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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 days ago

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The One That Got Away

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): Angst, Explicit Sex, Sad Girl Romance, Break-Ups & Reconciliations

Summary: After globetrotting as a digital nomad for three years, Michaela Maxwell returns to her hometown and meets the man of her dreams in a soldier named Terry Richmond. The only problem is, dreams happen when one is asleep to the truth. In Michaela's case, she wakes up to the sad reality that Terry won't really be the happily-ever-after she desires if he cant let go of a past love.

Word Count: 9.5K

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"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm gonna tell you 'bout

One of the many men, name is irrelevant, height is irrelevant

He was a one out of a ten, I wish that I knew it then

I'm still recovering

Truly, I'm vulnerable, I love a sentiment

Quickly I opened up, I learned my lesson then

Thought I was safe again, thought he was innocent

I was so wrong"

Raye – "Oscar Winning Tears"

He came back to his place later than she expected.

The Super Bowl had ended hours ago, and instead of hitching a ride back with his cousin, Terry had taken a Lyft. She waited for him in his apartment dressed in a sexy strawberry colored push-up bra and thong set.

Lounging on his bed, she listened to him use his key to get in and his cell rang. He answered, but it was difficult to make out exactly who called him. His voice sounded tired, and he ended the conversation with, "We can talk tomorrow."

He dragged into the bedroom, and his eyebrows rose.

"Surprise," Michaela said.

Her boyfriend of nearly a year stared at her and smiled. But the smile didn't reach all of his face. Especially his eyes. He recovered quickly though, and took off his Eagles football jersey, jeans, and the rest of his clothes. Climbing into the bed next to her, he admired her underwear and rubbed on her booty absentmindedly.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"The Eagle's lost."

"Aw, sorry babes."

"Maybe next year we'll get that ring."

His voice sounded sad, but not because of the football game. She stroked the perfect waves in his hair and kissed his luscious lips. He held her, and his affections turned to nibbling on her ear.

She didn't know it was the beginning of the end.

Michaela Maxwell spent three fruitful years traveling the globe as a digital nomad, creating content for three travel websites while also house-sitting in exotic locations such as Costa Rica, Mallorca, and Belize. By the time she returned to her hometown in Louisiana, she was ready to settle down in a familiar place for at least a year before she was ready to fly the coop again.

Her parents loved this of course, and her mother, a choir director, even got her back to church singing. She found a tiny studio apartment that would allow her to coast financially until she was ready for more travel.

Standing in line at a Starbucks, she fingered the silver compass necklace her father gave her when she first left the country after graduating from college. On the back of the necklace, he had a Henry Miller quote inscribed for her, "One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things."

She ordered a slice of lemon pound cake and a matcha green-tea latte, and when she tapped her phone against the scanner to pay, the app didn't work. Trying again and failing, her jaw tightened. She had no cash or cards because she hadn't taken a purse with her when she went out to jog that morning. Now she was holding up the line.

A large hand reached forward, holding a debit card toward the cashier.

"I got it," a deep tone said.

Michaela glanced at the face attached to the hand and let out a breath.

The sexiest-looking man she had ever seen in the states for a long time stared back at her with a grin. He wore military fatigues and had the lightest eyes whose color she couldn't discern in the light. They could've been green, or gray…maybe even blue if she squinted.

"I left my house without my purse," she said.

It was obvious from her skin-tight mint-blue jogging outfit and smartphone in hand that she had nothing else to pay with.

"If you hang here for a minute, I can get you the money."

"Don't worry about it. Pay for someone else next time," he said.

"Thanks a lot."

Michaela moved down to the waiting area for her items and watched the stranger order strong coffee and a danish.

That's how she met Terry Richmond.

On a clear spring morning, with her long hair freshly cornrowed in six braids down her back and decorated with six huge silver hoops, she left Starbucks with a smile on her face, thrilled there were some good-looking men in town.

It was only six degrees of separation, meeting him again at a barbecue. Her close friend Sandra dated a guy named Mike, who was Terry's cousin.

"Matcha green-tea latte," he said, showing her pearly whites near a food table where guests piled on fried fish and pork ribs.

They only spoke to each other the entire time and exchanged numbers when the sun went down. For the first month, it felt like a whirlwind of dates getting to know each other.

As a marine stationed nearby, he trained soldiers in specialized martial arts and other combat techniques. It afforded him the ability to stay close to his family. Their dates consisted of nice dinners, movies that she wanted to see, and long romantic drives in the country. He was smart, attentive, and a skilled conversationalist. Fascinated with her travels, he spent hours listening to her talk about rainforests in Central America, parasailing in the Caribbean, and nightlife in Spain.

In their second month of dating, he found a new luxury apartment to move into, and Michaela helped him pick out furniture and decorated it with an international flourish. Their friend groups began to overlap, and that's when Michaela suspected him of getting more serious about their relationship. His male buddies adored her, often insisting that she join them on their male outings to bars to watch sports, and to go fishing on a boat one of them owned.

There came a time when she spent more hours in the day at Terry's place than her own studio apartment. He dropped hints of being open to moving in together. Even gave her shelf space in his bathroom cabinet. The apartment had two bedrooms, and he offered the unused one as her temporary office to work on her new venture as a house sitting expert. It was his way of keeping her close to him without rushing her.

His place had a pool, state-of-the-art gym, and a nature walk trail perfect for early morning jogs. Michaela only wanted to date and have fun with Terry. Nothing too serious. She had more traveling to do and different parts of the world to see still. The pressure of a serious relationship was too heavy to pick up at that point in her life.

By then, they started sleeping together regularly, at least three times a week.

The first time they made love, a company had just delivered Terry's brand-new bed, and she had bought him designer sheets as a housewarming gift. They were oyster-blue with an outrageous thread-count that made them buttery soft. She helped him make the king-size bed up with a new blanket and goose-down pillows. They both jumped on the bed and marveled at how comfortable it was. That's when he turned to look at her. Her hair cascaded across her arm and he stroked it like it was expensive silk.

"You are so beautiful, Michaela. What would I do without you in my life?"

Her heart did a happy dance in her chest, and he leaned over and kissed her lips. He undressed her with his eyes first, and her body went limp from the searing gaze of lust that drenched her skin with desire. Terry dragged his index finger up her arm and she would've sworn on a bible that her flesh burst into flames the way he sparked her nerve endings. To have him look at her that way again for the first time!

They'd fooled around before.

Long, slow kisses for hours. Heavy petting. Jerking him off in his two-year-old Honda Civic. Going all the way was inevitable after their first month of sexual touching. They came close once at her place while watching a basketball game. She sat next to him on her couch in a pair of stretchy shorts and he fingered her slowly during commercial breaks, edging her until she nearly peed on herself. Her swollen labia melted under his fingertips and by the time he inserted his digits, moving them slowly in and out, she had tears in her eyes. She turned into a soggy noodle pressed into him. His fingers rubbed on her clit in gentle circles, bringing her orgasm to a raging explosion that had her entire frame throbbing in release. She scooted out of her shorts and panties, only to be disappointed that he didn't have condoms on him. Mentally kicking herself for not re-upping her personal stock after her Gulliver's Travels gallivanting the world, Michaela had to settle for him eating her pussy on the couch, her legs casually thrown over his shoulders and those seductive green eyes daring her to cum in his mouth and all over his lips. She rolled over and tooted her ass out, and Terry licked everything from behind, glossing his full lips until she came again, screaming into the couch cushion.

Their first time was magical in his bed.

"Why are you so wet?" he whispered in her ear.

He lowered his face to her breasts and sucked each nipple until they became perfect pebbles for his tongue to titillate further. His pretty caramel skin looked like a creamy topping against her cherry-brown color.

Returning home had taken an adjustment she hadn't expected, and having Terry in her life smoothed the tensions of small-time life. She'd outgrown her place of birth. He allowed her to tolerate it. Living outside of America showed her its obvious deficits, and Terry reminded her of the good things it still had available…like family.

Michaela grew closer to her parents, especially her father, and re-connecting with childhood friends grounded her to familial life. Singing solo gospel songs in church also brought her back to a spiritual side she'd neglected since leaving home. She started thinking about her future away from traveling, and Terry gave her other fleeting thoughts, too. Like what having companionship with one partner would be like over a length of time in one place. Michaela wasn't itching to settle down, but life handed her the man of her dreams, and it was hard to view Terry as anything less than the best boyfriend she'd ever had.

He still had four years to go before he could leave his military contract, and Michaela imagined taking him to all the places she shared with him through stories and pictures. The hard part of waiting was watching the growth of her business. She wanted to put together two conferences, one in Costa Rica and the other in Spain. That meant time away from Terry to plan and execute. She started getting calls from a travel collective in the U.K. that asked her to be a keynote speaker at a digital nomad event at the end of the year. More time away from Terry.

His kisses strayed down her neck, and she sighed.

"So wet…" he murmured, licking the hollow of her belly button and trailing down between her thighs.

He catered to her clit like it was a queen on her little throne. For what seemed like a teasingly long time, Terry ate her out until her legs shook and she whimpered, "I want more."

She rubbed on his hair, and he left her side to dig his hand inside his nightstand. The gold foil condom ripped easily. He rolled the prophylactic down his girth, pinching the top. She widened her thighs, and he nestled against them, his tip resting at her slick entrance. He kissed her while pushing inside, and they locked eyes. The intensity of their gazes brought forth laughter from both of them, and as he moved in and out, they laughed again at the joy of finally connecting through intercourse.

His dick stretched her out until her eyes wanted to cross. She arched her back to feel the muscles in his chest pressed against her breasts. Her nipples brushed against him, and he moaned at their softness. He lifted her right leg and sank in deeper. The slapping of their bodies created delightful sounds in the bedroom. Her pants and his deep groans in her ear took it to a new level of pleasure. There was no need to switch positions or try any tricks to impress each other. Their joining was enough, and her vaginal walls squeezed him unexpectedly, thrilling even her at the loss of control she experienced under him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, wanting him closer, yearning to keep him next to her like that for hours and hours.

"Shit," he groaned.

His hips pistoned, and the bed thumped under her. The headboard hadn't started smacking the wall yet, but it was close.

"Michaela…fuck…baby…"

He pushed her thighs back, his eyes glued to the sight of his dick taking her down thrust by thrust.

Their foreheads touched. He jammed his fists on the bed, giving her the fucking she deserved. She'd had lovers in every place she stayed overseas, but coming home to a southern man that shared the same culture was exquisite. Caressing his biceps, Michaela submitted to the synergy they created.

"You're beautiful. Look at you Michaela…making me feel so good."

If he talked her all the way through her orgasm, she wasn't aware of it. All she could concentrate on was his Siren eyes boring into her and the fullness of his dick taking her to greater heights physically. Her lips puckered and then she let out a cry as her walls clenched in rapid throbs around him.

"Ohhhhhh!" she shouted.

That's all it took for him to join her. She felt him pulsing inside of her. His body seized up and a loud groan roared out of him. He slammed a hand on the headboard and cursed above her face before grunting and crashing down on her.

She giggled, and he laughed out loud, his deep voice resonating around her like a cape of tenderness in their intimate moment.

Michaela had hoped to experience that type of lovemaking again after the Super Bowl game.

The day of the game she had an online panel to attend for her business coaching Black women to house sit around the world. She missed the Super Bowl game at his friend's house, but promised Terry she'd be at his place afterward to have a little party of their own. He didn't have to go to work the next day, and they planned to brunch and shop for a camping tent.

She pulled out her fancy underwear, plucked and shaved hair from her legs and private area, and prepared to put some sugar on his dick. It was supposed to be an unforgettable night in her mind.

Once he climbed into bed with her, she sensed a change in him.

Terry went through the motions of lovemaking.

It felt good, and she came hard on his dick with his fingers gently touching her clit. However, the passion wasn't at its zenith, as if his mind were elsewhere and not with her.

He fucked her from behind with long strokes, and after he came, he tied off the condom and kissed her forehead. Leaving the bed soaked in sweat, he took a long shower and she tucked the sheets under her chin and tried to fathom what had brought him to a place of disconnect.

They went to brunch at their favorite restaurant, and he picked at his food. Once they bought the tent he wanted, chats of planning a camping trip went by the wayside as he complained of a headache and went to bed to sleep off his unease.

She left his apartment and visited a girlfriend to not waste the rest of the day. Her schedule and his job kept them busy for two days. Until Terry called her to come back to his place before the weekend.

"I need to talk to you about something," he said.

She sat down on his couch, and he paced in front of her. Folding her arms across her chest, she waited for him to speak. He finally sat down next to her.

"My ex was at the Super Bowl party last Sunday," he said.

"Your ex…Eve?"

Michaela tilted her head with her lips already in a defensive pout. He dated Eve two years previously and broke up with her for reasons he never explained. It wasn't her business, so Michaela didn't care. They were getting to know each other, and she'd spoken about her past lovers, too. No big deal.

His eyes were shinier than normal, and her stomach bunched up in a single knot, already knowing the ending before he even foretold it.

"Yeah…it's been a long time since I've seen her…and we talked and …"

He couldn't keep eye contact and flexed the fingers of his right hand nervously. It scared her.

"And? Did you sleep with her or something? Is that why you came home in a Lyft instead of being dropped off by Allen?"

"No. I wouldn't do anything like that. We talked…the entire night."

"All night where?"

"At Dex's."

"Until one in the morning?"

"We weren't alone. Mike was there…a bunch of people stayed to hang out after the game. She and I talked outside in the yard."

"Okay…talked about what?"

Her voice sounded sharp, like broken glass. His eyes kept darting away from looking at her face.

"How we were both doing now. I didn't have to say anything about this, Michaela. I'm telling you because I trust you…I can confide in you about anything on my mind. I've done the same for you. I want to talk about this because it's bothered me all week…seeing her again. All kinds of emotions came back up that I wasn't prepared to deal with. It was the same for her, too. It's been two years and seeing her hurt me…"

He started leaking tears from the corners of his eyes, and Michaela couldn't move or say anything. The man she'd been dating for eight and a half months shed tears for another woman that he left behind.

He wiped his face and sat back on the couch. His eyes still captured her with their intense color. She exhaled and the pain in her stomach grew. Her voice came out shaky and unsure.

"Seeing her hurt you? Why? People run into their exes occasionally. You dumped her, so you weren't happy."

He nodded. His lips parted, and he wiped his face again.

"I wasn't happy. But I cared for her. Leaving wasn't easy for me…I didn't try harder to fix things between us. We weren't getting along and I ended it. That's it. I didn't know I would react this way after seeing her again. I needed to tell you so you'd understand why I've been so distant the past few days."

"Okay. I can understand that."

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. Before she could entwine their fingers together, he pulled away and closed his eyes. Eve really had him shaken up.

Michaela stroked his hair, and he stared at the ceiling, relaxing into her touches. More tears ran down his face like silent assassins to her heart.

"She told me she still loves me…misses me."

"What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything…I was surprised that she said that."

He finally looked at her. The tears on his face spoke for him.

Michaela bit her bottom lip and fought back the welling of water behind her eyes.

"You still love her?"

"I don't know what I feel…I'm conflicted."

"Conflicted about what? Do you want her back?"

"I don't know what I want."

"Terry, we've been dating for damn near nine months. I'm your girlfriend!"

"And I'm your boyfriend telling you what's on my heart and mind. I talked to my ex, and it affected me. I didn't sleep with her and we had no physical contact, if that's what you're really worried about."

"Yeah? Well, she got to you emotionally, and that feels like the same thing to me right now."

"I came home and made love to you, Michaela. If I wanted to fuck Eve, I could've done that and not said anything if I had that type of dog energy in me."

"Thank you for small favors, asshole!"

Michaela jumped up and grabbed her purse.

Terry tugged on her jacket sleeve and pulled her back toward him.

"Where are you going? I'm sitting here being honest with you about my feelings."

"Basically telling me I was a placeholder this whole time."

"We're having fun and enjoying each other. That's what you wanted, and that's what I want. I thought I could tell you everything going on with me, but clearly that was a mistake."

"Am I lacking something, Terry? Is that why you're so discombobulated with a woman that didn't make you happy?"

"You're perfect."

"Am I?"

"Michaela…please."

"So what now? Do we keep seeing each other or…?"

He stood once he noticed her eyes spilling tears of frustration.

"Michaela, I didn't tell you this to hurt you. I'm confused by all of this inner turmoil. I shouldn't be feeling like this, but I am. Can't help it."

"I don't want to be confused with you."

Terry hugged her and it felt icky. Like he was giving her a consolation hug as the loser. Instead of coming back to her on time, he stayed behind to talk with a woman who didn't see a future with him two years ago.

"Were you thinking about her while you were fucking me last Sunday?"

"Michaela, stop."

She pushed away from him. They faced each other with teary eyes and trembling limbs.

"Where does this go with us? Am I supposed to be with you while you sort out your feelings? Have you spoken to her since then?"

"We talked last night. Briefly. Less than five minutes. She told me it was good seeing me and hoped we could be friends again."

"Are you going to see her again?"

The sight of him blurred in her wet eyes. Her tears fell faster, and her mind couldn't process how to move forward.

"I made a mistake telling you."

"Terry…I'm glad you told me. It's a reality check. But I'm not a third wheel."

She expected him to protest and hug her again. If he had done that, she could've coped and pivoted to another way of handling her emotions.

But he didn't do that.

He stood there silently, his glossy eyes staring into a future without her by his side. The truth was so fucking obvious. Seeing Eve brought on regret for him. He never wanted to leave her.

In that moment, Michaela knew the pain flowing through her was because she loved him. She never said it out loud to him. She'd never been one of those women who fell in love easily. It was a slow trek for her to establish trust and intimacy, and she'd reached that stage with him when it was too late. The sting of losing his full, undivided attention to unfinished relationship baggage hurt. She'd lost him the moment he shared his truth.

"Maybe it's best that we postpone the camping trip this weekend. I have a lot on my mind, and you're busy getting your business up and running," he said.

"So you see your ex, talk to her again, and now our trip is cancelled?"

"Postponed. Not cancelled."

"Why?"

"I told you…I have a lot on my mind, and work is stressing me."

"A trip away is the best thing for stress. Tell me the truth, Terry. You want to think about her without me all up in your face—"

"I'm simply asking for space to think by myself without having to go anywhere or do anything."

"Think about what?! Either you want to be with me or her. Simple!"

He winced at her tone. Those beautiful eyes narrowed with irritation at the sound.

Michaela crumbled on the inside, but she kept her poise on the outside.

"Fuck you," she said.

She pulled his house key off her key ring and tossed it on the couch.

She didn't speak to Terry, nor seem him, for a month.

All of her social media blocked any contact dealing with him. She dropped him like a hot potato and kept it moving. No sense waiting around for him to give her a sad break-up chat of 'It's me, not you'.

His friends reached out, wanting to check on her and wondering why she wasn't around anymore. Terry's best friend Dex even drove over to see her, and she joined him for a coffee chat at the neighborhood Starbuck's, where she first met Terry.

She pumped Dex for information about Eve.

"They were engaged two years ago, and he broke it off."

"Engaged? He never told me that."

"He was embarrassed about it. His family spent a lot of money on their engagement party. Booked them an entire Paris honeymoon in advance. When he ended the relationship, they lost a shitload of money that he paid back."

Dex sipped on a berry refresher drink, his handsome looks attracting attention from bystanders in the coffee shop.

"Why did he leave her?"

"He told me she was immature. Narcissistic. He saw some other things he didn't like after her bridal shower that gave him doubts about them lasting as man and wife. I told him to break it off waaayyyy before he asked her to marry him, but he said he was in love and hoped she'd change."

"I guess she finally changed if he needed to talk to her all night after your party."

"I don't think she's changed at all. In fact, I suspect she only came around because of you."

"Me?"

Dex glanced about and leaned forward in his seat.

"Do you look at his social media? It's just photos of you two and him cheesing like he's won an Oscar for having the coolest girlfriend. Shit, I thought he was going to ask you to be his wife the way he bragged about you to us."

Michaela fiddled with the straw in her iced raspberry tea.

"I don't believe that."

"Eve sure did, because she swooped in on my party as a plus one. She loved him back then, of course, but why show up out the blue now? She saw those happy pictures and all thirty-two of his teeth grinning and didn't like it."

"She can have him because I don't care anymore."

Dex smirked.

"Do you love him?"

She closed her eyes. The first prick of tears spilled out.

"Aw, Michaela…talk to him. Let him know how you feel. He probably thinks you aren't serious about him because you didn't stay and fight for your shit."

"I shouldn't have to fight for him if I was already his."

She wiped the corners of her eyes with a napkin.

"That's not what I meant," Dex said. "Terry likes direct feedback. If you never told him you loved him, he's thinking you just want to keep the relationship casual. Exclusive for sure…but y'know…chill with no pressure."

"He never told me he loved me."

"Perhaps he was going off your vibes. The last woman he said 'I love you' to broke his heart. I'm not trying to make excuses for him, but he's been gun-shy with women. You're the first one he's brought out in two years. That makes you special. I know he showed you how he felt without saying it. If you tell him out loud, he'll snap to attention."

"He should've done it first. I don't want to look like I'm crawling back begging…"

Dex's cell rang on the table. He answered.

"Hey, speak of the devil. What's up, man? I'm chillin'…actually I'm sitting here with Michaela chatting at Starbuck's."

"Bastard!" she hissed.

"Alright, man," Dex said.

He tapped his phone.

"He's down the street and coming over to see you. Now's your chance to tell him how you feel."

Michaela jumped from her seat and cursed him under her breath.

"Being with him should've been enough for him to know. It goes both ways," she said.

"Okay, so you both fucked up by being quiet about the love part."

"Bye Dex."

Michaela shuffled out of the door, fumbling with her purse and jacket. Outside, she rushed down the street, only to see Terry strolling her way. She did a one-eighty in her stride and stomped away in the opposite direction.

"Michaela!"

He called out to her and dashed down the sidewalk to catch up to her. Her building was another block over.

"Wait up…I just want to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk, Terry. You should've come home to me, but you still wanted her. Dex told me you were going to marry her—"

"I was—"

"I don't like mess. I don't like exes showing up to throw a wrench in my relationship with you. I don't like that you never told me you loved me—"

"Can we talk inside?"

Seeing him rattled her. His gorgeous face had lines on his forehead from the stress of their uncoupling. Those green eyes threatened to weaken her if she didn't stay strong. The hurting in her chest never went away.

"Are you still talking to Eve?"

"Not really."

"Not really? Either you're talking or you're not."

"We've spoken a few times since you left me."

"Then there's nothing for us to discuss. You made a choice."

"I haven't done anything other than try to figure out why you can't…why you can't…."

"What? Spit it out, for God's sake!"

"I never thought you were this selfish, Michaela. You pretend to be this sophisticated world traveler and you can't even give me space to sort out my shit. I was this close to marrying someone I deeply loved, and it messed me up for a long time to let that relationship go. I beat myself up, wondering why I didn't communicate my unhappiness or frustrations to her sooner, and I promised myself that the next woman I got involved with would never have that problem. But you closed yourself off from me. My honesty hurt you. I can't change that. Running from me isn't going to fix us."

"What was there to fix, Terry?! We were doing fine until she showed up. There's no us if you keep talking to that woman."

"Why are you so threatened by her?"

"If you can't see why, I can't help you."

She pushed past him and headed for her secure building. His footsteps trailed after her. She ran inside her lobby after punching in the code. The heavy glass door slammed in Terry's face.

"Michaela, I did love you…I'm sorry I never said it…I love you…please. Talk to me."

"Go talk to Eve!"

His voice faded as she climbed the stairs to her studio.

Michaela co-chaired a conference in Costa Rica and rekindled her love of travel. A year after leaving Terry, she stayed busy expanding her venture as a self-employed entrepreneur. She found a luxury villa to house-sit for three months back in Mallorca and would use that time as a vacation and a chance to plot her next move.

First, she had to go home to see her parents for a week.

Winters in Louisiana were harsh, and she couldn't wait to get back to the Mediterranean climate she loved.

Sitting in her parent's cluttered dining room, she ate jambalaya, fried chicken steak, and cabbage croquets. She caught up with cousins and siblings and soaked up as much of Louisiana as she could.

She also had an obligation to go to church.

"I need you to cover for Marcus on Friday," her mother said.

"Friday? What's going on Friday?"

"A memorial service for one of our deacons in the church. Deacon Tolliver."

"What song?"

Her mother, Iris, marked a line under a note in her music book on the stand in front of their church's pulpit. The entire Baptist choir of eighty singers took a break to catch their breath.

"'Praise Him in Advance'. Marcus has a sore throat, and I know you got it down front to back. Can you help me with it, baby?"

"Sure."

Michaela took her place at the soloist mic and went through the song twice. It was a regular part of her mother's repertoire, so it wasn't a big deal practicing. Her tone of voice was just as good as Marcus' singing it.

After she finished, she stepped back into the choir pews and played her part with all the altos.

Her mind wandered as her mother's arms waved and dipped, guiding the rich voices.

Word on the street, according to her bestie Sandra — who still dated Mike—Terry went back to Eve about four months after Michaela left town. After hearing that, she made Sandra promise not to tell her anything about that man. He clearly chose who he really wanted, and she'd been correct in feeling like a rebound. Those tears he shed gave the performance of his life, and she was smart not to fall for it.

It tore her up inside knowing Eve was getting good dick, passion, and excitement all wrapped up in a Terry package. No more light-skinned niggas for her. Every single one she ever dated was a problem, and if they were pretty? Forget about it. She should've smacked the shit out of him when she had the chance. The saddest part for her was cutting off all contact with Terry's buddies. She genuinely liked them all. The man had an amazing circle of friends.

Sandra texted her about going out to a movie, and she accepted, only to find out it was a set-up with a co-worker of hers. It pissed her off to be ambushed that way, but Michaela sat through the "Wicked" musical because the man was cute. It became a no-go when he knew all the songs and sang them at the top of his lungs. A fucking theater kid…with great pipes, though.

The day of the memorial, she packed her suitcases with freshly washed clothes to be prepped for an early morning flight to Atlanta. She had a few more friends to see before she left the country again.

Dressed in a stylish indigo dress and her best heels, Michaela fluffed out her hair. She opted to tie it up high to give herself a little oomph. She switched out her hoop earrings for diamond studs and smoothed a fresh tube of bronze lipstick across her lips.

Riding over in her parent's car to church, she received an urgent text message from Sandra.

Michaela threw her phone back inside her purse. She pulled it back out, curious to know how Terry looked after all. Sandra wouldn't have to know she was peeking.

No.

Fuck him still.

But…

She scrolled the old people's social media. Facebook. Hopping onto Mike's page, she checked out his recent photos and found a group one posted six months after she left. Her heart fluttered seeing Terry in a fishing trip photo. He wasn't smiling with teeth, but held a crooked grin. Next to him, with her name tagged, was Eve.

Michaela enlarged the photo.

"She's not even all that cute," she grumbled.

"You say something, baby?" Iris said from the front seat.

"Talking to myself, Momma."

Eve was bottom heavy in her shorts and wore too much make-up for a fishing trip in the raging sun. Her twist out hair looked nice. She was nearly the same skin-tone as Michaela with a wide, flat face that reminded her of bread dough ran over twice with a rolling pin.

She wondered what went wrong this time. That thought paused her. What difference did it make?

It must have meant something because she thought about Terry while walking into the church, which someone had decorated with bright blue and white flowers. This wasn't a funeral, but a celebration of life. The sanctuary pews were slowly filling up, and Michaela followed her mother and the rest of the choir through a side hallway. They weren't wearing choir robes because the family requested they all don Deacon Tolliver's favorite color. All shades of blue surrounded Michaela. They looked like a pretty winter bouquet.

Her purse vibrated. She ignored Sandra's new message and silenced her phone with a quick swipe of her finger and hung up her coat. Pastor Greene looked out upon the flock and began speaking words of comfort as the choir waited to begin their processional from the side wing.

Would it hurt to see him? It had been a little over a year since she had flounced away from him. He could see how fabulous she looked and hopefully he'd regret losing her this time.

Michaela strode in from her position on the line and sang an upbeat song with the choir to stir up the congregation with feelings of joy and not sadness. Deacon Tolliver's family walked in as a large group down the aisle to take their seats in the front.

Michaela nearly fell over.

Terry walked solemnly behind the elderly Tolliver relatives dressed in a dark blue suit and tie. Ushers led them to their reserved rows, and he sat down next to some older women. He looked at the memorial program in his hand and glanced up to take in the flower arrangements and the size of the choir.

Michaela ducked her head down, hoping he wouldn't notice her. He didn't. The sopranos partially hid her on the side. The sea of blue helped camouflage her, along with holding the program directly in front of her face.

The pastor read a short scripture and then asked for the congregation to bow their heads in prayer. Michaela thought she could coast through the first half of the memorial, but the closer it got toward the choir singing again after heartfelt speeches from Deacon Tolliver's close friends, her stomach twisted in discomfort. She read the memorial program for the ninety-six-year-old deacon and learned that Terry was a great-grand nephew.

Her mother rose from her seat and stationed herself in front. Terry stared at Iris, and his expression changed from sadness to awareness. Those captivating eyes searched over each face in the choir until they rested on Michaela's as she stepped forward to sing for his great-grand uncle.

She prayed her throat wouldn't close up. The organ player tapped out the keys and the drummer gave a rousing introduction to her vocals. Michaela focused on Deacon Tolliver's widow and the memories of her husband's good work in the church. She had a job to uplift the family, even if one of them was her ex boyfriend.

"I've had my share of ups and downs…times when there was no one around…God came and spoke these words to me…praise will confuse the enemy…"

Deacon Tolliver's widow shouted "Amen!" and the choir brought up the rear, repeating what she sang in a powerful, harmonious sound that brought people to their feet.

Michaela relaxed into her vocal performance, letting the lyrics build up on their own, not doing too much as she led the call and response with the choir, her runs clean and touching hearts in the audience. She used her fingers to point on certain words at the family that held meaning to Deacon Tolliver when he was alive.

"That's when I praise him with my hands…"

Michaela hummed at the end of the line and raised her hands up, her eyes cast toward the stain-glassed depiction of a Black Jesus with his flock of sheep. As a child, Deacon Tolliver told her that Jesus was a rock she could depend on whenever she felt lost. He told her the same thing four years ago before she left Louisiana. She could almost feel his hand on her shoulder like back then, reassuring her about the path she was on. Funny how she ended up falling in love with his great-grand nephew.

Her eyes flicked over to Terry. He stood clapping his hands double time with the choir as she went up a notch to celebrate a good man who supported her call to adventure, even when her parents were worried about it. Hands were up in the audience and she heard shouts as the spirit came down on several people.

She brought the sound down softly and sang to the congregation like she was preaching the word and not just singing. Stepping down from the stage, she approached Mrs. Tolliver's frail form and held her hand, keeping her voice soft.

"Praise him, when things are good…praise him…trouble on every side…and when I'm broke…I will praise him…"

Mrs. Tolliver squeezed her hand and said, "Yes, God…praise him."

Michaela went down the family line to give the message of comfort, and the palpable feeling of love enveloped her. Faced with Terry up close, and knowing this would be the last time she would ever see him, she smiled and gave him some joyful notes that volleyed back and forth with the choir. His lips trembled, and he held steadfast, listening to her sing life into him and his family. She made her way back to the stage and put the cordless mic back on its stand, taking final direction from her mother as the band went off, creating a musical frenzy getting everybody charged up with emotion.

Back at her seat, she breathed in deeply, thankful that she got through the song and seeing Terry at the same time without bursting into tears.

"Nah, nah, Sister Michaela, come back, come back," the pastor said. "One mo' 'gin! I don't think they heard you!"

The band struck up the music again. The choir led her this time for another stirring reprise. Her voice soared over the church and even her momma jumped up and down, shouting. The entire church double clapped as she did a run of "ohs" that ended with a crescendo from the choir. Michaela felt touched by a higher power then, and shook her fists, feeling the spirit move through her. The choir connected her to the only thing that mattered in that moment: to love and be loved in return among her community. She shook her head, rooted to the floor, and another choir member helped her find her seat.

Iris led them through some classic gospel songs and threw in a few newer ones. Michaela sang and snuck glances at Terry who did the same. He pulled back his lips and gave her a smile that reached his eyes, and she did the same back at him.

The memorial ended, and the congregation headed over to the church-owned building next door where the repast was to be held. The food was buffet-style, and Michaela made herself a plate and sat with some church friends. Terry sat with his family on the other side of the room and she relaxed to eat and drink punch.

Eventually she mingled, sharing stories of getting in trouble at vacation bible school and Deacon Tolliver setting her straight.

"Michaela."

It was unavoidable.

Michaela inhaled and turned to look at Terry. His suit was perfectly tailored to his physique. His soulful gaze took her breath away again, and it was like being at Starbuck's that first time, hearing the robust sound of his voice. Her cheeks rose, lifted by the smile she tried to pull off, but she couldn't do it. Regret washed over her like a heat flash and her face grew warm. She didn't fight for him like she should've. She didn't support him with his jumbled feelings. Running off to Costa Rica had been her answer because she didn't want to hear him say he didn't want her anymore. Fear of abandonment caused her to react in a way that didn't help them overcome an obstacle.

"Sorry for your loss," she sputtered.

"Thank you. I'm sorry for a lot of things, too," he said.

Her eyes watered, but the tears held in place. He sensed the battle within to hold it together and looked around to see who could hear them. She blinked several times to clear her eyes. He'd led her to the punchbowl. Handing her a cup of punch, he sighed and moved closer to her so their conversation wouldn't be overheard.

Her heart thumped rapidly, being next to him, and her hands sweated. She wiped them against the cup of punch.

"Can we go outside? It's kinda loud in here," he said.

"Sure."

She pulled on her coat and grabbed her small purse to follow him out a side door. He held out a key fob. Tapping it, a maroon SUV chirped, and he opened a back door for her to get out of the cold.

They sat in the far back seats of the seven passenger vehicle. He tapped the fob again, and the engine came on, blasting much needed heat in the interior. Tinted windows prevented anyone from seeing directly inside. She took off her coat after the temperature grew comfortable.

"You look great," he said.

"You too."

"You sang like an angel. Uncle Bo would've loved it."

"Oh, he's heard me sing before. I didn't even know you were related to the Tollivers."

"On my father's side."

His eyes never wavered. There was a softness behind them that matched the tone of his voice. God had really broken the mold when he made Terry.

He glanced down at his hand near hers.

"I wasn't careful with your heart, Michaela. I'll never forgive myself for that. I loved you…still love you. When you left town, I thought you did what you needed to do. I dealt with that pain, even when you refused to accept my calls or attempts to contact you."

"Why did you go back to her?"

"You left, and she…gave me what I thought was a second chance. I couldn't get you back. You were worried about being a rebound, and that's what Eve became to me. She didn't feel right at all…nothing about her was different. We went out a few times to test the waters. Tried to be friends instead. Dex told me I was stupid for doubting myself about her motives for coming back into my life. The moment she learned you left the country, she turned right back into her vindictive, jealous self. I let her fool me into thinking I'd made a mistake about getting away from her. She played me. I paid a heavy price for it by losing you. I'm sorry for not listening or taking your apprehensions about it seriously. You loved me and I didn't…I lost the plot of us, Michaela. That's all my fault for thinking I knew better."

"I was scared. I met someone truly special, and I held you away from me because I didn't know if you felt as deeply as I did. I've been burned in the past enough times to be cautious," she said.

"Where does this leave us now?"

"I'm going back to Spain in two days. I won't return to the states for a while."

He nodded and glanced away from her face.

"I guess there's nothing more to say. We missed our chance."

The defeat in his voice broke her inside.

"Terry, I loved everything about you—"

He smothered her lips with his.

His hands cradled her face. The reunion of his mouth against hers made her swoon. She parted his lips with her tongue and he took advantage of the opening and swept his tongue around hers. Their passion for each other never left. It pleased her that Eve turned out to be exactly as Dex predicted. That woman didn't want anyone to claim Terry after her, and only popped out to sow confusion in him, knowing how vulnerable he'd been to end their engagement. He figured out her charade and dumped her again, making her a two-time loser. She also relished that Terry got what he deserved on a purely petty level. That flat-faced ex showed him for all time that he never should've considered her as anything less than a dodged bullet. But at what cost?

Their kissing aroused her.

Her panties dampened, and Terry started moaning into her mouth. She ran a hand down his chest and brushed her fingers across the bulge in his pants. So stiff.

He cupped a breast and squeezed, then groped a nipple, pinching it through her dress and bralette. She came undone by looking deeply into his eyes. Love stared back at her. Regret, too.

She gave him love with her mouth, sliding her tongue against his with slow, succulent kissing. Rubbing on his dick through his pants had him panting her name. He lifted her dress, and she helped him pull down her pantyhose. She kicked off her heels, knowing she had to have him. He unfastened his belt and lowered his pants and boxer briefs.

She climbed on top of him as he held his erection up for her to slide down. Her pussy swallowed his dick easily, and they both sighed loudly when she reached the bottom with her ass resting on his balls. They kissed again and Michaela bounced on his dick, her slickness pleasing him.

She clung to his neck, pressing her cheek to his and pounded on that thickness, making a wet mess in his lap. He grunted and held onto her ass cheeks. Unprotected sex was something they never indulged in, but there was always an exception to that rule for a desire that overpowered them both. A final fuck was very necessary.

"Fuck me…fuck me…fuck me…raise up, raise up…now drop it back down hard on that dick…yes! Just like that, Michaela…fuck me, baby. Fuck that dick…fuck it…fuck me…shit…that's your dick…."

The throaty moans into her neck heightened her pleasure to the extreme. His voice sounded deeper than it ever did, and it serenaded her grinding into him fast and furious. Her clit rubbed against his shaft and electrified her walls, sending tiny spasms of pre-orgasmic release. She reached behind and squeezed his balls.

"You're trying to make me nut all in this pussy. Aren't you?" he choked out.

"Yes!"

He moaned, helpless to stop himself.

"I'm 'bout to give you the biggest nut…fuck, Michaela…why you do this to me now?"

He whimpered as she went stupid on his dick. All he could do was hold on to her plump ass cheeks and go along for the ride. They both had nothing to lose. Their foreheads touched, and desperate breathy pants sent warm air across their lips.

"Take this thick creamy nut, girl. I'm gonna fill you up… right now…oh shit! I'm cumming…I'm cumming…..!"

Terry's body bucked, and he held her so tight against him. She couldn't breathe. She felt the swelling of his dick and the quick pulses as he eagerly spurt a hot nut inside of her. His erratic panting and the pressure of him squeezing her tight compelled her to let go. Her eyes rolled back as her pussy clenched like it would never let his dick go.

"Terry…oh, God!" she cried out.

"Damn…Michaela…you fucked the shit out of me!"

They laughed.

Their voices bubbled up, a shared release like the old days together. Except this time, his warm cum flooded her pussy.

"We're going to look a mess going back inside," she grumbled.

"I don't care," he huffed into her hair.

She leaned back and his eyes held more desire for her. The feline quality in them brought shivers, and she had to look away from the intensity. He kissed her, and she gave in again, allowing their tongues to make a pact she knew they couldn't keep. Not anymore.

When her legs started cramping, she lifted off of his dick and lap, falling back into the seat. Cum pooled out of her, wetting her inner thighs.

She pulled up her underwear and pantyhose. Slipped on her heels. He fastened up his pants, and they looked at one another with longing. Outside of the SUV, he helped her put on her coat. She closed it up tight and cinched it with the belt.

They returned to the repast. She hoped God and the church couldn't smell the sex on her. Now and then, she glanced over at Terry and they burst out laughing, unable to hide the awkwardness of being together like that in a church parking lot. She became bashful whenever their eyes met, his thick lashes so seductive with his eyebrow arched, watching her move around the space.

When her parents said their goodbyes to the Tolliver family as the repast wound down, she and Terry bid farewell with silent eye contact. She rushed out behind her mother, feeling a hitch in her chest and a lump growing in her throat.

The summer sun in Mallorca did wonders for Michaela's rich skin color.

She wore long slinky dresses and drank chilled gazpacho by the pool in the small villa she tended for a British family who went to Australia for a long winter holiday.

Peace and tranquility spoiled her. Part of her house sitting duties were caring for two rowdy Ibizan hounds that snoozed at the foot of her pool lounge chair, the heat wearing them out into quiet submission.

Her cell vibrated next to her hip.

She swiped, and her eyes lit up behind her big shades.

Terry sent her a picture of himself wearing the gold compass necklace she bought for him in a pricey Mallorca jewelry shop. She had it engraved and mailed it to him in time for his birthday two weeks ago. He'd been on her mind a lot after leaving home. Wistful days passed by as she pondered her horizon. But he was always on the fringes.

He had the nerve to wear a sweater with no shirt while sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and sunlight making him look like a movie star.

Michaela let her index finger hover above the smartphone keyboard. She grappled with what to say. Touching her own compass necklace, she read the words her father put on it again.

"One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things."

Under a Spanish sun, Michaela Maxwell decided to trust with an open heart. Her fingers flew across the keyboard.

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bernardsbendystraws · 1 hour ago

Text

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: Nick has been your best friend for so long, but you can’t seem to get a long with his brother—Chris. You try to mess with Chris and it backfires….badly….

Warnings: illegal street racing, stupid driving, tension, smut with so much plot it hurts, street racer Chris, BIG MASSIVE SHLONG CHRIS, size kink, bulge kink, dick-wad Chris, p n v, raw sex, riding (wink), and more....

A/N: THIS IS OVER 5.2K WORDS. THIS IS NAWT A QUICK READ. Now, get in the car bitches, we're getting HORNYYYYYY!!!!

With love and bigs tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, cute jeans!” I wave, my lips curling into a grin as I squint my eyes at him—Chris. He rolls his tongue, shaking his head as he stalks off further down the street. Ha.

It’s one of those rare occurrences—I’m here—at his street race, for god knows what reason.

All I ever do is mock him. In fact, that’s why I call him cute jeans. The first time Nick and I had shown up at one of these dumb things, Chris thought I was a stranger from behind—and my jeans? Damn.

He had to be a real asshole and hit on me.

That night was fun for more than one reason. It sparked something—something I didn’t know existed.

After that, my teasing only got worse. Chris’s ego couldn’t handle staying silent, he always had something smart to say.

“Come to watch me again, huh? Gonna record it for later, I bet,” Chris winks. My mouth snaps shut as I go to say something back. He’s already gone—not giving me a second to respond before shutting the door to his car and speeding down the road.

Typical.

It’s still bright out. The sun sinks lower into the horizon as more people crowd the deserted street by the minute.

“Okay, let’s just take a couple more pics and then we’ll go. I know you hate this,” Nick huffs, adjusting the leather jacket he’s wearing—the same coat that inspired this whole photoshoot. But you couldn’t blame him, he did look hot as fuck.

Even if his looks resemble a certain idiot lurking nearby.

Part of me is burning with spite. I hate letting Chris have the last word. But my brain sparks with an idea, a brilliant idea.

How much would it cost him if I stayed around?

Those stupid bets were always placed in his favor. No one could deny he was good—really good. He drove on the street like he owned it and he never even seemed nervous.

“I kinda wanna stay—” My words are interrupted as I feel an arm rest down on my shoulders. I look over to see Beck, a girl I love seeing.

She’s vibrant—especially with her signature red lip that seemed to draw all eyes to her. I always blossom off her confidence, loving to sit next to her when she showed true female power all with one swing of that stupid flag in the air.

“How are ya, girlie? Haven’t seen you in months,” she puffs, hugging me a little bit closer before dropping her arm back to her side.

I smile over at her. “Pretty good, you still stomping on egos?” I question, the glint of mischief in her eyes reflecting back as she gives me a slow nod.

“Oh, always. Especially Chris—and it’s just for you.” She boops my nose as her words drag through the wind, the sound of tires screeching starting to muffle the chaotic hum of the crowd forming.

Nick stares down at the camera lens, scrolling through the pictures I had taken of him—the reason why we were here, pretty much. “Actually, I think we got enough. But are you sure you wanna stay? I can come back and get you later—”

Beck brushes on Nick’s shoulder. She scrunches her nose at me while licking over her teeth. “I got her, Nick. Go home and post those pics, I’ll return her to you safely after tonight, don’t worry.”

“Alright…” Nick sighs, reluctantly hugging me and wandering back towards his car to head home.

“So why’d you wanna stay? Finally like cars?” Beck interrogates.

I shake my head vigorously, laughing as she smiles at me. “Fuck no, I just—”

“You’re gonna mess with him, aren’t you?”

Her question rings through the air as a speeding car flies by—racers already warming up.

My eyes trace towards the track, seeing a sleek red sports car in the distance doing donuts. Of fucking course. Chris was always doing some dumb shit—illegal street racing or doing fucking donuts while the other racers were repeatedly drifting around the corners or fixing up their cars.

He’s so cocky.

I whisper back to her as I watch his car tires mark the pavement. “Damn right.”

___

Chris is already fed up—I can tell by the way his jaw clicks and his nostrils flare when I catch him in the corner of my eye.

And I’m looking directly at him, a stupid smile covering my face as I put my money on the bet table. It’s twenty bucks, but it was twenty bucks I was willing to spend, or rather waste. Chris hasn’t lost in a while—honestly I’m not sure if he ever has.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Chris huffs, pulling me by the arm as he drags me to the side of the road by his car.

He roughly shoves me. The feeling of his car pressed up against my backside leaves my eyes twinkling with pride—I’m really getting to him. Just like I planned.

I shrug. “Just placing my bets. Isn’t that what everyone does at these—”

“Why are you here? Why’re you–,” as his eyes stare into mine, his rough tone falls silent, his scowl curling into a smirk as he analyzes the subtle twitch of my nose. “Huh—just comin’ to watch, right?”

I nod to his question, my pride sinking to my feet as I try to stand up tall. Chris presses his body against mine, making my weight lean against the car once more. I swallow thickly as his hand drops from my arm.

What is he doing?

“You know, I meant it, right?” he tuts, his eyes tracing your figure with no shame. “These jeans… baby, they look so good on you.” His voice gets deeper, his head falling forward as his lips graze my ear. “-bet they’d look better off though, hm?”

Fuck.

I wish it didn’t make something inside the pit of my gut burn—but it did. God, it really fucking did. My heart is hammering against my chest, the pulse in my neck pounding in my ears as slight butterflies in my stomach make it harder to breathe.

Shoving my body quickly, I manage to escape his hold. “Shut up. You’re such a cocky prick,” I spit, my arms folding across my chest as I try to keep a stern expression.

Chris lets out a dry laugh, grinning like he’s already won. He takes a couple steps forward, letting his hand travel into the ends of my hair, “And yet, you love it. I can practically hear how nervous I’m makin’ you, it’s a real ego boost,” he husks.

“You don’t make me—” My lips fall open further, motionless as his hand moves to my neck, his cold fingers brushing against my pulse as my eyes go wide.

“Not nervous, huh…” His head leans towards the side as he stares all over my face. His eyes linger on my lips as I try to look away.

But it’s impossible. Chris swerves his head, not letting my eyes leave his as he just stares at me.

“Chris, stop—”

“Why? Do I make you too nervous?” he urges, licking over his teeth and letting his hands drop down to his sides.

I feel a wave of heat caress up my spine and over my shoulders. “Don’t you have some stupid race to lose?”

The taunt seems humorous to him, the last resolve of my dignity peeking through mumbled words as he wipes over his mouth.

“Alright, alright. Guess I’ll go try to lose, but—I might need your help.” He shrugs, walking off with a wink.

Uh oh.

Help?

___

I can’t tell what the fuck is going through his brain. Part of me regrets staying—but another part of me is sickly invested in whatever this twisted game is.

Nearly all bets had been placed. Stacks of money rested on the plastic table with a heavy bais—most were betting on Chris.

It had to be at least two grand.

He wouldn’t give up two grand for some petty argument with me, right? No—that would be insane. Absolutely bonkers.

…right?

I watch as Beck stands in the middle of the dark street, the only glow coming from the blue streetlights above. The sun had set quickly, the stars and moon doing nothing compared to the headlights from all the cars.

My legs hurt. I didn’t realize I had been clenching every muscle for the entirety of the countdown to the actual race. The cold bleachers sting against my skin in the night air—maybe I would’ve dressed warmer if I thought I was gonna stay. But no—I was stuck shivering in jeans, a purple lace bra peeking from under my black top, and a letterman jacket.

The front row gave the best view, but I had no one to shield the bitter breeze. But it was worth it. This way I got to sit by Beck the entire time.

“Racers ready?” she shouts, her voice prominent over the reviving engines as she holds the flag in the air.

Chris is on the side closer to me, his boyish smile apparent as I stare at the side of his face. The other guy was one of the better ones—the bets had some sort of hope in him, a large stack of bills showing that he had a decent amount of skill.

My mouth waters as I see Chris run a hand through his hair, his head turning and his eyes catching mine. Holy fuck. He looks absolutely dreamy—there’s not an ounce of anxiety, pure confidence radiating from him.

And it makes it so hard to look away.

“Wait, I got one more bet I gotta place,” Chris announces.

What?

My brows furrow, my face scrunching as I watch Beck relax the flag back down to her side. “Make it quick.”

Chris nods at her words, my stomach flutters as he stares directly back at me, leaning his head out his window while licking over his lips. “Wanna make a bet, sweetheart?” he asks.

I look around me, my shoulder sinking slightly as I take in the amount of people staring at me.

He’s holding up the race to embarass me. Fuck.

As I stare back at him with squinted eyes, he clicks his tongue on the side of his mouth. “If I win, I get to take you for a drive. Deal?”

“What?” I exclaim, throwing my hand in the air as I motion to the bet table, “Why the hell would I agree to that—”

“You bet against me, remember?” he points.

My lips smack shut, the lump in my throat gathering thicker as I try to swallow. “I’ll even give you the chance to make sure I lose a round. We gotta bet or not?” he questions, his eyes twinkling as the blue lights illuminate his sharp features.

If he had to lose one of the three rounds, that put more hope into the other racer. And if the other race won, I’d be more than content. Getting to call him a loser would definitely irk him more than anything—especially if it was true.

I hear boos chant around me. “Hurry up and race!” someone says from behind me.

My body stiffens as I hear the chorus of disapproval. “Deal!” I shout, biting on my inner cheek.

Chris looks at me with a daunting grin, his hand squeezing on the wheel as he nods. “A’right—ready. Sorry for the hold up.”

Beck rolls her eyes, holding up the flag once more.

“Racers ready?” she glares at Chris, continuing on as he revs his engine in response, “3—2—-1, GO—”

My heart drops as I watch the smoke from the tires scratching the street float around Beck. She saunters over, settling beside me as I lean forward, my pulse pounding in my ears as I watch them race side-by-side.

As the car rounds the corner and starts nearing the finish line, Chris’s car zooms just slightly in front of the other vehicle, only seconds of a difference.

I can’t wait to call him a fuckin loser.

Beck walks back out, the flag raising in the air as both cars position once again. “Alright, race two. Ready, set—”

“Hey!”

Stomping her heels on the pavement, Beck scowls at Chris as he shouts towards my direction. I look over, my face burning as I feel the crowd stare down at me.

I didn’t know much about racing, but I knew enough. This wasn’t normal—this was the prime way to piss people off.

As I go to ask what he wants, Chris curls his finger, motioning for me to come closer.

The fuck?

I hesitantly stand up, my arms wrapped tightly around my torso as I walk up to his car window. Chris stares up at me with devious eyes. He obnoxiously chews a piece of gum, his jaw bone protruding with each movement.

“What the fuck do you want?!” I whisper-yell, catching angry eyes boring onto me as I take a quick glance over my shoulder.

Oh, these people are mad—fucking furious, even.

“Kiss me.”

I do a double take, my eyes blinky slowly as I watch him lick over the bottom ridges of his teeth, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“What?” I breathe out, a dry laugh heaving from my lips.

He can’t be serious…

“However long you kiss me is however long I’ll wait to start drivin’. Didn’t you want me to lose? C’mon pretty girl, you saw the bet table—use your head, alright? It’s just a kiss,” he taunts.

This is how he was gonna give me the chance to make him lose a round—I should’ve known.

I shake my head, cringing as I hear the boo’s from the crowd get louder.

“I’m startin’,” Beck says, holding up the flag. “3—”

“Yes or no? It’s up to you,” he shrugs, his eyes drawing over my face as my lips smack open and shut.

“2—”

The noise of his engine revving makes my anxiety settle. This is my chance—my only chance at that.

“Fuck it,” I murmur, taking a long stride towards him.

“1—GO!”

I crash my lips onto his, my hands on either side of his jaw. His lips meet mine with a hard urgency, the rhythm of my movement panicked and rushed.

My breath hitches in my chest—I don’t know if it’s because I forgot to breathe or if it’s from the feeling of his hand traveling up and tangling around the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer as he slips his warm tongue into my mouth.

I nearly forget everything, gasping for air as I pull back quickly, moaning as I feel his mouth hungrily chase mine.

Never in my life had I been kissed like this—so passionately and rough.

“Hey! This gotta be breakin’ some rules–”

Fuck.

The person yelling from the crow makes me pull back into reality. I stand up, watching as Chris slowly flutters his eyes open at me with a grin so cocky my hand twitches with the urge to slap him.

Why did that feel so… good?

Before anyone can say a thing, the other car slowly halts back to the starting line.

Had we really been kissing that long?

My fingers mindlessly float up to my tingling lips, my head feeling lighter as the surroundings start to spin a bit. It’s like he put some drug in his mouth that immediately became addicting. I want more.

“See? I kept my word,” Chris points out, “Now—you gonna keep your word if I win? Lemme take you for a drive?” I swallow thickly, nodding slowly. “Good. Now go sit down and cheer for me real loud, alright?”

I don’t have time to respond before Beck interrupts with the same question, starting to count down. I quickly stumble back towards the bleachers, a sigh of relief pushing through my lips as my head bobbles between my shoulders while I sit down.

The loud cars barely register in my brain. All I can focus on is how light everything feels, how my lips are swollen and pulsing.

“C’MON!!!”

Chants behind me draw my attention back to the road. What the fuck? It’s not even close—Chris is speeding around the corners way smoother than the first round, almost as if he had been—

Oh fuck.

He was holding back.

I tried to mess with him and he played me with ease.

Part of me should be mad as he races near the finish line—but all I feel is excitement—anticipation.

My teeth clench into my lower lip as I watch him storm past the line, not even waiting for the other racer to finish before stepping out of his car and walking over.

Is he…?

My eyes bulge as he walks in front of me, holding his hand out as an offer. “C’mon, you promised, yeah?” he urges.

I nod slowly, sliding my hand in his. He drags me to his car, opening the passenger door and shutting it after I climb in.

“Chris! The money—”

Beck’s words fall on deaf ears as Chris slides into the driver seat, pressing his foot on the gas hard.

“You didn’t even get the money—what’re we doing?” I ask, looking behind my shoulder to see a crowd of people turned to our direction as we speed off further down the road.

“You know, it’s not nice to try and tick me off,” he huffs, quickly glancing at me with a harsh stare.

Oh.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ abou–”

Chris lets out a vocal sound of disbelief, cutting me off, “Yeah, you do. Fuckin—bettin’ against me, tryna get me to lose and shit. For what? Don’t have a boyfriend to give you any attention, huh?” he asks, his hand reaching over and grasping onto my thigh.

He knows I don’t have a boyfriend—I know he’s aware of that fact.

I stare down at his large hand squeezing my jean-clad leg. Something about his rough grip makes me shift in my seat, my thighs clutching together as I feel a wave of warmth settle into the pit of my stomach.

“You like my hand on your thigh, don’t you?” he says, smirking wider as I watch the blue streetlights cast a subtle glow on his cheekbones.

“I—”

“You like it. Admit it.”

There’s no room to argue as he trails his hand up further, his fingers tracing dangerously high as he gives me a rough squeeze. Fuck his hands feel good on me.

“Chris what’re you—”

“Do you know how it feels to constantly see you and know I can’t touch you?” he starts, the car rolling to a stop by the side of the road as he rushedly shifts gears to park, “-you’re always fuckin’ teasin’ me—bein’ a damn brat and I have to keep my hands to myself,” he grits, shaking his head as he stares down at me.

I swallow thickly as I shift in the seat. “Chris, I–”

“No. None of that bullshit. You’re always tauntin’ me. Why’d you stay, hm? Why?” he questions, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth as his eyes deepen with intensity and dominance.

Silence. I can’t fathom any words to say, my pulse drumming quicker as Chris pats his lap, adjusting his chair back.

“Over here. Now.”

“Chris, what are we doing?” I ask, hesitantly starting to climb over the center console.

His hands wrap around the underside of my thighs, pulling me quickly while I let out a slight yelp as he sits me down in his lap. His hands are firm on either side of my hips. “I’m done playin’ these stupid fuckin’ games. I just—”

The air is quiet. His eyes fall to my lips, his hands grasping just a little bit tighter around me. I can still feel the lingering sensation from his lips on mine earlier, the slight tingle still buzzing on the soft muscle as I let myself lean in closer.

“We should stop,” Chris breathes, his tongue sliding between his lips as his eyes flicker up towards mine.

“Why?”

The question rolls off my lips with ease, my palms flattening against his chest as I lower my mouth to his neck, breathing over his pulse.

“Because–” He lets out a hiss. I place my lips on his neck, sucking gently as I massage my hand over his shoulder. “Shit—we gotta stop, baby—this, this–” His jaw goes slack as I find his sweet spot. His hands dig into my hips, the slight bulge growing beneath me making my lips curl into a smile as I gently grind myself on top of him.

“Why do you wanna stop, Chris?” I ask, nibbling the bottom of his ear, “What’s got you so tongue-tied, hm?”

“You’re killin’ me,” he points, his gaze trained on me as he tangles his hand through my hair, pulling me back just enough to look at him, “-fuckin’ so annoying, so pretty and horrible, I just—I don’t know how much I can hold back–”

“Don’t,” I whisper, my hand gathering the material of his shirt in a fist as I watch him bite on his lower lip. His eyes trace over my face, one of his hands slowly tracing underneath my shirt, callusing beneath my bra.

“Yeah? Don’t want me to hold back, hm?” he remarks, his hips adjusting in the slightest, my mouth falling open as I feel him rut against me through the fabric of our clothes.

Fuck. I can’t take this.

I lean forward, crashing my lips against his once more. Chris hums into my mouth. He furiously helps me peel off the bulky letterman jacket, the cold air feeling like relief compared to my burning skin.

“Holy fuck, slow down, baby,” he husks, his hands falling to my hips as I shameless grind myself against his hard bulge. But I can’t get enough. “-’m not going anywhere—gonna stay and make you feel so good. Promise.”

My heart drops as I feel his hand delicately caress over the purple lace covering my breasts. His nimble fingers trace around my hardened nub, a slight moan falling through my lips as I feel him smirk against me.

“Take those cute jeans off, c’mon. Be a good girl for me—just this once, alright?” he grins.

I nod slowly, awkwardly shifting as I pull down the denim while kicking off my shoes. Chris gets impatient, yanking the clothing to his own accord before planting me back on his lap, his jacket now discarded.

“Holy fuck, look at these legs—would look so good wrapped around me,” he whispers, brushing my hair to the side as his lips graze my neck, “-while I fuck you deep and hard.”

Oh my god.

My mind is numb, every inch of my skin pulsing with a hot sensation of greed. Chris stares at me with lust, his hand moving in the corner of my eye. “Want me to touch you? Right….here,” he breathes, the pad of his finger resting directly over my bundle of nerves.

I nod slowly, looking at him with hooded eyes as he starts to slowly circle the digit with a light, feathery touch.

“More,” I moan, pulling his shirt into my fists as I watch him smile at me.

“Yeah? What do you want, hm? Want my big dick in you? Want me to stretch you out and make you cum over and ov—

“Please,” I whisper, my hips moving for me as I struggle to stay still.

Chris looks down, gesturing for me to take control. I hesitantly fumble with his jeans, pulling out his hard length as my mouth starts to water.

Fuck. He’s big. No—he’s huge.

As I go to pull my underwear to the side, Chris stops me, placing his hand around my wrist.

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, “-take ‘em all the way off—wanna see all of you when I fuck your guts.”

My thighs tense from his words, my hands quickly sliding the fabric down my thighs and discarding them without a single care. Chris pets over the top of my thighs, his eyes hungrily staring down between my legs. “Fuck—are you sure you want this? I…god, I can’t believe this is happening…”

I grab his hardness in my hand, spitting and dragging the lubricant up and down his shaft. Chris grits his teeth. His hands pinching into my sides as he lets out a deep groan. “You’re so big,” I whisper, mostly talking to myself.

My eyes bulge as I feel Chris lift me with his hands on either side of my waist, placing me so my dripping entrance is directly aligned with his tip. His eyes bore into mine with dark passion. His jaw tense as he leans forward, kissing along my neck.

“You gonna take it all f’me?” he dares, massaging my sides but keeping me from sinking down onto him.

“Chris, please–”

“Gotta promise to take it all, sweetheart. Been teasin’ me all day already, I don’t need anymore of that, alright? Just—just gotta promise to let me stuff you full,” he purrs, sucking on the sensitive part of my neck just below my ear.

“I promise, just—mmphf—” He slowly loosens his grip, letting me lower myself. I feel his tip nudge past my entrance, the stretch of his size making my body tense as my legs tighten to a halt.

“Thaatt’s it, doin’ so good, just—just relax,” he praises, brushing my hair behind my ear, “-gotta be a good girl and keep your word again, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” I stutter, slowly starting to take more of him. A broken cry falling through my lips as I feel my body stiffen again.

Chris is patient. His eyes are trained on my face as his hands massage over my body. “You got it, c’mon—just—holy fuck,” his hand lingers down to my stomach, my top so messed up that it’s bunched over my breasts. He’s not just admiring the skin, he’s worshipping the bulge—the distinct imprint of him inside of me as I hover over the last bit of his length.

“Look at that, sweetheart, I mean—fuck—”

I shriek as I feel him lift his hips upward, burying himself inside of me completely. My hands grasp onto his shoulders, my eyes teary as I watch him bite on his lower lip. “God—such a good girl, takin’ me so good,” he compliments, slowly helping me as I start to ride him.

I feel him reach deep inside of me, my eyes staring up at the ceiling of the car while my body tenses with a wave of pleasure collapsing over every beating pulse of my skin. This is even better than that damn kiss. I’ve never felt like this before. Not ever. It’s like an adrenaline rush, so overbearingly good that it feels addicting.

“How’s that, baby, hm?” he hums, smiling down at the sight of his length plunging into my guts with each thrust as my movements quicken.

“I–it’s, I—”

What the fuck was I saying?

Everything feels so light, so impossible.

“That’s it, fuckkkkk—look so good ridin’ me like this, keep—-shit!” he seethes. My walls tighten around him, my nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt as he lifts his hips to meet my movements.

His lips parted with pure ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, I,” My words are cut off my a moan.

Chris laughs dryly, his grip becoming tighten as he really puts in the work—using me like a ragdoll as he furiously fucks himself into me. “Mmmm, th-ere,” he rasps, smiling as I let out small shrieks and moans between each snap of his hips.

He’s so deep. I’d never felt this good in my life. There’s a buzzing in my ears, spots in my vision as I feel my body ruthlessly convulse with the overwhelming sensations.

How the fuck is he so deep?

How the hell is he hitting against the perfect spot over and over and over—

“You cumming already?”

His question pulls me back to reality. I nod dumbly, my mouth drawing open as I let out a long moan, my thighs quivering as I rock myself against his movement.

“Oh—I—”

“My name, sweetheart, wanna hear my–my name, c’mon,” he urges, the squelches getting louder as I feel my body burn with euphoria.

“Chris, Chris, I–I—my god,” I cry out, my hips slowly rolling to a stop as I feel him pause his motions.

I don’t have time to react—nor to recover. I feel Chris hold me tightly, flipping me over so my back hits the seat—his cock brutal as he drills himself inside of me.

“Take it, fuckin—fuckin’ take it,” he chants.

My hands scramble into his hair. I pull his face into my neck, letting my teeth sink into his shoulder. Every rut of his hips leaves me breathless, my body seizing as I feel his hardness drive into me over and over again while his pelvis slaps against my clit.

“I’m gonn—”

“Wait. Wait for me, I’m—’m so close, baby, so fuckin’ close—”

I clench around him, the buildup becoming too much as he continues to drown every inch of my body with pleasure. His desperate tone lingers in the air, his breaths shaking as his hips lose slight momentum.

“Wher–-where do you—”

“In-inside, please, just—just let me cum,” I plea.

Chris huffs, his thrusts becoming erratic and somehow deeper. “Cu-cum with me, I—shittttttttt, so fuckin’ good, so… so fuckin’ good,” he seethes, a warm sensation flooding inside of me as I feel my body convulse once more.

My limbs fall lifelessly. Our motions fall lazier, eventually pausing to a halt. Chris gently removes himself, pulling me into his arms tightly and positioning back into the seat with me on his lap.

His hand finds the back of my head as I lean onto his shoulder, petting through my hair as we both try to catch our breath.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. I let out a light laugh, flinching as I feel my stomach burn from soreness. “You good there?” he asks.

Nodding into the crook of his neck, I lift myself to stare at him once more. My eyes trace from his sweat ridden face, seeing a clear imprint of his hand on the fogged-up car window. My nose crinkles as I inhale deeply. “It smells like sex, I’m sorry,” I let out.

Chris stares at me incredulously. “Sorry? That was fuckin’ perfect—better than the money if you ask me. I mean… I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself anymore,” he teases, flashing me a grin as he combs my hair behind my ear.

My lips curl with excitement. “Oh really? You like takin’ me for rides?”

He nods firmly, biting on his lower lip. “Mhm. And you seemed to really like ridin’.”

I let out a light laugh, shrugging my shoulders before ruffling his hair playfully. “Only with you.”

Chris cocks an eyebrow at me, “Only me, huh?” I nod shyly, letting out a brief hum. His eyes linger on mine before falling back to my lips. “You do ride good. Maybe you should be the racer,” he taunts.

“Maybe,” I whisper, “-maybe…”

“Let’s get you back in those cute jeans though, yeah?”

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nahoney22 · 3 days ago

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Liar Liar (Part 2/?)

🫧 Part Two - Reflection // <<< Part One

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader

🫧 word count: 1.4k

🫧 Chapter Summary: When this ‘Whisky’ does not leave your mind, you find yourself distracted at work. Fox, however, needs to speak with you. He just does not know how to.

🫧 Warnings: Safe for work, Fox is apologetic, but the lying continues. Some nice fluff between reader and Fox. Caf is the pick me up we all need - especially Fox. Hound is suspicious.

🫧 Authors note: just a small chapter this time, support is very much appreciated ❤️

The next day, your mind keeps drifting back to last night.

The way Whisky had looked at you, the smoothness of his voice, and that smirk that had sent warmth curling through your chest all night long. More than once, you catch yourself smiling, only to quickly wipe away your expression when one of the boys walks past.

You weren’t embarrassed, not exactly, but the last thing you needed was to be on the receiving end of their relentless teasing. For now, this little secret remained hush hush.

Still, the day flies by in a blur. You’re as efficient as ever, never slacking on your work, but there’s a part of you that remains distracted. It isn’t until you finally sit down for a moment to relax your legs from running around all morning that Thire saunters up to you, his voice light and sing-song as he calls your name.

“What are you up to?” you ask, eyeing the sheepish look on his face.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you could grab some caf for me and the boys. We need a boost.”

You glance toward the caf machine shoved into the corner of the long desk, strategically placed out of view in case anyone higher up decided to crack down on ‘unnecessary’ luxuries. “Do your legs not work? What’s wrong with the machine?”

“It’s fine, just… we need something better.” His expression shifts, something thoughtful lingering in his eyes. “And Fox seems…”

You tilt your head. “Seems what?”

“Quiet.”

You blink. “He’s always quiet.”

“No, I know that.” Thire frowns, arms crossing over his chest. “But he’s really quiet. Have you spoken to him today?”

You think for a moment, then shake your head. “I dropped off some reports this morning, but he didn’t look up. Figured he was just busy.”

Thire hums, unconvinced. “I think he needs a pick-me-up.”

You sigh, already resigned to your fate. “Alright, fine. One caf run, coming up.”

Thire grins, quickly handing you a list—and credits to cover it. The list is longer than you expected, but for them, you’d do just about anything.

When you return, the scent of freshly brewed caf curling in the air, you barely get a moment to set the tray down before the boys descend on it. Some thank you with genuine appreciation, others just grab their cups with a quick nod, but soon enough, only one remains.

Fox’s.

You glance around the room, searching for the commander. “Where’d Fox go?”

Hound, already halfway through his caf, doesn’t even look up as he answers. “Got called to escort the Supreme Chancellor.”

You frown. “Great. Now his caf is going to get cold.”

Hound snorts, finally meeting your gaze. “He’d drink it if it was spilled on the floor.”

You huff, staring down at Fox’s caf like it personally offended you. After all that effort, it would be a shame for it to go to waste. And you certainly didn’t want him to drink it cold as some type of punishment after he had just been dealing with the Chancellor.

Looking around, you weigh up your options.

The barracks weren’t exactly equipped with fancy caf warmers, but your eyes landed on the small stash of insulated containers the boys sometimes used for long shifts or out of office missions.

That could work.

Grabbing an empty flask from the shelf, you pour Fox’s caf into it, screwing the lid on tight to keep it warm. Satisfied, you set it aside, drumming your fingers against the desk.

Hound was watching you with a smirk. “Didn’t realise you were so invested in the commander’s caf habits.”

You roll your eyes. “I just don’t like waste. If I went all that way to get it, I want him to actually drink it.”

Hound hums, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Just being a good coworker.”

You huff but don’t argue. It wasn’t like Fox was your favourite person in the Guard. He was strict, grumpy, and half the time barely acknowledged you and when you did you always left in a bad mood. But still, you knew how hard he worked. If a warm cup of caf made his day a little easier, then what was the harm?

The rest of the day passed in a blur, though your thoughts kept drifting—more often than they should—to Whisky. You found yourself glancing toward the hangar every time you passed by when on another errand, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of him among the mechanics. But the never-ending pile of work kept you firmly in place.

Even when you thought you had a moment to escape, Thorn appeared with a fresh file—an incident report on a new prisoner in the military base that needed to be reviewed before being passed to Fox. So much for sneaking away.

Still, you wondered if Whisky had thought about you too. You hoped so.

"Afternoon."

The unexpected voice pulls you from your thoughts. You look up to see Commander Fox standing in the doorway—stance stiff as ever, though there’s something oddly hesitant about the way he lingers.

You stand out of respect and offer a small smile. "Hello. I'm just reviewing a report from Thorn for you. I won’t be long." Already, you’re moving to finish up, assuming he just wants you out of the way. But to your surprise, he doesn’t seem in a rush.

"I can take over if you’d like."

Your hand stills on the device, caught off guard. You slowly lower yourself back into your seat. "Oh, that’s okay. Hound mentioned you had a busy day."

Fox tilts his head slightly, and for a split second, you worry he’s taken your comment the wrong way.

"I just meant," you quickly add, "I know you work harder than anyone, and you don’t get a lot of breaks. I figured you’d be exhausted, that’s all."

He exhales, a long breath through the modulator. "Busy is an understatement," he mutters, stepping further into the room.

His gaze sweeps over your desk, pausing on something off to the side.

"That for me?"

It takes you a second to realise what he means, but then you spot the flask of caf. Your face warms at the realisation that he noticed since you were going to place it on his personal desk after you had finished this report. "Oh. Yeah," you say, suddenly sheepish. "I, uh, figured you’d need it."

He reaches for the drink as you hold it out to him, his gloved fingers brush against yours—just briefly—but it still makes your breath hitch for a second. He was acting differently and you were uncertain as to why.

"You didn’t have to do that," he murmurs.

You shrug, glancing away. "I know."

A beat of silence. Normally, he would have left by now. Instead, he lingers.

Then, something unexpected.

"Thank you." His voice is quieter this time, softer in a way you don’t often hear from him.

Your eyes flick back up to his visor, searching for something though you’re not sure what. "It's okay. You should thank Thire, really. He’s the one who sent me on the caf run."

Fox makes a small, amused sound. "He couldn’t have just used the machine?"

You scoff. "That’s exactly what I said! But apparently it isn’t good enough so I was the lucky one chosen to fetch it."

Fox hums, nursing the cup in his hand. "That tracks. They act like that thing spits out engine coolant."

You laugh. "To be fair, have you ever actually tasted it?"

He pauses, as if considering. "I prefer not to risk my life unnecessarily."

"Right, because dodging blaster fire daily is the safer alternative."

His chuckle is warm, even through the modulator. "Point taken."

But then, his tone shifts.

"I also wanted to apologise."

That catches you off guard. You blink, tilting your head. "For what, Commander?"

He shifts slightly, looking away for a brief moment before speaking. "I... I’ve realised that my attitude toward you has been harsher than it should be. And you don’t deserve that."

Your lips part, surprised. Where was this coming from?

"Commander, has someone said something? Because I—"

"No one said anything." He cuts in quickly, shaking his head. "Just… some self-reflection. I appreciate what you do for this squad."

A part of you wants to get up and hug him, but you stay rooted to your seat, your mouth suddenly dry as you process his words. Maybe Whisky had said something after last night’s conversation. But Fox didn’t strike you as the kind of man who would let just anyone put him in his place—at least, not unless it came from someone he truly trusted.

Still, you smile, warm and genuine. "Thank you, Commander. That... means a lot."

Fox only nods before turning and walking out without another word, leaving you sitting there, wondering where this sudden shift in him had come from.

Part One - 79’s

Part Two - Reflection

Part Three - Sniffed Out

Part Four - Dreams

Or read on AO3 here for more parts ♥️

please reblog to support your content creators ♥️

Tags: (if you want tagging in this series updates, let me know <3):

@littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka a @theroguesully y @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tentakelspektakel @stellarbit @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi i @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @the-bad-batch-baroness @dreamie411 @griffedeloup @501st104th212th99s @clonecyare88 @namechange-mykidfoundmyblog

#commander fox #commander fox x you #commander fox x reader #commander fox fic #clone wars fic #fox x reader #corrie guard #nahoney22 writes #clone wars #star wars #clone trooper thire #clone trooper hound

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mushgloomz · 1 day ago

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Marcus Acacius x Female!Reader

• an: eek my first time writing marcus AND fluff! this is my contribution to @princessanglophile ‘s birthday challenge - i was given marcus acacius & the song ‘true love’s kiss’ from enchanted as my prompt <3

• tags: no use of y/n, very fluffy, marcus is the most doting husband but we knew that, pregnancy, childbirth, not historically accurate anything loool

• wc: approx. 1k

The Gods had been merciful in your union; whilst most had been condemned to a life of womanly servitude, you had been blessed with a husband of the highest calibre.

Each morning was a resounding testament to such a fact - waking at your leisure, safe in the embrace of Rome’s greatest soldier, General Marcus Acacius. Warm breaths at your nape and husky snores would ruse you; the slightest squeak passing your lips as you unfurled and stretched out your limbs, heavy with slumber.

“It is still early, rest.”

Marcus’ voice, gravelly and somewhat slurred, sept into your ear from behind you. A contented smile tugged at the corners of your lips as toned arms drew you closer to the man, still half-asleep, unwilling to part with you just yet. His hand moved to the swell of your stomach, fingers splayed over the current lodging of your unborn babe.

Inseparable. That is the only way you could describe your husband since your pregnancy became evident. Campaigns would be denied with no explanation beyond my wife carries our child, I will attend to her, and her alone. No trip to the bathhouse was unaccompanied; Marcus would spend the duration at your side, working oils into your aching muscles with practiced precision.

As you relaxed back into his grasp, the definition of love incarnate, you covered his broad hand with your own. Even in his state of rest, his fingers found themselves intertwining with yours.

You awoke an hour or so later, dawn barely breaching the horizon as a soft groan of discomfort rumbled from your throat. The twinge in your lower back demanded attention as it pinched incessantly, subsiding after a few moments had passed. Your vocalisation stirred Marcus.

“What troubles you, my love?”

The words were softly spoken beside your cheek as calloused hands skimmed the curves of your frame, rubbing with an almost trepid fervor, seeking to soothe your woes. “I am well, Marcus. It is nothing of importance”, you murmured, attempting to settle yourself against his chest once more.

The twinge returned mere minutes after; inhaling slowly as you grit your teeth, awaiting its passing. Shifting once more, Marcus positioned himself so he could look down at you. Rich brown eyes met yours, the former filled with concern as he spoke again.

“This is of the utmost importance, little dove. If you are pained, you must tell me so.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth had the discomfort passed again. “It is little more than an ache, dear husband. I am not worried”, you cooed, the softly spoken response passing your lips as you smiled up at him. Hair unruly from rest, the lines of time cradling his slightly furrowed brow - he was a sight to behold, a man carved by the Gods themselves.

“I am sending for the midwives. You may be a thing of beauty, but you are a terrible liar.”

Sighing softly, you nodded your head, conceding. No amount of rebuttal would sway Marcus; there was little point in wasting breath arguing your point. Ever the man of action, he placed a tender kiss to your temple before disentangling himself from the soft linens of your bed and striding toward the doors of your chambers.

Little relief was offered by the bundled herbs that the midwives pressed to your body in a bid to alleviate the overwhelming pain. It felt all encompassing, unforgiving - brutal. The pauses in between each contraction of your abdomen were nearly non-existent. Deep breaths became groans, groans becoming grunts and growls.

A choked sob left your parted lips as you panted, animalistic sounds rumbling from the depths of your chest that you'd never heard before. "I cannot... by the Gods, I-I am not strong enough...", you pleaded, voice trembling in between gulps of air.

"There is no one stronger, my love. I could not name a gladiator across the entire empire that holds your resolve, your courage."

No herb in all of Rome brought you solace in the same way that your husband did; hands not leaving your shoulders as you braced yourself on the birthing stool, unphased by the otherwise womanly domain. His words barely registered, but the resounding strength brought to you by his presence was enough to persevere.

Exhaustion staked its claim in your body as you rested amongst the linens of your bed; escorted by the midwives as they cloaked your newborn babe in soft cotton. Marcus was all but stunned into silence; eyes misted over as, finally, the matron brought forth your child.

"A girl, Lady Acacius. She is a fighter, praise the Gods."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, instilled with a newfound vigour as your daughter was set upon your chest. Soft down peeked from underneath the shawl cloaking her tiny head; eyes open just a fraction. Brown, just like her father's.

There was something so... intriguing, so perfectly right about the way she was nestled in the crook of your arm - so content as your eyes scanned every inch. An innate urge moved you to tilt your head down, breathing deeply from the crown of her head. Gods, no perfumed oil could compare to her scent. Tilting your head once more, you pressed your lips delicately to her forehead.

Everything stilled in that moment. The thrum of your heart no longer audible within the cavern of your head; sensation ceasing completely apart from the contact of your lips against her skin.

Never before had such contentment, such blissful serenity, overwhelmed you in this way. You pulled back ever so slowly, looking down at the little life in your clutches, awestruck. Forever changed. Your eyes met Marcus', still glossy and doting. He spoke with a knowing tenderness, as if answering an unspoken question.

"That is love, in its truest form."

divider credits to the very talented @strangergraphics !!

#pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #ao3 #marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #gladiator #gladiator ll #fluff #writing challenge #ppcu #22nd birthday writing challenge #true love's kiss #disney #enchanted #song #writing prompt

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lokisprettygirl · 3 days ago

Text

Come As You Are (Eric Draven! Bill Skarsgard's Version x Female Reader) (18+) (Slight Au)

Read Chapter 10 here //Series Masterlist

Chapter 11

Summary : Melody's arrival brings a realisation.

Warning: 18+, smut, dirty sexual thoughts,, Description of self harm, dry humping, drug use, Eric is a past drug addict with suicidal tendencies, self harm, use of cuss words, description of claustrophobia, reader is in her early thirties, mention of sexual assault, death and murder, Consumption of alcohol and weed, periods

Eric returned late that night, he didn't have any of the answers that he was looking for. Kronos just left him to his own devices and told him that this was his fight, that he couldn't really change his fate by warning him about every danger out there that awaited him, he chided him that he'd never find his soul if he knew everything that was going to happen to him or the people around him..

Kronos also reminded him that reunion with his soul would be a journey, it will come in pieces when he will be loved truly by another soul.

Bullshit..all of that was bullshit. Besides he had given up on finding his soul again.

Now he had his ex girlfriend living in his current girlfriend’s apartment and he had no idea who the fuck this Roeg lookalike was or where exactly to find him.

He opened the door of your apartment as discreetly as he could as it was late and you must have been asleep. As he entered he saw Melody sleeping on the couch, that couch wasn't comfortable, he needed to do something about that but right now he needed to see you.

Your bedroom was unlocked so he entered quietly.

Melody opened her eyes and watched the bedroom door closing, a sense of irritation creeped into her nerves. He didn't even check on her? Didn't even come to her to ask if she was feeling okay? That bothered her alot.

You were sleeping in your usual attire and that made him smile. God you looked perfect like this. He still couldn't believe how easily you had accepted his reality. No screaming, no overreaction, no calling him crazy, you just owned it and you were still willing to be by his side, not just that but you accommodated Melody even though he knew you didn't like her much. He'd have despised it so greatly if it was one of your exes just lounging in his apartment right now.

He took off his hoodie and the shirt before he climbed into the bed to submerge in your warmth. He didn't want to ruin your sleep but you made it difficult at times, he turned you on your back gently and looked at your face for a moment before he leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingered on your skin longer than he intended to.

And as you felt his touch you opened your eyes,

“You're back or it's a dream?” You asked him in your groggy sleepy voice so he chuckled.

“Told you I'd be back soon”

“Come here” one of your arms curled around his back while the other caressed down his back as you pulled him closer, he couldn't resist anymore so he placed his lips on yours, wanting to have a taste of you, you were safe and in his arms but he was afraid he had put you in such grave danger.

His fingers mindlessly slipped under your tank top making you gasp in his mouth as his thumb brushed over your now erect nipples. It wasn't your fault you found yourself always turned on when he was so close to you, touching you like this, kissing you as if he couldn't live without it.

“Did you meet him? The Kronos guy?” You asked him so he nodded but didn't respond “Mmmm okay ummm-”

“Shhhhh not now” he shushed you.

Okay Daddy. Whatever you say.

“I just need to know..if you're feeling okay” you asked softly so he smiled.

“I'm good baby ..as long as you are safe”

Next morning when you woke up, for once he was still in the bed with you so you admired his sleepy form and gave him a bunch of kisses before getting out of the bed to go to the living room.

You wanted to see what Melody was upto. As you stepped out of the room you saw her pacing back and forth, arguing with someone on the phone.. perhaps that actor who put the ring on her. Bill something..now that you thought about it he kind of resembled Eric with his tall frame and big eyes.

Maybe she had a type or Maybe she was trying to fill a void Eric had left behind.

“Uhhh do you mind?” She said as she looked at you so you scurried into the bedroom again.

Wait a second, this was your apartment. How dare she?

As you closed the door Eric turned around in his sleep, trying to pat with his hands in an attempt to find you next to him, when he didn't he opened his eyes immediately so you crawled into the bed and got on top of him.

“Where did you go?” He asked you so you shook your head.

“Nowhere”

He could barely keep his eyes open due to the sleep and you found him really adorable like that, especially when the kohl around his eyes were all smudged. That's what he used, a kohl pencil. Made his eyes pop he said, he also said that it made him look really dangerous but you weren't really sold on that reasoning.

“Eric..i have a question about your immortality” you said to him so he chuckled, considering how nosy you were he was surprised you hadn't bombarded him with questions since he had revealed his truth.

“Since you're not technically mortal…would I get pregnant if you cum inside me?” His eyes were wide open now as you asked him so nonchalantly.

“Y/n..baby it's 9 in the morning” he said as he cupped your cheeks and made you lay down on his chest as he chuckled “I don't know we will have to test that theory someday” he said, making your face flush in response.

“Hey?” He said, ”Can you not go to work today?”

“They'll fire me baby..I just took the week off”

“I just don't want you out of my sight..”

“I do need to earn though..I hate my job but I need money” you sighed. You would have loved to stay here with him all day but you had bills to pay.

“I'll get you money..I'll get you all the money..i have plenty of it baby” You smiled as he said that so softly.

“Yeah? Going to be my sugar daddy?”

“Yeah..I'll take care of you sweetheart, just give me some time of yours ..I just need time to make sure it's safe out there for you okay?”

“Mmm so I'll just play house with your ex while you're out all day?”

“I know it's not ideal..I just can't risk your safety. I'm sorry I brought you into my messed up life” he mumbled, his voice tinged with a sense of vulnerability so you pressed your head up to peck his lips.

“I clearly remember forcing my way into your life..besides i don't care as long as I have you..I'm here for you baby”

After you both showered, separately, much to your disappointment, he didn't think he would have kept his hands off you if he saw you soaking wet and completely naked from head to toe and doing something sexual while his ex-girlfriend was in the next room made him feel a certain way.

“I will get breakfast..don't cook” he said to you as he kissed your forehead so you nodded.

He didn't even look at Melody as he stepped out and you couldn't tell if it was indifference or she just reminded him of their past and the realisation that she wasn't his anymore. You deluded yourself into believing that it was indifference.

After making the sick call at the diner, you were in the kitchen making a cup of tea when Melody walked in.

“I need some water” she said to you so you pointed towards the fridge.

She just gave you the snotty rich girl vibe that you didn't like, you had googled her thoroughly, her mother was apparently a famous model or something before she committed suicide so she was always rich.

“Still writing notes huh?” Melody spoke as she looked at one of the notes Eric had left behind on the refrigerator door for you. You often kept them in a box but due to your cousin's wedding you had been pretty distracted for the last two weeks.

“Yeah..” you said to her, not knowing what else to say.

So he used to write notes for her too? Okay so what? That was part of his personality..it's just something he did.

“So how did you two meet?” she asked you as she leaned against the refrigerator.

“Well he moved in front door..”

You answered. She let out a snicker so you looked at her,

“Sorry i just thought you'd tell me a grandeur love story”

Bitch!!!!!

At Least you didn't meet him in a rehab, made him escape with you, threw him back into drugs again and then got him killed by a devil worshipper.

“Well that's just how we met..I'm just glad he was in a better place when we did..not doing drugs and all anymore” you said to her and you could see her face falling apart at the comment. That was a cheap shot you took but she was asking for it.

You had yet to hear a small thank you from that you were allowing her to be in your apartment

Half an hour later Eric returned and placed her breakfast on the coffee table.

He brought waffles for Melody.

“You still remember,” Melody said to him as she smiled. “Waffles with no cream”

Ahh so that's why he didn't like it either.

“I just have a good memory,” he said to her before he walked into the kitchen so she rolled her eyes. She hated how dismissive he was to her even though he knew her life was in danger now.

“Hey baby..i got you waffles.. lots of cream and fruits” he said softly as he kissed your cheek so you smiled.

“What did you get for yourself?” You asked him so he shrugged

“I ate at the breakfast place..don't worry” he zoned out for a bit so you stood in front of him and cupped his cheeks to make him look at you.

“What is it?”

“Nothing baby ..I just ..are you sure you don't want to get yourself out of this mess?” he asked you, his voice trembling with fear as if you'd just up and leave.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.. of course not. Don't even think that I'd ever want that”

“Then you have your answer ..i told you I don't abandon people, especially not those i love..and i have never loved anyone as much as I love you” he placed his hand around your waist and pulled you closer as you said that. A part of you feared he asked that question because he was having second thoughts about you now that Melody was here. You wished your insecurities weren't so deeply rooted in you but you had been abandoned so many times that someone like him choosing you felt too good to be true.

“I love you” he murmured.

And those thoughts did die down for a moment when he said those words so earnestly.

You and Eric spent your day in the bedroom while Melody was in the living room all alone, in the evening your doorbell rang and it startled you because nobody visited you. Like ever. Never. The only person who ever came on your door was usually Eric and he was right next to you right now.

“Stay here okay?” He said to you but you followed him into the living room, you saw Melody looking at the door nervously as well, a part of you felt bad for her in that moment.

As Eric looked through the peephole he turned around to look at you, confusion written on his face.

“It's your friend Dina?” he mumbled almost under his breath so you ran towards the door to see yourself.

“What the hell?” you exclaimed as you didn't know why she was there.

“Ummmm you both should go to the bedroom..hide” you said to him so he nodded before he looked at Melody and she followed after him, a bit too excitedly for your liking.

“Heyyyyyyy” you mumbled an exaggerated greeting as you opened the door.

“Thank God..I need to rant and you didn't come to work.. Laura said you had hepatitis or whatever..you look fine to me..anyways -” she said it all in one breath.

“Nooooo.. I do have hepatitis. Okay? I caught something during the family visit..don't think I can work for like a week now ..it's so bad”

You coughed to sell your act even though you didn't really need to cough. Should have googled hepatitis symptoms. Why did you even pick hepatitis? Does hepatitis even-

“Anyway get well soon girl..is your neighbour home?” She winked at you so you shrugged nervously. He was definitely home.

“No..not home…definitely not my Home .. imagine that..him being here” you chuckled nervously so Dina agreed.

“Such an asshole that man-” she rolled her eyes as she strutted inside and sat down on the couch.

“Big ass .. big and firm” you retorted.

“But so hottt though..god I had a dream about him last night” she said.

Eric was standing at your bedroom door with his ears pressed up against the frame but he couldn't hear much more than you trying to do something out there that you were exceptionally bad at. Lying.

As he turned around Melody was right behind him so he bumped into her.

“Why are you sneaking up on me like that Jesus” he whispered to not make his voice loud.

“Sorry-” she said as she looked up at him. “You haven't changed at all ..still look the same as the day I saw you last” she said to him so he walked past her to sit down on the bed.

“Perks of immortality” he mumbled, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Do you still go to that lake we used to visit?” She asked as she sat next to him so he groaned.

“We don't need to do this okay?”

“What?” she feigned the look of confusion.

“This.. catching up like we are long lost friends” he snapped.

“I always wanted to stay in touch with you...it was you that-”

“Stay in touch after you no longer wanted me as your lover? Are you fucking kidding with me?” He grumbled under his breath, it was getting harder to not raise his voice.

He was happy with you, he had moved on, he is happy with you, why did she have to come back like this and fuck with his head?

*******

“So then I told him that obviously you asked me out on a date then you are going to pay, i don't see how I am wrong here..anyways then he went on and on and on about how he didn't like girls who weren't independent and I'm like bitch I'm a waitress..I'm independent but willing to be dependent if the right offer comes along-”

Dina did what she did best..she blabbered.

Somewhere along the line you had zoned out completely and not even listening to her, your mind was distracted by the fact that Eric and Melody were in your bedroom together. You didn't trust her for some reason, the way she had been looking at him since she had come made you feel utterly insecure. She had it all but apparently that wasn't enough for her.

Maybe she indeed loved him and he just became too much for her, however you didn't understand her decision to leave him, you couldn't wrap your head around it, that man lost his soul for her and she just left? You could just imagine his sad little face, the look of dejection when she finally told him that she was done, just thinking about it made you want to hold him.

*******

“You left and never looked back Melody, you could have found me if you wanted to, like you did now, but you moved on, got yourself a shiny husband-to- be so don't you dare give me those looks now okay?” He said to her firmly but he felt like a jerk as her eyes welled up and she placed her head into her palms.

Great. Now what was he supposed to do?

He just stood there and allowed her to cry and luckily ten minutes later Dina was gone so you opened the door and saved him from the awkwardness of it all.

He stepped so fast out of there and into the living room, didn't even look at you, as you looked at Melody and her sullen face you realised that they must have had a serious conversation.

She glared at you before she got up and followed Eric into the living room.

“Give me the keys to your apartment, I don't want to stay here” Eric sighed as she said that to him, he contemplated for a moment before he shoved the key in her palm..she'll be next door, he can keep an eye on her from here. She didn't need to be in the same house. He was capable of protecting her now.

As she left you walked towards him.

“Are you -” you began but before you could finish he interrupted you.

“I'm fine y/n..don't hover over me okay?” He said as he took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it up, his voice was snappy and it did hurt you but you didn't respond, instead you turned around and went to the bedroom.

If he needed space he just had to ask for it, but not like this, especially not now when you felt so afraid of losing him, it made you feel so pathetic and so unwanted.

He sighed deeply and sat down on the couch to calm his nerves before he got up and walked into his apartment. Melody was sitting on the couch.

“Let's not argue..i don't want that, you still matter to me” he said to her honestly so she nodded.

“Sit down..” she said as she patted the spot next to her so he thought about it for a moment before he sat down. “I know what will make us feel better,” she said as she took out a packet from her bag. He recognised those yellow pills really well..

“I thought you quit,” he said to her as he grabbed the packet from her hands to inspect it.

“I did, it's just the stress because of Roeg or whoever he is-”

He chuckled as she said that, she told him that he hadn't changed but then she hadn't changed much either. Still the same Melody that loved to indulge in her own self destruction. One would think she'd value her life more after dying once.

“I can't do this anymore” he said as he gave it back to her so she looked at him perplexed as if he had said something so absurd.

“You're immortal now, it's not going to matter”

“It does matter.. i have been clean for years, can't fall back to the old ways..and I can't do this to her, she believes so much in me even though I have never deserved it from her” her jaw clenched as he was clearly referring to you. Just listening to him talking about you like this irritated her.

“Ofcourse” she gave him a fake smile. He knew he needed to apologise to you for his behaviour just now so he got up.

“Call if you need anything..lock the door” he said to her before he made his way straight to your bedroom.

As he entered he found you all bundled up on the bed, sniffling, and his heart clenched.

“Baby-” his voice was dripping with tenderness now as he crawled into the bed.

“Are you going to leave?” You asked him between the tears and his heart just about broke.

“Where would I even go?” He asked as he turned you on your back and wiped your tears with the pad of his thumbs.

“I know she's important to you and you perhaps still love her..I don't want to come in between if you do.. I'll go..i just want you to be happy” his eyes welled up as he heard your broken voice.

“Stupid baby..so stupid..so selfless and so stupid” he mumbled as he cupped your cheeks to kiss you as deeply, and as passionately as he could. Words wouldn't be enough so he just wanted his touch to remind you what you meant to him, how special you were to him, he'd never leave you, he'd never put you through the pain he had been through once, not even for the woman he sold his soul for.

Your arms curled around his neck as you pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you..” he whispered between his gentle kisses so you nodded. “You're so adorable baby..I love you so much, you're stuck with me I promise. I'm so sorry i didn't mean to hurt you”

He kissed down slowly until he had settled nicely between your legs, his mouth working until he had you crying again but from pleasure this time, he felt it all so deeply for you, love, lust, affection, all in such equal amounts.

How could you possibly think he'd just let you go? Break you so cruelly, he was no longer capable of it.

Next morning he was helping you in the kitchen since he was the one who kept you stuck at home all day, while chopping the vegetables he had cut his fingers with the knife. He wasn't a pro afterall, chopping up bad people was somehow much easier.

As you noticed the blood you grabbed his hand immediately and dragged him to the sink to run the cut under the cold water, all while glaring at him for being so careless.

“It's going to heal baby..your sauce will burn to crisp..go” he chuckled as he leaned down to kiss you so you groaned before you went back to the stove.

He turned off the tap, that's when he noticed that his blood had turned red before his wound closed up slowly.

And then came the epiphany.

His soul was in remission and he knew it was because of you. Only you.

❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️

Taglist: @m-riaa @erebus-et-eigengrau @peachychyy @enchantresss97 @fandomxo @mariaenchanted @mariaenchanted

#eric draven x female reader #eric draven x reader smut #eric draven x reader fluff #eric draven x reader angst #the crow 2024 #bill skarsgard version #slight au

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cheynovak · 1 day ago

Text

Fevered Confessions part 7 - Final

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character

Summary: Y/N got hurt during a mission with Soldier boy, Ben feels guilty and tries to take care of her. But the fever makes her believe she is imagining it.

Warnings: Mentioning of fever/wounds/ fighting/... -> 18+ ish. Nothing too explicit.

English isn't my first language.

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

**Y/N’s POV**

Years passed, but Ben never left my mind.

My memories had came back in pieces—slow, fragmented, like a puzzle I wasn’t sure I wanted to finish. Some things made sense. Others felt like they belonged to someone else, a different version of me.

I went back to the man who had once helped me control my powers the second I knew his name again. He was older now, grayer, but still sharp. He said I’d made more progress than I ever had as a teenager. That should have made me feel accomplished.

It didn’t.

Because the nightmares were worse now.

I had only lost control of my power once when I was young. But now? It happened almost every night. Every time he asked me what I saw, I told him I didn’t remember. That it was just noise, static. But I was lying.

I did remember.

I was reliving that moment. The mission. The gunfire. The explosion. The heat of the blast, the radiation burning my skin, knocking the air from my lungs. And then—nothing. Flashes of an old, dirty motel. Pain. Fever. and him... Ben.

He was there.

He had always been there. And that was the worst part of all. My mentor said I needed to confront my fears, not hide behind them.

But how could I? I couldn’t confront Ben.

So instead, I hid. I found an old abandoned apartment complex, the kind no one cared about, the kind where it wouldn’t matter if my powers slipped at night. If I woke up screaming and the walls were covered in frost, there’d be no one around to see it. No one to get hurt.

During the day, I worked in a freezer, cutting meat at some factory on the edge of town. The cold didn’t bother me. It never had.

I wasn’t happy, but I was safe. The world was safe from me. And I had a paycheck. A way to exist without looking over my shoulder, without the danger of catching bullets. That was, until my boss called me into his office.

His expression was careful, apologetic. The kind that told me whatever came next, I wasn’t going to like it.

“I’m sorry, kid” he said. “We have to let you go.”

I couldn’t hold back the anger that surged when I got home. I paced around my apartment, frustration burning through me. It wasn’t enough that I’d been stuck in this place, a prisoner of my own past, but now I had no job to keep me going either.

That night, the dream came again. The familiar, haunting one. But this time, for the first time, something changed.

I saw it clearly. The bullet hitting me, the pain shooting through my chest. But then, as my vision blurred, I saw his face—Ben’s face—frozen in horror.

I heard his voice, filled with guilt and panic. I saw him rushing to me, trying to stop the bleeding, but there was nothing he could do. The look in his eyes… it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hatred. It was horror.

And right before my eyes closed I saw our enemies come closer, Ben stood up to then and then a flash of white heat... and pain.

I shot up in bed, gasping for air. The cold sweat dripped down my back, and I looked around in a panic. My hands trembled, but to my surprise, there was no ice on the walls. No frost spreading over the floor. The room was warm.

I realized then, Ben didn’t attack me. He lost control. He saw me hurt, and it did something to him. That explosion, the chaos, the rage—it wasn’t about me. It was his desperation.

He wasn’t the monster I thought he was. He was just as scared as I was. The realization hit me hard, deeper than I expected. I misjudged him.

I wiped my tired face, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror. The black circles under my eyes did little to hide the fact I hadn't slept good in ages. The walls around me were silent, but inside my head, everything had changed. I had to face the truth. The real truth. And it terrified me.

I still cared for him.

**Ben’s POV**

Ever since Y/N left, life had been a goddamn blur. Days bled into nights, and I drowned them all in booze; drugs and whatever else I could get my hands on to ease the pain, failure. I didn’t care.

TV blaring, empty bottles on the floor, cigarettes burning out in the ashtray—nothing mattered.

But then I heard her voice. At first, I thought I was hallucinating, just another trick my fucked-up mind was playing on me. But when I turned my head, there she was.

Butcher stood near the door, watching her, but I barely saw him. My eyes locked onto her, and Jesus Christ, she looked good. Strong. Confident. Or at least she tried, I could see how tired she ws but still. No longer the broken girl I let walk away.

She smiled, soft and hesitant. “Hi, Is Ben here?”

That voice, the way she looked at me when Butcher took a step aside—it did something to me. Something I wasn’t ready for. Then her brows knitted, probably noticing the state I was in. The mess I’d let myself become.

I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. I stepped toward her, faster than I should have, closing the distance between us. And before I could stop myself, I had her pinned against the wall, my hands caging her in.

She let out a sharp breath, her eyes widening just a fraction, but she didn’t push me away. I leaned in, my voice low and rough. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

I couldn’t let her do this. Couldn’t let her get in my head again, make me hope for something I didn’t deserve.

“Leave,” I said, shaking my head. My voice was rough, barely controlled. I wasn’t the man she used to know. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I was a man anymore, just a broken thing pretending to function.

But she stood her ground, her chin lifting. Stubborn as ever.

“No.”

Her hand pressed against my chest, pushing me back just enough to make me feel it. “I need to know the truth, Ben.” Her voice wavered, but her eyes burned with determination. “Did you attack me that day?”

I stiffened. My throat felt like it was closing. I didn’t answer.

“Did you?” she demanded, her voice thick with emotion.

“For fuck’s sake, Ben, did you?”

“No!” I roared, the word ripping out of me.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. She searched my face for something—proof, maybe.

“Then why didn’t you say that?” Her voice was quieter now, edged with something I didn’t want to name. I scoffed, running a hand through my hair. “Would it have made a difference? Would you have stayed?”

She hesitated, just for a second. Then, almost too soft to hear, she whispered, “Maybe not.” She turned for the door, and something inside me snapped.

“If you leave again, don’t bother coming back!” The words came out sharp, venomous. I hated how desperate they sounded, how much weight they carried.

She froze, her back stiffening. For a second, I thought she’d just walk out without another word, but then she exhaled, slow and measured.

“Fine,” she said, just as irritated. Then, with a glance over her shoulder, she added, “Then get some sleep, and we’ll talk when you’re sober.”

"I'm sober enough."

"No you're not."

I clenched my jaw, staring at her. She wasn’t playing my game this time. No yelling, no storming off—just standing her ground, like she always did.

I hated that she still knew me so well.

**Y/N’s POV**

I looked over at Ben, passed out on the couch, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He looked different—tired, worn down, like he was carrying the weight of something too heavy to bear.

"How did he even get this drunk? Nothing would ever effect him like this." I murmured.

Butcher sat on the other end of the table, sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Gallons of the strongest stuff we can get. 100% alcohol, straight. Ain't even mixed anymore. Some fucked up drugs no one would ever survive. He takes it like it's candy"

My stomach twisted. "Why?"

Butcher shot me a look like I was daft. "What do ya think? It's his way to numb the pain. He don’t talk about it, but it’s clear enough—he’s been drinkin' himself to death ever since you left."

I swallowed hard, guilt creeping in. I should have believed him. Or at least, I should have pushed harder for the truth instead of running. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be like this.

It took hours of listening to his breathing. Butcher got tired and said if I needed anything I'd give him a ring and left us alone. I walked to the kitchen to pour myself a drink.

Just as the door closed after Butcher, I heard Ben.

"Finally," he said, his voice rough. He ran a hand through his messy hair, watching me with those dark, tired eyes. I set my glass down, gripping the counter. "Finally, what?"

"You've been sittin’ there for hours with Butcher, I was waiting for that ashole to leave. Figured you’d leave too." He took a slow step toward me.

I shook my head. "Not this time, I said I'd wait." Ben let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah? We’ll see."

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, looking at me like he was trying to figure out if I was real or just another dream he'd wake up from. I could see the exhaustion, the anger, the hurt—all of it simmering beneath the surface.

Yet, I couldn't wait anymore, I took a deep breath. "I want the truth, Ben. All of it." His jaw tightened. "And if you don’t like what you hear?"

I met his gaze, steady this time. "Then at least I’ll know. But maybe I should start by apologizing."

Ben shook his head, stepping closer. “Don’t. Don’t apologize to me.” His voice was low, rough with emotion. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I let you believe something that wasn’t true because I was too much of a coward to face what I did.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I should have stayed,” I admitted. “I should have pushed for the truth instead of running.”

He let out a breath, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but didn’t trust himself.

Ben let out a rough breath, raking a hand through his hair as he paced the small kitchen. He looked wrecked—tired, strung out, but there was something else there too. Something deeper, something breaking.

"You wanna know the truth?" he said suddenly, his voice raw. "Fine. Here it is—I don't deserve you. I never did. And I sure as hell don’t now. But that doesn’t change the fact that from the second you walked through that damn door all those years ago, I was done for."

I blinked, my breath catching in my throat as he pointed at the front door.

Ben kept going, his hands clenching into fists like he was trying to hold himself together. "You didn’t even look at me like I was a monster. Like everyone else always did. You looked at me like I was… just Ben. And it scared the shit out of me. Because I knew—I knew—that I was gonna love you. And I did... I do.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop.

"I screwed up. Over and over. I lied, I pushed you away, I let you believe the worst because it was easier than admitting I was afraid of losing you. But I lost you anyway. And I’ve been paying for it ever since."

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You wanna hear something pathetic? Every time I closed my eyes, it was you. Every time I got so damn drunk I couldn't see straight, I still saw you. Every time I was high, I heard you. Like it was some fucked up lesson."

Tears welled in my eyes, my heart hammering in my chest.

Ben exhaled sharply, finally meeting my gaze, his expression desperate, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before. “I know I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything from you. But I love you, Y/N. And I don’t know how to stop.”

The room was silent except for the rain pattering against the windows, for the sound of my own unsteady breathing.

I swallowed hard, stepping closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "Then don’t."

I must’ve misheard her. I had to have misheard her.

But then she said it again, her voice softer this time, like she was scared I might run. “Don’t stop loving me. Because I sure will never stop loving you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and I just stood there, frozen.

I couldn't hold back anymore. The second my body caught up with what my heart already knew, I stormed toward her, knocking over the chair I’d been leaning on.

Before she could say another word, I grabbed her, pressing her against the counter, my lips crashing into hers. It was needy, desperate, a kiss that spoke of years of longing and regret.

She gasped against my mouth, and I took the chance to deepen it, my hands cradling her face like she was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

Without hesitation, I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my hips, she belonged there, she always had. Her fingers tangled in my hair, nails scraping along my scalp, down my back, pulling me closer.

Her breath was deep and quick, her body moving against mine with the same urgency, the same hunger. It wasn’t just passion; it was relief. Like neither of us could stand another second apart.

I pulled back just enough to look at her, to memorize the way she looked in this moment—lips swollen, eyes dark with want, chest rising and falling as she fought for breath.

“Say it again,” I rasped, my forehead against hers. Her hands slid over my jaw, her thumbs brushing over my cheekbones as she whispered, “I love you, Ben.”

I groaned, "You have no idea how long I wanted to hear you say that." Pressing another kiss to her lips, then her jaw, then down her throat, savoring every sound she made. If this was a dream, I’d burn the world down before I let it slip away.

I carried her to the bedroom, my grip firm but reverent, like she was something sacred. Laying her down on the bed, I took a second just to look at her—more beautiful than I ever remembered, glowing with want, with something deeper than lust. Something I didn’t deserve but would spend the rest of my life worshipping.

Patience was never my strong suit, and I sure as hell didn’t have any now. My fingers curled into her shirt, and instead of taking my time, I just ripped it clean off her.

She let out a surprised laugh, eyes bright with mischief before she grabbed my shoulders and yanked me down against her. “Impatient, are we?” she teased, breathless.

I smirked, my lips tracing down her jaw, her throat, the curve of her collarbone. “You have no idea.”

Her nails scraped down my back, her hips shifting beneath me, seeking, needing. I lined myself up, my hands braced on either side of her, my body practically shaking with restraint.

I looked into her eyes, needing to be sure. “Are you sure?” My voice was rough, unsteady. “Because once we cross this path again, there’s no going back. You’re mine.”

She reached up, brushing my hair back, her fingers lingering on my face like she was memorizing me. Then she kissed me—slow and deep, leaving no space for doubt.

“I’m already yours,” she whispered.

Her heel pressed against my hip, pulling me closer, and that was all I needed. I gave in, completely, finally, and there wasn’t a force on this earth that could tear me away from her now.

I guess my hard and needy thrust spiralled us quicker than we wanted towards the orgasm. Her moans I heard so often in my dreams where real. her scent, her touch all of it was to real.

But then she begged me to stop, I was confused. but I saw the fear in her eyes. "It's ok," I said, "you won't hurt me."

"Ben... I..."

"I don't care if you freeze me, this room or the God damn world. all I care it for you, to enjoy and have a fucking orgasm that I fucking gave you." She started to laugh, I held her close my lips on her neck and her laugh changed to moans again the second I moved my hips again.

A high pitch "Ben" left her lips before she came.

She came... and it was the best feeling i've ever felt.

**Y/N's POV** The next day I woke up.

Feeling a pleasant warmth under my cheeks. I looked up and noticed how Ben lay beneath me, holding me in his arms. His warmth was a nice feeling against my freezing skin, I looked closely to see if he was ok, but I hadn't froze him and the room was clear.

I leaned in to make sure he was breathing.

"Staring is rude sweetheart", he said, eyes still closed.

I felt my cheeks heat up as his raspy morning voice reached my ears. Caught in the act. His arms tightened around me, keeping me pressed against his chest, his warmth steady and grounding.

“I wasn’t staring,” I muttered, but even I didn’t believe that lie.

Ben finally cracked one eye open, smirking. “Liar.”

I huffed, trying to push myself up, but he didn’t let me go. Instead, he rolled us over effortlessly, pinning me beneath him, his face hovering just inches from mine. His hair was messy, his lips slightly swollen from last night, and damn, if he didn’t look ridiculously good like this—half-asleep, content, mine.

“Room’s still intact,” he murmured, one hand brushing down my arm, stopping where his fingers met my bare skin. “No ice, no frost—just you and me.”

I swallowed, glancing around, realizing he was right. No frozen sheets, no crackling frost creeping up the walls. Just warmth.

Ben must’ve noticed the realization on my face, because his smirk softened. “Told you, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my lips. “You’ve got this.”

I let out a shaky breath, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him back down into me. “Only with you,” I admitted.

His lips curled into a grin against my skin. “Then I guess I’m never letting you go.”

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#jensen ackles #fanfic #x reader #jensen fucking ackles #fluff #soldier boy #the boys #smut #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys fanfic #the boys soldier boy

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cillianmurphysdimples · 3 days ago

Text

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Fifty)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful, and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Fifty: Y/N finds the house empty when she finishes working upstairs, and her anxiety works overdrive when texts to Cillian go unanswered. But upon his safe return home, he doesn't take too kindly to her questions. [Angsty: verbal aggression/insinuations as to traumatic childhood]

@cherrycilly @whatcjdidnext @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01 @strangeions @borntodiemp3

“Hey, where'd you go? Collecting Aran?” You raise your eyebrows, looking down to the hallway from your spot in the kitchen, standing at the counter by the kettle as Cillian comes through the front door, huffing against the cold blast of air that follows him in as he forces the door shut against the winds. It's a little after four thirty in the afternoon; you'd used your Flexi time to finish work at three when you'd begun experiencing a tight and painful headache. Arriving downstairs, though, you'd been a little unsure as to why you had found the place empty, and Cillian's car gone from the driveway. After an hour lying on the sofa, feeling your baby girl's gentle twists and turns, and a dose of paracetamol, you felt a little better but your anxieties over Cillian's absence, however silly, were bothersome - especially as he hadn't replied to your text messages. Seeing him return, and not having been killed in a bizarre accident as your mind had consistently told you in various formats, is a relief for that tension. “I did text.” You say, stirring the spoon around in your coffee. You reach for a cup for Cillian with your free hand.

Hanging up his coat and kicking off his Chelsea boots, Cillian calls back to you with his head in the under-stairs cupboard. “Yeah, sorry.” He pops back out and pushes the door shut. He walks towards you and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His navy jumper bunches up around his wrists at the action. He stops beside you, watching as you fix him a coffee, too. “But, eh, yeah - I got Aran. He's been showing me every fucking video, tiktok, and fecking article about us since the awards night.” He nods with a small smile. You knew the things he was on about - you'd seen memes about Cillian's virility, a few rather in-depth descriptions of what fans would like to do to him, some beautiful photos actually congratulating and wishing you both well, as well as articles that still insisted on referring to you as the woman who came in during his divorce. “And I’d a coffee with Yvonne there first.”

You look back at him and you're sure, from the twitch of his eyebrows, that you look stunned by his words. “Oh, right.” You say, attempting to sound nonchalant. “Planned, or…?” You ask. You push his coffee towards him along the counter.

“No, not planned,” he shakes his head, turning down the corners of his mouth. “She text to see would I get the young fella, and then asked if I fancied a cuppa first.” he sniffs as he draws his right hand from his pocket and picks up the mug from beside the kettle near his back, turning a little to avoid spilling it.

You nod your head slowly. “Oh, okay. You didn't shout up or anything, before you left. Did you go in a hurry, or just…” You try not to let the breath you've sucked in exhale out in too loud of a sigh, but it happens regardless.

“Ah Y/N, c'mon. Just...don't,” Cillian rolls his eyes and gives the smallest of tuts. He puts the mug back down and shakes his head. He's immediately annoyed and it makes you feel angry.

“Don't what?” You shrug your shoulders, “You could have told me you'd gone out, that's all. I'm getting at, Cill.” You shake your head slowly. “Why didn't you just yell up, or answer my texts an hour ago while you were out?”

“I went out to pick up my son from school, I didn't go off on a trek to India.” He scoffs, and you don't appreciate the sarcasm. You're chronically anxious - why is he so surprised you are worried when he's been both MIA and not responding?

“And had coffee with your ex-wife.” You purse your lips tightly. You know as soon as you've said it that you're picking a fight, but it flies from your lips as soon as you think of it, and you're not able to stop it - or suck it back in. You pick up your coffee and walk with it gripped in your left hand to take a seat at the first stool you come to at the island. You set it down, and turn on the stool so you're facing him.

He doesn't move from the counter, his back leaning against it, and he places his arms out either side of his back, fingers supporting him on the counter top. His brow wrinkles between his eyes, right at the bridge of his nose, and he shakes his head once again. There's sarcasm in that gesture too, a petulance to it. You hate it! “Yeah, a fucking coffee. What is the fucking problem?”

“Because you didn't tell me, Cillian. If it's no big fucking deal, why not just call up, or come up, or reply when I text?” Your pitch rises as you try hard not to turn this into a shouting match. But it's heading there, you can feel it. “If there's no big secret, why not say something?”

“It’s not a fucking secret - it's just none of your business.” Cillian replies flippantly.

You choke an incredulous laugh, eyebrows shooting high and fast up your forehead. “What?”

He sighs heavily, “No, I didn't... I didn't mean…fuck. But it isn't! I'd a fucking coffee with her, the mother of my sons - I didn't fuck her or anything.” You can see he regrets his choice of words almost as soon as they've dropped from his tongue, but you feel their sting whether he meant it or not.

Nodding slowly, you huff a laugh through your nose and take a measured breath inwards. “Did you want to?” You're making it worse, you know, but you're in deep now.

Cillian drops his hands down from the counter and thrusts his arms out at his sides. “You're not asking that? Are ya fucking serious? Y/N!” He shakes his head and screws his eyes closed tightly before looking back at you. His tongue is digging angrily into the inside of his cheek as he continues to shake his head, like he can't believe you're even looking at him let alone that this conversation is in progress. “We are having a baby, she's engaged, and, oh yeah, I've not been fucking married to her for edging into four years now, Y/N. But sure, any time I speak to the woman who has my sons in her house, then yeah, absolutely, I want to have sex with her.” He laughs with anger in his eyes, “You're not off your fucking head or anything here, Y/N - no, I'm just having an affair with my ex-fucking-wife.”

Your heart beats far too quickly in your ribcage and you stare at him. Your chest rises and falls in heaves as your breathing quickens. “It's a yes or no answer to that question, Cillian.”

“I can't keep living with this…” he rubs his hands across his face together, shaking his head in an almost perpetual movement as he drops his hands back down again. “I'm not going to be here again in a week's time, when I've to fly off to fucking America and leave you here. Pregnant, and clearly out of your fucking mind. And you're...you do this - now?”

“Stop it!” You snap. “A yes or a fucking no!”

Cillian groans loudly before snapping back at you. “No, I fucking didn't. Not that it fucking matters, does it? Because this keeps coming back up, some way or another. Regardless of what I say, you're still sitting there, in your fucking head, and I'm off with every woman you feel slightly fucking threatened by!” his arms are wide at his sides again but he's pacing infrequently in a small side to side action.

“You're a prick!” You shout. “If it's nothing, why keep it a fucking secret?” You shrug your shoulders at him, begging him to just answer you clearly.

He tuts, “Ah, Y/N, d’you know what, fuck off?!” He matches your lousness, then betters it, roaring at you so much his voice reaches a huskiness, like he's straining the words from his throat. “I am so fucking bored of this fucking same…fucking row! I can't keep listening to this, to you and your fucking head…” he licks his lips, and his eyes are firm and fixed on you in pure temper. As he speaks again, the volume is lower but his temper is still piqued. “You're demented, girl, and I'm at the fucking limit with trying to fucking fix it. Why'd you fucking bother with all of this? With yourself and me? You didn't have to accept the calls and texts after we met, but you fucking did. You fucking knew I was married, but it didn't matter to you then that it was you getting in the middle of a relationship, did it? So what's the fucking problem now - being so fucking paranoid of the woman you helped me fuck over?” He's rambling, his accent is fired hard, making him sound even more angry, and he's found the want, need, and apparent easy ability to be fiercely nasty. This is the man that he hides; the Cillian people don't see. This is the Cillian whose words are as bitter and cruel as he can make them, intending every stab his tongue delivers. “I can't do it, I can't. You accuse me of sleeping with her, and when you don't fucking say it out loud, you're fucking thinking it. Just because you inserted yourself into someone else's relationship, doesn't mean Yvonne is doing that now. You'd a fucked up childhood and your dad could keep his cock in his jocks and your mother clearly shouldn't have been one, but I'm not doing that. Don't plant your history onto me! You're on your fucking own for this one, so.” He storms down the hallway and grabs open the cupboard door for his coat. He grumbles angrily to himself as he stuffs his arms into the sleeves.

His verbal assault makes you feel hot all over. He chose words he knew would burn and while some part of you knew that he did that - went for nastiness over any real truth, cruelty over his real feelings in places - you couldn't stop how much they had actually hurt you as they hurtled from his lips. Those pillow-soft lips don't seem so sweet now, those blue eyes feel less beautiful in their firmness. You get down from the stool and walk in a slow waddle around to the hallway. Your hips are sore and your back is aching, all the while your baby girl shifts frequently and painfully inside. He's standing by the door, dragging up the zip of his coat whilst he pushes his feet into his boots at the same time. He looks at you with a deep frown as he pushes his hand into his pocket, then turns his back to you. You can hear the jingling of his car keys against his fingers. “Cillian? Don't get into the car in this mood. Cillian, for fucks sake. Don't ignore me! Where are you even going?” You ask, and while your tone is far from gentle, you're not quite screaming as you speak.

He scoffs, turning to face you, “Wherever the fuck you're not.” he sort of rolls his eyes, but it's half hearted and more like a slowly blink. He looks at you for a moment longer, and you wonder if he wants to say something softer by the change on his face.

“Oh, right..” You shake your head, “I'm sure the boys and her fiancé will be as happy to see you turn up there now as she fucking will” You yell and it hurts your heart. You don't know why you're still biting back - you don't want him to go. He glares at you, and you wait for nastiness to fall from his sharp tongue again. But he says nothing, and he turns around and lets himself out of the front door, slamming it hard behind him.

You stand, in some level of shock, staring at the front door. Had you asked wrong, or were you just entirely wrong for asking at all? In total fairness to yourself, your issue wasn't even his meeting with her - it would always be there in the back of your mind, of course, but it wasn't like you truly focused on it twenty four seven. The issue was it felt like he'd been secretive, like he'd snuck off because he knew, somewhere on some level, that he was going to cause you discomfort. But more than that, even, he had left wordlessly, and ignored your messages. Your heart is still thudding in your chest, and you feel hot and nauseated. As your baby girl moves gently, you place your left hand against your tummy and wonder if your loud voices had scared her. You never wanted to be responsible for the discomfort of any child, least of all your own. You never wanted to be bringing a baby into the world to experience the traumatic lifestyle of unsettled parenting and disruption that you had grown up in. Moving your hand back and forth across your belly, you feel your chin beginning to quiver as tears well up in your eyes. “I'm so sorry, Clíodhna.” You whisper sadly. “I'm so sorry, baby girl.”

Opening your eyes, a little confused and disoriented, you're surprised to realise you'd actually fallen asleep. Curled on your side on the sofa, with the TV on and midway through an episode of The Real wives of Beverly Hills on Netflix, and the room illuminated by the low burning fire in the log burner. You blink forcefully, clearing your vision, and reach for your phone on the sofa seat cushion leading off to the right from the corner edge. It's seven thirty, and you're not sure how long you've even been sleeping. There are not calls or texts from Cillian, and it's dark in the window behind the sofa that looks out on the back garden. As you go to move, you find the sofa throw draped over your body and distinctly remember that you had not even pulled it down off the back of the sofa when you'd sat down. You assumed that you must have gotten cold as you'd nodded off, and sleepily grabbed for it. Pregnancy naps really did hit you hard, and at random times. You push your hands into the seat and sit yourself up slowly. You can feel the gentle, rhythmic jumping inside you as the baby hiccups, and you smile down at your lightly twitching stomach each time the hiccup occurs. You rub your hand across your tummy gently and, with your other hand, tear the throw away and leave it in a ball on the edge of the sofa. You plant your feet to the floor and, with a sigh, get to your feet. Despite the low fire, the room feels chilly. You start to walk across the cool floor, but stop when you realise the island light is on and that Cillian sat on a stool with a book, and with his earphones pushed into his ears. When had he come back? How hadn't you heard him? …So that's where the throw had come from. You take a deep breath and walk slowly towards the kitchen. He catches your movement out of the corner of his eye and he looks up, dropping the book, and pulls his earphones out immediately. He doesn't remove his glasses, and his tongue swipes across his bottom lip as you walk right up to the island.

“Hi.” He says in a quiet and husky whisper.

You take another deep breath. “Hi.” You say and awkwardly hoist yourself into the stool opposite him.

“I was a fucking arsehole for the things I said, Y/N, for yelling at you like that, blaming you for… I am so, so sorry. I'm fucking ashamed of myself, Y/N and I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry.” He shakes his head slowly. He opens and closes his mouth, looking for more words. His eyes are glistening and whilst there are no tears on his cheeks, you can see them clearly in his eyes. He feels terrible and that much is clear.

“Yeah.” You nod your head, “But I'm sorry, too.”

“I shouldn't be yelling at ya, it's not fair. It's fucking wrong.” He admonishes himself.

“I yelled too,” you say quietly. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry I… I know there's nothing…” you babble.

Cillian shakes his head firmly. “No, there isn't anything going on. Never has been, never will be. I am happy here, with you, Y/N. I know you get scared, but you need to stop thinking I'm doing something. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was gone out, I should have, I know your anxiety gets the better of you. I should have just fucking called up, or text your back. But it wasn't anything. It's never anything.” he insists. “I can't keep doing this, you can't keep doing this - it's fucking torture. I hate knowing you think those things, and carrying that around for you must be hell. But it's hell for me too - feeling like you're expecting me to fuck off at any minute, and knowing no matter what I say, you don't believe it. And we can't be bringing that wee girl into this world with the two of us going over the same fucking issues, time and time again. I can't do it, Y/N.” his voice is strained and he sounds desperate - desperately sad, desperately sorry, and so exhausted by it all.

“It just felt…,” you shrug. “I know it's nothing like that, but it felt like you kept it hush-hush, and that felt… I didn't like the idea that you were hiding it. It's so close to lying to me, Cillian, it isn't even funny.”

Cillian raises his eyebrows. “Okay,” he concedes, “Alright, yeah, I get that.” he sighs, “I should have called up to you before I left, and I know I fucking started it by trying to half fucking joke about carrying on with her. It was stupid, but I thought if I threw it in there it'd shut down the fucking worry over it. I'm sorry.”

You sigh again and you hope it settles you more than the previous deep inhales. “I don't care if you meet her, not really. Rationally, I don't. Jesus, Cillian's she's still your family. She's always going to be. But you snuck about today. And that hurts.” your voice is firm. “I don't want this baby raised in a house where we lie, or scream and shout like that. I won't let it happen. She won't grow up like that. I won't make her into the children that I…” your chin quivers and you purse your lips tightly.

“Ah, Y/N. It's not like that, we're not like that. It was a row, only a stupid row, over me not thinking and you thinking too fucking much.” Cillian stretches his arm across the countertop and opens and closes his fingers until you reach out for his hand. Once you do, he grips your fingers tightly. “We've got our fucking issues, Y/N, but no couple has a perfect fucking life. And when she gets here, that wee one will be loved so much. I don't want her brought up in bad feeling either, so we won't let it happen. It can't happen again. Right?”

You scan your eyes across his face, always wondering how this man can deliver such passion and love with the same eyes that can fix you with such a temper-darkened stare. Right now, he looks soft, warm, sorry, and exhausted. You know your part in those feelings. “Right.”

He lets go of your hand as soon as you agree with him, and he gets down off the stool. He walks around the island and stands before you. He places his right hand around the back of your head and pulls you to him as he moves closer to you, granting himself a soft kiss against your lips. His pouty mouth lays gently against yours, and you can feel the cracks against his lips where he's been licking them constantly, making them sore. But he wants his kiss, and you relax into the intimacy until he's had his fill. Physical intimacy is so important to him, especially when making amends or fixing feelings. Touches, kisses, hugs, and sex were how he made himself feel better, his way when he felt turnaround. He knew his hands on you were grounding when you were anxious and you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that all that intimacy he searched for was what he needed to know he was forgiven when wrong, or to make him feel better in his change in moods and emotions. A reader, some-time writer, and an actor - and still, more frequently than anyone would ever know, it was his body that gave and received his true feelings, not his words. His words were for the outside, for other people, and for you when you needed them. But for him, nobody's words would reach him to bandage his hurts - it was all the physical intimacy you could and would allow him that made things right for him.

When he draws back his face, and brings his hand back down, he smiles at you. “Don't ever think I want anything or anyone else. I want you. I want you every fucking chance I can get, y’know that. Whatever you'll give me. I want you. Nobody else, nothing else. And we're going forwards, with that baby girl, not back to anything in our past, any of the shite, or the trouble. Stop making yourself believe that we are, or that I am.”

You feel chastised, but in one respect you understand it. “I'm sorry,” you say quietly. “I'm sorry, that I'm too much.”

There's a quick frown against his brow, showing he doesn't like your words. “You are not too much, Y/N.” He says firmly. “You are never too much. You're fucking everything at once, but you're never too fucking much.” he rests his hand against yours where you have it against the island counter. “You are not your parents, I am not your parents. You are never too much, we are not repeating their mistakes with Clíodhna. We are not them - listen to me, okay?” He insists, “We won't ruin her, or each other. We're better than that. We wouldn't be here now, feeling like this for rowing, if we were what they were. Do not let all of that before cloud all of this. Do not let your anxiety cloud all of this. Please, Y/N, I can't lose you to the inside of your head.” Your vision is blurred with tears when he ends his speech. You know it all - every word he has said - but so great are your fears, so deep are your issues, that it's hard to keep reminding yourself of that. He lifts his hand from on top of yours and wraps his arms around your shoulders, drawing your upper body against him. “I need you and that baby safe, and calm, and well. I don't want to stress you out, and you've got to stop stressing yourself. It's dangerous - it always has been but there's more at stake now. And in the grand scheme, Y/N, you and me are fucking fine. We're fine! You and me, are alright - and that wee girl is going to be alright too.” He says softly, moving gently in a sway. Once again, he grounds you to the fact that he's always there - he is home.

#cillian murphy #my fic #my fic: we got issues #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #celebrity fanfiction #reader fic #female reader #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x y/n #female readsr x Cillian Murphy #female y/n x Cillian Murphy #reader x Cillian Murphy #y/n x Cillian Murphy #cillian murphy x reader

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evorlaah · 16 hours ago

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DARLING HE LIED

Paring: non!idol!Sunghoon x female reader

Synposis: Stuck in a toxic relationship, you seek comfort from your best friend Sunghoon, only to realize he’s been in love with you all along.

Note: finally back, it’s short but I promise I’m coming with comeback! 😳❤️

Disclaimer!: cursing, toxic relationships, crying, a smidge of angst. Genre: fluff, angst, I think that’s it..

@evorlaah

“Fuck, y/n you’re always doing this!” His voice was loud, echoing off the walls of his apartment. His face was twisted in anger, eyes blazing as he stared you down.

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your composure. “Doing what, exactly? Calling you out on your bullshit?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. I was just talking to her. It didn’t mean anything.”

You felt your chest tighten, hurt mingling with fury. “Talking? You had your hands all over her. Do you think I’m stupid?”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed. “You always blow things out of proportion. This is why I can’t stand being around you sometimes.”

The words were a slap to the face, knocking the air out of your lungs. You felt your throat tighten, but you refused to let him see you cry. Not this time. “You can’t stand being around me? Then why are you even with me?”

He hesitated, his jaw clenching. “Maybe I shouldn’t be.”

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence. Your heart sank, the ache spreading through your chest. You’d always known he didn’t love you, not really. But hearing him say it—hearing him confirm your worst fears—it shattered you.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let the tears fall. “Fine. I’m done.”

Turning on your heel, you stormed out of his apartment, slamming the door behind you. The cold night air bit at your skin as you walked down the street, no destination in mind. You just needed to get away. Away from him, from his lies, from the hurt that seemed to follow you wherever you went.

Your feet moved on their own, carrying you to the one place you knew you’d be safe. Before you realized it, you were standing outside Sunghoon’s door, your fists trembling as you knocked.

The door swung open, and Sunghoon stood there, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y/n? What… what are you doing here?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a choked sob escaping instead. His face softened instantly, his arms reaching out to pull you inside, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“What did he do this time?” Sunghoon’s voice was low, a protective edge to his words.

You buried your face in his chest, his familiar scent grounding you as the tears finally fell. “I… I’m so stupid,” you choked out, your body trembling. “I keep going back… I keep letting him hurt me…”

Sunghoon’s arms tightened around you, his chin resting on top of your head. “You’re not stupid, Y/n. You just… you want to be loved.”

Your chest tightened, the words hitting too close to home. “I just… I thought he loved me. I thought… I could be enough for him.”

He pulled back, his hands cupping your face, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own. “You are enough. More than enough. He’s just too blind to see it.”

You looked up at him, his face so close, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears. “Then why does it feel like no one will ever love me?”

His eyes softened, his forehead resting against yours as his voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you, Y/n. I’ve always loved you.”

Your heart stopped, the world falling away as his words sank in. Sunghoon… loved you?

Before you could process it, his lips were on yours—soft, warm, and everything you didn’t know you needed. He kissed you slowly, tenderly, like he was trying to piece you back together, like he was erasing every hurt and lie you’d ever been told.

You kissed him back, your hands gripping his shirt as you melted into him, his touch grounding you, his presence comforting in a way you’d never felt before.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead still pressed against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret, you found yourself smiling—genuine and real. For the first time in a long time, you felt loved.

And maybe, just maybe, you could learn to love yourself, too.

#enhypen #reading #ꫀꪜꪮꪶꪖꪖꫝ #angst #aesthetic #coquette #sunghoon #park sunghoon #x reader #sunghoon x reader #enha imagines #enha #enha fluff

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lokilysolbitch · 2 days ago

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Im having thoughts on the hunger games specifically catching fire

-HEY so anyone notice how the quarter quell is worse than the other usual games. notice how it takes the people who were already beaten down and beats down on them worse. HEY anyone notice how this book is right before mockingjay. HEY. hey guys are we noticing how it gets soooo much worse before it gets better. are we noticing the captiol gets more and more harsh right before mockingjay happens. are we fucking seeing the paralells you guys

-johanna is katniss with nothing to lose

-katniss is at the bottom of the food chain of Panem. katniss is the disabled, the poc trans women, (obv not literally, im connecting this to real life like the english teachers say to) (but also in the books she might be native? i think the books hinted at it but im not sure if suzanne said it outright) the most silenced voices put up on a stage. she isnt interested in saving panem. she is not the dystopian female main character girlboss. she doesnt want to be here. she doesnt want to change the world (at first). she wants to survive and go home. her existence is enough to shake up all of panem. her survival is enough to change everything. everything that happens after the first book is because she refused to let the capitol kill her.

-i understand we feel like its not enough, BUT ART IN THESE TIMES IS SO IMPORTANT. cinna's fashion choices, the performance peeta puts on for the camera's in interviews like in catching fire, these are art. and look what the capitol does to them afterwards. art has power and the capitol knows it

-along with art, healing has a place too and this is represented by prim

-wiress beetee and katniss autism bonding

-peeta is unconditional love, katniss is protection and survival instinct, gale is hate(that still comes from a survival instinct). peeta wants change, katniss wants safety, gale wants revenge. peeta on his own isn't safe, katniss on her own can save herself, and gale on his own kills prim commits friendly fire through blind rage. hatred of oppressors is not enough to change the world. you need love but you also need to be able to protect yourself and people you love. gale's anger motivates katniss and she is tempted to stay with him over peeta, and thats how a survival instinct works too. but you can't run off of just that. there's a reason she didnt end up choosing gale in mockingjay.

-gale is also really similar to katniss. so you can see the different paths the same traits can lead you down

-you see katniss's protective traits with wiress when she keeps saying tick tock and katniss ends up learning from her

-im watching catching fire rn and katniss is running from the jabberjays and just ran into the barrier that separates the wedges. peeta's on the other side consoling her and now im thinking about the fucking peeta is love katniss is survival thing like i have chills. love is consoling the survival instinct

-an underrated message of catching fire is not to underestimate the power of disruption

-thinking about how without peeta, katniss sends that arrow into the dome of the arena in catching fire. and then after that refuses to work with district 13 until they get peeta. so that survival instinct without love has a flare of productive hatred and then it just burns out

-so katniss is the girl on fire and peeta is what makes the flame be more than just a spark

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roguemonsterfucker · 4 months ago

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Shout out to this book I'm reading for actually using the original proper definition of the title "harem" and using the typical modern usage to cause some very good drama in the narrative due to the misunderstanding.

Chef's kiss honestly.

Finally some delicious fucking food.

#i'm reading an alien romance and it's pretty darn good #the human has a translator implant #so the aliens aren't using the word harem but that's how it's being translated #because that actually is what it is #it's a safe place for all the females to be #not a group of women that service one man #but our POV character just hears harem and of course assumes the worst #and the conflict that follows was yummy yummy good tasty food #wow it's rare i like a book XD

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andorerso · 3 months ago

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sissi i totally agree with you about the current state of romantasy books! i love a classic fantasy book, where romance is much more of a subplot. but sometimes i'm really craving a romance forward fantasy, but actually finding a good one nowadays is abysmal. i know it's partially a personal taste thing, but there is so much insta-love/attraction in romantasy books and i'm like where is the yearning! where is the pining! there's no build up of tension and it's such a bummer. and then also the plot is usually completely thrown out the window to focus on the romance. which i get romantasy is meant to be romance heavy, but i would like a little plot please 😭

no, honestly!! there is literally NO plot, it's just romance in a fantasy setting. except even romance books should have a plot, so it's just vibes and vague worldbuilding with some magical elements. that's it. everyone is super hot and extra badass and they're the most in love to ever be in love. YAWN

and it's a fucking shame because on paper, I should love romantasy. I like fantasy books, and I like it when they're romance-heavy (not the main or sole focus, but I don't mind if it's a large part of it) but the romance should be GOOD! ugh it makes me so mad/sad because I wanna like romantasy so bad!! I just can't 😔

(side note: if you have any romantasy books that are good, please let me know!! I'll gladly take some recs from anyone <3)

#replies #bikananjarrus #is this a safe place to admit that i blame ac*tar....#like it's very clear that 95% of these books are just ac*tar rip-offs now #except even ac*tar wasn't that good (to me) and these dollar store versions are even worse #at least ac*tar had some soul to it but the copycats are all completely dead and soulless and unimaginative #with the billionth tortured rh*sand-like male love interest and the billionth special snowflake not like other girls f*yre-like female lead #im tiredddddddddd #save me good romantasy save me

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thebrokenmechanicalpencil · 19 days ago

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@quibble-auk I blame the worms

Remember when I said Pretenders always know pretty quickly who is and isnt like them. Lemme just say the love hits like a train, since them meeting another of their species that is compatible genetically is so slim. Take this with a grain of salt, it was the "Can you feel the love tonight" song and yeah.

If this happened though, Comet is fighting it the whole way.

#My dude had decided early on that he would have his brothers and that's it #That if he did have a fling it would be fast and far away from the twins to keep them safe #If this female pretender has a say however #She wants a partner so badly #she's so lonely #I cannot characterize her #nopnope #.....shes a red head #concepts #no real tags for this #Im sorry #Im so all over the place on this project Idea thing

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sttoru · 3 months ago

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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. play fighting with your lover quickly turns into you being pounded on the couch.

tags. (assassin!)toji x female reader. smut. dōggy style. age gap implied. with plot-ish. unprotected -> p in v. size difference / kink. power trip-ish. teasing. crēampie. dacryphilia. tummy bulging. pūssy slapping. breēding mention. reader gets called ‘(little) girl, pretty, doll, slut.’ not proofread. wc: 3.4k

you let out a sigh of relief when your lover comes back home safe from another mission. toji’s risky job always leaves you anxious, knowing what could happen to him if things took a turn for the worse.

“keheh, there’s my pretty girl,” toji grins as he feels you jump into his embrace the instant he steps into the living room. your arms wrap around his waist and your head rests against his chiseled chest. he’s sweaty and bloody, yet you can’t care less. you’ve waited all day for him.

you tilt your head back and give the black-haired man a quick, passionate kiss. he returns it with equal force before picking you up and bringing you over to the couch. once toji put you down, he reaches a hand out to lazily ruffle your hair, “i’m g’nna take a shower, yeah?”

you shake your head and grab his hand before he can think of moving away. “no, want you to stay. just for a little more,” you attempt to coax toji into staying with you for a bit more.

“after i take a shower, doll. i probably smell ‘n look like shit,” the assassin mumbles in a low tone. his hair is wet with sweat, black locks sticking to his forehead. his compression shirt is torn in some places, but it’s neatly outlining his pecs, which makes him look ten times more attractive.

“nu-uh, you don’t,” you refute and tug at toji’s wrist again. he playfully rolls his eyes after giving in to your innocent request. you clearly don’t mind the sweaty state he’s in. you just want to cuddle up and talk to him about all kinds of things. “you look as handsome as ever,” you smile at him once you straddle his lap. toji’s hands find your hips, his nails ghosting over your skin to send shivers down your spine.

“heh. that ain’t nothin’ new,” your lover leans his head back with a cocky smirk. he knows how much you love it when he’s all sweaty and tired. toji never fails to spot the way your eyes wander up and down his muscular figure whenever he’s wearing that signature outfit of his. a black compression shirt that defines his pecs and white-ish baggy pants. you love it.

your fingers trace circles over his chest. you don’t seem to care about the random crimson droplets on his skin. they’re not his, thus you let it go. asking questions about the job he’s finished will only ruin the mood you’ve set. plus, toji clearly needs some distraction from the fact that his limbs are aching. he’s outdone himself today as well.

“you tired?” you ask through a soft murmur. your boyfriend nods while yawning, teasingly pinching your cheek afterwards. “mhm,” toji hums while playing with the collar of your shirt, eyes wandering down to your tits. one of his most favorite spots on your body.

you’re clearly not wearing a bra and it’s making it difficult for him to stay focused. your nipples push against the material of your pyjamas so deliciously, just begging to be touched by his fingers. he quietly clears his throat and looks the other direction to play it off.

“oh?” you giggle and tap toji’s cheek twice to gain his attention, though with no success. he’s trying his best to come off as nonchalant as possible—to remain that stoic man he’s always been. his attempts are proven futile when you press your breasts against his chest.

“come on, babe. look at meeee,” you laugh and resort to tickling toji’s belly and armpits. he freezes for a second before scoffing at your actions, his hands immediately rush under your shirt to tickle you back. you end up squirming on his lap, trying to swat his arms in attempt to defend yourself.

your lover lets out a haughty chuckle as you become defenceless because of his well calculated revenge tickles. “mm? didn’t hear ya, y’ should speak up,” toji teases you, clearly seeing how you’re struggling to talk as he makes you squeal and laugh uncontrollably.

there are tears forming on your eyes. your breath comes in short gasps when you finally find a chance to jump off toji’s lap. “shut up, fushiguro!” you call out, going back to last name basis, which you know toji dislikes. you stumble back a little and stick your tongue out at your lover before fleeing the scene. or at least you try to.

“fushiguro, aye?” you hear toji’s voice right behind you, and when you turn around to face him, he’s already got you caged in his arms. you gasp and kick your legs, hitting him in the shin. the man groans at the contact and loosens his grip a little. you take the opportunity again, jumping onto his back, clinging onto him with your legs around his waist. you encircle your arm around his neck and catch him off guard with a surprise headlock.

“hehe, got you now,” you grin smugly. toji’s not giving his best, you know that, because you’d be on the floor if he did. he’s allowing you to have fun and he’s indulging you, which you more than so appreciate. “what? cat got your tongue, big boy?” you continue challenging him, proud of your little achievement.

you’re painfully oblivious to toji's struggles. how he's struggling with his inner desires, how his hands ball up into fists at his side. he can feel your body clinging onto him, your legs wrapped so tightly around his waist. it’s adorable that you find so much joy in having the upper hand over a grown man like him.

adorable, and such a huge turn on.

toji can’t believe that he’s getting a boner from just playing with you like this. maybe it’s your body that’s pressed against him so snugly, letting him feel every feminine curve or maybe it's the fact that he knows he can easily pin you to the ground and show you what a real man can do until you're begging for mercy.

your nipples are pressed against his back and it’s so hard to act like he can’t feel that. it’s hard to believe you’re not doing it on purpose, but you truly aren’t.

“careful,” toji comments in a husky voice. the corner of his lip twitches, his eyes hidden behind his black bangs, “y’ might start something you can’t finish.” you figure that it’s just bait to scare you off, so you don’t take it seriously. you tighten the headlock a little, biting toji’s ear and nibbling on it as revenge.

“you’re not scaring me with that,” you chuckle and pinch toji’s cheek with your free hand. the older man turns his head slightly, catching a glimpse of your mischievous grin. oh, how cute.

with a swift, fluid motion, toji reaches up with both hands and grasps your thighs firmly. in a heartbeat, your positions reverse and he pins you to the nearby wall. both of his meaty arms cage you in by pressing against the concrete on either side of your head.

“seems like i’m the one who got ya now, doll,” toji murmurs, his voice low and laced with a hint of lust. he gazes down at you, your faces mere inches apart. you can feel his breath fanning against your lips. he’s itching to claim your mouth so, so bad.

but before he can capture your sweet lips with his, you catch him off guard by pushing your full weight forward, causing toji to lose balance. he tumbles backwards onto the carpet below with you on top of him.

“nope, am not giving up so easily,” you giggle as you try to grab at his wrists. you’re oblivious to toji’s desires, too focused on overpowering the man who could snap you in half. it’s fun when he allows you to take control.

however, your lover is slowly losing his rationality. you’re seated on top of his abs and he can swear he can feel the heat of your cunt through your clothes. it’s the only thing he can focus on at that moment. the only thing he craves.

“fuck, c’mere,” toji growls and rolls you over so you’re pinned beneath him on the floor. he can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips when your laughter echoes throughout the living room. even through his lustful haze, he finds your joy thoroughly endearing.

you manage to find another opening and roll over again so you’re on top of him instead. the cycle continues for a few more seconds, your bodies lost in a tangled mess of limbs. you exchange gasps, grunts and giggles while you’re ‘fighting’ for dominance.

when you bite on toji’s shoulder as a way to catch him off guard once more, he hisses. not in an annoyed or pained way— no. he’s so turned on that you biting him sends a jolt of pleasure right down to his aching cock. so turned on that he may accidentally have developed a new kink in that same second.

either way, that little action was his last straw.

toji effortlessly lifts you up on the couch, your body bouncing a bit on the plush cushions as he turns you around on your stomach. one arm hooks around your neck, his bicep pressing against your throat. not enough to hinder your airway, but enough to send shivers down your spine.

“told ya to b’ careful,” toji grunts, his breath against your sensitive skin from behind, “y’ should start listening to me more.” his tongue flicks out and licks a stripe up your ear. his crotch is pressed right against your ass and only then do you notice his raging hard-on.

your eyes widen, cheek smushed against his muscular arm wrapped around your neck, keeping you in place beneath his big body. “oh, fuck, toji,” you let out a shuddering breath. you’re completely engulfed by his large frame—disappearing out of sight. just how he likes it.

“yeah? feel that?” toji grins as he squeezes his bicep around your delicate throat some more. you gasp and whine, turned on by him overpowering you, as much as you had been enjoying the opposite just seconds ago. he mocks your earlier words with a grunt, “think i have’ta remind my lil’ brat exactly what this ‘big boy’ can do to ya.”

and the older man wastes no time to do exactly that.

your shorts and panties are tossed carelessly on the carpet, your cheek smushed against the cushions that you’re desperately gripping. your face is contorted with pleasure, brows furrowed, eyes glazed over and your swollen lips parted to take shallow breaths.

you can feel the ache in your lower back. the arch of your spine is nearly unnatural as your ass is pushed so high up, bouncing back to meet the mean backshots your man is giving you.

“ah, ngh! t—toooji,” you mewl loudly, droplets of saliva trickling down from the corner of your mouth. you can’t deny that this entire situation has you soaked.

the switch toji went through, from being playful and letting you do what you want to reminding you who’s boss at the end of the day— it’s perfect and feels way too good. the cherry on top is the familiar scent of his body, the sweat mixed with his cologne.

it adds to the pleasure, makes you dizzy in a good way.

toji grips your waist, his manly hands trailing down to your hips every now and then for the extra leverage. his fingers dig into your soft flesh as he pounds into you mercislessly, fucking into you like you’re his personal cocksleeve. “ain’t gonna try that again, are ya?”

“dumb lil’ slut,” your harsh lover grumbles under his breath, hand smacking the fat of your ass. toji loves seeing it ripple underneath him, even more so when his hips smack against your rear with strength that leaves your flesh stinging, “bet ya love it when i remind you who owns this cunt.”

toji groans as he slides his thick cock in and out of your tight cunt. you’re gripping him like you never want to let go, like you want to milk him of every drop of the cum stored in his balls.

the sight that he’s blessed with from his point of view can make him bust a load right then and there. you’re presenting your ass to him shamelessly, looking back over your shoulder with lust-blown eyes.

and don’t get him started on the outline of his dick distending your tummy, the one he can feel whenever he reaches a hand around to press against your lower abdomen and circle your clit. too fucking lewd.

“fuck, yeahhhh. take that fat fuckin’ dick, baby,” toji throws his head back as he pushes your body even further into the couch. you swear he’s folding you in half, “let me show ya what a real man in charge can do— how a real man fucks his woman.”

toji’s cock is ruining you, reshaping your insides to fit his massive size and you don’t mind it one bit. in fact, you love it. love the feel of him, the stretch and burn of his thick cock splitting you open.

“yes, mmh, yes! fuck me!” you keen, sobbing from the pleasure. your hand reaches back to scratch at toji’s arm, trying to hold onto him, to find him even in the midst of it all. the view of your desperation and your pleas makes him lose it.

the dark-haired man scoffs, “oh, i’ll fuck ya, all right. . .”

with a low growl, toji plants one foot on the floor next to you, his other leg still bent at the knee on the sofa you’re laying at. the muscles in his arms ripple as he lifts your hips even higher up to be able to meet his thrusts.

“fuuuuuck! right there!” you wail, your head trashing back and forth on the damp sofa. from this new angle, he can drive his fat dick into you even deeper, engorged tip hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes you see white.

toji revels in the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, mixed with your sweet moans. you seem so much smaller than him in this new position, your body helplessly giving in, allowing him to put you in whatever position he wants. it boosts his ego and makes his cock pulse inside of you.

he loves seeing the tears in your eyes as it nearly gets too much for you to handle. it motivates him to fuck you harder until you’re full on bawling, which he can easily get off on. making you cry in pure bliss is all he wants to achieve.

your pussy is tight as it clenches around his cock like a vice. toji’s hand slithers around to circle your clit, making your legs spasm and hips thrust back sloppily. “shitttt, y’r sweet lil’ cunt was made just for this—” he pants as his thumb presses against the nub, “to take my cock.”

all you can do is dumbly nod at whatever your partner says. “mmhm, ah yeah, made for you,” your small whines are music to his ears. the palms of your hands feel clammy as you hold onto anything you can grasp.

everything around you is a blur as the only thing you can focus on is the way his heavy cock fills you so well.

toji can feel your juices trickling down his heavy sack, soaking his thighs and yours, as well as the couch. it will leave stains, but he doesn’t care and neither do you.

“look at ya,” he huffs and slaps your clit once, callused fingers dragging along your puffy lips that are parted obscenely wide for his cock. toji brings his wet finger to his mouth to lick it clean. he hums satisfactorily at the taste, “pussy’s droolin’ aaaall over my dick. nasty girl.”

your pussy starts fluttering around his thick length as it impales you over and over. it’s a telltale sign of your orgasm, one toji has come to recognise quite easily.

“yeah? gonna make an even bigger mess on my cock?” he grins before pressing his chest against your sweaty back, blanketing your small body. the extra weight added to the ecstasy only makes you scream louder for him.

“yes, yes, yes! gonna cum!” you cry out, toes curling and eyes rolling back as you try to prolong your pleasure. even if it’s only for a second.

toji curses under his breath as his hips move faster to drive you over the edge. he can’t wait to feel your cunt get even tighter, to make it feel like you’re about to snap his dick off. he loves the pain mixed with the pleasure of your tightness.

“do it. cream all over me, c’mon, little girl. y’ can do it,” toji coaxes, delivering small smacks to your clit, causing your hips to jolt back with each slap. you can’t do it anymore— can’t hold on any longer.

you scream as you cum, your pussy spasming wildly around toji’s pulsing cock. that sensation alone has the older man gasping for air, nails digging into the flesh of your ass. no matter how many times he fucks you, the moment you cum, he automatically follows.

the way you squeeze his dick and hold onto it like you don’t want to let go is simply too much.

“fuck, fuck, fuck. g’nna make me bust a fat fuckin’ nut inside of you,” toji groans, his rhythm growing sloppy yet his thrusts are still deliciously hard, “gonna pump this pussy full of my load. breed ‘er nice and deep. shitt— take it!”

a strangled moan leaves his lips as he grinds his hips against your ass while his cock jolts inside of you. he pumps jet after jet of hot cum directly into your womb, tip rubbing against the deepest spot he can reach.

“eaaaasy, yeah, just like that. let it soak into ya,” toji hisses as his hips jerk erratically, “good girl. takin’ all of it so well.” it seems to go on forever as spurts of semen flood your insides for a good few seconds.

once your lover fully empties his balls inside of you, he feels himself grow weak. his thighs and arms tremble a bit from overexertion.

you collapse together in a sweaty heap, toji’s softening dick still buried deep inside of you. the only thing filling the room now is your heavy breathing as you slowly regain your composure. it’s quite a comfortable silence.

after a while, toji shifts. he pulls out with a wet squelch and watches with half-lidded eyes as thick, pearly globs of cum trickle down your slit. he grins lazily at the sight before turning you around.

you’re completely fucked out, it seems. your chest is heaving and your eyes are barely open. the trails of tears and drool on your face tells the man enough. toji wipes a stray strand of hair from your face with a haughty chuckle, “damn, keheh, fucked y’ real good. you okay though?”

you weakly nod in response before wrapping your arms around him. your hands rest on his broad back, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

toji hums and hugs you back, being careful not to squish you under his weight. he presses chaste kisses to your temple as he enjoys your frame molding perfectly against the hard muscles of his body.

“y’ did so well for me, little girl,” he comments gruffly, voice deep and a bit hoarse. you smile at the praise and murmur a small ‘thanks’. nothing is better than being able to feel safe with your lover after an intense session like that.

you pull back a bit and look up at toji with a little, playful grin. “guess i need to challenge you more often. felt too good, babe.”

toji lets out a small scoff and shakes his head. a ghost of a smirk appears on his lips as he slightly pinches your side. he holds you against his chest and buries his nose into your hair, sighing as he finally relaxes his weary body.

“y’ can try. might break ya for real next time, though.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #jjk x you #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x female reader #jjk fic #toji fic #toji x female reader #cw smut

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cosmictheo · 2 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 | hwang in-ho

( gif credits to @lalaray )

—summary: for some reason, player 001 seems to like you a little too much, way more than you think. amongst the chaos after the mingle game, he gets closer to you. —pairing: hwang in-ho/young-il/player 001 x female!reader —word count: 4.5k —warnings: bro has a lot of names, +18, smut !!! (minors dni), most definitely ooc!in-ho, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, slight voyeurism? (a guard outside the bathroom listening all the tea💀), sub in-ho!!!, obsessive, possessive behavior, mentions of stalking, slight manipulation, in-ho being a slut for the reader, they want each others bodies so bad, panic attack, blood, killing, yk usual squid game stuff.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ✶ part one ── part two

The first thing you saw were Young-il's eyes, and then you sensed his hands resting on your shoulders, a subtle touch but one that struck your entire core, sending shivers up and down your spine, snapping you out of the trance of shock, drawing you back to reality and back to him.

“Hey, hey, shhh...” he spoke softly, leaning close to you, making all you focused on was him, his voice, his eyes, the way his lips uttered your name. Him, him, him...

“Young-il?” you breathed out, matching your respiration to his ever-calm one.

He nodded his head slightly, his fingers stroking your shoulders soothingly. “You're okay. You did so good. It's over now” his soft whispers felt like an anchor back to earth, anchors you were clinging to with all your might.

“I got you” he assured you, helping you to your feet again. It was only then that you noticed that you were still in the room set of the third game, there was only you and him left in the arena, and the multitude of bodies sprawled around the bloodstained floor, of course. Noticing your gaze drift to the dead people, his hand lifted to your chin, standing right in front of you to block your field of vision and reduce it to just him, his serene face and piercing eyes, “Just look at me, angel. Keep those pretty eyes on me, yeah?”

He delicately pleaded you, his thumb tracing patterns of grazing caresses on the skin of your chin, treating you as carefully as possible.

And you complied, of course, succumbing to the gentle darkness contained within his eyes. Like a little lamb falling into the wolf's trap.

“There you are,” a little, honest smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

A couple of guards were standing near you, watching you in silence and strangely, allowing Young-il to comfort and help you during your panic attack. The first one you had since you had arrived in the horrifying place, you hadn't cracked once, holding a tough and fearless armor.

“You are safe with me. Nothing will happen to you,” his other hand moved down from your shoulder through your arm, igniting a warm flush on your skin under the passage of his palm, all the way down to encounter yours, his fingers intertwining between yours. “I'll make sure of that, okay?”

You merely manage a trembling nod, holding his gaze. His reassuring, gentle demeanor was all you needed at that moment, in that strange place, full of strangers, he seemed to be the only familiar sight to you, the light among all the ruthless darkness. And his face, exuding concern, completely captured your heart.

Young-il offered you that one protector figure you always needed, that someone to rely on and trust even in your darkest moments.

“Come with me, please” one of the guards, the one with a square outlined on his mask, interrupted your moment, stepping up beside you, his gun pointed at the ground and not at either of you, thank goodness. His voice held a diplomatic, yet polite tone, glancing at the two of you. Young-il glanced at him with a scowl on his face, not too happy that the guard had popped onto the scene, apparently, his gaze went ice cold in the span of a millisecond, “Sir, miss, you need to go back to the main room with the other players.”

“The lady needs to freshen up a bit, could I accompany her to the bathrooms?” Young-il asked— no, rather, he actually demanded of the armed guard, his demeanor shifting to an authoritative one, straightening up and looking at the masked man with imposing eyes.

The guard looked from Young-il to you and back to him, finally nodding his head just once after a few seconds of contemplation, looking at him too long, nearly as if he was considering Young-il's expression, “Of course. Come with me, please.”

You did not decide to comment on the strange behavior of the guard, even they had been acting like human beings, empathetic and considerate. You really couldn't think of anything much at all, all you could focus on was Young-il's hand placed on your lower back as you walked together through the winding, ridiculously colorful corridors and staircases inside the seemingly infinite building.

His touch had your mind a fuzzy blur and the panic and self-doubt in your veins had already been well forgotten, replaced by a state of constant flushing, feeling so small next to him. The feeling was a good one, though. Definitely.

Ever since you had met him he had seemed to have a special liking for you, always making sure you were safe and secure, putting you above the others, making you feel protected and seen. Before every game he made sure he stayed by your side, willing to take whatever risks were necessary for both of you to come out of it alive. Gi-hun had told you a couple of times that he liked you, much more than a friend, but you refused, huffing that it wasn't the place to think about that, much less regarding a man who was married, supposedly. The two of you had really bonded so well, as if you had somehow known each other for a very long time before this.

Once you were in the bathrooms, Young-il closed the door behind both of you, leaving the square guard just outside, and then guided you towards the sinks, opening one so you could take a sip of water.

“Let me...” he quietly whispered, rolling up the sleeves of his turquoise tracksuit and soaking his hands for a few seconds before raising them to your face, running his fingers gently across your cheekbones, removing traces of blood droplets that had been lucky enough to land on your skin, he thought to himself. For some reason, everything felt more intimate than it should have.

You stood in silence, watching him with big, attentive eyes as he wiped your face delicately, as if your skin were the finest porcelain. All that could be heard for a few moments was the water running from the sink and the thundering beat of your heart, desperate to flee out of your chest and leap into his.

“Young-il?”

“Hm?” he hummed, very much focused on cleaning your face, his countenance encouraged you to ask him anything you wanted, it was peaceful and gentle.

“Why do you care so much about me?” you dared to ask him, in a low tone, brave enough to hold his gaze, which softened at your question.

He held back his hands, pulling them away from your face very slowly, analyzing your flushed face for a few moments, contemplating an answer.

“You're special. Very different from the others.”

Young-il sympathized with you, with your history, your person. Usually when he looked at you, he saw his old self, from before all this. He saw in you the good side of things, your good heart, your innocence and kindness, you were much more than a pretty face. He could see past your usual gloomy and pouty face, past your sharp and too cunning eyes, you were too much for that place. And that's why he intended to take you out of there and keep you with him, to have you by his side to care for you and provide for you.

He was excited about the idea of getting to know you further, like a new game in which he had to crack his way through. And In-ho, he was good at games.

You blushed slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, “Special?”

Young-il spun around, allowing you to see his side profile as he washed his hands in the sink, concealing the impulse to smirk as he noticed the immediate effect his words had on you. He had you right where he wanted you.

Now he wasn't wearing his usual dark mask, capable of covering his each and every emotion, no, now his expressions and gestures were for everyone to see, so he had to try a little harder than usual to be cautious. As you too were very careful and cautious, always attentive to your surroundings, you had figured out the objective of the last games as soon as you arrived at the arenas. It had been a record, no other player had been as interesting and quick-witted as you. You only needed a couple of minutes, a scan through the walls, the equipment brought by the guards, and you already had the answer. You were a prodigy. Not even he knew what you were doing in there to begin with, when you should have been in the best university.

You would definitely be a favorite of the filthy V.I.P.'s and that, for some reason, made him uneasy.

“Mhm...” he hummed once again, wetting his face now, refreshing himself as well, thoughtfully, “That makes you dangerous.”

His eyes held a slight playfulness as they met yours now, and his pupils expanded as he watched you step closer to him, unwrapping your sweatshirt from around your waist and lifting it up to his face, gently wiping and drying his skin with it, running the cloth carefully over his cheekbones, forehead and chin, drying every drop of water, sweat and blood that rolled across his skin.

“Why?” you tilted your head, big, interested eyes watching him intently as you carefully wiped his cheeks.

Young-il gazed at you for a few seconds, feeling himself swooning at the careful way you were treating him. He cleared his voice subtly before replying to you, in all honesty, “You're the only one I care about in here.”

Usually In-ho encountered with people who looked at him with fear, with trembling hands, hesitant voice and submissive manners. Most guards were like that with him, he was the Front Man after all. Just a movement of his fingers, a word emitted by his voice, was enough for the whole building to move at his command, for anyone to race to do what he ordered.

But you... you simply reached out to him, touched him, treated him with care, with gentleness and softness, looking at him with warm and sympathetic eyes.

“No other person makes me feel both weak and strong” he rasped out, quietly, his warm breath brushing against your lips, which gaped at his words, his choice of words, “That's dangerous for a man like me”

You motioned to pull your hand away from his face, but he was quick to grab your wrist, stopping the movement.

“Young-il, you're married, I can't—” you hurriedly opted to go the right way, trying to talk some sense into him, shaking your head softly, blinking several times within a single minute. Your heart was already starting to beat faster and he could feel it through his thumb placed on your pulse.

He shook his head, seeking your gaze, his fingers gently squeezing your wrist, not wanting you to move too far away from him.

“I'm not married. I lied” he revealed to you, almost desperately. There was no reason for him to lie to you on that, because he knew that you were someone he could trust, and that everything that was going to happen there, would remain within those walls. A little complicity. A minor crack in the script, in the whole scheme that he had been working on for weeks.

You let him grab your wrist and the jacket of the tracksuit you had previously held in your hand fell to the floor, making a muffled noise that echoed off the quiet walls of the bathrooms. Your brow furrowed slightly, not understanding what he was talking about now.

“You lied? Why?” you asked in a low tone, as if anyone could hear you. It seemed, at least it felt like too private and all too intimate a conversation for anyone to overhear.

“I didn't want to push you away and scare you with my... life resolutions” Young-il lowered your hand now joined with his, looking at you with brighter eyes than usual, “It was the wiser thing to do.”

“Resolutions?” all you appeared to be doing was asking and asking, and In-ho, right there and then, was willing to answer all you wanted to know. Your tone of voice drifted into playfulness, void of judgment or disgust, on the contrary, you reassured him, “All of us here have made bad choices in our lives, that's why we're here. We're all the villains of society”

“Villains...” he repeated, savoring the word and approving it with a gentle nod of his head. Then he tugged on your hand, lifting it to his face, placing an affectionate kiss on your knuckles, doing all of that while keeping eye contact, “But you're not bad, not like them, not like me. You're just so good, angel.” There was the petname again, and it held the exact same effect as when he first called you that, making you blush softly, your legs trembling just barely, your core reacting instantly, your body succumbing to his, longing for him.

His fingers caressed the palm of your hand tenderly, “You have no blood on your pretty hands, no perversity in your little head, no, you're a good girl. You always have been, right?”

He read you like an open book, even though you had been cautious and reserved since the games had begun, you had not let anyone in, much less pass over the walls you had built around yourself. Yet in the span of a few minutes, Young-il had ripped them apart, tearing his way through them, into you.

You caught a glimpse of pity in his eyes.

“You don't have a debt, you just don't have anyone out there waiting for you, to take care of you, provide for you” At his words, you gulped, watching him kiss your knuckles once again, making your heart race, then his lips kissed your pulse on your wrist, and after that, he tugged you closer, placing your palm against his chest, making you feel the beat of his heart as well, “I could be the one. I could take care of you, protect you, give you everything you want. There wouldn't be anything I wouldn't do for you and those eyes. You'd just have to stick by my side, look pretty for me, hm?”

In-ho had been watching you, of course, ever since you had met Gon Ji-cheol in the subway, ever since you had encountered Gi-hun. He knew your life completely, he had grown obsessed with you. You were everything he needed, everything he wanted, the missing piece in his new life. The anchor he desperately needed, yearned to hold on to.

And to your flesh he clung, his lips making a path of light, but tentative kisses on the back of your hand, across your skin, up your arm.

“Young-il...” you breathed out his name a bit stunned by the whole sudden confession. At the sound, he felt his limbs tremble, his lips had reached your bicep and it wasn't until he kissed your shoulder that he opened his eyes so he could look at you with raw adoration, his breath joining yours at the closeness.

“I'll get you out of here, safe and sound. I won't let them touch a hair on your head” he promised, reassuring you, pulling you in, inviting you to slip into his orbit, “I just need you to trust me”

Your eyelashes grazed your cheeks as you blinked slowly, your hand rising to his shoulder, thumb brushing his neck, “How will you do that?”

“Trust me” he pleaded, staring at you for a few seconds before leaning down into you, both of his hands landing on your waist, holding you against him, his face nestled into your neck, he began to press his lips into your skin, kissing it. You close your eyes in utter pleasure, feeling yourself getting all aroused, suffocated by all the attention, the sweet words, his desire for you.

“Would you do that for me?” he rasped out against your skin before kissing it, sucking lightly, “...hm?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, his lips rapidly kissing your throat, and suddenly, everything was him, his mouth, his breath, his hands squeezing your waist. Him...

You lifted your chin, allowing him more access to the soft flesh of your neck, seductive lips exploring every inch of your skin.

“Yes”

“That's my girl” he cooed with tenderness, kissing your neck one last time before pulling away from it so he could look at you, not even letting you breathe the air that had slipped out of your lungs for the entirety of his doing, before he was kissing your lips like a starving man.

He breathed against your lips in between frantic open-mouth kisses. He almost felt himself melt as his ears were blessed by the delightful little noises leaking out of your mouth, panting and low moans escalating up your throat.

“Young-il…” you whispered his name, your voice sheepishly lowering as you noticed the look in his eyes, your hands clasped around his neck, fingers trembling from the thrill and sudden shame that shook you.

“Jump” he said, his tone of voice heavy with command, his hands reaching around your waist and down onto your ass to lift you up effortlessly onto the side of the sinks, balancing himself tight against you in between your legs, which wrapped around his hips and pressed him further into you, under an instinctive impulse.

You panted against his lips as you felt his erection against the inside of your thigh, his body eagerly surrendering to yours in desperation.

His commanding voice and face were something that really turned you on even more, if that was even possible. It wasn't usual for him to be this stern with you, he was usually like that with the other players, with strangers, always cautious, quiet and tactful, meticulous of his every step and every word.

“W-wait— we're going to fuck in h-here?” you somehow managed to asked in between frantic, breathless kisses, barely opening your eyes, catching him with an expression of raw lust, pupils fully dilated now.

Young-il smirked playfully, allowing you to catch your breath for a moment, hands caressing your skin appreciatively beneath the fabric of your shirt, before dropping down and laying on either side of you against the sinks, veins bulging against his skin, “You want to do it in the other room? I don't mind having an audience.”

His little tease and the way he tilted his head made you blush furiously, fingers nuzzling the back of his neck, curling between locks of his hair.

“The guard will hear us...” you tried to talk some sense into him, whispering quietly to him, leaning your head even closer, as if you were little kids sharing a forbidden secret.

But Young-il stood his ground, kissing your lips shortly, to reassure you, noticing the worry in your big eyes, “Don't worry about him, don't worry about anyone,” his hand snaked between your bodies, spreading your legs a little further apart, “He won't hear a thing, they never hear or see anything. Not if they are ordered not to”

One of his hands reached up, stroking your hair soothingly, sensing the softness of your locks between his fingers. You were perfect, perfect. And he just knew he could lose all track of time, if it meant letting himself fall into you, touching you, feeling you, worshipping you.

"Lift your hips for me, yeah?”

Obedient, you lifted your hips just a little, letting him pull the hem of your tracksuit pants down your legs, taking it out of the way of obstructing his path into you.

“I know you want this as much as I do, you don't have to say it,” he cheekily smiled, looking up at you once he had lowered your pants down until they were at the level of your ankles. On his journey upwards, he kissed the side of your leg, your knees and your thighs without taking his eyes off yours, he was ruthless and you looked so pretty to him.

“Your body speaks to me, it has spoken to me since the first game. I've noticed the way you look at me. You are a naughty girl.”

You heaved a sigh, closing your eyes and pulling your head back as his hand dipped into the center in between your legs, feeling the wetness of your panties and the heat, your cunt pulsing around nothing. Your hands, now on either side of you clasped onto the ceramics of the sinks, your back arching beautifully.

You can't help the way your body trembles, flutters and simply submits when his finger rubs your swollen clit through your panties, feeling your face and your whole body flush, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment at the magnitude of his words and the enormity of all that was happening.

“Look at you,” he cooed, eyes locked on your pussy once he had pulled down your panties with precise but desperate motions, ran his index and middle fingers through your slick folds, making you moan, “you're soaking wet for me, just for my kisses? Fuck, you are so beautiful. My pretty, dirty girl. Letting herself be touched by a stranger.... but then again, not a stranger at all, hm?” his voice almost sounded mocking when it reached your ears, “I need to taste you,” his gaze moved up to your face, and he looked nearly pleading, he licked his lips in anticipation, fingers sinking just barely into the small entrance of your core, “may I?”

“Please—” You at once nodded feverishly, almost whimpering over the words that rushed into your throat, “Yes! Please, Young-il, please—”

He dropped to his knees in front of you, slouching closer, sinking right between your legs, his hands lingered around your knees, squeezing them against him with a possessive hold.

“In-ho” he corrected you, flushed against the skin of your inner thigh, pressing kisses along it, all too drunk already by your intoxicating scent, his mind going fuzzy with desire, the urge to make you his, “Call me In-ho”

You didn't even pause to doubt what he was telling you, Hell, you'd call him God if he asked you to. You were in the palm of his hand, on full display. His lips kissed your sex and you mentally thanked fate for putting you there, with him.

“Say it” he ordered, just before he plunged his tongue deep between your folds, knocking all the little breath left in your lungs. “Say my name, angel” the vibration of his voice against the most sensitive flesh of your body clenched the knot deep in the bottom of your belly.

“In-ho” you named him between shaky whimpers and little moans, like a prayer. One of your hands dropped to his head, fingers sinking into the black of his hair, tugging it and making him hiss against your cunt. “In-ho...”

In-ho, In-ho, In-ho...

“Good girl”

God.

He ate your pussy like it was his very last meal, lapping and drinking in everything you had to offer, every bit of wetness from you. The slurping noise burst through every wall of the bathrooms and suddenly, you didn't give a shit if the guard outside heard you, you didn't give a shit if all the guards heard you.

They could be right there watching you, you couldn't care less, it wouldn't change the way you tugged at his hair, how your eyes rolled back and the way he was gazing up at you from below, kneeling perfectly between your legs as if they were the gates to heaven.

His tongue seemed familiar, his fingers squeezing your thighs, his eyes locked with yours, his lips kissing your sex with no breath, all the breath he needed was you. He didn't feel like a stranger, your body acquainted him, perhaps in another life. It all felt like deja vu, a reminiscence.

Your muscles tensed and he felt it through his tongue. You were about to cum, and your throat felt scratchy from all the moans and whimpers rasping through it.

“Gonna cum, baby?” he coaxed, pulling away from your cunt for just a couple of seconds, sneaking a hand in and pressing just barely at your entrance with a couple of fingers, kissing your clit and sucking it just right, “Yes you are,” he grumbled endearingly, his tongue tracing caresses all around your clit now, looking up at you.

“You're so tight” he marveled, watching in awe as your cunt eagerly attempted to suck in his fingertips, clenching and struggling to fit them. “Look at her, so eager... such a good girl, aren't you?” Once again he leaned into your clit, kissing, sucking and caressing it with his tongue, already too pussy drunk to stop. “Cum for me. Cum on my tongue, yeah, just like that”

“Holy shit, In-ho—” you hiccupped, feeling tears blur your vision, a wave of pleasure unleashing from deep in your belly. You moaned his name like a prayer, pressing his head closer to your cunt on an instinctive impulse, “Mmph!”

Maybe it was seeing his chin and mouth all dripping wet of you, or his dark, deep eyes marveling at how your pussy squeezed tight around his fingers, or his other hand sliding up under your shirt, finding one of your breasts and flicking your nipple. Maybe it was all of it, either way, you were cumming like you had never cum before. Your whole body was shaking and succumbing to the overstimulation. Succumbing to him.

In-ho gulped down everything you gave him like magic waters.

“You taste better than I imagined,” he confided, licking his index and middle finger as well, catching every trace there was of you that he could possibly consume as if it were honey.

Then, he kissed your pussy once more before standing up, sending shockwaves of electricity through your whole body with his touch, his hands settled on your hips, holding you so you wouldn't fall.

And he just smirked. He moved closer to you and kissed your mouth, making you savor your own taste through him, his hands appreciatively caressing your thighs, swiftly pulling up your panties back on.

“You're perfect, perfect,” he smoothed against your lips, his forehead leaning close to yours and he kissed you again, praising you, holding you tight in the afterglow of your orgasm, “My girl, my favorite girl, so good for me"

“We need to get back before someone starts to get suspicious,” he mumbled softly, helping you to your feet and pulling up your pants, always holding you with his hands and strong arms.

“B-but,” you retorted, your hands gripping his shoulders, still feeling your legs a little wobbly and unsteady, your dilated pupils and half-closed eyes following him as he arranged you, “I want to-”

He interrupted you, grinning warmly, stroking a lock of your hair away from your forehead before kissing your lips once more, as if closing a deal, a promise, “There will be time. Be patient, princess. We don't want the others to find out about my favoritism, do we?” seeing you still looking a bit confused, and still denying with your head, In-ho smiled playfully, “That would be very unprofessional of me, so this will be our secret”

This time you kissed him, sealing the secret.

#cosmictheo #squid game 2 #i shouldn't like him but god knows i do #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #in ho x reader #in ho squid game #hwang in ho #front man x reader #young il #front man #player 001 #squid game smut #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game 2 x reader #in ho x you

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