad shoulders and throws it carelessly to the ground. Then, he pops open the button of his jeans, sighing heavily with relief as the tightness around his hard cock disappears. As he slides down his jeans, he sees your eyes almost bug out of your head. He laughs at that.

"Easy there, little girl," he mutters and fully slides off his jeans, once again tossing the article of clothing blindly across the room. "Ain't gonna fuck you jus' yet, babydoll. You still got a lot to learn before I think you're smart 'nough to handle me."

Your shoulders deflate when you hear that. Part of you was hoping Joel would go all the way with you, but he's right. There's still so much to learn and without his guidance, you'd be clueless and stuck. But that also means there is definitely going to be a sooner time until he takes your virginity. The thought casts a delightful shiver across your body; your stepdad taking your virginity--your mom's husband for crying out loud. It was better this way. If Joel thinks this is a good, sure thing, then so do you. Who are you to question his methods?

When Joel's head lowers back down between your thighs, you find the courage to gently curl your fingers through his hair. It was messy when he walked into your room, and you know you're only going to be messing it up even further when his mouth goes back onto your weeping cunt.

"Attagirl, babydoll," Joel murmurs against your cunt, his hot breath seeping across the throbbing bud and causing your hole to flutter. "Hold onto Daddy while he cleans her up." Her meaning your pussy.

Your mouth opens once his tongue grinds against your clit. Eyebrows twitching and eyes shutting, your head falls back and your fingers tighten in his hair as he licks, sucks, slurps, and swallows. Your thighs begin to twitch on either side of his head. Joel's fingers dig into your plush skin, gripping the meat and holding you steady. Moans start spilling from your lips when his tongue licks all around your hole before focusing on your clit again.

The tingling warmth comes back, now settling deep in the pit of your tummy and spreading along your upper thighs and clit. It's almost equivalent to peeing. And so, with a worried shout, you frantically try to push Joel's head away, but he doesn't budge an inch.

"I'm-I'm gonna... I'm gonna pee! Daddy, move!"

Your frantic whines are ignored. Joel only licks harder and faster, moving his head around in a circle to gather up as much slick as he can. He grabs both of your wrists and tightens his hands around them, pulling them away from his head and pressing them down on either side of your hips on the bed. His broad shoulders are doing a perfect job at keeping your legs from shutting completely. With your feet kicking at his back and your hips grinding towards and away from his mouth, you have no other choice but to lie there, like he said, and take it.

"Oh, my God," your voice was unrecognizable--breathy, high pitched, and slurred. The knot gets tighter and tighter. The warmth was nearly burning your gut. Your hole fluttered and began to tighten on its own. And with an arched back, you simply let go.

Joel can feel it before you do. As your back arched beautifully, your entire body tensed and your pussy spasmed against his chin. Your moans were stuttering and confused and so, so cute. Your words were slurring together--Daddyohmygodohplease. He shakes his head back and forth to further rub your clit without removing his tongue from the needy little bud. The action caused your body to shake.

Does he stop? Absolutely fucking not. He only grips your wrists tighter, most likely leaving bruises, and eats your pussy like a starved man at an All-You-Can-Eat buffet.

At this point, you're on cloud nine. It feels like you're submerged deep underwater, your sights blurry and your hearing muffled. You can't see or think, only feel. And what you feel is electrifying. Your nerves are buzzing all over, almost like static electricity running through your veins. The only thing that made you come back down to earth was the distinct and distant voice of Joel. He's saying something, but you're not sure what. You can only make out the words like that and good.

Panting heavily, your hips shift, and you feel a sudden surge of tingles spreading like wildfire along your lower half. It was addicting. Intoxicating, even. You can almost taste it on your tongue.

Joel observes you from between your thighs as you're coming back down from your first orgasm ever. The intensity nearly made you blackout. Your mom had never looked that pretty cumming from his mouth for the first time, ever. Seeing her daughter doing it because of his tongue made him want to whip his dick out right then and there and shove it so deep inside your needy pussy. But he won't do that. He's a patient man--for the most part.

His thick tongue sloppily eats you out. The taste and heady scent made him pussydrunk. His eyes were half-lidded as he swallowed down the combination of pussy juice and his saliva. He's so sure that after he wipes your wetness off his nose and mouth, he's still going to be smelling and tasting you for days.

Your speech is still slurred by the time you glance down at what he's doing to you. The pupils in your eyes are so wide that your irises are nearly black. Your baby hairs are matted to your forehead from sweat. There's a pretty glow on your skin from your first orgasm. You wondered just how much more you could take before you have to tap out--if Joel even allows that.

Speaking of which, he still doesn't stop. His jaw works tirelessly to scoop up your wetness. He's practically drowning between your thighs, a specific type of death that sounds like heaven on earth. Your labia are puffy under his tongue and your clit throbs rhythmically between his lips. The wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth working against your pussy made you blush fiercely.

"I... I... mmph," you could barely speak as you fell back again, desperately trying to pull your wrists free from Joel's tight hold on them. Your feet weakly kick at his muscled back, but he makes no point in stopping.

He laughs against you. He fucking laughs. The vibrations make your thighs almost clamp around his head if it weren't for his wide shoulders keeping you spread open for him. Joel pulls up for a split second to spit on your clit once again before going back down to lick you all over again. Your eyes cross and roll into the back of your head. Your hips are now mindlessly grinding up and down against his tongue.

"Tha's it," his response is muffled.

When he glances up at you, seeing your chest arched to the ceiling again, he releases your wrists and slides his hands up your arms. Both hands yank down your top with enough force that it causes one of the straps to snap off. You barely register the pain of your tank top rubbing your skin like a rug burn as you're so deep into cloud nine again.

Joel's hands cup and caress your tits, his fingers squeezing and grabbing them eagerly. His thumbs rub your nipples until they harden. Then, he's back to slurping and eating pussy like tomorrow is the end of the world and he only has tonight to show you what he can really do with his mouth. The feeling of his hands on your tits, pinching your nipples and fondling your sensitive flesh has the tingling sensation come back. This time it was a lot sharper and stronger.

Joel knows what's about to happen. It's only happened once with your mom, in all the years of being with her. And now it's going to happen with you. Like mother, like daughter. He removes his hands from your tits and places them back under your knees, further spreading your thighs to get better access to your sweet nectar hidden between your pussy lips. He doesn't even care if his jaw is on fire right now.

"I-I... Da-... aaahh-haaahh!"

Your little squeal comes first, then a steady stream of wetness splashes against his chin and chest as he ferociously sucks your clit and flicks his tongue fast and hard, just how you liked it. He fucking did it. He made you squirt for the first time. And god-fucking-damn, it was the sweetest thing he has ever tasted. It was better than any whiskey that ever touched his tongue. Now, your body can't stop shaking. Your thighs are trembling terribly, and Joel has to pull away to gently close them shut. Your breathing is labored and unsteady, your eyes shut tightly and body tense.

"Breathe for me, sweetheart," Joel murmurs gently, brushing your hair from your sweaty face and blowing cold air on your skin. "Jus' like that. C'mon, pretty girl. There we go."

The aftershocks coursing through your body are unmanageable, no matter how hard you tensed your body to stop them. Joel leans over your shaking body and kisses up and down your neck, humming quietly against your skin and lowering further down to kiss and suck at your chest. He glances up and sees your eyes are still shut as you try to relax. He takes advantage of this opportunity to suck one of your puffy nipples into his mouth and licks all around the erect bud, no doubt spreading your pussy juice that he still hasn't wiped from his nose, mouth, cheeks, and chin.

"Daddy?" You weakly asked, your thighs still shaking, but not as much as before. "That felt... That felt so, so good." Letting out a drowsy giggle, you covered your face and wiggled excitedly. You had came so hard. Not once, but twice. And the second time you squirted. You would often hear about squirting from your experienced friends. They described it as peeing, but it's not really pee, but it feels and looks like pee, but it's completely different, but also the same.

Smiling at your reaction, Joel removes your hands from your face, further leaning into your space with his head aligned with your own. The two of you share eye contact for a brief moment before he starts to kiss you. The groan he lets out when your lips touch has you grinding your hips again, desperately chasing something--you don't know what. When your tongues touch, you catch the faint tracings of what you taste like, and it's pretty yummy. It's almost sweet with a hint of tanginess. It almost tastes like your strawberry kiwi juice. Joel opens your mouth wider with his jaw to suck your tongue into his mouth before he coaxes you to do the same. The kiss was so dirty and frantic, drool pooling at the corners of your lips before sliding down your chin.

Joel pulls away to lick it up before shoving his tongue back inside your mouth. When he pulls away again, your eyes are still shut. "Open your mouth," he commands, his voice rough and gravely as he tries to hold back the beast within him. When you don't do what he says quick enough, he pops your cheek with the palm of his hand a little harder than intended. You yelped and your eyes flew open from the smack. Your cheek was burning, no doubt blooming pink from the force. "I said, open your fuckin' mouth." Joel squeezes your jaw roughly and forces your mouth open. You know what's going to come, so you stick out your tongue without being asked to and that pleases him.

A wad of spit lands on your tongue before Joel goes back to licking his way into your mouth, further spreading your slick from his face onto yours and your shared saliva dripping down your chin. Everything about this kiss was so dirty and filthy and represents your relationship with him. When you pull away from air, Joel sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before releasing it with a wet pop. He attacks your neck in biting kisses again.

The sensation of his beard tickled, thus causing you to giggle under his partially hovering body. Joel's shoulders shake as he chuckles against your marked skin. He flops down next to you, propping his head up with one hand while his arm rests on the bed. With his other hand, he draws you close to his chest. You hum gently and snuggle into him with ease.

"Daddy?" Softly speaking, you play with the collar of his shirt and shyly look up at him. "Do you think tomorrow... maybe you could show me how to... do stuff with my mouth, uh, on you?"

The unexpected question made Joel smile from ear to ear. He didn't even have to ask, or even tell you. This was something you thought about all on your own. There's a certain glint in his eyes as he looks at you. It's predatory and dark, and it makes you uncomfortable. His arm tightens around your waist to keep you from moving away.

"I don't know, babydoll," he says with mock sympathy, pushing a few strands of hair away from your hands. "You're not smart enough yet. You know that, you silly girl." As he pokes your nose, he almost wants to laugh at the sight of your pout. "Don't give me that pout." He pats your cheek with a little force again, forcing the pout to leave your lips when he glares at you.

As he lays back on the bed and pulls you into his side, Joel stares up at the ceiling. A plan forms in his head: do whatever you can to make her need you and no one else. A sadistic smile slowly makes its way onto his face. He's close. Just one more day until he can permanently get into your head and fucking tear you apart with his bare hands.

taglist:

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @blueberrypancakesworld @heyhihello-4771 @codenamekitten @chamepagnessimo @idioticcatss @takochansugoi @zjasminelouvre3 @natalieispunk @koshkaj-blog @giowritess @beardropascal @pascaltesfaye @callmeafra @nexy00 @josephquinnswhore @baronessvonglitter @peelieblue @paanchusblog @b3bybunny @sugadolly @ktluvsmen @elliesr1fle @taeslarityy @yourgirljasmin444 @laloestoyvivo @aquanatalie @vickie5446 @cowboybootjoel @olicity-boo @ashleyfilm

!! please let me know if you wanna be added or removed !!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller x reader #stepdad!joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller the last of us #joel miller series #joel miller tlou

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darkenedurge · 1 year ago

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𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞. (𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭).

CONTENT : Blood Kink | P in V Sex (Fem Durge) | Violence, Violent Language | Durge being a freak, Gortash eating it right up | Pre-Tadpole Durge & Gortash

˚ ✧.

“If I didn’t love you so, I’d drown in your blood. It’d be pretty, I bet. I can see it.” She says, as she lays – naked, head upon his chest, pointed nail tracing his chest hair. Disturbing it, coercing it into haphazard patterns. She has a habit of this, accompanying tender, gentle movements with deranged words spoken in her pretty, pretty voice. It had never frightened Gortash. Surprised him perhaps, when she had first enlightened him toward the notion – she was rolling her hips into his, palms cupping his jaw with an uncharacteristic softness, completely unbefitting to her, and the tandem of her hips.

“I wish I could slit your throat, and drive my tongue across the slash. Taste you, in ways I haven’t before.”

A minx, he’d called her, with a shake of his head – a tut, and a huffed chuckle.

“I am no General Thorm, dearest,” Gortash replies, finally, his hand trailing down to her thigh – repositioning her. She whines. “Cut me too deep, and I will not be resurrected.”

Silence, for a moment.

And then, a compromise.

“Let me cut your tongue, slice it.. I want to sup the blood as it spills, as we kiss.”

There was always a breathiness to her voice, a shuddering undertone of unadulterated, unhinged, excitement. Carnal desire, urge. There’s a tremor, in the very tips of her fingers, as she grips the blade – like a vice, furthered well beyond its limits. Gortash pretends to consider, pretends to have his debate – internal, between yes, and no. He pretends, and pretends, before simply sticking out his tongue.

She grins, giggles, raises her blade. Her blade was always close, always near. Within arms length.

She then shifts, onto her knees – resting on her heels, eyes flickering with want. Need.

“Only a little cut,” She specifies, and she’s honest, “I don’t want to ruin you..”

A half-tease. Gortash raises a brow.

True to her word, she makes the slit – immediate in tangling her tongue with his, succumbing to the sickly, sweet taste of iron. Copper, intermingling with the heady aftertaste of wine on his tongue. On hers. They always drank, always fucked. Always talked, always kissed. Bled, burned.

The downfall of one another, the detonation to one another’s ticking time bomb.

“Incredible,” She gasps, breaking them from their saliva stricken embrace – a string of desaturated red still maintaining a shred of connection between them. “You’re incredible.”

Gortash shakes his head, pinning her beneath him in one push – a press of his hand, fingers curling around her crisscrossed wrists, burying her bones in the mattress beneath them. “You are the incredible one, my dearest, dearest pet.”

“I hate it when you call me that.” She lies, spreading her legs – sinfully wet.

He pries her apart, sheathes himself inside of her – the fluttering of her walls greeting his cock, accompanied by her hellish, flaming heat. Her constrictive tightness, mouth falling open with a wiggle and a squirm. “No you don’t,” Gortash replies, with a grunt of effort, as he fucks into her hard. Harsh. Abusive and abrasive.

She moans, upon each thrust, thighs tensing and untensing, only to tense again.

“Bleed me again,” Gortash pants out, gaze dark – voice, low. Despite its strain.

His grip upon her hip, with his free hand, is blissfully bruising. “Kiss me,” She demands, commands, pleads – all at once. “Kiss me, and I will.”

And so kiss her he does. She bites his lip, drawing blood –letting it dribble, down, down his stubbled chin. She drags her tongue, efficiently cleaning up the mess. Her mess.

Gortash finishes, inside of her, not long after. She’d squeezed his throat, their first time together, thumb pressed hard – “You fill me up. Everytime. Don’t waste your seed, lordling. Don’t go claiming anyone else. No, you’ve claimed me now.”

He’d lost count, this was perhaps their third time of the night. Fourth, fifth, even.

Though, she finally seems tired – small, curled in his arms, nestled against him. He knows she doesn’t sleep much. Doesn’t like to, doesn’t want to. She’ll be up again, in the midst of the night – naked, hands buried in some poor unfortunate’s innards. He’ll cling to the smell of her skin, imprinted on the linen sheets.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #bg3 #bg3 durge #dark urge x gortash #durgetash #gortash x durge #bg3 gortash #enver gortash #dark urge #bg3 smut #smut #gortash x reader #bg3 x reader #x reader

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hoseoksluna · 1 month ago

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THE BALL OF LIGHT, iii. | jjk

pairing: friend!jeongguk x fem!oc

genre: heavy angst, fluff

rating: 15+

word count: 7.8k

summary: the rules yoongi made in your life are doomed to collapse.

pin: ball of light / taglist: join / discord: join / masterlist: run

cp: tba

warnings: biker!jungkook, smoking and vaping, oc is learning what it's like to be platonically touched and loved, state of numbness, anxiety, betrayal, lying, spying.

note: i love this chapter so much. i finally feel connected to the characters, which is something that i was lacking in the first two chapters. i broke sweat writing this and i spent hours on this. don't be a silent reader and have mercy on me. let me know what you think. <3

The vaporous retrospection of Jeongguk’s hands offered you solace beneath the slanted downpour of the hot shower stream. Using the slender, satiny, beige scrunchie that is used more as a statement bracelet of yours than a ponytail holder, you seized your long bob into your trembling fists and put it up, imagining it were Jeongguk’s stable and strong fingers working around the sleek fabric, making sure your hair didn’t soak one drop of the water.

The tears had halted, somehow, the moment your foot lifted over the shower floor. You let the stream dribble over your face, wash away your awkward moment of weakness—the mascara you rubbed off, the ebony teardrop-shaped trails of your agony that in another dimension wasn’t agony at all, but the velvet antithesis of it. Something very akin to the homely-like joy, warmth and a connection you could depend on. This is what you did, more often than not. Set your imagination into motion as a form of coping mechanism that would smooth out all the nerves in your system that had been wrung out into an unnatural, unrecognizable architecture.

It wasn’t that Yoongi didn’t typify a wall you could lean against. Vitally and physically, he did. Daily, you had a roof over your head and food in your tummy. But metaphorically and emotionally, that wall he embodied was too sturdy. Impossible to break through. Impossible to speak through. And that could never be the connection your soul so earnestly sought.

That could never be anything at all.

Nothing awaited you on the other side of this dead end.

Jeongguk helped you perceive that. With his hands, with his wise words that caused such tumultuous chaos in your body. Enough for you to find the nearest exit and isolate yourself. Weep in peace. Wash it all away. And it felt as though someone up above, beyond the clouds and the stars, wrote down this moment a long time ago. Made it so Jeongguk would offer you a chance to shower—in fact made it so the first snow of the wintertime would begin to fall and block your way home.

What would’ve happened if your bus did come after all, if you stubbed Jeongguk’s cigarette and waved him goodbye?

You would be still standing in front of this dead end, in front of this sky-high wall. Not half-pivoted to leave, not considering other options. Not carrying the closest experiences of physical touch in your hands. Not feeling warmth. Not swallowing the aftertaste of Jeongguk’s cinnamon tea. Not having the ghost and the reaction of his hands as an anchor you cling to.

You would have nothing. Just like you did your entire life.

And if the turmoil never happened, it wouldn’t have made this much difference. It wouldn’t have ripped open a hole in this nothingness; it wouldn’t have shattered the iron of your shackle. Because it was this turmoil of his, this pain of his, that coaxed that wisdom out of him, despite his fatal flaw. His friend became yours—and beneath the shower stream, you came to terms with it.

With the principle that makes life a life: no pain, no gain.

Rain brings flowers, and the more you dwelled in the memory of Jeongguk’s hands, the more the buds of blossoms opened with more sense of safety and comfort upon your tree. Because they made you feel this way.

His arm lifting in your direction at the sound of your cry, then whisking back to his side in respect. His hands warmer than the cup they were holding, not twitching at the throe of the scalding liquid. Good, good hands, belonging to a good person.

Nothing about him is unsafe, even when he exposes the painful truth over your life. How could anything about him be unsafe by any means, when the only shower gel he had was of that cinnamon fragrance.

He’s no longer the essence of macadamia, musk and cedarwood.

He’s cinnamon through and through. The spice of sweetness, the spice of winter. The epitome of warmth and carefulness, profound and unforgettable in taste.

The tears you weep next are for him. For the deeply-buried unrequited affection he has for Ka-eun. For the unfair, horrendous treatment he deals with day by day. For all the love he stores within himself while having no one, absolutely no one, to give it to.

And feverish pearls of thankfulness trickle out of your tear ducts for him, too. For the freedom he so freely and selflessly engraved into the flesh of your heart that you sense won’t overgrow anytime soon.

Pearls of thankfulness that he’s a witness of, for he stands at the door. Puffy mouth agape, chocolate eyes wide beneath thick-rimmed glasses. Something is ringing—you can’t hear it, but you can feel the pulse of the noise. The alarm that beats in his aura as he’s frozen on the spot, unknowing what to do. He can’t see one inch of your body due to the tinted hue of the glass separating you from him, but he can see your tears. Can see their flow. And perhaps he can see their inner sadness, too.

You don’t feel naked. You were bare and raw while fully clothed just a while ago in his kitchen, but right now with nothing to cover you, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. His irises don’t glide down. Don’t even dare to skim down to the darkly shadowed back of your shoulder that faces him. His mouth moves, the ball of his Adam’s apple leaps nearly to his chin as he swallows, but you just can’t hear a damn thing.

And then the ringing grows in volume. A sound that pierces your eardrum, that rips your gaze away from him as soon as your hearing senses accept it. Your brows pull in, the shrillness of the sonancy reverberating through your sternum like icy gunfire—and you wish it was softer, you wish the everlasting coldness wouldn’t stalk you, and you wish you would stay warm.

You inhale and exhale. Tightness swathes your chest and the following breath you take is shallow, not enough for your lungs. Panic settles in, your arms wrap around your body, and then… shadow.

Shadow inches in. Spreads its wingspan.

When you glance behind your shoulder, the glass door is open. Jeongguk stands at the entrance with his graceful hands holding up a towel for you. His head is turned to the side, unwilling to look at your nakedness out of that respect of his.

You don’t have control over your body when you step out of the shower and into the cotton of the makeshift security of those wings. Using the carefulness he’s patched together with, he wraps the largeness of the towel around you. As if you were a small child, being dried off by its father. The only spots of your form he touches are your shoulders and the upper planes of your chest. Your eyelids are heavy with the weight of your tears and a certain tiredness from the day as your irises flick to his. And the spell of your numbness, little by little, breaks because he looks right down at you with utmost seriousness and concern.

He sees you.

You’re seen.

“Hold it,” he murmurs, speaking of the two edges of the towel, the edges of the wings that he still holds together with his fist. Those corners of his mouth are downturned, just like they were when you entered his apartment. You mimic that pout, lamenting that you’re making him feel this way, that it’s your fault the turmoil has come back to him, even though the shared negative emotion smears your chest with warmth. It’s an oxymoron, your guilt laced with your desire to stay in this dimmed microcosm with him.

It reminds you of the connection you seek. It resembles it too, too much.

You fold your arm beneath the towel and pinch the edges together, gripping his fingers in the process. A shiver cascades down your spine due to that layered touch and Jeongguk blinks, lingering in your clasp for a moment before he lets go, leaning over to turn off the water.

Grateful, you are. For him, for the way he’s allowing you to experience such an imperative part of humanity that you could never reach. You yearn to hug him, not speak a vowel, and just exist in this newness.

You don’t know what any of this means. You’re conscious of the shift, the shift of the gravity between you and him, but none of it carries the weight of romance. He encapsulates something else, something way bigger, abstruse and abstract.

Something that could kill you… or save you in a millisecond.

“What was that?” Jeongguk asks, his voice still low and murmuring. There’s an impenetrable depth to his pensive eyes that somehow quickens the speed of your recuperation. His question casts a light on you that is blinding, but you can bear it. After what happened in his kitchen, you can, truly, handle anything. “I knocked. Multiple times. I called out to you, but you didn’t answer back.”

His eyes flick between yours, searching for an explanation, demanding it, and you’d give him anything… anything he’d ask after the way he turned your life around.

“I—” you begin but trail off, not knowing how to explain the frailty of your mental health. You, too, comb through his eyelashes in pursuit of help for your words, but what you come across are not letters but the vast prettiness of his being.

Your knees give out on you, weakened by him, and a snuggly blanket of completion comes to rest over you because Jeongguk’s arm jerks towards your direction again and this time, he doesn’t let it drift back. He places his palm on your arm, holding you steady so you don’t plummet to the ground, lingering there once again.

Life-giving, that gesture is. You feel your blood pumping throughout the pathways of your veins with more vigor, enlivening your entire body, helping you come out of the fog of your stupor. The sap in your tree thickens and you can see more clearly, hear with a better precision and breathe without any pinpricks or heftiness in your lungs.

Freedom spreads down your limbs, rooting from the warmth pooling in the dent of your arm, the part of you that Jeongguk is gripping. A cult leader, he’s become. A savior, a dangerous man. And you shall never be his companion again—you’ll be his follower until the day you cease to exist on this earth.

“Are you okay?” he asks, abruptly breathless, and the axis of his grip opens out, descending down to the rounded edge of your elbow. His thumb traces circles on that fleshiness and the comfort you receive from it brings forth your liquid emotions. They spill down onto your cheeks, but you’re not ashamed of them. You’re not ashamed of anything anymore.

“I’m okay,” you say and you mean it—because you’ve stepped inside an environment that feels so terribly secure, so terribly grounding, a place that will never leave the internal realm of your soul.

Jeongguk scans your face, brows knitted. ��Tell me what’s going on.”

You inhale, tipping your face down to rub away your tears with your towel-clothed knuckles. “Sometimes when I get overwhelmed I go numb… that’s all.”

His circles halt. A nebulous shadow eclipses over his tense features. “Did I cause this?”

Your lips part. “You told me something I really needed to hear, something that was hard for me to accept. You helped me, Jeongguk.”

His brows twitch and it is like sunlight filtering through the clouds, the way a small ball of light delicately breaks through the shadow on his face. Your heart writes it down on the bark of your tree in flowery prose—it is a moment that gives you the inkling that you should remember it, and you’re not really sure why.

Jeongguk pats down your arm. A singular, ephemeral and a significant caress that is charged with a range of words that he doesn’t get to say, for a phone rings somewhere behind the place you’re standing. He nods his chin towards it, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black sweatpants, and it is now that you perceive that he’s changed out of his scrubs into a monochrome leisure outfit. A black oversized top, matching sweats, socked-feet inside white slippers. Even his glasses fit his choice of color—a prettification that makes your knees wobble again, but not in such a drastic way as before.

“This is the fourth time he’s calling you,” he says, speaking of the phone ringing, but you have very little care for it. Your body, automatically, out of horrible habit, tells you to care, but you feel a strong tendril of strength that helps you resist it, stand up to it—and stand up to your brother. “That’s why I’m here. He won’t stop.”

You glimpse behind your shoulder at the screen of your phone filled with only the letters of Yoongi’s name. No picture, no emoji. You think that quite perfectly illustrates your relationship with him and you scoff, returning your gaze back to Jeongguk, who nibbles his lower lip absentmindedly, eyes following each movement you make.

Yoongi can’t get to you when you’re inside this environment. He doesn’t have the key to it.

The ringing falls to nothingness and a half-minute passes before he calls again. Anger curls in your gut and you turn around, snatching your phone off the ivory bathroom sink, because if you don’t bite the bullet and answer his call, he won’t leave you alone. You press the green button and before you can place the device to your ear and say something, Yoongi beats you to it.

He spills out his radical worry, intertwining your name into the sentence that threatens to impair your environment.

“Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I was worried sick that something happened to you. You should’ve been home an hour ago—”

Your towel shifts as your trembling returns to you, nearly exposing your vulnerable parts, and you set your phone down on the sink, putting him on speaker phone. You wrap the soft fabric tighter around you and connect your gaze to Jeongguk’s in the mirror. Your brother spills on, no longer interrupted.

Sorrowfulness, in vivid hues of blue, draws out across Jeongguk’s countenance.

“—It’s snowing like crazy. Where are you?”

Your throat dries, but you will your strength to last a little longer. You clench your fists and do not tear your eyes away from Jeongguk’s, which seem to have the same determination. He’s a monumental pillar, ready to catch you if you feel faint, and you feel this in a great depth that has the epoch-making ability to replenish you. Even far away in a memory, you deem.

“I’m with a friend,” you croak out and you repeat the short sentence with a bit more heroism because you don’t wish to be suggestive of weakness. Not again, not ever. A subdued light floods Jeongguk’s eyes in slow motion at your words, giving you a sense of pride and validation. A specialty of his; it must be the bottom of his kindness, the foundation of his heart—this very unique act of emotional service. And you close your palm over it, clinging to it with all your might. “I was taking a shower. I’ll get dressed and come home.”

The truth in the rawest form; the exposure of your life beyond the restraints of his standards. You fear his reaction, you fear his reaction so much that within the silence of him comprehending your words you almost go to seek Jeongguk’s comfort in any way he’s willing to give you, but Yoongi stops you.

Yoongi surprises you.

“Okay. Give me your friend’s address. I’ll pick you up.”

Your heart, with full force, kicks against your ribcage just once.

You didn’t expect his resignation—and you would’ve never guessed it would come plaited with such a gentle form of care, for his care has never been gentle. It has always been stifling, frantic and utterly manic.

And the way you lick your lips, swallow and take a new breath in this even newer reality, it feels as though you won. You won the invisible war with your brother who has wounded you too much for you to get up.

But you did.

You got up, and Jeongguk refreshed you, prepared you to fight back and win this round.

It must be his words in your mouth, ones he silently transmitted to you through your potent eye contact with him in the mirror. It must be, you believe it to be so, because at this moment you’re too stunned to do anything.

“No need. My friend will give me a ride home.”

Jeongguk visibly relaxes, nodding solemnly, approving. A spasm of excitement buzzes in your tummy at the sight, and you can’t help the small growth of your smile. And it, too, is complete when he half reciprocates it, a dimple appearing by the corner of his mouth that is lifted in your honor, in the honor of what you both managed to do in the span of one hour.

“Alright, tell her to drive slow.”

Yoongi ends the phone call. Jeongguk pulls his hands out of his pockets and begins to crack his knuckles, rolling his shoulders back as if he were in a stressful situation that strained all of his muscles. You bite your lip to relieve yourself of all the buzzing sensations that crawl upon your every nerve ending, but your abrupt laughter releases your teeth from the pillow.

Her.

You laugh so hard that it forces you to hide your face in the towel, the sound muffled but real, alive and exhilarating. And when you peek at Jeongguk in the mirror for the last time, you catch his smile widening and breaking, at last, into a grin that mirrors your enthusiasm.

“This is your life,” he rasps, adding your name, which propels butterflies to tickle, fleetly, your tummy. “Your life by your own rules. Enjoy every moment of it. You deserve it.”

And with that he leaves, clicking the door shut behind him.

Your tea has gone cold, but the cinnamon scent is still prominent.

Jeongguk is manspreading on the couch, one fist propped on his thigh while he is hunched over his loud phone that he clutches in his other hand. He doesn’t notice you as you paddle softly to the kitchen counter to take a sip of your tea—and it isn’t until you slurp the nippy liquid that he rips his attention away from the videos he was watching. He locks his phone immediately, pocketing it, and bathes his crepuscular apartment in an ample silence.

You're glad for the lack of light.

Witnessing the state of you without his presence was a scare. The traces of your mascara tears were scattered with flecks and specks on your cheeks that the stream didn’t rinse off, and your eyelids have become swollen with the excessive amount of crying you’ve done within the fateful hour. Your excitement hasn’t been shunned by your sparsity of confidence, however. In fact, it keeps on increasing, having transfigured into a velvet ribbon that you wrapped around the bark of your tree whilst getting dressed. You fondled it then and you fondle it now, dwelling on the matter that went down, and how good it felt. How right, how freeing. But owing to what happened, to what Jeongguk has done for you, you’d much rather be pretty in his eyes right now.

And you’re anything but pretty.

You’re a ruination. About to be rebuilt into something pretty. Or someone.

Setting the cup down, you smile at the taste of cinnamon and cloves, liking the way it is so redolent of who Jeongguk is. You hope it fills your dreams later tonight, bursting there into smithereens that you can carry inside yourself.

As little talismans.

To keep you company. To keep the perception of the safety Jeongguk had provided you tucked within the crevices of your body—so you can go back to it, remind yourself of it as soon as you start to forget.

“Ready to go?”

His voice penetrates the silence, announcing that you are to leave the fortress-like environment you are already missing. You direct your eyes, for the last time, at the little gleeful Gingerbread man, graze the tip of your thumb over his smile in an effort to engrave it there as a keepsake. And then you nod, though you’re not ready.

You’ll never be ready. What if your freedom disappears as soon as you cross the threshold of your home?

You blink the thought away. Grow weary of your deathless fear that just continues rising in your psyche. You wish you could kill it—or rather have Jeongguk asphyxiate it, just so it stops whispering those what ifs, those questions and those hostile words.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Jeongguk walks past you and returns to his place where he stood a little while ago. He places two black helmets on the counter. One bigger and one particularly smaller. You wonder if it belonged to Ka-eun once, if the inside of the helmet is still perfumed with the scent of her hair.

Another ifs.

You look away. Your forefinger finds his pink vape, fondling it, saying goodbye. You’ll terribly miss this life you lived in this apartment—and once you get home, you plan to pray for another snow, so you can escape, so you can live properly. Here within this warmth; here where all things are possible, aromatic and whimsical.

Jeongguk studies you, and as soon as you instinctively glance at him, he extends his hand and closes his fingers around your tousled bun. It brings back a memory, a painful memory of the past, when your father would run his fingers through your wet hair. Back when you were a child, when everything was normal and your father loved you. No matter the weather, you would slip away to the petite creek behind the house. Your hair was so long that it would drift upon those soft ripples. Even the wind would gather it and soak it in the water—to cleanse it off all the bad words your mother would utter over it. Too long. It’s shameful. It gets in your food. It’s wet again? It’s dripping all over my floors. Mop it up. God, you’re useless. Do it properly. Water was invariably your means of escapism. Oh, how could it not be when you’re a water sign yourself. And your father was the only one who would dry your hair with a hand towel he would keep in his study for you before your mother saw, before she could curse you for another lifetime.

And the way Jeongguk does it now, you metamorphose into that small child that never did anything right. Suddenly, your hair is long again—and you didn’t cut it when you turned fifteen and your father somehow stopped loving you, stopped paying attention to you, stopped drying your hair. And as small as you are right now, your heart regrets the loss of your dearest papa.

Your hair hasn’t been touched since the death of him.

Since he couldn’t touch it anymore from the afterlife.

The tears burn now behind your eyes, but you stifle them back. You don’t want to cry anymore, you don’t want to experience this pain any longer. You can’t even look at Jeongguk in fear those liquid feelings would betray your will; you can only focus your gaze on that vape of his. And before you know what you’re doing, you're grasping it and placing it between your lips.

My nerves are asking for more, he had said and you relate to him on such a profound level that it feels gratifying once you puff on it and the strawberry scent imbues your lungs—to such an extent that when you respire, you can feel it mingling with the oxygen. It’s still there. Such sweetness. You understand why he likes it so much, why he can’t stay away from it and smokes it, despite the fact he shouldn’t mix it with his cigarettes.

Jeongguk smiles through the ivory fume, drifting his hand up to the crown of your head before he inspects the face-framing wisps. They’re damp, but not wet, not like the ball of your bun.

He lets his hand fall to his side. You lament it.

“Your hair is wet,” he says gently, pursing his lips. “I don’t know if your bun will fit inside the helmet. You should put it inside your sweater, so you don’t get sick.”

It is something akin to a religious experience, not being told off for having wet hair. You mull over it, the fact he cares enough to tell you what to do, so you don’t get stricken with illness. The tears rush forth with more verve, and you try your hardest to not cry again. It’s like your father, a healthy and younger and pre-you version of him, is standing in front of you. Out of this world, heavenly, this moment is.

You take another puff. You must.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Jeongguk asks, a lopsided smile hanging upon his lips. His eyes flick down to your parted mouth exhaling out the smoke that blends in with the cinnamon spice. “Keep it.”

You blink in surprise. “Are you sure?”

He nods, busying himself with something on the other side of the kitchen, beside his refrigerator. In a minute he’s back, carrying a bulbous sack of foreign items that he plants into your free hand.

“Take these fruits home. I put the cinnamon tea inside, too.”

You part your mouth, touched to the core. Open the sack and uncover that he’s put inside three figs and two teabags. You pout, whisk your eyes back to him to see him nibbling on his lip, features back to being solemn and glossy. He’s breaking a sweat—perhaps fearful that you’ll turn him down, laugh at it and brush it off. You’re heard of Ka-eun doing this on many occasions and if there’s anything you could do for him, to caress that scar of his, you shall not be like her.

You fold the paper sack and clutch it to your chest.

“I’ll eat it and drink it all,” you say, but you don’t mean the latter. You’ll put the teabags on your nightstand—to have him close. “Thank you. You’re so kind.”

His following exhale is a sigh of relief and he nods, irises preoccupied with something on the upper part of your sternum. When you follow his sight, he’s already taking a step forward and discarding you of the unknown thing that he was focusing on. You realize it’s a fluff from the towel when he flicks it off from his fingertip—and then, as if he didn’t do such a groundbreaking thing for you, he takes both of the helmets.

“I’d give you more but that's all I have.”

The ground breaks, and so does your heart.

He turns on his heel and heads for the hall. The atmosphere is hushful, but tranquil as you both put on your shoes and jackets. Jeongguk holds the door open for you, waiting for you to step out first before he does. He clicks it shut, waits again for the sing-song tone to tell him it’s locked, and then you’re in the elevator.

The elevator that is microscopic, even for two people.

You glance behind yourself at the mirror, find yourself pallid and colorless. Insecurity gnaws at you, and so you pinch your cheeks, one by one. Jeongguk watches you and shakes his head at you once you notice his stare. There’s no room, no time for any exchange for words because the elevator opens and he signals to you to go first with a tilt of his head.

And that is what brings color to your cheeks, not your pinching.

His bike outside of the apartment complex stands forlornly. The black cover over it is densely snow-laden, and the snowflakes flutter and spin in the air more tenderly than they did earlier. You, yourself, stand back with your sack and watch him do the work. He hands you, wordlessly, your helmet and once his hand is free, he slides his own down his head, popping open the visor. Nimbly, he takes both ends of the cover and lets the snow glissade down on the patch of grass behind his bike, which is draped with the same substance. Then, he expertly folds it and stuffs it inside the trunk, lifting his arm in your direction and asking for the sack, which he neatly places inside as well.

You’re breathless once he’s finished—and you’re empty of all air when he begins to concentrate on you.

His eyes are saturated with something sensitively dark as he takes your helmet from your arm. The close proximity tugs at your heart and you feel smaller than you did in his apartment. Smaller in a way that suggests you’re being taken care of. His icy hands undo your bun, but he doesn’t give you back your scrunchie. Mindlessly, he drags it down his wrist. Your cheeks heat up within this wuthering vicinity, and Jeongguk protects your wet hair from the wind by pulling the hem of your scarf over your head, tucking your strands inside. Your lungs forget to breathe when he glides the helmet down your head with extra tenderness and necessitates for your eyes, flipping up the visor.

His hands remain on the helmet as if upon your cheeks, inspecting.

Always inspecting.

“All good?”

Your heart does a somersault. You nod.

“Are you scared?”

It’s not hitting you yet—the fact you’ll drift through the snowy streets with nothing to protect the sides of your body. No seatbelt, nothing. Only trust in the driver.

“I’ll drive slow,” Jeongguk adds, his words an allusion to Yoongi’s, and you huff out a soft laugh, the lightheartedness from the occurrence consuming you all over again.

He taps the side of your helmet and walks towards his bike. Doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile—as if he didn’t share your enthusiasm in that aspect. He swings a leg over the body of the vehicle and presses the start button, the engine roaring into the evening. It seemingly opens its eyes: lights that line the body of the bike and its tires glare in dark neon red. He’s a black figure against the violet, twinkling scenery, sprinkled with the daintiest, most intricate snowflakes, and your relation is clear to you as you observe him like this.

You’re becoming attached to him. And maybe that should be the thing to be scared of.

Jeongguk curls his fingers in the air, gesticulating that you are to hop on, and you do. Because you’re not scared, because the idea of being scared of Jeongguk doesn’t simply make sense to you.

The bike is cold as you follow his motions and sit down behind him. You hiss at the sensation and he glances back at you, though he’s not able to see much due to the thickness of his helmet.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s cold.”

He coos to himself, ever so quietly that it gives you the impression that you weren’t supposed to hear it. And before you can comprehend his softness and react, he speaks.

“You have to hang on. I’ll get you home soon.” He tweaks the handlebars. “Hold onto me.”

As soon as you place your palms on his shoulders, the vehicle begins moving backwards in a more rapid way than you anticipated. You startle, gasping, tensing behind him and gripping his muscles. Jeongguk is quick with his response—before he drives out of the sidewalk and onto the road, he moves your hand from his shoulder to his waist. Would move your other hand, too, but he has to handle the bike, turning in a swift way that takes your breath.

“Hold me like this, don’t let go,” he calls out, and you comply, intertwining your fingers before his chest, and then he’s drifting.

Your intertwinement loosens. You grapple the front of his puffer jacket for more support as the wind, interlaced with the unmerciful snowflakes, sails through the sides of your body, entering you through your throat, knotting your stomach. The vacant tide of the airy atmosphere appears to be sturdy and ruthless, but when you risk letting go of his jacket to flip down your visor because your eyes have started to burn, the sharpness of the breezing air is silky, elegant and lovely. Not severe, not harsh, not against you, but for you. It’s like the air parts for your touch, enveloping you, and because you long to feel more of it, you extend your hand to the side, allowing yourself to simply feel. Feel life be compliant and lenient. You lean your head against the center of Jeongguk’s back and watch your hand be kissed by the wind and the snowflakes, not having one care in the world.

Everything wrong ceases to exist on this road with him.

You mimic the waves of the sea with your hand because you sense that you’re being carried to a better part of life. You’re sailing, swimming, you’re happy and at peace, and those feelings are accompanied by the sudden sound of Jeongguk’s sweet chuckle. But you don’t shy away. No, you don’t have any reason to, for Jeongguk extends his hand, too. His ripples are way lengthier, protruding through the air in more depth due to the size of his hand. Together you swim like this just for a brief, blissful moment—he, in the front, you behind him like the follower you are, like the child you are in your adulthood.

And the time frame of this felicity doesn’t pause at the red light.

You’ve situated your hands back to his chest, and Jeongguk rubs them in fast motions, warming them up, glancing back at you.

“Did you flip down your visor?” he questions, his voice deepened by the adrenaline of the ride.

You nod, internally geeking at the fact he’s touching your hands. “I did. My eyes were burning.”

“Good.”

Your heart is delectated by that praise. Content drowsiness seizes you while your joy beats, meekly, in your belly. And it is now that you perceive that you’re hugging him. It may be through a myriad of warm layers, but you’re hugging him—and he’s holding your hands, caring enough about them being cold while his own are frosty, but still filmy, still soft, still gentle. And this time, when he lets go, you don’t lament their absence because he’s buried in you, somehow, the trust, the security that he will touch you again.

There’s nothing to be afraid of.

He’ll come back around.

Everything is okay.

You must have fallen asleep with your one eye open because you don’t even recognize how much time has passed. Jeongguk taps your hands again, calling you by your name, and you hum, feeling him burying that trust deeper by the gesture, feeling yourself getting used to being touched by him.

“I’m driving through your bus’s line now, I need you to tell me where you live.”

You straighten and squint in the dark, deliberating your surroundings. You’re four stops away from the one you get off on.

“Go straight and then take the first turn,” you navigate him, your tone marked by your sleepiness. “If you see the trees in the distance, that’s where my house is.”

You return to your former position, resting peacefully on his back, and you’re about to close your eyes again, but Jeongguk’s following question fling them right open.

“Should I stop a few houses down?”

You’ve never had Yoongi expecting your arrival, so you’re not sure if he’ll be standing by the window, waiting for your friend’s car to park in the driveway. You hesitate, but are inclined to go with his suggestion, though Jeongguk continues to speak in your silence.

“I don’t want you to deal with his bullshit once he sees that I’m not a girl.”

His intonation is snappy, laced with his own personal vexation from your relationship with your brother. Your lips curl in a satisfied smile, quivering under your helmet—and here and now, the guilt doesn’t creep in, the inert need to stand up for him doesn’t resurface. You take pleasure in the way he’s bothered by it and the emotion stays. You’re so glad for it that you softly pat his chest a few times and agree with his suggestion.

It dawns on you that his vexation with your brother is the reason why he didn’t share your enthusiasm when you stood outside of his apartment complex. Your inner child dances around the tree within you, the tails of the velvet ribbon brushing through her long, long hair.

Jeongguk sighs once he nears your house and you deem he does so because he sees how it’s positioned. The ivory castle of doom dominates the street, overlooking all the other smaller houses, which face each other, while perched on a hill. There’s nowhere for him to hide, not now when he’s driven up the hill.

He kills the engine, parking the bike by the side of the road. Your hands are numb as you untangle them. You shake them in the air in an effort to get your blood pumping in them. Jeongguk remains sitting and you take it as a sign to hop off first, which you do. Your bum is bitingly ice-cold and, hissing, you rub it. Jeongguk laughs at you, popping open his visor. His eyes are crinkly and starry while he amusedly looks at you, and there’s some kind of intent to his stare that makes your stomach feel all fuzzy.

You burn under the helmet.

Blood flows to your digits, and therefore you use them to rid yourself of the protective headpiece. You struggle, however. Stuck in it, you can’t move it—no matter how hard you try, how many muscles you flex in order to discard yourself of it. You hear a muffled chuckle, and then you feel cold hands against yours, pulling up the helmet with a certain kind of precision and strength you don’t possess. And there is the close proximity again, jumbling your guts. The depth to the eye contact and unvoiced words that are passed through the wind, which blows through your sweat-clad hair and forehead, unraveling your scarf, baring you for his eyes to see. A wispy strand of hair gets entangled in your eyelashes, flying through the planes of your face, and Jeongguk doesn’t put it away. He surveys it as he contemplates something—and at this moment all you can think about is how he’s never not lost in his thoughts.

The boy is always reflecting on something within the complex space of his mind, and you deem that’s why there’s an entire canvas of stars in his eyes. The universe must have given it to him, hand-picked by God, because his head is permanently in the clouds.

How beautiful that is, how momentous.

“You fell asleep on me,” he rasps, as if he himself couldn’t believe it. “It wasn’t that bad then, was it?”

You loop that strand of hair behind your ear and shake your head, flicking your eyes for a split second to the unlit balcony of your parents’ bedroom. How great and bad would it be, if they stood there. You don’t know why your heart is seeking them at this moment, why your eyes looked there, but you leave it be. Some purpose it has, but your mind doesn’t have to understand it right now. You find peace in that.

“You’re a safe female driver,” you joke, your words split by your soft laughter, but Jeongguk isn’t amused, not anymore. You bite your lip, your pleasure from it heightening. “I was scared at first, but then it felt liberating.”

Jeongguk nods, attuned to your experience. He hangs your helmet on one of the handle bars. “So you’re willing to ride with me again?”

He peeks at you, magnetically pulling your answer out of you by the laws of the stars in his eyes, and as you blush, you melt. You irrevocably and nonsensically melt.

“Yeah, but remind me to bring my gloves next time,” you say, grinning so wide the muscles in your cheeks ache. You pull down the sleeves of your jacket to keep the cold from penetrating them. Jeongguk notices, but if he smiles—you can’t tell. He’s still wearing his helmet.

You think about his offer in the short interlude, looking forward to it. You’d get on and drive back with him to his apartment if you could. When will the next time be, though? He doesn’t drive to school on his bike—he uses public transportation and you wonder why.

“Why don’t you take the bike to school?”

Jeongguk inhales a big gust of air, tilting his head back. The snowflakes fall into the wide hole of his helmet, sitting on his nose. As he mulls over his response, his eyes land on you with a tendril of ferocity that puzzles you.

“I’d rather not give them any more reason to talk about me.”

He begins slapping his hands back and forth, an act that portrays how nervous he is to talk about this. The stars in his eyes lower to dullness, his irises unwilling to pierce yours. You recollect his nerves and how unwilling he was to flesh them out and unriddle them, too. You know, from his past bus stop heart-spilling, that he doesn’t have many friends within his field, but he never mentioned that they genuinely dislike him. You never heard the details, the gravity of this day-to-day problem. And you feel so bad for him that as he looks out into the distance across the hill, you take the necessary step towards him and take his hand into yours.

It is the most courageous thing you’ve ever done, but Jeongguk is perturbed.

And you don’t know it is due to the light unexpectedly turning on in the bedroom of your parents until he pushes you back onto the sidewalk and towers over you, creating a shadow over you that hides you from your brother, who has entered your parents’ bedroom to spy on whether you’ve come home or not.

“He’s there,” he clarifies in a hushed tone, completing the puzzle piece, and when you lean your head out of the shadow, he gently presses you back into safety by cradling your ear.

But you can’t dwell on the touch, not when your heart thrashes against your ribcage with such dreadful, stabbing trepidation because Yoongi never goes to your parents’ bedroom. As far as you know, he hasn’t been there since their death. He kept their door bolted tight for the longest time and it remained so until you begged him to give you the key, so you could keep the room tiny in their honor whenever you missed them. He believed ghosts swarmed its walls there the most out of all the rooms in the house, and if the double doors remained locked, they would stay away—and they would stay away from you, even more so with the bracelet he braided you. You persisted, reminding him of the black plait, and he surrendered. For cleaning and nothing else; we don’t come here for any other purposes, he had decided.

This should be the thing to be scared of. Yoongi prancing around the room as if your parents never died, as if he never swore he’d never walk there again, as if his belief in the paranormal never haunted his mentality.

This is flat-out terrifying—and bears the image of betrayal.

Your throat dries out, and your lips form that pout of yours.

“Is he… still there?” you ask, your voice breaking in consequence of your full-body trembling, and the stars in Jeongguk’s eyes plummet to an unmitigated darkness.

He doesn’t vacillate as he pushes your head to his chest and holds you to him, keeping you safe in his shadow while he discreetly checks if his presence is still by the balcony windows. His fingers dig into the thickness of your hair, and you wish he would pull on it, so you wouldn’t feel this sagging pain in your sternum, which forces your knees down, which forces your tears like strings of a puppet.

You don’t want to cry, and you don’t want to believe this is real. His room is next to your parents’, for God’s sake. He could’ve spied from his own window and seen you perfectly fine. Without any obstacles, without causing any of these nagging difficulties.

“He’s gone. The lights are off.”

There’s no relief from his words. There’s nothing that could alleviate you from what you saw. And you don’t hold back. You tell Jeongguk of the horrible picture as he continues to hold you to him, his fingers sinking deeper into your scalp.

“He never goes to my parents’ bedroom. He keeps the door locked and he allows me inside just to clean because I begged him to. What is this? He decided that we would never go there.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything for a while. He merely breathes with you, his chest lifting and falling while he contemplates the information. His heart is dead silent—just like the room.

Or so you thought.

“I don’t think you should trust anything he says,” he utters, at last, withdrawing you from his chest to glimpse into your eyes. Dark, dark those pools are. No stars in sight. “Fuck his stupid rules.”

You gasp for air, frustrated that this is your life, that it’s interwoven with those rules of his that you no longer respect.

“I’ll have a cigarette just so he doesn’t think you were with me, but that’s the last time I’m abiding his fucked up rules and views. I want you to know that. This stops today.”

He’s right, and as he smokes his cigarette and you grip his vape in your fist, puffing from it simultaneously with him, the new decision begins to plunge down your body. This stops today, and the decision roots in your belly like a pebble in a creek once he stubs out his cigarette and gets on his bike, pulling out the sack of figs and cinnamon tea and handing it to you.

This stops today, and the next time he takes you for a ride on his bike, he will park by your house for Yoongi to see.

Although, you don’t realize, not in your poisonously blossoming spite, that you won’t see Jeongguk anytime soon, and that he won’t hop on his bike for months.

You don’t realize in the moment, as you’re waving Jeongguk goodbye while he drives off, that your efforts are everlastingly useless.

And that is the curse your mother spoke over you when you were still a child with long, dripping wet hair. That is the demon that lives in the walls of your parents’ bedroom.

Let out, freed, having been given permission by the breaking of spoken rules to ruin your life.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @jjk7k , @tkslovechild , @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl , @ririkookiemonster , @perfectiondazesworld , @https-mei , @bangtansonyeondanue , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk , @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

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nouearth · 1 year ago

Text

an internship at wayne interprises. (part ii)

bruce wayne x male reader headcanons

part i.

warnings: smut, age gap, bottom reader, breeding, virgin!reader, top!bruce, established relationship, lowkey kind of fluffy, bruce is falling in love.

a/n: aaaand it's finally here! i hope you all enjoy the long awaited part two! i was watching american psycho recently and bruh, i forgot how hot he looked in it. like. i want to run my tongue all over him.

—as intimidating as bruce was, he never found the courage, or time really, to isolate you from your responsibilities.

—was it cowardliness that he was faced with? or was it that returning feeling that churned in his stomach, swelled in his chest, until it made him rethink the thoughts he’s had of you?

—guilt. he never felt it when he was jerking off to your pictures, which have become a daily routine now.

—but it returned in powerful marches, ached at the center of his heart, ridiculing him for thinking about his employee in such a crude, exploitive way.

—he always felt it when he saw you first thing in the morning, working quietly, mindlessly as your body had begun to become used to the caffeine.

—like wind chimes, you moved around people - around the wind - not with them, as you made your way to the break room.

—three packets of sugar and two spoons of creamer normally kept you awake, but the frozen pocket pizza in the toaster oven was the real source of your energy.

—bruce winced as he silently watched you from afar. you yawned, rubbed your eyes as the heat from the toaster oven warmed the surrounding area.

—jesus, no wonder you’re always so tired. look at the shit you’re eating.

—the march of soldiers, rioting against guilt, roared, and he was reminded of his privilege immediately after. a butler that had been providing him three nutritious meals a day since birth, and a garden of wealth that allowed him to afford a home gym with the best equipment; it was all handed to him and while he did his best to give back to the city, it was never enough to pacify the war zone of his chest. he was a person, a wealthy person, but a person nonetheless.

—you were a person.

—though ironically enough, he came to the the image of you hungrily licking the grease off your fingers when you were finished with breakfast later that night.

—there was always something new about you that he would fixate on when his hand met his cock, stroking it with a glorious amount of lube until it dried.

—though he never fretted, because your lips, your face, your nose - everything about you - milked him until the fresh stock of cum had become the only slime that layered his softening erection.

—like bruce’s nights, you’ve begun infiltrating the routine of his mornings now.

—or rather, bruce began infiltrating yours after he visited you in the break room for the first time.

—good morning, mister wayne…

—oh, new intern, right? your name was…?

—he always feigned his disinterest because he liked hearing your name come out of your handsome mouth.

—(m/n), sir…

—it sounded beautiful. the softness of your voice kindled a tenderness in bruce and it could’ve cradled him to sleep had the coffee from the break room not been so disgusting and cheap.

—the third time, he memorized the pattern you spoke in. your voice always trailed off at the end of a sentence as if it had been stolen by a criminal.

—it’s (m/n), sir…

—he wished he could be that somebody.

—the fifth time, he’d gotten used to the watery aftertaste of the coffee.

—wait, don’t tell me. your name rhymes with…

—and when you laughed because bruce was completely off by a mile, he saw a glimpse of your soul that had been sheltered by intimidation and anxiety.

—he learned he wanted to become a part of your life when he took you out for lunch.

—long overdue, but i usually take my interns out for lunch.

—bruce usually didn’t.

—oh—mister wayne, i don’t think that’s necessary… i already packed lunch.

—great! you don’t have to pack for tomorrow then.

—wait, but i haven’t set up the meeting with—

—i’ll get someone on it—already made reservations, c’mon.

—he’d learned so much about you that day, then the following, and the next; your upbringing, your hopes and dreams, your downfalls, it felt like he was walking on water with the way you willingly opened more of yourself every consecutive day.

—he could listen to you talk for hours, become poisoned by it if your voice was liquid, and bruce accepted that risk when he made another routine to invite you for lunch.

—previous nights were as followed: he stroked his cock to you, breathing heavily into the memory of your cologne, the wrinkles of your shirt, the curl of your lips when he made a joke.

—since he’d gotten to know you as more than a stained selfie, more than the meek statue that stood in the corner; instead of feeding himself with the thoughts of you that derived from pure lust, the reality of his nights had shifted.

—he stroked himself, that never changed. but he closed his eyes, breathing until he could see the ghost of you by his side.

—your shared bodies tensed into one another as his body curved forward into the arc of your back when he pushed in for the first time. you reached back to hold his thigh, pausing his thrusts because you needed to adjust, because you wanted to feel all of him in complete comfort.

—it was intimacy.

—it only melted - your body - when bruce kissed the shell of your ear, telling you that he’ll continue once you were ready. you let him in, sprouted for him like a bud in spring, and felt all of him swell larger inside of you with a whimper.

—it was vulnerability.

—he made sure you were touched, palming your erection as he rocked his own into your bud. from the nape of your neck to the hill of your back, he blessed you in the wet of his mouth, battling the sweat that had gathered on your body to see who would claim the vacancy of your body.

—he made sure to make you feel safe, drowning you in affection with his low voice, with the bridge that had constructed between your soul and his as he thrusted deeper, connected into you when he pressed into a spot that had the heavy air memorize every letter of bruce’s name.

—and finally crossed when he filled you with all of his endearment towards you, heavy and thick in combative sequence. he never pulled away in fret of losing the sentiment—in fret of losing you.

—it was love.

—from then on, bruce was devoted to melt the frost that had shielded you, just as you had melted his.

—because he was going to protect you now.

—the guilt that had been egging the shelter of his heart wilted in the pit of his stomach when he kissed you for the first time.

—and then completely died when you kissed him back.

—your arms were around his neck, and his were around your waist. you and bruce slow danced to the tune of his favorite song, in the middle of his living room, and so did your lips when he leaned in again.

—it never progressed further than that, despite the ache in bruce’s pants yelling at him to. he wanted to savor every moment with you, in case he happened to chase you away like he did with the others.

—you were special, and bruce held you like the rarest gem on earth for the first time that night.

—again, when he visited you in mornings to drive you to work.

—again, on nights where you were too tired to drive back to your apartment.

—again, after morning meetings were over and every businessmen and women left the vicinity upon the announcement of food catering a few floors down.

—and then again, when bruce’s thoughts had become a reality.

—b-bruce, ngh…

—you reached back to his thigh like in his thoughts, carefully maneuvering and pacing his thrusts into you. your breath stained deep into the cover of his pillow when bruce applied his weight into you, fitting his broad body to the dip of your back.

—i got you, hm? —nice and slow…

—his voice tickled your nape, soothing it with chaste kisses when your muscles tensed, and you breathed harder into the pillow when you let his thigh go, freeing him to do as he pleased. the warmth of your breath fogged your skin as his girth opened you to a profound feeling you’ve been too intimidated to discover

—faster, please…

—he was humored, not because you were embarrassing like the flush of your skin thought, but because you were still the same person he’d met months ago, appeased by it. you were calmed by an assurance, a kiss to your shoulder then your lips, yet your body only continued to bloom with roses.

—you’re still so polite even when we’ve done so many things together…

—bruce pressed deeper into you, panting in your ear as he delivered on your timid demands. he knew you now—read you like a book. you were too afraid to ask for anything despite becoming so vulnerable with each other, and he made sure that you were safe with him.

—your requests were silent sans the moans that have escaped, but he heard every single one of them. his hips drove into you harder for a few rhythms, then excruciating slower to coerce a plea out of you—to pull your beautiful moans along with desperation.

—he wanted to hear you, pulling himself completely out of your bud.

—f-fuuuuck, bruce! please—i need you, please.

—more, he needed to hear you want him as much as he’d been wanting you. his arms wrapped around your waist, and his fingers curled over your cock. it provided a friction, a hole for you to press into as his fist was sandwiched between your body and the bed, and you took the opportunity to desperately thrust into it.

—secretly, you’d hope to thrust yourself back onto his cock.

—but again, he knew you; silently observant and logical, and he raised his hips back, avoiding the desperate grinds of your bottom.

—how badly do you need me, hm? —how bad do you want me?

—bruce needed to hear it, to compel a truth to his prophecy. his hand unwrapped around you and you were left desperately grinding into the soft fabric of his sheets with a whine. they were music to his ears, and the drips of his cock dribbled over the curve of your bottom as if they were notes to a stave, to the sound of your torment.

—i-i need you, please…

—he exhaled.

—so bad.

—he gulped.

—so fucking bad…

—he throbbed.

—mister wayne… —please…

—bruce’s two worlds had collided: his previous thoughts of you rocketed into the current with a cloudy explosion, and he succumbed. you looked back at him with glassy orbs, sweat running down the side of your face, and bruce was overwhelmed by the beauty our deepest desires. how quickly it could destroy the barrier that we’ve built, how quickly he could destroy yours and unfurl your vulnerabilities when he finally drove himself back in one long and smooth thrust.

—f-fuuuuck...

—it was continuous. you wouldn’t admit it, but he knew you preferred being filled like this. he notified the curl of your fingers, clutching at whatever you could to fulfill the aching need to grasp onto something.

—god—

—hard when bruce came down, but slow and affectionate when he pulled out. you felt every thick inch sliding in and out of you. at times, you would purposely tighten in fear of losing bruce, but his thrusts reminded you that you wouldn’t.

—bruce reminded you again when his lips suckled on your shoulder.

—i’m close, (m/n)…

—when his hand stroked your aching cock.

—m-me too…

—and when bruce pushed all of his sweaty weight onto you with one hard thrust.

—shit, shit—

—the boiling feeling in his stomach unfurled inside of you to release his devotion in heavy, white loads. they filled you with heat, spreading thick within you as bruce slowly rocked himself weakly, squeezing every ounce of his love into you until you could feel it yourself.

—bruce—

—your eyes rolled back and you could feel the thick of his cum dripping out of you and down your legs the more he plunged into your hole, and it didn’t take very long for you to come undone yourself. the seam of your mouth kept your moans contained as you blasted bruce’s fist and the sheets with your affection, and it wasn’t until his hand came down to pump you that you exhaled a staggered, breathless groan. the drips came out heavy, sticky, and you rocked into bruce’s fist until they spread themselves thin onto your pelvis, over your cock, and stained deep into the sheets.

—as you both lay breathless, bruce remained on top, puzzled into you as he found comfort in your muscles loosening like the flaccid of your length. he continued playing with your soft flesh, squeezing and spreading the layer of seed that covered his hand, and chuckled when you silently squirmed.

—not away from him like he’d thought, but back into him.

—because he was your guardian now.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne headcanon #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x male reader #nou.fics #bruce wayne smut

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shushmal · 6 months ago

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Stranger to Myself (I think of Home)

For @steddie-week Day 5! Rated T — Check the tags and content warnings!

Eddie is a monster.

Eddie started watching Steve because it didn’t hurt so bad. Didn’t hurt like it does with every glimpse he catches of Wayne, of Dustin. The people who had loved Eddie when he was Eddie. But Steve—Steve was safe. Steve was a boy Eddie knew in passing glances and high school gossip, a guy who was laughing with his friends in another room at every party, a man who planted his feet and fought monsters and helped save the world. Steve who told Eddie to be safe, because Steve was kind when he didn't have to be, when he wasn't expected to—so Eddie finds himself watching Steve instead.

Because Eddie is a monster, and Steve knows exactly what to do with monsters. Eddie knows this.

To Steve, it wouldn't matter that Eddie is the last little bit of the apocalypse still kicking around Hawkins. Eddie who had been chewed up and spat out of hell at the last second, just before the final dungeon slammed shut, sneaking through the shadows unseen, past the unsuspecting heroes wrapped up in their victory. Past his friends, the people who had tried to keep Eddie safe. Past Dustin, who’s face had already been changed by grief.

Past Steve, as well. Steve, who told Eddie to be safe, and Eddie hadn’t.

Eddie wonders sometimes, what Vecna really had in mind for him.

But Eddie is just an unfinished experiment, not quite who he used to be, but not yet the thing Vecna had been trying to twist him into, before the wrinkly ballsack bastard bit it and disintegrated into dust like some b-grade horror movie villain written by some unimaginative hack that shouldn’t have even been in the writer’s room.

He’s the last piece of the Upside Down, Vecna’s last monster, but Eddie’s worst crime post-resurrection is a bit of misdemeanor stalking, simple battery, and animal cruelty. A guy’s gotta eat, afterall. It had taken a while to figure out his own exact brand of vampirism, but Eddie’s gone a few years now without killing anything or anyone. He would be proud of it, but instead he watches Steve make dinner and feels sick on the aftertaste of iron and salt still coating his tongue.

Eddie had started watching Steve because it didn’t hurt, because Steve would take care of it, if Eddie ever needed to be put down. Eddie knows this.

So, it didn’t hurt so bad to watch Steve—until it did.

By then, Eddie was too far gone and couldn’t stop.

His Steve who came back to his lonely castle, days and days after that final battle, after the climax of the story, the end of a legend, still bloody and scorched, none the wiser to the monster peering through his windows, watching. And that was Eddie’s first clue, that was how Eddie first learned that he wasn’t really Eddie anymore—that nervous energy he used to have in life had died with him. Now he sits motionless in the tall pines behind Steve’s house for hours and days, unmoving, as he watches Steve live.

Sometimes, Steve looks out his window, eyes scanning the treetops like he knows Eddie’s there. Everytime, Eddie sits up a little straighter, like a dog eager for attention. But everytime, Steve’s eyes drift past him, unseeing, searching.

It leaves Eddie—already out of step with life, with humanity—a little unsettled, a little too hopeful. Eddie is a thing that shouldn’t be seen ever again, a dead man without a heartbeat, without breath in his lungs, without a reason to exist and yet still here. He wishes he were still dead. He wishes even more that Steve knew he was there, that Steve was looking for him. But Eddie knows better. Eddie can’t go to Steve, because Eddie is a monster and Steve has fought enough monsters. Eddie doesn’t want to get added to the list. He doesn’t want to do that to Steve.

Eddie sits in the trees instead, unmoving and watching for days and weeks. Sometimes he leaves, to feed. Sometimes he stands in the middle of Steve’s empty house when he’s gone, breathing in the lonely silence. Sometimes, he closes his eyes and dreams.

But they’re never his own dreams.

And he never, ever visits anyone else in their sleep, in their dreams and nightmares. No one, except for Steve. His Steve, who’s dreaming of a summer day, sun high in the sky, sitting on the top of skull rock with a six pack and a cigarette. It’s such a simple, beautiful dream. All of Steve’s dreams are like that. Eddie watches the line of Steve’s neck as he tilts his head back in the sunlight, face catching the July warmth.

Steve doesn’t startle when Eddie sits beside him. Just leans in until his head rests on Eddie’s shoulder. It’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful, Eddie wants to cry.

“I miss you,” Steve whispers, like it’s a secret. He presses a smile into Eddie’s jacket. “Isn’t that silly? I barely even knew you.”

Eddie has to swallow back the emotion filling his throat. “Yeah, that’s pretty silly,” he croaks.

“I wanted to though,” Steve sighs. He leans even closer, hands grasping at Eddie’s sleeve, the back of his shirt, and Eddie wishes they could melt into each other, become one thing, become Steve with just Eddie hiding between Steve’s ribs, in his blood, sitting in the center of his chest right next to his heart. “I wanted to know you. I wanted to kiss you so bad.”

If this were real, if they were really sitting on skull rock in the sunlight right now, if Eddie was human, he would be crying. But here, in Steve’s dream, he doesn’t, can’t. Maybe Steve doesn’t want him to be sad.

“Really?” he breathes instead. “Me?”

Steve hums, his hand sliding down into Eddie’s, fingers warm, soft. “Robin calls you my Great Bisexual Awakening.”

Eddie barks a laugh, throwing his head back. He wants to be sobbing, but he laughs instead and when he stops, Steve is looking up at him, painted dream soft and sweet. They watch each other, Eddie cataloging the specks of gold and green in Steve’s eyes. He’s beautiful.

But then Steve blinks, and the corner of his mouth turns down, smile falling away. Eddie feels his skin prickle. He feels watched.

“I miss you,” Steve says again, urgent. And then, just like that, he smiles again, and the feeling’s gone, and Steve presses his face once more into Eddie’s shoulder. “Tell me something.”

Eddie tries to shake off the feeling of disquiet, to relax back into the tenderness of Steve’s dream. “Like what?”’

“Something I don’t know.” He’s beautiful, so beautiful, and Eddie adores him, loves him so much.

“I wanted to kiss you, too.”

Eddie opens his eyes, his breath sharp in the silent forest, and watches as Steve sits up in his bed, gripping the blankets tight in his fists. Even from here, in his haven in the trees, he can see the tears on Steve’s face. He never wants Steve to cry.

When morning comes, he steals into Steve’s home, buries himself in the lingering warmth of his sheets after Steve leaves for work. The fading smell of him is intoxicating, even the salty sting of Steve’s tears, and Eddie wants so desperately. Wants him from the pain in his throat, the hitch in his breath, the way he’s been hollowed from the inside out. Everything has been taken out of Eddie, scooped from between his ribs and scraped smooth, an empty jack o’lantern waiting to rot on the front step.

The wanting is worse than the starving, the thirst. Eddie can’t cry anymore, he isn’t human enough to, but he wishes he could.

Instead, he lays in Steve’s bed, breathes him in, and disappears into the woods behind Steve’s home when he hears the rumble of Steve’s car turn onto the street. He watches as Steve falls into the bed, long gone cold since Eddie has soaked up all the warmth from the blankets in the long hours of Steve's absence. He watches, a monster, as Steve’s eyes glance through the window, eyes on the trees. Straightens up, hoping and wanting, and slumps as that gaze slides past him. He watches Steve’s evening with longing building in his chest, and when Steve slips beneath his covers, Eddie closes his eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks.

Steve is sitting on the edge of his roof in this dream, watching the forest intently. He doesn’t turn his head towards Eddie, caught on a particular spot in the woods.

“You, I think. At least, I think it’s you. I hope it’s you.”

Eddie leans in close, hoping that Steve will turn his eyes, to look at Eddie, to give him that sweet, dreamy smile. “You shouldn’t bother waiting for something like me,” he tells Steve, desperate for those pretty eyes to look at him. “You should be happy.”

“I am happy,” Steve murmurs. He doesn’t look happy. He doesn’t look at Eddie. He watches the distant trees, standing guard. “I’m happy waiting. I think I can wait forever.”

Eddie doesn’t dare touch him, doesn’t dare turn Steve’s head. Even though it hurts. It hurts so bad, so Eddie opens his eyes. In the distance, Steve turns in his bed, chest expanding with a sleepy sigh, and doesn’t leave his dreams.

Morning comes again, and the night falls again, morning and night and morning. Eddie rises from his perch, glides closer to the empty house to steal through the unlocked door. He lays in Steve’s bed, in the shadow of Steve’s warmth left on the sheets. Breathes him in, even though Eddie needs no air. He leaves when he hears the rumble of a familiar engine. Night falls. He closes his eyes.

Eddie watches the way Steve sits on the edge of his roof again, feet dangling, eyes scanning the treeline at the back of his house, quiet and sentry. Like he’s waiting for another monster to appear between the tree trunks. Eddie sits beside him, and doesn’t speak, not even when Steve whispers, only once.

“I miss you.”

Morning comes again, and then night. Sun and moon, wax and wane. The summer heat does not bother Eddie, nor does the winter snow. He imagines building a family of snowmen in Steve’s yard, company for a lonely house. No one visits Steve here. Like they’d forgotten Steve altogether, and Eddie’s the only one left to bear witness to Steve Harrington. Steve who is lonely, who sleeps and dreams and waits for the monster in the woods. Or maybe…

Maybe Steve told them not to come here. Because here is only for Steve, and only for Eddie.

Night falls, and then the morning breaks. Steve doesn’t rise from the bed.

Uneasily, Eddie shifts. Snow slides from his shoulders, landing in heavy thumps on the forest floor below him. He watches as Steve rolls onto his back, arm over his eyes, mouth twisted in pain. Even from here, he can see the tears on Steve’s face. He watches Steve lay in bed the entire day, until night falls. Eddie closes his eyes.

Steve’s dream isn’t a dream this time—a vast darkness instead, stretching long and far. Eddie takes a hesitant step. Water splashes beneath his bare foot. He turns.

And suddenly, it’s like he can hear Steve in his ear, whispering, “I’m happy waiting. I think I can wait forever.”

Eddie turns again, and Steve is there, watching, waiting. Eddie feels the instinct of it, the prickling awareness of being seen. It settles over his skin, sharp and biting like ants. Eddie is the monster, and Steve has found him. His gaze roots Eddie where he stands, water lapping against his toes. The ripples roll away from him, stretching the unreachable distance between Eddie and Steve, distant stars, until they crash against Steve’s feet, and the water settles again, falls calm.

“I miss you though,” Steve whispers, right into Eddie’s ear. “I can wait forever, but I miss you.”

“Really?” Eddie asks. It echoes through the dark. He can see the way Steve smiles, even from so far away.

“Of course,” Steve whispers. “I’m waiting for—”

Dawn breaks through the trees, and Eddie opens his eyes with a gasp. The sound is sharp through the silent forest. Morning mist rises from the pine strewn ground. Steve isn’t in his bed anymore, and Eddie feels himself almost panic, gaze searching.

Searching, until he finds Steve, not even three feet up, sitting above his window on the roof. He stares out into the trees, stares right at Eddie, finally sees the monster in the woods. That gaze raises the hair on Eddie’s arm, animal instinct tightening his muscles, his bones. Steve watches him from his perch on the roof, watches Eddie watch him back.

He’s the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen.

Because Steve’s not standing guard. He’s waiting. Waiting for the thing in the woods, for Eddie to finally come home.

Eddie shouldn’t, shouldn’t go to him, but now that he knows, how can he make Steve wait a moment longer?

Steve gasps when he appears, but it’s not fear in his eyes when he looks at Eddie. Eddie feels it again, feels watched, feels seen. Steve looks up at him and his smile is the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen.

“There you are,” he whispers. “I missed you."

#steddie #steddie week 2024 #my fic #this is genuinely one of my favorite things i've written in a long time #so im posting the whole thing on tumblr too in case you don't wanna go to ao3 ahaha #this is super soft dw

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contentloadingandstuff · 1 month ago

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Halloween Special: Basement Secrets | Hu Tao x Male!Werewolf!Reader

A/N: I know it's late, and I'm sorry for it. I'll still call it a special, since that was my original intention. Enjoy, and sorry for being late again. CW: Smut, sedatives (drugging I guess?), reader in heat, non-human genitalia.

A flick of the wrist causes the lamps to spark to life, illuminating the corridor. The Director stops to appreciate her surroundings. She guides her hand across the wall ornament, feeling the smooth, cold texture. Hu Tao hums in appreciation. The carpenter did splendidly. Maybe she should have the coffin wood polished as well?

Her eyes gravitate towards the other end of the hallway, where a large bookcase stands. Approaching it, she puts the paper bag under her arm and reaches for one of the books. A firm tug moves the lever, allowing the furniture to be moved to the side. She doesn't need much effort - her ancestors were smart in installing rails into the floor. A gust of cold air hits her through the iron bars, causing her hair to sway slightly. The air carries a hint of fur, sweat and…

“Ah~” She breathes it in, enjoying the scent thoroughly. Anger. Frustration. Hate. Desperation.

Without a moment of further delay, Hu Tao slides the key into the slot and turns it twice, opening the gate. The lamps behind it, already lit by the chain reaction she started earlier, cast golden light on the many stone stairs leading downwards. She secures her entrance, pressing a button to slide the shelf back into place. It's best not to spark curiosity, even of her consultant Zhongli.

“The ninth fell down and cried aloud, the tenth asked ‘Why?’~” She hums, going down with lively steps. She matches her feet to the increasing rhythm of her heart. It demands her to go faster, but she doesn't listen - after all, good things come to those who wait… “For the fifth won't ever come back.”

Another door, made of thick iron. There's a viewport, but she knows well what it hudes. This time, all she has to do is lift the hook and pull the handle to get in. When she does, she makes sure it doesn't close fully.

“What do you want?” A deep, sharp voice comes from the other end of the room and Hu Tao turns to face it. The room is lit just by the dim flame of the gas lamp, leaving most of the room in complete darkness. A pair of big, yellow eyes stood out on the black backdrop.

Hu Tao placed the bag on the desk and approached the lamp. “Do I need a reason to visit you, hm?” she says as she turns the dial of the lamp, letting the flame grow bigger. “Can't a girl check up on her-”

“I'M NOT YOUR DAMN DOG!” You lunge forward, but the thick collar around your neck stops you from slamming your body against the bars. Your captor chuckles, not even bothering to turn around.

“... puppy~?”

Hearing this, you let out a growl of annoyance. You would have broken out already, got rid of her and ran free if not for this damn inhibitor stuck around your throat. Not only was it forcing you into this unwieldy, overgrown form, but it was also spiked and chained to the wall - any attempt at breaking free resulted in discomfort, turning into pain.

You back away from the bars to stop it from stinging your neck. Hu Tao withdraws a small, mesh bag of something brown. Your sensitive nose picks up the scent of jerky right away. That traitorous tail of yours starts swaying left and right as the woman presents it to you.

“Something tasty for you, Y/N. You were such a good boy this week, weren't you?” The bag is moved close enough to the bars for you to extend your arm and hook your claw through the fabric.

You rip it open as soon as you can, and stuff a handful into your snout. The salty, powerful, smokey taste of meat fills your mouth, finally providing something simulating. You don't notice it, but there's a slightly unusual aftertaste to the meat. You don't notice Hu Tao smiling either.

“Thank you, Hu Tao.” You sigh in satisfaction. A little distraction was very welcome, even if it was temporary. At least you weren't thinking about the h-

She rattles her rings on the iron bars, interrupting your thoughts. “Ah, no need to thank me, Y/N. I'm in charge of you after all.” Hu Tao scans your cell, her ember eyes coming to rest over your pillow. You follow her gaze.

It's… a mess. The innocent fabric was torn in places and thoroughly stained with dark patches of fluid. A thick scent of musk was all over it, contributing to the stuffy air in your cell. You can't help but look down in slight embarrassment.

“Aiya Aiya~ You've been quite a naughty boy in here, looks like. Hmph, and I have already given you treats…” She scoffs in mock disappointment. “How are you feeling, pup?”

Although your fists tighten at being referred to like a dog, again, you're too tired of it to butt heads with her. “Why are you even asking? Do you enjoy seeing me embarrassing myself here?”

As luck would have it, the Liyue people decided to catch you right before the mating season of wolves. Because of your lycanthropy, you were just as horny and snappy as them - but most of the time it wasn't a problem. You could easily find yourself a seasonal fuck buddy or visit Ying’er for a few hours each week, but with no mate to nut inside of, your instinct remained at an all time high. You had to relieve yourself through any means necessary as the need was maddening, making your cock constantly, painfully erect. The pillow had the bad luck to be around and became the victim of violent, shameless humping as you imagined it to be a welcoming pussy of a she-werewolf. But it still wasn't enough.

What didn't help either was the fact that your captor was female. A female that, as your nose told you, fingered herself regularly, teasing your nose with her pleasure pheromones. You were almost sure she was completely aware of how big your desire to bend her over was, surely making it all the more entertaining to see you struggle.

“Ugh. Fine, I'll play along. I'm horny all the damn time, hence the… the state of the pillow.” You clear your throat. “Yeah. And you being here doesn't help it in any way.”

Hu Tao smirks at your embarrassment. “Oh, I see~! But how could that be when you're so happy to see me, hm?”

Your anger flares up again as she theatrically taps her chin, shamelessly looking between your legs, making you bare your teeth in response. You weren't exactly expecting to get caught, so you didn't bring along spare clothing. Clothing that was made to stretch and fit your werewolf self. It was very expensive and tailor made, so Hu Tao obviously didn't have anything like it, at the end of the day forcing you to talk to her like the steel bar you call a werewolf cock wasn't always in her face. Guessing by the sheer amount of times she stared at it, she didn't seem to mind.

Which pissed you off even more. She could really give you a hand right now. Or a throat. Or a cunt. You grab the bars and groan - intimidating, but tired. “Look, please, just… don't make it worse for me. Please?”

Surprisingly, she nods. Hu Tao reaches for the paper bag and pulls out a fresh, pristinely white pillow. Without a word, she passes it on to you. You eagerly swap the old one for it. As your mind anticipates the coming moment of her departure, instead of leaving, Hu Tao continues to stand in front of you.

Before you can say anything, she moves closer to the bars. “My dear Y/N~ You may not believe me, but I do know how awful you must feel…” Her fingernails tap the steel as she speaks. “All that energy, all that need, all that lust with nowhere to deposit it all feels simply terrible.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “What's your point?”

“My point is, my dear doggy, that I have been feeling something quite similar.” There's a small tint of red on her cheeks as she says it out loud. Upon noticing the smirk on your face, she pouts. “Don't look at me like that! Us girls have needs too, I'll have you know.”

This is the last thing you expected to hear. Your mind opposed taking up the opportunity at, but luckily for you, all the blood supplied to it was quickly directed south as soon as you picked up the implication.

You push against the bars with one hand, and - as much as the chain would allow you - lean forward.

“Tsk. And what are you going to do about it, huh?” You ask. Hu Tao now needs to look up to see your eyes, sapping just a little of her confidence.

“I was thinking we could make a little deal. Just a friendly agreement between pals, hm?” She points at your groin. “You lend me that slimy…” she says, stretching out the word with deliberation, “...smelly thing between your legs, and in return I let you play with my pussy. Are you up for it, big boy?”

By this point, your cock has swelled from its frustrated, semi-hard state to its proper, impressive form. Just the mention of a snatch makes the tip moisten with precum, your feral body already preparing for the mating to come. It may be a trick, though. Why would she-

Your reconsideration is cut short by Hu Tao sneaking her hand through the bars, placing it flat against your furry chest. She trails it down, caressing the bulbous pecs underneath the gray hair. You watch on as she continues, traversing the thickening line of fur as it leads downwards, her finger soon lost in the dense bush of pubes covering your groin. She lightly grazed your cock with her fingernail, dragging it from the base, over the knot and right to the tip of your canine dick, throbbing at her touch.

“I agree…” You say with a sigh. “Just don't tease me, alright?”

You would swear her eyes sparkled when you gave in, her lips forming into a satisfied, sly smile. “Wonderful~! Good boy.”

Hu Tao walks back to the table and returns with a pair of handcuffs in her hand. Handcuffs… They are more like shackles, made of thick steel and connected with a sturdy chain. Hu Tao throws them at you, perfectly passing between the bars separating you and her. You catch it without issue. “There are only a few ‘buts’, doggie. First, the cuffs stay on. Second, you don’t cum inside. Got it?” You open your mouth to reply. to no avail. “Good. Now cuff yourself to the chair…” Turning around, your eyes lock onto the piece of furniture. You slide it from under the desk and move it to face the door, back against the wall to allow the maximum slack of your steel leash that’s possible. The shoddy wood creaks as you sit your animalistic form down, arms reaching around the headrest. Feeling your way through the process, you secure both loops around your wrists, looping the chain around the beams of the chair’s support. A tug confirms you did well. Her eyes don’t leave you for a moment. Once she sees you’re done, Hu Tao grabs the key from her pocket, as well as something from the nearby shelf you can’t quite make out, and opens up the cell. She cautiously steps in, just in case you tried to pull a funny on her. You grit your teeth in frustration… Why can’t she get it over with? It’s not like you’ll bite her.

“Hold still.” She raises the object she took earlier, bringing it closer to your wolf snout. It’s a muzzle. As much as you’d love to lash out and bite her, this is not the time. You lower your face, submitting to her safety measures.

“Nice! And they say werewolves are ‘bad’ and ‘rebellious’. Looks like a little enticement goes a long way, hm?”

You shift in your seat, your lust growing and patience waning. “Get on with it already!”

She sends you a mock offended look, but relents. She snatches the newly brought pillow from your bed and puts it on the stone floor before slowly kneeling down.

Your dick now eye level with her, she wraps her hand around it, feeling the heat against her skin. It's shaped starkly different from your human form’s manhood, being thick, bulbous with a knot near the base. Hu Tao glides her hand over its length, causing you to groan as she touches it. It's been swollen for far too long to be comfortable and, on top of that, it aches more with every throb of your impatient cock. Hu Tao doesn't care, focusing her attention on the bulging veins, dark blue against the furious red of the shaft. Her other hand finds its way down to your sack, cupping the furry, cum swollen balls hanging below. She rolls them between her fingers as if weighing the unspent cum inside. They're heavy, she thinks, perfectly heavy. Bringing her nose closer to the tip, her nostrils fill with the musky stink of your juices, with tangy hints of still fresh cum stuck in your fur.

“Fufu~ That thing is even more impressive up close…” Looking you in the eye, she giggles as she flicks the tip of your cockhead. You squirm in response, instinctually baring your teeth. “I’m afraid to ask what kind of plans you had for me~”

Soon you feel the slick, hot tongue of the director flick curiously against your head, lapping up the precum leaking from the slit. It tickles more than anything, so you try to inch your hips a bit closer, as much as the chair would allow. But she didn't listen, even if you didn't have to wait long to feel the flat of her small tongue rub against your shaft. It feels good, but it's nowhere near enough. You move your hips backwards, trying to bring the tip closer to her lips, but she grips the base tightly, keeping it in place as she continues to worship your shaft. It's slow, but eventually the consistent grinding of her wet tongue stirs some pleasure in you. You focus your attention on the feeling, praying for it to be enough to make you cum. She feels you throb in appreciation, eliciting a satisfied hum from her. Suddenly, she stops, switching her tongue for her hand and wrapping her lips around your tip. You whine at the sudden stimulation. Finally…! As her speeds up and her wet mouth sucks you deeper inside, pressure starts to build in your knot. A moan escapes your lips as she sucks and strokes, your orgasm drawing closer by the second. Each throb makes her take you deeper, you can feel the back of her throat rub against you when her head bobs up and down. Your thighs tense up in expectation. Almost… Almost… Almost…!

She stops. Hu Tao takes her hand away from you and spits your cock out of her mouth’s warmth, letting it flop down, sad and unsatisfied. You can only whine in confusion as you feel your orgasm fading slowly.

“W-what…? Why did you stop…” You stutter out, your voice turning angry at her smile. “Oh you-”

“Heh, did I say anything about you finishing?” She dismissively throws her twintails behind her shoulders. “Good things come to boys who wait. And I bet you'll be the best boy, won't you Y/N?”

This. Little. Nasty. Witch. Your thoughts buzz with both anger and desperation as you feel your release slipping away. “I'll be good, just let me cum… I need it…”

She takes off her hat and reverently places it on the bed. “Mm~ Say it, doggie! I want to hear it, and if I like it, I might just give you something better~”

With that, she reaches to the strings of her coat, undoing them with little issue. Your impatience is temporarily replaced by excitement, your tail swishing as she strips her jacket, revealing a short-sleeved red shirt underneath. You can see two points poking through the fabric on opposite sides of her chest. She looks at you, waiting.

“I want to see more, please…” You plead, feeling a heat on your face as you say it.

“You can do better.” She reaches for her coat, now thrown on the bed, causing the beast inside you to flare up in alarm. You try to spring up, only to be dropped by the cuffs.

“Wait! Please, Hu Tao, I want to see them…” Desperate and horny, you swallow your pride and continue. “I want to s-see your tits, please!”

Just moments ago, you were ready to tear into her. Now, you plead with her for some boobs. And she'll make you beg for her cunt to - you'll do as she wants and you know it. The animalistic heat is too strong to ignore, forcing you to give in to its demands.

Clearly satisfied with your words, she undoes the buttons holding her cover together. Her hands pull it open, revealing an exceptionally flat chest with two perky, rock-hard nipples. You twitch in excitement, harder still when she guides her hand down to her shorts. She pulls them down, revealing a pristine white pair of panties, decorated with a pink ribbon near the band. Her finger sneaks underneath it and pulls it down just enough to reveal a small patch of brown hair, dense yet neatly trimmed.

She was preparing for this, wasn't she…

Hu Tao steps out of her pants and approaches you, sitting her half-bare ass on your lap. Teasing, she props your dick against her clothed slit. She presses it down, letting your precum soak into the silk and feel the warmth underneath. She rocks her hips against you, grinding at a slow and deliberate pace. Your eyes are fixed on her steady movements, the words slipping out of your lips going unnoticed by your lust-filled brain. “Please…” You beg. “Please put it in already…!” She smirks. “No way this will fit inside me, pretty boy. Do you see how big it is?” Hu Tao presses it against her stomach. The hefty cock really does look quite intimidating, the tip going way above her belly button. “But I bet you’d like to fuck me regardless, hm?”

Her hand undoes the string holding her panties together, letting them fall open. They are promptly tossed aside, letting you finally see her heat in its full glory, her lips swollen and sticky with lust. Blushing, she continues rubbing herself with your dick and you can painfully feel her swollen, pretty clit gliding on you and her own juice.

Each stroke of her lips makes you hurt. She’s so close, but so far… Your heart beats faster and faster and faster and faster still as your body writhes in anger. You try to sit still, try to enjoy the feeling as much as you can but the wolf within you demands her. Your canine mind feels the insignificant weight on your lap and feels the cuffs are just a little malleable… How easy it would be to break out and take her properly… It wants it, relentlessly, and your mind soon succumbs.

Gritting your teeth, you focus your attention on your wrists. You grasp the cuffs with your thumbs and pull with all your strength. Hu Tao is blushed, too focused on pleasing herself to notice the tension in your arms. You feel the steel bending and stretching, doubling your efforts. The edges of the metal dig painfully into your furred flesh, surely leaving painful welts that will last for days, but you don’t care. You almost… can… feel…

Snap!

Hu Tao’s face snaps up to look at you. Her eyes go wide.

“W-wha-?!” The word gets stuck in her throat as your massive left hand snatches her neck, the other pushing you up as you raise. Your form stands tall, ears nearly touching the ceiling, obscuring the light of the lamp inside and casting an ominous shadow over Hu Tao, currently dangling from your outstretched arm.

“L-let go of… me!” You don’t choke her tightly, but her words still come out raspy. She hits her small fists on your hand, but they do little against rippling werewolf muscle. Her legs are far too small to reach your chest or stomach, even if those meat stilts could do any damage. “You… b-brute…!”

You lift her higher, bringing up her pussy to your nose. The salty, musky scent of her sex overwhelms your sensitive nose, making your eyes water. There’s no fear amongst the smell, just eagerness, lust and… fertility.

“Ngah~!” She whines as your rough tongue reaches out and gives her a probing lick, feeling up the willing cunt in front of you. You slide it from her clit down to her entrance. A whimper flees her lips as you push your way in, her mock struggles ceasing as she feels you tasting her. “Mhm…”

She tastes delicious, making you push yourself further inside. Your hand goes from her throat to her ass, tilting her to the side to allow you better access. With an effortless move, you rip off your muzzle, letting it fall to the floor with a loud clunk. You waste no time and press your nose between her pussy lips, drawing in more of her scent. Her arms drift from your wrist and land on your head, fingers digging into the fur as her legs lock over your neck for support. Hu Tao rocks her hips, enticing you to explore deeper. You oblige and soon you feel her flesh pulsate around your intrusion as she clings onto you for dear life. You take it all in, scent, taste, slick and bumpy texture of her hole… But you can’t take it much longer. It wasn’t made for your tongue.

You pull back, leaving a string of saliva connecting you to her. She squeaks in surpise as unceremoniously toss her on the bed. When she lands, her eyes immediately turn to you as she flips on her back. “A-ayia ayia…” She stutters out, flushed, watching you slowly approach her. She opens her legs, hoping to buy your mercy. “Please be gentle…” But you have no plans for that. Even if you did, your heat doesn’t give a damn. You grab her waist and flip her around. Before she can regain her balance, you clasp your claws around her ass and pull her closer, dragging the sheet that she’s desperately holding along with her. When she feels your talon drag between her cheeks, you feel her skin crawl and shudder in response. Her back is arched as you examine your prey. You groan as soon as you notice and deliver a rough open palm on her ass. “Waah!” She whimpers, feeling the sting on her skin. She fixes her posture, making proper space for your full length.

Your tail starts swishing in excitement as you lift up your leg and stomp it down next to her face. You grab your cock and guide it towards her entrance. In a bit of vengeance, you rub the tip between her hungry lips, smearing them with thick precum. Before she can get comfortable though, your ram into her, burying yourself balls deep inside her.

Both of you moan in joint ecstasy as you fill her to the brim. Unable to control yourself, you start moving. Dictating the pace, all Hu Tao can do is clench the blanket for dear life as you begin pistoning in and out of her. The room fills with a symphony of triumphant growls, desperate whimpers and obscene sounds of your nuts repeatedly slapping against her wet slit. Her eyes roll back as she endures your violent coupling, her eyes crying tears of mixed pain and pleasure. She feels her small pussy being stretched to its absolute limits, feeling herself throb as her body, confused between fear and mindless lust, fights back against the too big intrusion. Her tries to meet you halfway are met with no result as every snap of your hips pushes her back. She can’t think straight with a cock impaled into her so deep, so any thoughts quickly leave her mind with the many moans she shamelessly lets sound out.

Feeling your much needed release draw closer, you dig your claws into her small ass, eliciting a whine from your mate. You shift into a merciless pace that sends bruising ripples across her body, the beast inside you caring only for the tension in his nuts. At last you strike forward, forcing the knot into her tight hole. She wails, arching her head backwards to meet your eyes. You lean forward and wrap your arms around her torso, keeping her close as you unload, each throb of your cock flooding her ravaged insides.

Slowly, your mating fury dies down, and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion sets in. Hu Tao remains still under you, still too blazed by the intensity of your fuck. Her pleasure rotted mind still sits between her legs when the clarity hits you, relaxing your muscles and letting your exhausted cock finally soften. With a groan, you pull yourself out with a small noise from her to go along with it. A moment later dense cream emerges from inside her, starting to lazily drip out.

You feel your head spin, soon followed by a trembling of your arms and knees. You move Hu Tao closer to the wall and collapse next to her, large arms pulling her close to your furry chest.

A moment later, thoughts start to sprout back in Hu Tao’s fucked out mind. She groans - everything either hurts, is sore, or can’t be felt at all. Especially her hips. “D-damn you..” She mumbles, rubbing the tears from her eyes. Well, she thinks, she deserved it. Could she not have provoked you? Maybe. Was it totally worth it? Hell yes.

Hu Tao reaches her hand around to touch your nose. No response. She breathes a sigh of relief, thanking herself for sneaking that sedative into your snacks. Looks like she still had some sense in her when her panties were soaked.

Your arm is quite comfortable. She snuggles her head into the crook of your arm, enjoying the softness of your monstrous form’s fur. Absent-mindedly, her hand glides over her belly. Hopefully lycanthropy isn’t hereditary…

Thanks for reading!

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sohnric · 9 months ago

Text

BIGGER BOYS AND STOLEN SWEETHEARTS — K. SUNWOO

pairing: kim sunwoo x fem! reader

genre: fluff. platonic but also not really 👀 jealous sunwoo that is also very delusionally in love with the reader. sunwoo plays the electric guitar but also he's kind of shit so yn has to help him

word count: 1.8k

warnings: swearing, jealousy, the reader is basically half naked and sunwoo ogles a bit

a/n: this fic is my way of battling writer's block. uni is kicking my ass but also i thought of this in the train omw home so i guess its also good for something. this is very much inspired by sunwoo wanting to learn how to play electric guitar, me remembering i own one, and also miri @/satoruly associating bigger boys and stolen sweethearts with me and making me forever insane because of it. also reblog and comment pls its so quiet here its depressing.

once again thank u so much @csenke for beta reading this fiesty baby and thank u @from-izzy for helping me with the flirty bits i owe you my life.

“You have to leave by 5, because I’m hanging out with Mark later,” you call for him as you enter the room, eyes catching a glimpse of Sunwoo sitting on your bed, an electric guitar in his hand. The boy furrows his brows at your words, a bitter taste on his tongue making him roll his eyes as he focuses his attention on the instrument in his lap, fingers aimlessly playing with the strings.

“Okay, alright,” he hisses, clicking his tongue. If you notice anything odd about his behavior, you don’t mention it to him– and if he was self-aware enough to recognise the acid aftertaste your words leave in his mouth for what it really was, he’d be even glad for your sudden blindness to his infatuation with you.

“We’re going to the new bistro that opened downtown,” you hum, as if to only fuel the boy’s frustration further. If all you wanted to do was talk about the guy, why did you invite Sunwoo over in the first place? This was starting to feel like a trap.

“I told you about that place,” he huffs.

“Thank you for the recommendation,” you smile at him ironically, and when your eyes finally meet, Sunwoo recognises the playful glint in your eye– you’re 100% aware of the tension in the air, enjoying the way you have the boy completely under your spell, ready to be torn into pieces. It’s that look you have on your face every time a guy hits on you– the one that mirrors victory, the slightest kick it gives your self-esteem making you grin to yourself as you twirl your hair on your finger and satisfy the man with the slightest touch on his arm. You play into it– you always do– but you never quite let anyone sweep you off your feet completely.

“I thought we would check it out together,” Sunwoo says, fingers plucking at the E string of the guitar, making a dull sound resonate through your room as the background to your conversation.

“We can do that later,” you say, shrugging, “I’ll give you all the recommendations.”

“Traitor,” Sunwoo hisses, glaring at you with a tinge of hurt behind his orbs.

“Don’t be so butthurt.”

“Don’t be so merciless, then,” the boy counters, averting his gaze from yours. “Is he picking you up? I bet he doesn’t even have a car.”

“That’s an unusual way to express jealousy, considering you don’t even have a car, Sunwoo,” you grimace, chuckling at the emotional outburst of your friend. “Besides, his dad owns a car bazaar. I think the possibilities of him not owning a car are quite close to zero.”

Sunwoo stays quiet at that, the call-out making red splotches appear on his cheeks from shame. His eyes quickly move to the guitar again, hypnotizing it with his gaze, fingers clamming at the strings.

Do you like torturing him? Is this what it’s all about? Just a few days ago, he thought he had it all– sneaking his hand into the back pocket of your jeans as he was dropping you off, receiving a ruffle to his hair after you pulled away from his hug, sending a flying kiss to him as you disappeared behind the front door. Today, all you’re talking about is Mark, Mark’s car, Mark’s family, Mark’s school, Mark’s fucking hairstyle, and all Sunwoo can do is either rip out all of his hair, or fantasize about ripping out Mark Lee’s instead– strand by strand, slowly, mercilessly.

“Whatever,” he comments, shaking his head at you. After many months of being friends with you, he should be immune to your charms. The more time he spends with you, though, the more unarmed he seems to be to your enchanting magnetism. You’re not nice to his heart, but up until this moment, he kinda liked the tug of war over yours.

The moment drags itself along before he hears you sigh from somewhere in front of him, frustration so evident in the sound. Sunwoo doesn’t really know what you have to be so infuriated about, since as far as he’s aware, he’s the one left cold and unwanted in the comfort of your room that smells deadly of your perfume (that’s so hard to shake off sometimes, yet he can’t find it in him to hate the sweet scent), but as he looks up to meet your eye, he chokes on his own spit at the image that meets his eye.

“You still don’t know how to play that riff, do you?” you click your tongue, shaking your head. It’s not the action that leaves Sunwoo feeling warmer than before, sweat almost comically appearing on his forehead– the image of you in only last remains of your school uniform does, though, as his eyes unashamedly scan the lengths of your now uncovered legs up your thighs to the curve of your bum, visible as you stare at him sideways, soft skin only slightly covered by the tinge oversized white button-down, red lace peeking out, piercing his gaze.

The boy silently shakes his head, licking his lips in a scattered manner. “Nope,” he admits, letting the last syllable pop in the now silent room, blood rushing to his ears as you stride forward and reach his position in your bedsheets.

“It’s really easy,” you huff, “you just– wait, let me show you,” you start, almost making the boy offer your own guitar back to you, before he watches you climb into the bed behind him, making his breathing hitch in his throat.

This is not at all what he expected you to do, he recognises when he feels your breathing on his neck as you lean over him, thighs straddling his back and pressing into his sides when you kneel on the mattress behind his back in order to have the best vision of the guitar. Sunwoo’s hands slip off the instrument when he finds your head next to his, your arms sneaking around his figure to press the chords down with your digits instead, strumming the strings and caging the boy into your scent and the flush of your muscles, forcing him to watch the little tutorial from first point of view. Your fingers move skillfully against the strings, having played that exact riff many times before (which is also why Sunwoo decided to pick it up, for it reminded him of the afternoons spent in the comfort of your room, laying on the rug in the middle of the floor as you played him your favorite songs), and he can’t help but feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up when your breath meets the side of his face.

“Clearer now?”

“Mhm,” he gulps, nodding. He’s too afraid to turn his head, too scared to see your face so from up close and not instinctively trail his gaze to your lips (of which curves have been sculpted in the heaven, he thinks), and so he only results to taking ahold of the guitar again, battling the reality of having your naked legs pressing into him from behind, fighting the image of your underwear out of his head to the best of his abilities.

He tries to mimic the position of your fingers on the guitar, but the fact that he remembered it wrong (or just was too distracted by his surroundings to really take the information in) is set out to him when you quickly take ahold of his hand, left palm glazing his to move his ring finger to the right position. “Here,” you hum, “that’s the problem. You keep pressing it on the 3rd fret instead of the 4th and that’s why it sounded so weird,” you laugh, the vibration of it against his back making Sunwoo feel like he’s being pumped with pure electricity, fireflies filling his stomach.

“I think it’s too fast for me to keep up with,” he complains, managing to drag a coherent sentence out of his mouth.

“I’ll pluck the strings for you,” you offer, voice saccharine right in his ear, “just try to get the chord patterns down.”

The boy nods, forcing the snapshots of the chord placements to the front of his brain, both begging to get it right so you end your little intimate tutoring session and also hoping he messes up again just to have you scold him and forcefully dragging his fingers to the correct strings– having Sunwoo pathetically yearning for the slightest of your touches. The heartbeat ringing in his own ears serves him as a metronome, and as he chews on the inside of his cheek when he starts, his head spins with the intoxication of your scent, making it hard for him to focus on the tune.

“You got it wrong again,” you hiss into his ear, making goosebumps appear all over his skin. Oh, how mean you are– completely aware of the effect you have on the boy. He’s starting to think you love the idea of torturing him. It must be fun to have someone so under your spell, so drunk on your bare existence.

“I’ll practice more until our next tutoring,” he gulps, laughing airly as you let go of him and move away, letting the poor boy finally breathe.

“You better,” you snicker, standing up and walking back over to your opened closet, bending over to pick up your discarded skirt off the ground and offering the boy a clear view of your bum from where he’s sitting on your bed. Now, there’s no denying you like to tease him. And Sunwoo is aware he might get burned, but like a little boy, he kind of enjoys playing with fire. “Or I’ll start to think you are enjoying my lessons a little too much.”

“Only the ones where you get all angry with me,” he notes, placing the guitar next to him on the bed, his palms now too sweaty to continue playing. “You’re kind of hot when you scream at me.”

Throwing a playful look over your shoulder at the boy, making the first two buttons of your blouse undone, a chuckle leaves your throat. “You’re not the first one to tell me that, sweetheart,” you note. “Now leave my room, you pervert. It’s almost 5 and I have to change.”

Defeated, but still obedient, Sunwoo stands up from your bed and takes slow steps towards the door, dreading his departure. The idea of Mark Lee getting to enjoy this side of you makes Sunwoo particularly green, but the feelings quickly fade when he remembers the moments from a few seconds ago, when he thinks back to the softness of your skin. Before he has the chance to leave, though, a tug on his tie yanks him towards you– the school uniform still covering his body from when he walked home with you two hours ago, carrying both of your bags, proving as an effective attire for your afternoon hangouts.

Pulling him down so your faces are on the same level, the tips of your noses almost touching, has Sunwoo’s shocked eyes grow comically wide and his cheeks burn a crimson red. He feels your breathing fan his lips from the proximity, heart once again running a marathon in his chest when your voice purrs out in a feline-like manner, riling him up. “Always tugging on those strings, but I'll have you know, Sunwoo, you tug on mine all the time,” you grin, gaze only momentarily slipping towards his chapped lips.

Oh, you’re not nice. You’re pretty fucking far from nice– from how you’re playing with his heart, leading him on.

Or are you not…? He guesses he’ll have to find out.

You're a far better guitar player than Sunwoo is, but if you ever wanted a new instrument to perfect, he is more than willing to offer you his body to practice on.

#deoboyznet #sunwoo #the boyz #sunwoo fluff #sunwoo x reader #the boyz fluff #the boyz x reader #the boyz scenario #the boyz imagine #sunwoo scenario #sunwoo imagine

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