#like.... so slight that it was barely there

[sylusslittlekitten]

Sanctuary

Genre: 🔞 Menstruating Reader x Zayne

Warnings: Period sEx, for those who menstruate, 4play, p-in-v, shower sEx, mentions of blood, mentions of Zayne’s duties as a doctor, stimulation.

Summary: You're in pain with your period and you need both Zayne and Dr Zayne’s attention.

Reference:

Word count: 2638 words

Notes: It's been a while and I'm sketchy. Somehow this one is long. How? LOL - May edit later. Self indulgent piece as well as an ask!

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You barely make it through his door.

Your shoulders slumped, carrying the weight of the world. The daily grind absorbed all your energies, leaving your body sluggish. Not to mention your pounding head, and the incessant cramps that started at lunchtime.

Your phone buzzes, a message blaring up the screen:

Zayne: Are you home?

You don’t even respond. Just drop your bag, kick off your shoes at the entryway, and collapse onto the sofa with a low, heavy groan. It’s not that you don’t want to reply. You just need to get into your comfy space.

Ten minutes later—he’s there.

No knock. No grandeur. Just the sound of his thumb unlocking the door, and the quiet click of it closing behind him. His calming aura instantly chased away the tension in the air.

He finds you on the sofa, curled into yourself. Knees tight to your chest. A furrow in your brow. Buried under the plush blanket he throws over the back of the couch.

Zayne crouches beside you. His fingers brushing the hair away from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear. He studies you—hazel eyes sharp, taking in your flushed cheeks. The way you clutch your abdomen tightly.

“I told you to call me,” his voice low, hushed and kind.

You try to smirk at him but fail, appearing more of a grimace than anything playful. “Didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” he murmurs.

You try to open your mouth to protest, but he was already moving.

While curled up under the blanket, you can hear him in the kitchen. The bubbling sound of a kettle mixed with a slight whistle of steam.

He returns with a hot drink. Fragrant tendrils filling the air as he places it on the side table next to you. It was one of those herbal concoctions he always made, and while they sound more like medicine, they taste divine. A scent of lemon, ginger, honey, and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on—it always helped.

“Sit up.”

His hands are on you, supporting you, guiding you to sit upright in your struggle. He cups your hand, encouraging it open so he can place painkillers into your palm.

Then without a moment to waste, he turns to the kitchen. One swift motion that stirs the steam from the cup now in your hand. Returning quickly, hot water bottle in one hand, and a towel in the other, wrapping it around the bottle before handing it to you.

”Not directly on your skin, Darling,” looking down at your lap, “over the blanket is best.”

You obey. You always do with Zayne. Something about his tone—it was never forceful, but it left no room for resistance.

After grabbing his notes, he returns to the sofa. Sitting across from you, offering his lap for your feet. Elevating your legs slightly so you can stretch out while he works.

His sleeves are rolled up. Your eyes fixate on the scars across his skin, stretching across the muscle and veins as he scribbles across his notes. His glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, accentuating the colour of his eyes all the more. Flitting from side to side as he pours over the words on the page. At complete ease, as someone used to chaos.

You on the other hand. You were just trying to keep from curling in on yourself again. The pain was constant. Your body feels heavy, warm, and completely wrong. Still bloated. Still cramping.

“Still hurts?” he queries, putting the notes and his glasses down on the table.

He raises himself from the sofa, standing beside you, encouraging you forward so he can squeeze in behind you. Pulling you gently between his legs, your back resting against his chest.

”Better?”

You shake your head gently.

His presence is soothing. His body warmth radiating through your back, while the hot water bottle rests on your stomach. Your hands wrapping around your stomach.

Then his hands move.

”May I?”

You nod, moving your hands away from your stomach as he replaces the space. Much larger than your own, his hands press gently against your clothes. Slowly circling in just the right place, friction creating warmth. Massaging your stomach in the hopes to ease the pain.

As the pain starts to subside, your head lolls back against his shoulder. A whimper that shouldn’t sound the way it does leaves your throat softly. Zayne’s throat catches it, swallowing hard, trying to ignore it.

He doesn’t rush. Just continues circling. Until you stop whimpering and start to moan.

Your little sounds were getting harder to resist. Affecting him in places he’s sure you can feel. He coughs a little, trying to clear his throat. Trying to distract himself. You’re in pain, he can’t find this a turn-on right now.

And yes, you notice.

His hardness pressing against your lower back and you can’t ignore it. The pain in your stomach slowly switches to an ache. Making you squirm between his legs.

The air changes. The atmosphere becoming more tense. You can both feel it. His cheek brushes against the side of your head as he adjusts his hands on you. One sliding under your top— his slightly cool fingers continuing to trace your stomach in firm, rhythmic circles. The other reaching lower to cradle your thigh, keeping you grounded against him.

His breath is warm against your neck. His voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t need to talk. Just shake your head if you want me to stop.”

Your lips part with a sigh as you tilt your head to the side, allowing him more of your neck and shoulder. Letting him closer to you. With no shake of your head, he continues.

The massage shifted.

Lower.

Slower.

Still through the fabric, still respectful. Circling above where you want him most. Instinctively, you arch into his touch, begging for him to go lower. His fingers delicate as they follow your cravings, which is when you remember - suddenly stiffening within his embrace.

He notices immediately and stops. Resting his hand on your thigh, brushing his palm back and forth in reassurance.

“What’s wrong?”

“Zayne—” your voice cracks, shame flickering hot across your cheeks, “I’m—”

A hint of a chuckle halts in his throat.

“I know,” he says, calm and even. Like he was diagnosing a case, not seducing the soul out of your body.

“But, I’m bleeding.” Your cheeks somehow reddening more.

“Yes,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple. A gentle kiss to soothe your embarrassment. “You think I didn’t notice?”

“And you’re not… you know?!”

He gave a soft, exasperated breath. Something between a laugh and a sigh. Pressing another chaste kiss to your cheek.

Then his hand moved downward. Slower this time. Over the thick cotton of your underwear.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, hips rocking ever so slightly against his hand.

“Words, Darling”

“I don’t want you to stop. I… uh… I just don’t want you to be grossed out.”

He cups you fully. Firm and intentional. Trying to get your attention. Ensuring you hear him loud and clear.

“Sweetheart,” his voice low and brushing your ear, “I’ve held people’s organs in my hands. I’ve cleaned blood from surgical masks at 3 in the morning. You think this bothers me?”

His fingers curl slightly.

You gasp at the pressure. It was right where you need him.

“This isn’t messy. This isn’t gross. This is you.”

His nose trails along your jaw. His breath hot. Pressing kisses between his words like he’s etching them into your skin. “Alive. Powerful. Needing me.”

You tremble. “But it’s—”

His other hand reaches your jaw, angling you towards his lips. His eyes meet yours, gentle and kind, yet affirmative.

“It’s natural,” he interrupts. “It’s part of you. And I want every part.”

He presses his lips against yours. Soothing. Warm. Easing your thoughts with his tongue.

His fingers began to move again. Deliberate friction through the fabric. Just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch between his. He hums into your mouth as he feels your reactions to his touch.

“I know where your clit is, even through these,” he whispers.

You nod, half-sob, half-sigh. He kisses your cheek as you lean back into him.

“Good girl.”

You rock into his hand. The rhythm slow and indulgent.

His other hand slides under your shirt again, cradling your stomach. Pressing warmth into the cramps like he could pull the pain from you with touch alone.

Your thighs tense. Your hips buck.

Fuck, he was hard. You could feel him against your back. You wanted more. You needed more but your orgasm built faster than your reaction. Sharp and aching, like something you’d been holding in all day.

He coaxes it out of you, gently grinding against your back while you break within his embrace.

No rush. No pressure. Just calm, relentless care.

Zayne doesn’t move away. Doesn’t flinch. He just holds you tighter. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, your neck exposed as you let the pleasure wash over you.

“You don’t scare me,” he mutters against your pulse, “You never will.”

“…Zayne.”

He hums in response, right at the junction of your neck and shoulder, wanting to hear you more. His own need aching against you.

“I want…” You swallow, cheeks flushed, voice brittle. You press yourself harder against his cock. “I want you. I want more. But I don’t feel…”

He stops you. Fingers pulling away from your heat. Still above clothes. Ensuring he hears you right. Making sure you’re certain about this. His hands cup your knees, thumbs sweeping along them.

“You trust me to do this?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

He nods once. “Then come with me.”

He helps you up slowly. His body shifting from behind you, scooping you up into his arms. Holding you against his body as he leads you into his bathroom.

He sets you down on the vanity surface while he adjusts the light and turns on the water. Steam rises in waves while the warm water hisses against the tiles.

You start to undress, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“No, Let me.”

Zayne’s fingers move with practiced ease, undoing buttons, lifting fabric, folding things with care. Nothing rushed. No hunger in his touch. Just intention.

When he reaches your underwear, he can sense your slight hesitation. Stopping for a moment, he steps back to remove his own clothes. Not in the same way as yours. Undoing his tie first with a flick and gentle tug of the wrist, before pulling off his shirt in haste. His belt clanking to the floor as his trousers and boxers drop to the floor. His cock springing against his stomach with a slap.

”Now we’re the same,” he says as he sets you on the floor, reaching for your underwear. He pauses, waiting for your consent.

“This part,” he said, looking up at you, “won’t ever make me flinch.”

You nod and he pulls them down gently. Tossing them aside like they weren’t even a factor, pad still attached.

The shower was hot, the water loud, drowning out everything else. He steps in behind you, his hands gentle on your waist as he turns you around.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Come here.”

His arms wrap around you. Skin to skin. He lets you bury your face in his chest as the water soaks you both. It feels like minutes pass by with you rocking together like that, under the warm water.

Then his hands move, down your back, around your hips, to your stomach.

“Still hurting?”

You shake your head. He kisses the top of it.

His hand slides between your thighs. Not invasive. Not rough. Just gentle pressure, rubbing softly over your clit, slowly backing you against the tiled wall.

The water masking the sound of your gasp. Your hips rock into his hand. Tiny, involuntary motions, made all the more desperate by how safe you feel with him.

He adjusts his stance, bracing you with one arm and continues with the other. Firm strokes, wet friction, the heat of the shower blending with the heat blooming under your skin.

You reach for him, looking into his eyes as you take him in your hand. His mouth falls open in an instant, his ache finally being soothed. You start gently, stroking his cock until pre-cum leaks, and his lips find yours. Needy and wanting, as you cover your hand with his slick, making your motions all the more pleasurable.

Moaning into your mouth. Tongues dancing as you allow the need to take over. Moans and gasps, switch to groans, mixing with the steam in the shower. Both of you picking up speed.

His forehead meets yours, making sure he sees your consent. “Are you sure?”

Your blushed and needy face tells him everything he needs to know, but your little nod has him moving. Lifting your legs around his waist, pinning you against the wall as he lines himself up. You try to look down, but he catches you.

”Eyes on me, Sweetheart,” affirmative in his tone. Making sure there’s nothing that will make you feel embarrassed. His eyes fix on yours as he slowly sinks into you. Carefully, inch by inch. Stretching you deliciously around him. Your walls hot and squeezing him already. Your mouth falling open as your body accommodates him.

He stills when he bottoms out. Not to help him, but to give you a moment to adjust. Awaiting your signal to move. His lips on yours in reassurance.

“You can cry if you need to,” he says into your ear. “You can fall apart here. No one sees but me.”

You nod against him, and he sinks his head into your neck as he begins to move. Slowly at first. Tentative. Listening to your whimpers, making him crazy as he restrains himself. The angle exactly how you need him. His mound brushing against your clit with every thrust, while hitting that sweet spot within you.

As you start fluttering around him, your whimpers turning into moans, he picks up speed. The sound of wet skin meeting skin drowning into the water.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he says softly against your neck. His kiss pressing against your pulse. Your cunt pulsing around him as the pleasure builds tighter and tighter. He’s kissing your jaw as you claw at his back to hold on. “Because you’re real. Alive. And you let me have this piece of you.”

He kisses your lips. Desperate to feel closer to you.

“Let go!”

And it’s like he commanded it out of you. Your orgasm crests, slow and deep. The kind that rolls. You cling to him. Your legs tremble. And still, he keeps moving, guiding you through wave after wave as he chases his own. His hot cum coating your walls with a groan.

The aftershocks pass. The water still rains down. Neither of you wanting to move away from this bliss.

Removing himself and setting you down gently. Steadying you between his arm and chest while he reaches for the shower head. Washing anything that might cause you embarrassment away from both your bodies.

He kisses your temple. Your skin glowing and flushed. Your brows no longer furrowed.

“Let’s get you dry,” he soothes between kisses, “Clean pyjamas. Hot food. Then bed. You’ll stay with me, yeah?”

You nod into his chest. His lips press to your forehead and he smiles against your skin. Warm and affectionate.

”Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers, “You never have to suffer in silence.”

He pauses before angling your jaw, kissing you sweetly one more time before leaving the shower.

“Not with me.”

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[lynbels]

25 and 37 for boxer!Sunghoon? 🥺 (will never get tired of fighter Enha in any context)

just the tip - phs (m)

#25 The nerdy guy from class turns out to be insanely dominant, pinning you down and whispering filth while using your body + #37 “He makes you ride his thigh while he scrolls through his phone, only looking up when you start begging him to touch you.

pairing: boxer!sunghoon x reader - prompt request list - ✉️ 2577 wc

‼️ tw : alcohol consumption (minor), explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (p in v), semi-conscious consent (with care), morning-after embarrassment, grinding, thigh riding, size kink hints, teasing, light dominance, slight overstimulation.

You’d known Sunghoon for months now — your best friend’s friend, the one who always hovered a little on the sidelines, smiling quietly, laughing along but never really stealing the spotlight. He wasn’t loud like Jay or chaotic like Jake. No, Sunghoon was observant. Thoughtful. Always remembering little things you said and doing things about them, like grabbing your favorite drink without you asking, or passing you a jacket when you shivered, even if you hadn’t said a word.

You thought you had him figured out. Sweet. A little shy. Definitely not the type to make your stomach flip and your thighs squeeze together just from looking at him.

Until you found out he boxed.

You had just swung by Jay’s place one afternoon, tossing your bag onto the couch, expecting to hang out like always — and there he was. Sunghoon, hair messy, sweat sticking to the back of his neck, wearing a black sleeveless tank that clung to every curve of his toned arms and chest. His gloves were slung over his shoulder, his hand running through his hair like he wasn’t even thinking about it. There was a tiny cut healing over his knuckle, and he looked so unfairly good you forgot how to breathe.

“You box?” you blurted, stunned.

Sunghoon glanced over, barely even reacting. Just smiled, slow and a little smug. “Yeah.”

Yeah, he said. Like it wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen in your life.

You spent the rest of the night sneaking glances at him. His forearms flexing when he opened a bottle. His veins standing out when he leaned back against the chair. His laugh — low and easy — rumbling through the room.

By the time you got home, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. About how strong he must be, how easily he could manhandle someone if he wanted to—

You pressed your thighs together under your covers, feeling embarrassed and hot and way too needy for someone who had barely even touched you.

But things changed after that night.

Sunghoon started talking to you more — casually at first, but it grew. Little comments that made your heart flutter. Light touches: his fingers brushing yours when he handed you a drink, his hand steadying you with a firm grip when you tripped over a step.

“You sure you’re not clumsy on purpose?” he’d murmur when he caught you stumbling again, eyes glittering with something playful. Something dangerous.

You’d punch his arm, pretend to be annoyed. But the way his muscles flexed under your hand, the warmth of his skin — it stayed with you way too long afterward.

You grew comfortable around him. Flirty. Familiar. And Sunghoon gave it right back, in that quiet, almost cocky way he had — never raising his voice, never making a scene. Just steady, subtle, pulling you in without even trying.

He noticed everything. Remembered everything.

And you fell harder every day.

You didn’t even remember calling him.

One minute you were at the bar, whining to Jay about how cold and tired you were — the next, Sunghoon was there, sliding into the booth beside you, tucking your hair behind your ear, murmuring something you didn’t catch.

You barely stayed awake long enough to stumble into his car.

Barely stayed conscious as he lifted you effortlessly up the stairs to your apartment, slinging your arm around his shoulders and unlocking the door with the spare key you kept hidden.

By the time he got you to the couch, you were already half-asleep, slurring words that made no sense.

Sunghoon just laughed quietly, pushing your hair off your sweaty forehead, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand.

“You’re a mess,” he said softly. “Go to sleep.”

You should have.

You meant to.

But the second he sat down — sprawling out on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world — you felt it.

The pull toward him. The need.

You crawled without thinking, shameless in your drunken haze, straddling his lap and nuzzling against his chest.

“Sunghoon,” you whined, voice thick and needy.

He glanced up from his phone, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re drunk,” he said simply.

You nodded, burying your face against his neck. His skin smelled clean, like soap and leather. Warm and safe.

“You’re so mean,” you slurred. “S’posed to take care of me…”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath, not even moving his phone. “I am taking care of you. Making sure you don’t choke on your own spit.”

You pouted, grinding down against him instinctively — just a slow, desperate rub of your panties against the hard muscle of his thigh.

Sunghoon’s whole body tensed.

You didn’t even realize what you were doing at first. Not until you rocked your hips again, chasing the friction, the heat pooling low in your stomach.

Not until he locked his free hand around your waist — a steady, firm grip that pinned you right where he wanted you.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, warning.

You whined, grinding harder, clinging to his t-shirt. “Feels good, Hoon,” you whispered. “Need more…”

Sunghoon finally set his phone aside with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes — dark, sharp — locked onto yours.

“You gonna beg for it?” he murmured, voice barely more than a growl.

You nodded frantically, desperate, already dripping through your panties just from the slow drag of his thigh between your legs.

“Please, Hoon,” you gasped, hips stuttering against him. “Touch me—please—need you so bad—”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were something he was deciding whether or not to devour.

Then he leaned back, smirking lazily.

“Keep going,” he said. “You’re the one who wanted it, right? Show me how bad.”

You whimpered, grinding down harder, rutting against the firm muscle of his thigh, your panties soaked through and sticking to your swollen, throbbing pussy.

Every slow drag of your clit against him made your vision blur, your fingers scrabbling at his shirt, nails digging into the hard planes of his chest.

“That’s it,” Sunghoon murmured, voice so soft it barely made a sound. “Good little thing.”

You whined helplessly at the praise, hips moving faster, grinding yourself shamelessly against him.

Sunghoon didn’t move. Didn’t help.

Just sat there, watching you, arms stretched out across the back of the couch, letting you use him.

Your orgasm built sharp and fast — too much, too desperate — your clit throbbing with every drag of friction.

“Hoon—fuck, please—” you gasped, tears stinging your eyes.

Sunghoon finally moved, one big hand sliding up the back of your neck, yanking your head back so you had to look at him.

“You wanna come, baby?” he murmured, thumb stroking your throat lightly. “Gonna make a mess all over me?”

You nodded frantically, hips jerking out of rhythm, so close you could barely breathe.

Sunghoon smiled — dark, wicked — and pressed his thigh up harder between your legs, grinding against you.

“Then come,” he said simply. “Messy and pretty, just like I like you.”

It only took two more sloppy, desperate grinds.

You shattered apart, crying out his name, soaking through your panties, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world.

Sunghoon let you ride it out, humming low in his throat, stroking his hand lazily up and down your spine.

When you finally slumped against him, boneless and dazed, he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Next time,” he murmured, voice thick with promise, “I’m not gonna let you do all the work.”

You stayed draped over him, trembling slightly, breath hot against his neck.

But even after the orgasm, the need didn’t go away.

If anything, it got worse — an aching emptiness pooling deep between your hips, desperate to be filled. Desperate for him.

You pressed your face against his throat, whining softly.

“Hoon… please.”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath, low and rough. “You already came, baby.”

You shook your head, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Not enough,” you whispered, almost crying from how badly you wanted him. “Need you inside.”

Sunghoon leaned back, studying you, his thumb brushing slowly across your cheek.

“You’re drunk,” he said gently. “You don’t know what you���re asking for.”

“I do,” you insisted, hips grinding lazily against his thigh again. “Been thinking about it. About you. For so long, Hoon—please—”

You sniffled a little, humiliated but too far gone to care. “Want you so bad it hurts.”

Sunghoon sighed like you were exhausting him — but his hands were already moving, sliding down to grip your thighs.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered.

You smiled through the tears, a shaky, desperate little thing.

“Let me make you feel good,” you begged. “You’re always taking care of everyone else. Let me take care of you.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, chest rising and falling a little faster than normal.

Then he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Just the tip,” he said roughly. “You hear me?”

You nodded frantically, not even caring if you were lying.

Anything — anything to have him inside you.

He maneuvered you easily, dragging your soaked panties to the side, undoing his sweatpants just enough to free his cock — thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

You whimpered at the sight of it, clenching down around nothing.

Sunghoon lined himself up, holding the base steady.

“Go slow,” he warned. “You’re still drunk, baby.”

You nodded again, tears brimming in your eyes from how badly you needed him.

You sank down — gasping at the stretch, the way he opened you up, thick and hot and overwhelming even just at the head.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

You braced your hands on his chest and pushed down, taking more of him, whining at the sweet, burning stretch as he filled you deeper.

Sunghoon cursed under his breath, hands clenching on your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck, Y/N—”

You bounced experimentally, lifting and sinking again, greedy for more, ignoring the way he tried to slow you down with bruising fingers.

“Shit,” Sunghoon hissed through his teeth, his head falling back against the couch.

“You little liar,” he groaned. “Said just the tip.”

You giggled breathlessly, grinding down on him, feeling him twitch deep inside you.

“Couldn’t help it,” you whispered. “Feel too good, Hoon. You’re so big—”

Sunghoon growled low in his chest, his self-control snapping.

His hands slid down to your ass, grabbing hard, guiding you up and down his cock at the pace he wanted — deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars.

“Greedy little thing,” he muttered. “Couldn’t even wait, could you? Needed my cock that bad?”

You nodded frantically, babbling nonsense as he fucked up into you, filling you again and again until you couldn’t breathe.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice rough and dark. “Say who you belong to.”

“You, Hoon,” you sobbed. “Only you.”

Sunghoon kissed you then — deep and messy, all tongue and teeth — as he slammed into you, chasing both your orgasms with ruthless precision.

You came first, clenching down around him so hard he groaned into your mouth, hips stuttering.

Then he followed with a broken moan, spilling deep inside you, filling you so much it leaked out around him.

You collapsed against him, trembling, dazed, your face buried against his sweaty neck.

Sunghoon just held you tighter, kissing your temple softly like you hadn’t just wrecked each other on the couch.

After a long moment, he chuckled against your hair.

“Next time,” he said, voice low and affectionate, “we’re doing it properly.”

You woke up slowly, your head heavy, mouth dry, body aching in ways that felt too good to be wrong.

For a second, everything was hazy — sunlight pouring through the curtains, the soft weight of a blanket tangled around your legs.

And then you felt it.

Warm skin pressed against yours.

A strong arm draped heavy around your waist.

The steady rise and fall of someone breathing right beside you.

Your eyes flew open — and you nearly stopped breathing.

Sunghoon.

Asleep. Naked. In your bed.

Memories hit you like a truck — the drinking, the neediness, the desperate way you had thrown yourself at him. Grinding on his thigh, begging him for more, sinking down onto him and bouncing like you couldn’t get enough.

Your face burned with shame.

You shifted slightly, trying to slip out from under his arm without waking him. But he stirred immediately, tightening his hold and nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Mm… where you goin’?” he mumbled, voice low and gravelly with sleep.

You froze, heart hammering.

“I—” you stammered. “I didn’t mean to—last night—Sunghoon, I’m so sorry, I—”

He cut you off by pulling you closer, his nose brushing against your hair.

“You think I didn’t want it?” he said, voice still soft and rough.

You blinked rapidly, feeling completely disarmed.

Sunghoon chuckled, the sound rumbling against your back.

“You were needy,” he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You asked for me… and I wanted you just as bad.”

You bit your lip, cheeks still flaming.

“But… you said just the tip.”

Sunghoon laughed again — low and amused — his hand sliding up under your shirt to stroke your bare waist.

“Yeah,” he whispered against your ear. “You didn’t listen.”

You buried your face in the pillow, groaning in mortification.

But Sunghoon just smiled against your skin, kissing the nape of your neck.

“Next time,” he murmured, “I’m not gonna be so easy on you.”

Later that afternoon, you were sitting stiffly at the kitchen counter, nursing a water bottle and trying not to die of embarrassment. Sunghoon lounged across from you, casually scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t spent half the night fucking you senseless.

Every time you glanced at him — the way his forearms flexed when he typed, the faint bruises you left blooming across his collarbone — heat pooled low in your stomach all over again.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said without looking up.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

“About what?” he teased. “How you begged me to let you ride me?”

You groaned.

Sunghoon finally set his phone down, smirking lazily as he leaned across the counter, his voice dropping low enough to make your pulse skip.

“You gonna sit on my thigh again,” he murmured, “or should I just take you to my bed this time?”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

He laughed — the prettiest sound, light and cocky — and tugged playfully at your wrist to uncover your face.

“Relax,” he said, softer now, thumb brushing your knuckles. “You don’t have to be shy.”

You tried to glare at him, but it was impossible when he was smiling at you like that — all easy affection and wicked promises wrapped in a boy you suddenly realized you wanted way more than just once.

“Next time,” Sunghoon said, still toying with your hand, “I’m not letting you get away with just riding my thigh.”

Your breath hitched, thighs pressing together under the table.

“And next time,” he added, his thumb tracing slow circles against your wrist, “you’re gonna be completely sober. I wanna hear every single filthy thing you say when you’re fully aware of what you’re doing.”

You nearly choked.

Sunghoon just grinned — pretty, devastating, unstoppable — and picked up his phone again like he hadn’t just ruined you with a few whispered words.

prompt request list

[burgojo]

DISTURBIA. MAHITO / M!READER

summary. in the golden age of jujutsu, mahito had you, and lost you. a thousand years later, he seeks to bring you back.

wc. 9.1k

tags. smut | sub bottom mahito, top reader, heian era!mahito & cursed spirit!reader (manifestation of fear of night/absence of light), reader had a cult/worshippers. mention of blood & gore. mahito with a pussy, size difference, breeding kink, mention of babytrapping. fingering + oral (mahito receiving), doggystyle, exhibitionism (mention of others overhearing), jealousy, praise, multiple orgasms (mahito receiving), creampie, ahegao (?), god kink (reader), temp play (reader is naturally cold)

notes. obligatory ooc warning. also, i made up a lot of lore for the reader('s abilities), so scroll down about halfway to skip it and get to the good part :)

[ requested ]

Deep in the beech forests of Northeast Japan, Geto Suguru stands delicately amongst the verdant green undergrowth. He glances around, petting his large winged cursed spirit absently, and gathers his long dark robes in a hand. He glances over his shoulder.

"Despite your insistence on coming here, you've been awfully quiet. Is it not what you imagined?"

Bent at the waist to inspect massive green leaves as large as his face, Mahito looks up. "Huh? Oh, I was just curious about how they went about their plan. This place is maaassive. How are we supposed to find him? Maybe they cut him up? Sprinkled him from the highest mountain?" He sighs. "Whatever they did – they chose a green place to do it. Hanami would probably like it."

Dismissing his cursed spirit with a wave of his hand, Suguru chooses a direction and begins to move. He doesn't so much as walk as glide, his long skirts and the heavy undergrowth obscuring his steps. The tall, slim beeches are set just far enough apart for one person to slip between their trunks, and Mahito is forced to fall into step behind Suguru.

He flexes his fingers; stretches his arms; kicks ferns. Twigs tug at his hair and he huffs, glaring at the tree that dared touch him. He clasps the section of hair to his chest, dragging his slim fingers through it obsessively.

"You're twitchy," Suguru says without turning around. "You never did say how you heard of this curse. Seeing as you're not busy running your mouth, why don't you tell me now?"

Mahito sighs, skipping over a fallen log overrun with moss. He gazes up at the trees and notices the way the thick emerald canopy filters the sunlight until all that's left is an even, misty glow. Shadows are soft and deep around here.

"Not much to say," he hums thoughtfully, knocking a branch out of his way. "Lotta curses back in the day. Just makes sense to have some hidden around the place."

"Yes, but how did you come across such old records? Surely sorcerers would've kept something like that far, far away from prying eyes."

"Humans get tired. They get clumsy. They misplace things."

Suguru raises a brow. "And you kept it? For a thousand years, without purpose?"

Airily, he says, "So what if I did? You really expect me to act like one of you, doin' things with reason and purpose? C'mon. I liked the pictures on it."

He may think Suguru falls for it, but Suguru is nothing if not perceptive. Mahito flings his arms out too wide. Each stride is too long, each twirl around a slender beech too motivated – no, he sees it all. He's playing at carelessness when it couldn't be further from the truth.

Absurdly human of him, really.

Suguru hums, halting in his tracks. Mahito almost bumps into him. Again – too eager. Suguru lifts a hand, palm down and fingers splayed, and closes his eyes. Thrums of warm sorcery crackle through his veins – weak, barely trace amounts. Expected for thousand-year-old jujutsu. To be able to feel it still was a feat all in itself. Just how intense was the battle that raged here?

"We should be right in front of it," Suguru claims, dropping his hand and opening his eyes. They stand before a slight ridge of the earth, exposed tree roots weaving in and out of rich brown soil. A heavy blanket of moss hangs over the ridge and ivy grows beneath their feet. "Yet... I don't sense any spirits nearby."

"Hey," says Mahito suddenly. "The scroll mentioned a 'tomb'. You said in front of ya, yeah?"

Nodding, Suguru folds his hands within his robes. He watches as Mahito's arm lengthens into a massive cleaver, and he steps back at the wicked smile that spreads across his lips.

Mahito lifts his arm, pale eyes glinting dangerously. "Man, I so hope I'm right!"

With a slam that rumbles the ground beneath their feet and strips the nearby trees of their leaves, Mahito splits the earthen mound before him clean in two, leaving a shallow ravine that extends into the horizon. The soft earth parts like melted butter, soil and chipped wood exploding forth with such strength that Suguru narrowly avoids a pointed root that embeds itself into the trunk behind him.

When the dirt and leaves settle, they reveal the chiselled stone set into the earth. Split not quite perfectly in half – for Mahito loves chaos, and halves are better off-kilter – is a room carved into stone, hollowed out with a single podium erupting from the centre.

Upon the roughly-carved podium is a mid-sized box plastered with ancient seals and talismans. Peeking inside reveals that the inside of the 'room' is covered in the stuff, too – old, yellow, and faded, they flutter from wind they haven't felt in aeons. One peels off and comes to rest gently at Mahito's feet.

"Huh," he says eventually, staring at the cuttingly-familiar brushstrokes. He reaches for the wooden box, soft and rotted with age. The moment his fingers brush the surface, he pulls back with a jerk and makes a face. "Ouch! Spicy."

"Strong seals," Suguru comments, making no move to help. Mahito huffs and blasts the talismans away with a burst of cursed energy, testing the now-bare box with the tips of his fingers like one might with a freshly-microwaved plate.

He cracks the box open. Inside, innocent as a fresh lamb, lays a shallow, red-lacquered suzuri-bako.

"A... writing box?" Mahito murmurs to himself. He reaches in and takes the smooth box into his hands. It feels much heavier than it should, and an oppressive weight shudders through him, dark and cold and familiar. "Geto-san? It's a cage. I don't have the key."

"Let me take a look." Suguru stretches out a hand.

For a fleeting moment, Mahito hesitates – the slightest tilt of the box towards his chest. And Suguru knows.

With a growing smile, Suguru folds his hand back into his long sleeves. "Ah... I see. You know this spirit."

"I—" He pauses. "Maybe. Once upon a time."

"Interesting," says Suguru, "that something as old as this still has an effect on you."

"Nah – boring, actually. I'm old and sentimental." He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. He chuckles and tosses his hair over his shoulder, tracing the edges of the box. Power tingles against his skin. "Pretty thing, for a cage. Maybe I could just – ease it open—"

Suguru raises his long sleeve to shield his face as the box pulses with a sudden, growling shockwave, forcing him to step back to keep his balance. The ferns sway around his knees.

Mahito clicks his tongue, a pout forming on his lips. "Damn it! This should be simple!"

The second attempt has the birds squawking and flying into the skies as the surrounding trees shudder violently. For the third, Suguru winces slightly as Mahito slams his fist – a giant mallet – against the box, resulting in another shockwave of barbed cursed energy. He lifts a hand, placating.

"Ah, Mahito... Perhaps I can give it a go?" he suggests. "It may need a... sorcerer's touch."

Mahito's eyes widen. Of course! Those ancient douche-canoes probably knew he would come for what was his. It only made sense to weave his name into the seals.

"By all means," he replies, stepping aside. "Take a gander."

Stepping forward, Suguru tugs his sleeve to his elbow and scoops up the box from the floor. He dusts off the cover. "Lovely craftsmanship," he muses and hovers his palm over it despite every nerve in his body writhing and begging to pull away. Some instinctual, ancient force warns him off it. He lets energy seep into the age-made cracks in the seals, and from within, gently burns away the net holding its prisoner still – like taking a lighter to the end of a frayed rope, creating spaces big enough to squeeze through.

The lid cracks open.

Like a floodgate opening, freezing shadows and smoke pour out of the gap, forcing the lid to clatter uselessly to the ground. Darkness bleeds down the walls. Suguru's eyes widen as his pale fingers, deep within the thick black smoke continuing to billow forth, begin to turn blue at the tips, visible frost surging over his skin. Smoke fills the air around them, fading out the sun until it could be a misty grey night. Rivers of shadow pool thickly around his knees until he can't see his feet, and he hurries to set the box on the podium.

As he lets go, a shadowy tendril curls around his exposed hand and arm, burning white frost into his skin. His breath hitches.

A freezing hand seizes his wrist. Inch-long black nails dig rivulets of blood – his red, all-too-human blood – out of him, and his heart plummets at the sight of the hand, wrapped completely around his forearm as if it's a thin piece of rope. On instinct, he yanks back, and the hand comes with.

Then, a flood of smoky shadow spews from the open box – and a cowled figure claws its way out, formed from the very shadows that plunged them into a sudden night. It rises and straightens, towering over them both.

Suguru's arm hurts. He clutches his wrist, his blood coagulating over the delicately-patterned frost, and chances a glance back at Mahito.

Arms spread wide and palms open, an unnervingly breathless smile plastered on his lips, Mahito gazes up at the wispy figure unblinkingly. Wide-eyed and panting softly, he laughs – bright and jubilant, victorious.

"Yes! Yes! There you are!"

He skips past Suguru, giggling madly as he takes one large, clawed hand in both his own. He presses the palm to his cheek as he hops in place, stretching up to reach for the round silver brooch pinning the cloak of shadows together over the shoulder. He hasn't seen his eyes in so long, and this stupid hood is in the way!

Mahito?

The voice comes from within Suguru's head. But, unlike Hanami's, this voice slithers among his own thoughts, slipping between them as light as a ghost. It could've been his own, for all he knew, except for the fact it carries a sorrow so profound it eclipses every other thought – he can focus on nothing else.

—

Everything is on fire. Everything is on fire and it is all because of you.

Of course, the fire was the easy part. One day, perhaps your beloved will forgive you for using such an overzealous amount of cursed energy to make your grand entrance. It completely overshadowed his own.

Everything would change here. It would be your end, or your beginning. Before you stand the most powerful sorcerers in the land, all gathered to rise against you one final time – or die trying.

All so tense. A sigh flutters through your lips as you brush a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. Mahito has influenced you too much – you are bare from shoulder-to-waist, oil-slick blood coating your arms up to the elbows, and facing the strongest adversaries you have ever met. Yet, all you can fret about is your poor hakama, now no more than a shred of memory. You donned your best silks for this, and the first thing the cruel little bugs did was burn it off you.

At the very least, your sashinuki may be salvageable.

"You are strong," a white-haired sorcerer calls above the roar of the flames towering into the sky. "Some call you divine and pray to you for aid, but you do not listen."

"I listen," you reply coolly, and slick back your hair with a blood-soaked palm. "I help them to lose the burden of their regrets and relieve their physical pains. I daresay I help more than you."

"They call you a healer, but what you do is not healing. Once, you numbed a man to his wounds until he fell to exhaustion fighting in your name. You are a spiteful creature. Desperation is your lure."

"If I hear it, I answer. If they think I am their saviour, who am I to disagree? It's a rather pretty title – though, it is amusing to be lord of maggots. I like to watch them squirm."

How did a curse of night, of the endless dark, grow so powerful? Every secret done in the dark, every lie and gnawing shame, was yours. There had always been something different about you, and they were fools to ignore it, even upon your first meeting:

You, tall and regal, kimono the darkest shade of navy blue damask, had been nothing like their other curses. You looked quite human. Perhaps there was something godly in your stride, something primordial in your voice, that cowed them all like children. You spoke to them, soft and paternal, and suddenly, each and every one of them was afraid of the dark and you were their only solace against the monsters beyond the window.

Enchantment, they'd called it, upon blinking awake and finding you gone. Perhaps it was your domain, to cull their thoughts until all that remained was the ancient instinct to fear the black night. Had you heard them discussing you, hands shaking and faces drained of blood, you would have laughed.

—

Suguru's eyes flicker, and the scene flips to a forest clearing.

—

"Mahito!"

The cry of his name is guttural, a thousand voices coalescing into a roar and a shriek. Across the battlefield, he falls, and you catch the flames reflecting in the shine of his widened eyes as he grasps the unfamiliar black blade piercing his chest. His soul writhes around it, pierced by it, unable to slip away unscathed as he has so many times before.

In that split second, your attention lapses, and black chains lash your body, slamming you to your knees. You snarl, straining against them.

"Surrender," the sorcerer before you orders, white hair stained red with blood. Despite his injuries and the loss of an entire arm, he stands tall and steady above you. "We will let him go if you choose to die."

"If I choose to die?" You run your thumb over your knuckles, regenerating three lost fingers. A rather good trade, you think, for taking off his arm in the process. "You'd allow a spirit, able to shape the soul into something inhuman and unrecognisable, to walk free in exchange for my life? My, my. I must be particularly disruptive to your little society."

"You're beaten." His voice is sharp despite his clear exhaustion. He struggles to restore his arm. "No matter how many of us you kill, you will lose first. Give up."

"Such misplaced confidence. 'Choose to die'..." You sneer and the black iron chains wrapped around you tighten, far colder than you are. You have warmed, somewhat, in Mahito's presence. You cannot be bitter about it when it is he who marks your soul. "Hah! Nothing stops you from killing him anyway – so, politely, I decline. There are only so many of you. You will run out of bodies before I do."

As you speak, your image flickers in an attempt to split your consciousness into the deep shadows around you. The chains chew into your skin and you hiss as your control dissipates like a candle blown out.

"Interesting," the sorcerer murmurs, gazing down at you pensively. The red flames swirl behind him. "Interesting that your bond with that curse truly did win us this fight. I admit – I was sceptical it would work. You're... not what I expected."

You turn your gaze to Mahito, crumpled on the ground with his long, straight hair creating a curtain over his features. He grasps the handle of the blade, trembling slightly, and his breaths are shallow and rapid as he attempts to pull it out. He can only whimper in pain – too quiet for anyone to hear. But this battle is a secret under darkness and belongs to you. You close your eyes to his furious cry and panicked breaths as the blade refuses to budge and saps more of his strength with every second.

Run, you implore, and his head shoots up, pale eyes meeting yours. Cursed energy surges beneath your skin, rippling and bubbling with bloodthirst. Run and don't look back. Mahito, you must survive at all costs. Do you understand?

The chains quiver and the links bend out of shape, their strange unearthly metal creaking. Your body strains against it, fingers elongating into claws and mouth growing jagged fangs. Your skin rips and flickers, bleeding dead galaxies. The chains bite into your shadowy flesh, but you grow larger despite it.

The sorcerer takes a step back.

Go, your voice rasps in his head, syllables rough and struggling in the monstrosity of your own body. Mahito's eyes widen as the chains groan, shuddering with effort – and snap.

He pulls himself to his feet, pale grey kimono tattered and stained. He grips the blade lodged in his chest and stumbles away, chasing the safety of the tree line.

You roar, twice as tall as the sorcerers around you, cutting them down with rapid, decisive blows. In his state, he doesn't notice the sorcerer turning in his direction.

But you do. With a shriek, you launch yourself at him, breaking through the ranks of sorcerers trying to stop you in a burst of viscera and bone. You seize the man giving chase after Mahito, and his whip-like technique is nothing against the overwhelming strength of your new form. One slash of your razor-sharp claws and his technique putters out in his limp hands.

Mahito spares you one last, desperate look, before turning and running into the darkness. You pull the shadows closed after him, deepening the shadows around him until you have him in your grasp.

Live, you say wistfully, releasing him from your shadows as far away as you can by a riverbank. He collapses and attempts to slip the blade out from between his ribs. He quivers with effort, and you don't turn back to the sorcerers picking themselves up for one last push. As long as none of them find Mahito, you will accept the consequences of your hedonistic actions. Live for me. Please.

You languish in your prison for one thousand years.

—

Mahito beams, nodding so hard his head threatens to fall off. "You remember me! I knew you would!"

Slowly, as if learning how to move one muscle at a time, the hand cupping his face brushes its knuckles down the edge of his cheek. When it reaches his chin, long fingers wrap around his throat as if to choke – then, they release. Using the first three fingers, the shadowy spirit grasps Mahito's face, turning it further up towards him. The top of Mahito's head only reaches the spirit's ribs – or where they would be on a human.

Mahito, the spirit calls joyfully, lifting its other hand to cup his face with a flourish of a long, wispy sleeve. Draped over him, the spirit's shadowy robes engulf him almost entirely. Oh, Mahito, my darling pale bone-shard...

He laughs, accepting everything with a smile that seems too ancient for someone like him. It's the smile of one who's known loss – not his usual grin of frivolous naivete.

"You look awful," Mahito says, with a little pout and a frown. "Come! I'll get you back to full strength. But I suppose that guy behind me will want introductions. No number of old scrolls or tomes would get him your name."

That name was never mine, the curse declares. Humans could never know me as you do. My strength is not theirs to invoke.

"Alrighty," Mahito says. He spins on his heel, hair bouncing, and points above him, where the spirit stands – floats – behind his shoulder. "Geto-san! This is YN! I knew him back in the day. He had a bit of a cult, too, so I think you'll get along splendidly."

That piques his interest. That white-haired sorcerer – probably a member of the Gojo clan, Suguru thinks with an achy little throb, if his paleness was a family trait – had mentioned something about your perceived divinity. He wonders why you'd pay attention to any of those ignorant monkeys.

"You're probably thinking about the whole cult thing, right?" Mahito comments offhandedly, tossing and catching the silver brooch he stole from you. Despite this, you haven't pulled down your hood. The straggly ends of the cloak hang by your arms.

"I won't say I didn't wonder."

"Don't worry, it's not a long story." He clears his throat importantly. "Back in the day, we didn't have curtains or anything to hide the results of our actions, so what we did must've seemed like magic or something paranormal to humans. My YN was often seen before and after destruction like plagues and floods, so word began to spread of a beautiful man who would save those he appeared to. Of course, this was survivorship bias. If he killed 'em, not like they could say that to anyone, right? So that's how people began to worship him."

"How fascinating," Suguru murmurs, eyeing you up. "Before, I saw your... memories. Was worship how you grew so much stronger than a normal curse?"

You finally look up, having been concentrating very hard on Mahito and his new appearance. His clothes are strange, but you're beginning to come around to them. Apologies. My body is not quite... complete. Some portion of me may have passed through you as I formed. You touch Mahito's hair, rubbing the strands between your fingers, and he giggles up at you. Perhaps you are right. Evolution was always within Mahito's portfolio, not mine. I should have been constant, unchanging, like the night. Odd, isn't it?

"The form you gained right before you were sealed away – do you still have it? Or was it a result of their belief?" If he could sway you to his side – gain your abilities – it might be enough. Just enough.

You consider his question. Human emotion is potent. I may no longer have shrines made with my image or prayers whispered in my name, but there are infinitely more humans now to draw from. I may gain it back – in time.

"Fascinating," Suguru repeats. He extends his uninjured hand with a kind smile. "Then please – allow me to be your host in this new era. I own a temple with a not-insignificant number of human visitors. It may help you recover."

You glance down at Mahito. He nods encouragingly. "He's not a bad guy to be around, I promise! A little uppity, but with the strength to back it up. You'd be with me. We'd be together again."

You pause, your large hand halting on top of Mahito's head, where you'd been petting him. He blinks up at your featureless face, and shadows waft from your shoulders –  a sigh, or what passes for one with your inhuman anatomy. Very well, you relent, taking one of his ponytails and tugging lightly, I will follow. Be grateful that I bow to you.

"Oh, yes," Mahito giggles pleasantly, leaning into your stomach. He props his chin on your ribs, staring up at you with a grin. "Verily, my lord. When we arrive, I'll even show you how grateful I am."

You cup his face gently, squishing his cheeks. You run a thumb over the stitches below his eye. Dubious little creature... Lead on – we have much to talk about.

—

Recovery, you find, requires mostly time. The first thing you do when you regain sufficient strength is create a new body – one Mahito is familiar with, and which looks almost entirely human. For all your distaste, their physical anatomy is simple and useful, and you can spend less effort holding it together than most other shapes. Geto Suguru, as you come to know him, is incredibly interested in you and your capabilities, almost invasively so, and hates humanity quite a lot. You avoid him where you can.

You enter the room you were given by ducking under the lintel, one which Mahito now shares with you. Once you heard where he used to reside and what it was had been explained to you, you had been firmly insistent he come with you rather than you with him. Sewers, you claimed, were no place for the beloved of a god.

He is at the dresser in a grey kimono, which grabs your attention. He runs a brush through the pale blue-grey hair swept over his shoulder. He opens his eyes at the sound of the door sliding open, a smile automatically tugging at his lips.

"You're back," he says warmly. "What did Geto-san want this time?"

"He has trouble sleeping," you reply, taking a seat on the bed. It is odd, you thought once, that a traditional temple like this would incorporate such modern furniture, but Mahito seemed to like it, so you kept your mouth shut. "I drew him to slumber."

Mahito hums knowingly. "Humans, right? So messy. Him especially. Man, emotionally, that guy is a wreck – gets so worked up over nothing."

Politely, you ignore the invitation to complain. You may be a curse, but you have some dignity. "He freed me from a thousand years of imprisonment, Mahito. It's the least I can do to repay him."

He frowns. "I freed you."

"The seals prevented you from doing very much, Mahito," you say, amused. "If he wasn't there, you'd still be banging away at it. However, you did figure out where they kept me and kept me alive in your memories when no other did. I am grateful for that."

"If you were less judgemental of the other curses, I'm sure they woulda remembered you fondly," he rebuts. "You were too much of a lone wolf. 'Ooh, Sukuna's eating my worshippers 'cause I told him he's not cool! Kenjaku badgers me way too often about his dumb plans!' If you didn't complain about them to their faces, I'm sure they would've been happier to remember you."

You scoff. "Why should I care? I have you."

The tone of your voice warms what passes as his heart. He turns on the stool to face you, setting down the brush and picking up his hair ties. He begins to section his hair into three parts.

"I mean that much to you, do I? Little old me, more important than the favour of the great King of Curses," he coos, rising to his feet. He offers you a hair-tie with a soft smile, and you accept it. He crawls into your lap, sitting with his back to your chest. He hums as you comb your fingers through his hair, fumbling only slightly with the intricacies of a braid. It's been a long time since you've had hands.

"What does the King of Curses have that I care for? He is strong, but has many enemies. He is an arrogant, fickle creature and desires no equal, only slaves and followers." You adjust the thick locks of hair you've left loose to frame his face. He seems to like threes, so you'll keep it similar. "I like to do as I please. He is feared – I am fear."

You consider your next words. "He is also very rude."

Mahito barks out a laugh. "Careful. If he hears that, you'd be sliced up quicker than you can say 'oops'."

"You say he is now little more than a set of relicts. I wonder – if I kicked him around, would he know it and come later to kill me?"

Mahito presses a finger to his lips thoughtfully. "I don't think so. They don't seem to hold any sentience by themselves. Even curses empowered by the fingers don't look like they contain any part of 'him'."

"Interesting."

"Remind me to never let you carry his fingers."

"Of course." You tie off the end of the braid, sitting back to admire your handiwork. A human had come in with something similar, and you'd been too preoccupied with how it might look on Mahito to really care for what Geto was doing.

(You didn't care much for what any of them were doing, truthfully. Their idea for a world of curses was not quite uninhabited enough for you, as the god of the endless night and the perfect, empty void. It was only because of Mahito's unique technique that you let him live beyond your initial meeting, after all.)

"You kept your hair long," you say, voice a low murmur.

Mahito glances over his shoulder, gazing up at you through his messy bangs. A sly smile curls at his lips. "Oh, you know," he waves a hand carelessly, "you liked it better this way."

You prop your chin on top of Mahito's head. He grins. "You always wore it like this?"

"Well, I sat like a rock at the bottom of a river for a couple hundred years, so no, not always. But when I did like to have hair – yes, it was long."

You rest your hand around his throat, like a collar. Mahito smirks, dancing his fingers over your knuckles. "Hey, now... What's this doin', big guy? Careful – I'm half your size."

"You do not have to look like you do. I would adore you regardless."

"How cute! But it's no fun when we're both too big for the bed." He turns in your lap, straddling your thighs, and playfully plucks a thread loose from your haori. He cocks his head to meet your eyes with a smile when a brief scowl crosses your face. "C'mon, lighten up! You're out of the slammer! What better way to celebrate than with me? If you want, we don't have to do it on the bed. Maybe on the floor... Out in the forest... Drenched in human blood..."

"Mahito, Geto is across the hall. You are loud."

"He can plug his ears. I'm sure he's got a curse somewhere in him for that." His grin broadens freakishly. "I also want a curse inside me."

"Mahito," you growl, your grip tightening on his hips.

"Oh, say that again." He shows the whites of his eyes briefly with a teasing moan. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, wiggling around and settling comfortably in your lap. Your shoulders tense. "Such a bore. Hey – I'm better with my technique nowadays. Y'know how much fun we could have?" He leans in with a giggle, lips brushing your earlobe. "Gimme ideas. I'll make you feel so good."

Concentration was always the common denominator. He was once easily overwhelmed – he'd like to think he improved.

"I still tire quickly," you say, and not even you can obscure the annoyance in your voice. "Belief is so hard-won these days. I fear you'll have to be gentle with me."

He giggles, though his expression softens – or as much as it can for him; perhaps 'less-crazed' is a fairer term –and he drags his tongue hotly against your jaw. It's a kiss – his version of one.

"Okay," he sighs dramatically, kicking his legs childishly. "Hm... How about this? Tonight, shall I be your prince, princess, or," he winks, "your master?"

Your lips purse. "Gods do not have princes or princesses. 'Divine right'." You scoff. "Don't make me laugh."

"You'll always gimme your 'divine right', though, yeah?" He wiggles his brows cheekily. "Your sacred sceptre. Your god rod—"

"Mahito."

He sulks for only a moment before perking up again, tugging at your sashes and collar to open you up for his eyes only. He traces the marks on your skin with a hum.

"You and Sukuna have a lot in common, you know."

"He's a fool. I hope that's not what you mean."

He snorts. "Relax. I didn't mean it like that. I like you more, anyway."

"I'd certainly hope so." You flex your fingers, lifting one hand to measure against his waist. "I endured a thousand years of imprisonment for you."

"You're gonna bring that up constantly, aren't you?"

"Only when important. Do you know how small it was on the inside?"

He sighs. "I'm never winning an argument again."

"You've already won my heart."

"Your heart!" He laughs. "What a human thing to call it."

You lean back, allowing him to push your kimono off your shoulders. "Call it what you like. Be what you like. I've spent too long away from you to care for names and titles." You trace the stitches running across his hips. You lift your eyes, and Mahito's breath hitches at the hunger in them. They swirl with empty galaxies and dead stars, and he finds himself subconsciously leaning in, longing for that cold, dark and very gentle place. One day, at the end of all things, you will bring him there, lord of nothing and lord of everything. Perhaps he'll learn how to touch his soul to yours, like bubbles, and you'll never have to leave him again.

"Is this what you want?" he whispers as you strip him bare, his grey silk kimono pooling on the floor. "Me? Just me?"

"I have no need for anything else. Power, armies, what have you... Sukuna, Kenjaku, even this Geto – their plans are so short-sighted. Everything will come under my hand eventually. Until that day arrives, I am content with you."

"So romantic," Mahito murmurs, a coy smile pulling at his lips. "Can I also come under your hand? Pretty please?"

"Must you ruin everything I say with a filthy joke?"

He pushes you backwards onto the bed, hovering over you with a grin. He grinds down on your lap under the pretence of getting comfy and he relishes in your groan. "You just set them up so perfectly for me! How could I not?"

You click your tongue. "I indulge you too much."

"Not enough, I'd say. Took me way too long to get into your pants. Do you know how desperate I was at times? You expected me to see you doused in human viscera and not want you all up in my guts, too... Ridiculous, in my humble opinion."

"Sex is such a human notion."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," he whines. "I have to say, it's pretty fun. You like it, too, don't you?"

"Hm."

"C'mon, we're both here because of humans. We aren't, like, appropriating anything." He reaches down, palming the bulge below your kimono. His grin widens. "If you don't like it, why did you give yourself the parts for it? Ha! Checkmate."

He yelps as you grab him and toss him down onto the bed, pinning him under your weight. He stares up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his loosened kimono gaping at the chest and stomach.

You rake your eyes down his lithe, pale body, humming when his breath hitches at your touch. You glide your hand down his side, tracing the smooth curve of his waist and hip.

You reach down by his hips and part his kimono further. When the silk falls open, you are greeted by a neat patch of grey hair – and glistening pink folds.

He giggles at your expression. He twirls his hair around a finger and bats his lashes, which might be thicker and longer than usual. "Now we match."

Clicking your tongue, you curl your fingers around his slender thigh and part his legs, eyeing him unblinkingly. He's not sure if he should be aroused or offended – you're hard to read and he's never sure what you like. Perhaps that's part of why he stayed – you were like a game – but now, a thousand years later, he can't help but feel... unsure? Nervous?

Afraid?

He wants to laugh at the concept. Him? Afraid of your opinion of him? How disgustingly fragile.

You're talking now, and the sound of it snaps him out of his spiralling thoughts. You've always had that effect on him.

"I'm not sure how we match at all, Mahito," you're saying. "As spirits, we are incapable of siring spawn. I would say we match less."

He whines. "Hey...! I put all this work into looking nice for you, and you're telling me now that you don't like it? Besides, who're you to say we can't have some little curse babies, asshole? There's never been another me – maybe I'm the exception. Maybe I'm better than the rest of 'em."

At last, you lift your eyes. Mahito wants to curl up beneath your gaze – you are terrifying and comforting all at once. "No," you say softly. "You are one of a kind."

A smile splits his face, cocky, and he sits up, leaning back on his palms. His kimono slips teasingly from his shoulder. "Mmhm, that's right... Boy, you sure know how to make a guy feel special."

You tilt your head, considering something. You stroke his thigh, absent-minded, and he presses into your touch. "You don't know for certain – about spawn."

"Obviously not. I was sitting among the rocks of the Shinano River for, like, eight hundred years. You want me to fuck a fish?"

"Why?" You lift a hand as he opens his mouth to snark at you. "About the river, Mahito. Not the fish."

He frowns, his lower lip jutting out slightly. "You told me to survive! I did just that. I'm not sure why you sound so disappointed."

"You, resting in the same place for hundreds of years? Wouldn't you have grown bored? I'm sure it did not take that long to heal from your wounds."

He huffs, crossing his arms. He tugs his leg out of your grasp. His hair falls over his features. "You were dead, for all I knew! When I didn't know much about anything, you were there to teach me. For the first time ever, you were gone, and if they'd managed to kill you, what would they do to me?" He flicks a wrist, sleeve whipping your side. "You told me to live. To survive. So I did, okay? After all, it was the last thing you ever said to me. I had nothing else left of you."

The air is heavy. Neither of you moves a muscle.

"Mahito," you say softly.

He throws himself backwards onto the bed with a bounce and a soft thump, hands over his eyes. He tries to kick you, but you catch his ankle. He scowls. "Stupid. Asshole. Jerkface. Don't say my name like that."

"Mahito."

He gulps as you close the distance between you, your palm pressed to the mattress beside his head. His breath hitches as your hand glides from his ankle to his calf, holding it over your shoulder. You don't quite pin it there, but you leave your palm open, steady against the outside of his knee as it presses against you.

"You've grown soft," you observe.

He crosses his arms and tries to glare. It's a little hard when you're kneeling between his legs, your lips six inches from his own. Do you still taste the same? "No, I haven't. You just knew me before I lost everything."

"Let me return this to you, then." You part his kimono fully, the silk pooling on the bed. You reach for your own clothes, though your eyes remain trained on his. They remind him of a fox, quick and clever and sly. "Can I make it up to you, Mahito?"

He sniffs, glancing aside. His arms uncross. "Fine."

"Thank you."

You're so stupid. And polite. Ugh.

Your fingers travel down between his thighs. His throat bobs as you slide your middle finger between his wet folds, coating it in his slick. He shifts as you thrust it in gently, exploring him. Your warm palm cups him, something possessive in your touch, and as he relaxes around you, you slip a second finger in.

He gasps sharply, his hands shooting up to wrap around your biceps. You halt, buried in to the knuckle. It's hard not to be – his walls pulse around you, sucking you in.

"Am I hurting you?"

He shakes his head. He offers a brief, breathless grin. "Nah. Just feels different. Good different. Keep going."

You nod, sitting back on your heels to watch the way his cunt flutters around you. You stroke the leg thrown over your shoulder, kissing the ankle, and Mahito lets out a muffled mewl as your thumb presses against his clit.

"Sensitive," you murmur to yourself. You glance up. "Have you done this before?"

He licks his lips, steadying his voice. "What, changing myself like this?"

"Yes. For your own pleasure, rather than for battle."

"No," he admits, legs tightening around you. "This is the first time."

Humming, you glance up at him, allowing a smile to grace your features. "Then we can explore it together."

You pull your fingers from him – and with a thoughtful look, you place them in your mouth. Mahito's breath hitches as you swirl your tongue around your fingers, relishing in the taste.

"Sweet," you declare, and place his leg gently down on the bed. You settle at the base of the bed and tug him down by the thighs, staring up at him with playful eyes. "You wouldn't mind if I had a taste from the source, would you?"

He shakes his head, and it tips back with a moan as you bury your head between his thighs. You lap at his soft pink folds, and as you push your tongue inside, he slickens up, walls hot and pulsing around you. He squelches as you push in deeper, slick dripping from his eager hole. He grips your hair with both hands, moaning in delight as you fuck your long tongue in and out of him, curling roughly against the spot inside him that makes his head spin.

"Awh, fuck," he whines, laughing breathily as his spine arches and hot pleasure laps at the base of his spine. "F-Feels even better than I thought it would—! Ah, hah, gimme more!"

You draw your tongue out of him, making him whine and pull your face further into his fluttering cunt. You suck at his clit, lifting a hand to raise the hood of it as your tongue circles and your teeth graze it – he jolts in surprise, hands tightening in your hair. 

"Patience," you purr, tongue laving over his reddened clit. You push it inside him, wriggling about experimentally as his throbbing walls stroke the length of it, hungry and devouring.

"I already waited a thousand years!" he says, almost angrily. His heels dig into your shoulders as he lifts his hips, chasing a high. Your tongue is so long – it massages that rough patch of nerves at the back of his cunt and he seizes, crying your name as you grip his hips and lift him to your lips.

He takes what he wants rather inconsiderately, slick dripping down your chin as you kiss his hot folds. He's practically humping your face, grinding against your mouth and the tongue sinfully deep inside of him. You groan as his moans pitch higher, whorish, and he begins to tremble around you.

So quickly? You're amused. He's missed you more than he's willing to let on.

You fuck him with your tongue, saliva and slick mixing on his fair skin, and he's positively dripping, every thrust squelching and pushing out a sweet gush of pleasure into your waiting mouth. You swallow it blissfully, your thumb circling the wet nub of his clit.

With a wobbly, high-pitched cry, he shoves your face into his gummy cunt and comes on your waiting, writhing tongue, thighs seizing around your head and locking you in place as he coats your chin in his hot, sticky slick.

With your tongue buried deep inside him, flicking about and pressing curiously against his soft walls, he lets out a shaky whine, grinding against you with rough rolls of his hips. It's not an unfamiliar motion. He takes you so prettily, soft smooth folds now dark with lust.

Shakily, Mahito releases you, body sagging into the mattress. He pants and gasps, the tense heat between his legs unbearably achy and needy. He wants to melt.

"S-So… good," he sighs, a broad grin crossing his face. You lap at him lazily, and he twitches. "Mm… Now gimme your cock, 'kay? Nice 'n' deep. Promise me."

"Promise what?" you ask, licking your lips and wiping away his come. Your eyes glint with satisfaction as you set down his unsteady legs and crawl between them, the bulge in your trousers straining in its confines.

"That you'll fuck me up," he whines, turning onto his stomach and lifting his perky ass. He gazes over his shoulder at you, wiggling his hips and spreading his knees further to show off his tight holes. "You can have either one – jus' want you in me, okay? I miss having a big cock in my belly, miss being fucked and filled up until 'm all swollen and can't move." He pouts, his eyes half-lidded, and presses his ass against your bulge, grinding lazily. "C'mon, big guy. Don't you wanna put your baby in me?"

His eyes shoot wide open and his jaw drops as a thick, throbbing intrusion splits his pussy apart. He can't help his eager moans as you set a steady pace, his loosened pussy sucking you in with ease. He scrabbles at the sheets as your grip tightens on his waist and drags him down to match every thrust – he grabs the headboard as your cock kisses his cervix, making his eyes roll back.

"Oh! Y-You're cold – big – so muh – much," he cries brokenly, pressing his palm against his stomach. He shudders at the icy temperature of you inside him, making his hot walls ache and throb with such need that it borders on pain.

On every harsh thrust, he feels you glide against his palm, filling him up so completely that he can barely breathe – that feeling, of every breath physically restricted, makes his eyelids flutter and his pussy clench and flutter. His wet warmth surges down your thighs with his high, and you groan as he jolts and whines.

"You can handle it, Mahito," you note with a soft hum. Your touch grazes his clit and his breath stutters. "You have before, haven't you?"

"I-I'm rusty," he tries to joke, but it comes out flimsy as you shift and he clamps down punishingly around your cock with a moan. "Oh, fuck!"

Your hips snap into him and he fumbles slightly, grabbing one of your hands on his hip. He slumps into the mattress, lifting his hips as you fuck into his swollen heat, slick and soft around you. Little chained moans fall from his lips as he twists the sheets in his fist; his body jolts back and forth with your thrusts, his long blue-grey braid bouncing over his shoulder.

"Feels so g-good," he slurs, legs shaking like leaves. He spreads them, reaching down to split his sticky pussy lips with the V of his fingers. His lower lip quivers as he gazes at you over his shoulder. His bangs are a mess over his lust-blown eyes. "More – more, more, I want more—! Make me yours again, ah, right there—"

"Quiet now," you murmur amongst his choppy moans. "Geto will hear you."

"Wh-Whose fault is that?" he whines, the expression on his face fucked out and deeply flushed. "H-Hah – bet he'd be jealous, anyway! He wants you but you're all mine! Mh—"

You chuckle softly, leaning over him with a palm braced by his head. He feels small like this – protected. He whines into the bedsheets, his pussy dripping down his inner thighs.

"Mahito," you say, almost admonishingly. "Are you jealous?"

"Of that – ah – human? No!"

You trail your lips up his shoulder and neck, nipping at his ear. "Mm, of course. But I do think it would be prudent to watch him carefully. That technique of his may prove... troublesome."

Mahito sniffles, come-slick walls clamping around you and making you grunt. "S-Stop talking about him."

"So you are jealous."

"I just don't like it when you talk about other people when you're inside me." He attempts a glare, but his ruined expression quivers when your cock kisses his womb, tears welling up along his lashes and sticking them together. "Th-That's a normal, hn, r-reaction."

"Would you like me to talk about you, then?"

He averts his eyes and nods, tiny, into the sheets. You press your lips to the stitches trailing over his shoulders, admiring the contrast between the dark lines and Mahito's pale skin. You pick up the pace, thighs clapping against his ass, and his moans grow louder, more desperate, as his pussy flutters dangerously around you.

"My Mahito is so sweet to me, greeting me with this little piece of heaven here," you purr with a particularly teasing thrust into his cunt, nuzzling into his hair as he grips your forearms for stability. He nods reverently, lips parting and eyes rolling as you shift your hips and fuck him quick and hard into the mattress. His toes curl as he cries out, every thrust knocking a whiny moan from his throat. "My Mahito did so well, listening to me all that time ago... You're so good at obeying me, aren't you?"

"M-Mmhm," he whimpers. "Yes! Yes, I did, I always listen to you, oh, god—"

"Ah-ah-ah... You've been spending far too much time around humans, Mahito." You kiss his neck, and he shudders, your cock filling his belly until he can think of nothing else. He whines as you stroke his side, fingers fluttering over his stomach.

"I am your god," you murmur. "I taught you. I saved you. Perhaps I can even..." You press the smooth bump in his stomach and he lets out a ruined noise, muscles tensing. "Gods create, don't they?"

A choked, whorish wail rips past his lips. The glide comes easy – hotter, wetter. Waves of heat pulse through his core. His hole squelches as a thick ring of white forms around your base.

"Mahito." You tug his braid sharply and he whimpers as his head jerks back. "If you cry out to a god, it will be my name on your lips. You are mine. I won't tolerate anything less than your total loyalty. Do you understand?"

He babbles, whimpered half-words slipping from his lips. He nods to the best of his ability with your grip on his braid, arousal curling hot and powerful in his gut at the growl in your voice. "Yes!" he cries, his ass ricocheting off your hips. The rough pace makes his knees knock together. "Yes, yes, I'm your bitch, 'm sorry – you're my god – hnn, f-fuck, don't stop—!"

"Good, Mahito. Always so obedient for me."

Perhaps he reshapes himself because suddenly he's vice-tight, throbbing around you with a gooey slickness that tugs pink around your shaft when you try to draw your hips back. You suck in a sharp breath.

"Mahito," you coo, stroking his stitched cheek, and he whimpers, tears clouding his vision. "Let me go, dear. I can't give you what you want if I can't move."

"I don't want you to leave again," he sobs, curling his fingers through yours.  He can't think straight.

If – if he gave you a child, an heir... you wouldn't leave him, right? You couldn't. You liked him for his uniqueness – he wasn't like any other curse you'd ever met. You told him so. With the return of the Six Eyes, each day brings forth more powerful spirits, and you are like Ryomen Sukuna, whatever you say. You, too, are fickle, and you are cold as the night over which you reign. If some other curse – or, fuck him, a human – catches your attention, it's not impossible you might drop him for them.

After all, you're so much older than him. What is he but an indulgent curiosity?

As his thoughts spiral away from him, his body reacts to you – his glossy, silken pussy hugs your twitching cock, and the smell of sex lingers heavy in the air. "Oh god, oh god," he whimpers sweetly, brainless and drooling and pierced on thick cock, "oh, god—"

"Yes," you hiss. "You belong to me." You bury your nose in his hair, skin slapping rhythmically and rocking the bed. You bury yourself in his sloppy cunt over and over again, wrapped so perfectly around you. With a low growl that has Mahito's pussy throbbing, ropes of thick come paint his insides, filling him up and dripping from his hot, slippery folds.

He arches into your cold, firm embrace with a frenzied wail of your name, a sound wrecked with pleasure and pent-up desire. He trembles as he creams around you, milking your cock with a hungry desperation, and the pale curls over his pussy are damp with a filthy mixture of slick and come. He throws his head back. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and his eyes roll back at the feeling of your seed spurting deep within him, his insides so much more sensitive.

Or maybe he's just missed you. Either way, his throat feels raw, and the shattered whimpers that crumble from his lips as he collapses into the bedsheets are all he can manage, his pale eyes half-lidded and fluttering as you continue to pump him full. You stroke his stomach as if he's something sacred and murmur sweet nothings into his ear as he twitches in your arms.

He mewls, panting, as you eventually pull out, his gaping pussy clenching around nothing as your seed dribbles down his thigh. Without your grip on his hips to keep him up, he crumples to the bed in a dazed, soiled heap. His cunt squelches when he moves and he licks his lips, trembling slightly as he raises his head to look at you.

You're beside him now, gazing back with those beautiful eyes of yours. If he stares into them long enough, deep enough, he might catch a glimpse of clashing black holes and dying stars.

That battle an age ago left you with something inescapable. Things used to be easier – you were of the night, and the night was simple with the whisper of something shadowy within the dark. Now you have sparks of something hotter within you. Evolution, change, all of it – Mahito had more of an effect on you than anyone could've guessed.

He presses himself into your side and you wrap his lean body in your embrace. You stroke his hair with a soft hum, combing your fingers through his bangs and tucking them behind his ear.

At last, he speaks up, head resting upon your chest. "I got all dolled up for you," he says quietly. "You made a mess of me. Ruined my hard work."

You kiss his forehead. "Is that not what you wanted?"

"Hey... Don't twist my words."

"I'm sorry."

Silently, he leans up and nips at your jawline, soothing the spot with a kitten lick. He settles back down and you trace the stitches crossing his body, making him hum as you reach the ones following the V of his hips.

"I won't leave you, Mahito. Not again."

He glances up, a fist curling gently on your chest. "Really?"

You nod, staring at the ceiling. He fits perfectly into your side and you clutch him there, protective and possessive in the way he adores. "Yes."

He stares up at you, an unreadable look in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Okay," he says, and closes his eyes with a secret little smile.

[vivimura]

CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI ─ bf!riki gives you soft head when you can't sleep! (nsfw, 1.660 k wc) i missed posting <3

moonlight poured into riki’s bedroom from the large windows across the bed in such a gentle, serene manner that it made you scoff bitterly.

sometimes you wondered to yourself— how was it so, that despite laying on a comfortable (and likely expensive) mattress, being in the arms of an amazing cuddler, having been tired from the day earlier, sleep eluded you.

it was an exhausting feeling. the crippling urge to rest denied by a sinister train of thoughts that never seemed to shut no matter how hard you tried. your eyes drifted to the side profile of your boyfriend, riki laying beside you. he was one of the few, and probably only people, whom the sight of laying so peacefully could bring a gentle smile to your lips.

not wanting to disturb him with your inner turmoil, you turned around in his arms to lay on your other side. however, the action caused his eyes to flicker open.

he stirred slightly as you moved, his arms tightening around you instinctively before he realized you weren't sleeping. he lifted his head to look at you, noticing your restlessness. his voice was low and gentle in the dark room. "can't sleep, baby?"

you mentally cursed at the sound of his voice. you back to face him quickly and sighed as you shook your head, the action barely visible through the darkness of the room. there was a look of guilt in your eyes, one of having disturbed your lover’s sleep. 

“no.. god, i had when this happens..” you mumbled and tucked your head under his arm.

he stroked your hair softly, trying to soothe you back into a relaxed state. his voice was a comforting murmur in the quiet darkness. "it's okay, i’m here." he kissed the top of your head gently. he patted your head in a steady rhythm to try and lull you to sleep, slight tiredness evident in his own voice.

in that moment, you felt the racing train of thoughts in your head pause. but it was only for a second. as if to convince riki that you were falling asleep for the sake of some sleep of his own, you stayed as still as you could and closed your eyes. but there was no fooling him.

“baby.” he called out, you remained silent. but, riki noticed the movement of your eyes moving from under your eyelids. he could only chuckle fondly and shake his head.

“wanna try something?”

you finally opened your eyes when you heard his question, a look of sheepishness yet desperation in your orbs as you looked up at riki. you had to take a moment to simply appreciate how comforting riki’s mere presence was, and then said, “try what?”

riki looked into your eyes with something you’ve labelled as intensity, determination, and passion. he didn’t reply straight away, and simply leaned forward to begin planting a pattern of soft kisses from the side of your cheek bone, down your face. “wanna eat you out..” he whispered against your skin and gripped onto your waist with one hand, the other moving lower, fingers brushing the top of your ass.

you let out an audible gasp at his words. you backed away and put a pause to riki’s affectionate kisses at the laughable speed of light, and looked at him with cheeks visibly colored even through the lack of lighting.

“..w-what?”

he laughed softly at your embarrassed yet curious expression, already knowing how affected you were by his words. "i know you heard me, baby." he shifted up on all fours and moved to position himself between your legs, his eyes darkening with desire but maintaining a tender tone.

your breath hitched as you watched him slowly come into a position of hovering over your legs. you remained silent for a few seconds and stared at him with wide eyes, as if waiting for him to burst into laughter and tell you that he was joking. at his obvious and expected awaiting, you gave him a meek, barely there nod.

"...okay."

he grinned and moved to pull your legs over his shoulders. he looked up at you with loving eyes before pressing a gentle kiss to your inner right leg, making his intention clear. "you gotta be quiet, though. the others are next door. can you do that for me?" his voice was soft but commanding.

your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you nodded. this was one of those nights you were grateful for your minimal choice in sleepwear, consisting of a measly t-shirt belonging to riki, and a pair of panties underneath. even through the dim light, you recognized that glint of intention in riki’s eyes.

he started placing gentle kisses up your inner thigh, his hands gently spreading your legs wider. he could feel how tense yet excited you were, how quiet you were trying to be. you always looked so adorable when he was about to pleasure you. "such a good girl..."

he smiled against your skin and slowly, teasingly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs. "lift your hips for me, baby."

when you did, he tossed your panties aside and gently spread your legs wider, his eyes locked onto your pussy. he blew a soft breath against you, making you shiver. "so fucking pretty," he murmured before pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, deliberately avoiding the middle.

you whimpered and squirmed in place, trying your very best to keep quiet at his soft breaths and kisses that seemed to land everywhere but where you needed them the most. "riki.." you whined out quietly, extending one hand to gently dig your fingers into his hair.

riki chuckled at the desperation in your voice, but the sound of your sweet voice whining his name pushed him over the edge of control. he moved his mouth directly to your slit, giving you a long, slow lick. "shh... quiet baby," he whispered against your sensitive flesh before sucking gently on your clit. "no noise..."

you let out a surprised whimper, but when he began sucking your clit gently, you melted like butter on a pan. you grip on his hair tightened a little, your back arching off the bed and eyes rolling up from the sudden pleasure he brought. "shit.."

he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your core. he continued to suck and lick, his movements slow and deliberate, building up the intensity. one of his hands moved to your inner thigh, holding your leg open and steady as he feasted on you. "so sweet..."

"oh, my god.." you gasped and cried out softly, trying to keep your voice as low as you could. but at that point, the only thing you could think about was the warmth and wetness of riki’s tongue.

he chuckled softly against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. he loved how sensitive you were, how easy it was to make you fall apart. he flattened his tongue and gave you a long, slow lick from bottom to top, collecting your wetness.

he hummed, tasting you again. he knew you were quiet because he told you to be, not because you were actually sleepy. he spread your folds with his thumbs, exposing you more to his mouth. he gave another slow lick, this time going lower to gather your wetness again.

"fuck.." you whispered out a curse and panted, unable to resist grabbing a fist of his hair and tugging it closer to you. your hips bucked erratically with no permission, your chest heaving rapidly as your breaths came in ragged gasps.

he felt your tugging on his hair and knew you were getting more into it. he loved seeing you like this, completely lost in the moment. he licked up your slit again, then focused on your clit, sucking it into his mouth gently. "quiet..." he whispered against your pussy.

you barely managed to whisper out a, "y-yeah.. sorry.." before letting out another quiet moan. his tongue gave such immense pleasure that your legs jerked, and it wasn't long before you felt a knot tighten in the pit of your stomach.

he could feel your muscles tense up, a clear sign that you were close already. he flattened his tongue again, maintaining steady pressure on your clit as he slipped two fingers inside you. "shh... almost there, baby..." he whispered against your pussy.

he felt your walls clamping down on his fingers and knew you were on the brink. maintaining the perfect rhythm with his tongue, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot. his other hand reached up to cover your mouth gently, silently urging you to stay quiet as your orgasm hit.

a particularly loud moan escaped your lips, but was thankfully concealed by his hand over your mouth as your orgasm crashed. your legs trembled as a gush of liquid expelled, and you began squirting uncontrollably.

he groaned softly against your pussy as he felt your release gush out, coating his mouth and chin. he continued to lap at you gently, helping you ride out your intense orgasm. his fingers continued its steady thrusts, drawing out your intense release. once he sensed you beginning to slow down, he slowly withdrew his finger and licked his lips, savoring your taste.

the sight of riki wiping your squirt off of his lips with the back of his hand was one of the last things you remembered seeing, before you were knocked out to sleep almost immediately.

he smiled softly at how completely worn out you were from your orgasm, your breaths evening out into deep sleep. he gently wiped up any remaining wetness from between your thighs before covering your naked body with a blanket. "well, that was easier than i thought," he thought to himself and grinned, giving your forehead a goodnight kiss.

mlist comment and reblog!

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ʜᴜɢ

fluff, comfort, kissing, physical affection, soft and sweet, cuddling, light angst, boyfriend!chris, hugging

word count - 900ish

When you walk through the door, the first thing you do is look for your boyfriend. You felt so tired and sad and the one thing you knew would make you feel better was a nice hug from him.

He was always so sweet and silly, providing you with much comfort. Your eyes were already wet from the car ride home, and you felt empty, like a shell of a person. The day had eaten away at you, messages from friends that attacked you in small passive aggressive ways, emails that were blunt and unkind, car horns and red lights and traffic.

When you find him, sitting on the couch, your heart breaks a bit, the day souring even further. His shoulders are slumped, eyes distant. It was clear that he had had one of those days, too. The kind that leaves you feeling empty, like the world’s been just a little too much to handle. 

So you don’t even think about it, just walk towards him as he lifts his head. He was quieter than usual, muttering a soft “hi” to you, his usual playful energy dimmed by something you couldn’t quite place. Without hesitation, you slid into his lap, wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

“Hi,” you murmur, the sound muffled.

His body tensed for just a moment, like he wasn’t sure how to respond. But then, as if he finally allowed himself to relax, his arms wrapped around your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the warmth of his chest against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and for the first time all day, everything felt still.

His arms were strong, but gentle, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. You could feel his fingers splay out against your back, the warmth of his hands pressing softly into your skin as if trying to memorise the feel of you in his arms. As you settled closer to him, you felt the weight of his body beneath you, solid and steady, a reassuring presence. Every slight shift he made pulled you closer, as if he wanted to melt into you completely.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. You could feel the tension in his body begin to ease as he held you tighter, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His hands gently caressed your back, a quiet reassurance that spoke volumes without a single word.

“Missed you too.”

He pulled back then just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and vulnerable in a way that made your heart flutter. Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. His lips were warm, just slightly chapped, pressing against yours in a way that makes your heart ache.The kiss was gentle at first, just a sweet, fleeting moment, but it deepened as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you even closer.

You could feel the slight quiver of his breath against your lips, a soft sigh escaping him as he kissed you again, this time a little longer, a little deeper, like he was trying to hold onto this perfect moment forever. It was slow, deliberate, the kind that made time slow. His hand moved to the side of your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he pulled you closer, making everything better.

It felt perfect. Like the world had faded away, and it was just the two of you, wrapped in this quiet, shared space. You could feel the warmth of his hands on your back, the gentle pressure of his lips against yours, and the soft hum of his breath that matched the beat of your own heart.

You didn’t speak. The comfort of his warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest was all you needed. And as he turned his face into your hair, his grip on you tightened, like he was trying to anchor himself to something solid. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers. There was something so comforting about it... about being this close, where everything else didn’t matter but the warmth of his body and the softness of his touch.

You could feel the exhaustion in his touch, the way he just wanted to be held, and the same feeling bubbled up inside of you. All you wanted in that moment was to be there for him, to give him some peace, even if it was just for a few minutes. You pressed yourself even closer, the smell of fresh linen and his aftershave enveloping you in a soft, loving haze of comfort.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning, and you smiled against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you let the weight of his words settle into you.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, the simple truth of it feeling like the only thing that made sense in the chaos of the day.

Eventually, he laid back, pulling you on top of him, and you didn’t even hesitate. You settled into him, feeling the weight of his arms around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. His fingers gently traced circles on your skin, and you nestled into his chest, letting the moment stretch on. It was simple, but perfect.

“You make me so happy” he whispered into your hair, his voice full of adoration.

You smiled, your heart racing, and pressed a soft kiss to his chest. “You’re my favourite person.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice soft and sincere.

“Always,” you replied, your heart full.

And for that moment, everything felt exactly right. Just holding each other, knowing that you were safe, and that nothing else mattered in the world but the two of you.

creds to @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers 🩷

a/n: i had quite a sad and tiring day,, not feeling the best, and a hug from chris would make me feel a million times better <3

main taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturns-mermaid @shortnsweetsturnz  @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova @riasturns @sturnsblogs @darksturnz @httpssturns @mi-co-uk @ribbonlovergirl @lovesturni0l0s @grace-sturnz @auttysturnz @kier-with-a-k @malsmind @edu4rd0ss @pink1man @h3arts4nat @chriss-slutt @whore4chris

[qivrae]

static - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: 😲😲😲😲 phone sex with reid (inbox open, please request)

You’re just about to fall asleep when your phone buzzes softly against the pillow. The screen lights up with a contact photo you didn’t realize you’d memorized—Spencer, blurry and smiling, probably mid-laugh from the day you took it. You answer without hesitation. “Hey,” you murmur, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a pause, like maybe he didn’t expect you to pick up so quickly. When he speaks, his voice is low and hoarse but gentle in the way only he can manage.

“Did I wake you?”

You turn onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a sleepy smile. “Kind of. But it’s okay.” He exhales into the line and something about the sound makes your stomach flutter. It’s not relief, exactly. More like… release. Like hearing your voice made something inside him loosen.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally. “Too much noise in my head. I didn’t want to be alone with it.”

You tug the blanket up to your chest. “Rough case?”

“Yeah,” he says. And that one word carries so much: long hours, too many victims, the weight of responsibility he always takes on alone. “We’re just in the waiting phase now. Interviews are done. Morgan and Hotch are going over timelines. It’s a lot of hurry-up-and-wait.”

“And you’re in a motel?” you ask, already picturing it: a dimly lit room, stiff sheets, the hum of a bad AC unit in the background.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Small town. Two-star situation. The mattress feels like cardboard.”

You smile softly. “Poor baby.”

“I’m not fishing for sympathy,” he says, a little defensively.

“No,” you tease, “but you’re definitely hoping I’ll say something to make you forget it.” He’s quiet again.

Then a little rougher, “Maybe.” There’s a shift in his breathing. Something you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him so well but you do. It’s subtle, barely there but it makes your heart thump. You recognize that sound. That shallow inhale like he’s trying not to let it show.

Your voice drops. “Spence. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he answers too quickly. Then, quieter, “Just… thinking.”

You smirk against the phone. “Thinking about me?” You swear you can hear him swallow.

“Yes.” Another pause. This one longer. And when he speaks again, his voice is soft but not shy. Not embarrassed. Just real. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I didn’t call to— I wasn’t trying to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” you say, sitting up slightly, your pulse starting to pick up. “It’s not weird. I like knowing you think about me like that.” He doesn’t say anything at first. But the sound of him breathing shifts again, deeper now. More purposeful. “Tell me what you’re doing,” you murmur.

A beat. Then slowly, carefully: “I’m just… lying on the bed. Still dressed. But I—” he pauses like he’s deciding how much to give away. “I have my hand over myself.”

Your breath catches. “Are you hard?”

“Yes.” You press your thighs together under the sheets, already warm from just imagining it. Spencer in some creaky motel bed, trying not to get too into it because his team is down the hall.

“Touch yourself,” you whisper. “I want to hear what it sounds like when you do.” There’s a hitch in the line—movement, maybe fabric shifting or his hand adjusting.

“I—okay,” he says breathlessly. “I’m… pressing against the shaft. Through my pants right now. Applying slight pressure—uh—engorgement of the corpora cavernosa has already occurred, so stimulation is…” He trails off, like he just realized what he’s doing.

You laugh softly. “You’re giving me a lecture, Doctor Reid.”

“I know,” he groans, embarrassed. “I can’t help it. I—It’s just how I process. When I get nervous or—aroused—my brain defaults to clinical terminology. I—fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you breathe. “It’s hot.”

He lets out a choked laugh. “You’re the only person on Earth who would say that.”

“Maybe,” you tease, “but I’m the only one who gets to hear it, so I’d say that works out.”

He’s breathing harder now, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m unzipping my pants. It’s… a little awkward lying like this. But I can feel the friction through my boxers. It’s—god, it’s warm. I’m leaking already.”

Your stomach flips. “I haven’t even touched myself tonight,” you whisper, running a hand slowly down your body beneath the sheets. “I was waiting for you to call.” You hear a low sound from him—almost like a whimper but he catches it before it escapes fully.

“I wanted to hear your voice,” he says, voice thick. “But now I can’t stop picturing your hands. Your mouth.”

“Mmm. You like when I use my mouth, don’t you?” You ask and his breath stutters.

“I think about it too much. Sometimes during briefings. During flights. I’ll remember the way you looked up at me from between my legs and I— I can’t focus.”

You moan quietly. “Tell me more.”

“I—I can’t get enough of the way you hum when you’re doing it. Or how your fingers dig into my thighs. You’re so soft and warm and—fuck—I’m touching myself now.”

You squeeze your legs together, slick already pooling in your panties as his voice drips into your ear like molasses. “How?” you ask breathlessly.

“My fingers,” he pants. “Wrapped around the base. I’m stroking slow, not too tight yet. The pressure is increasing blood flow but—fuck—there’s already too much. It’s… overstimulating.”

“Do you want me to slow you down?”

“No,” he whispers. “Don’t stop. Don’t let me stop.” There’s a tension in your chest now, rising with every breath he takes.

You slide your own hand lower, easing the ache that’s been building since the second he said your name.“Spencer…”

“I keep picturing you with your hand between your thighs,” he gasps.

“It is,” you breathe. “I’m touching myself, Spence. I’m so wet just listening to you.”

He groans, a low sound that rips through the speaker. “I’m close,” he chokes out. “Already. But I don’t want to come yet. I want to listen to you. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m pulsing,” you murmur. “My fingers are soaked. I wish it were yours. I wish I could slide you inside me right now, slow and deep.”

“Fuck.” You hear the bed creak beneath him, hear his sharp inhale as he tries to keep control. He’s falling apart but he’s not there yet—not quite. And neither are you. So you both breathe into the silence. Desperate. Flushed. Teetering on the edge. Spencer’s breath is heavy in your ear. It’s the kind of sound that tightens your stomach and makes you ache, like he’s caught between wanting to speak and not wanting to break the fragile control he’s still holding onto. You can’t help the rush of heat that spreads through you at his small curses. He’s fighting his body, fighting the need to come, all while trying to be considerate of you. It’s so damn Spencer.

You whisper, running your hand over your body, mimicking the movements you know he’s making. “You need to let go a little, don’t you?” He gasps, the sound cutting off abruptly. You hear the shift of his body as his hand speeds up, the friction becoming more intense.

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. You wonder if he’s going to try to hold back, but when he finally speaks, his voice is raw, needy. “I—I don’t want to come yet,” he confesses, so quietly that you almost miss it. “I don’t want to rush it.”

“Then slow down,” you tell him, your hand slowly moving beneath your sheets in tandem with the rhythm of his voice.

He breathes a shaky laugh escaping him. “It’s hard. It’s really hard.”

“I know, baby,” you murmur, the word slipping out without thought. “It’s hard for me too.” There’s a slight catch in his breath, a slight trembling and you know he’s fighting with everything he has to keep himself in check.

“I… I can’t explain it. It’s not just the physical… it’s the mental stimulation. The proprioceptive feedback is off the charts. I’m—fuck, I’m getting lightheaded just talking about it.”

You can’t help but laugh at his attempt to keep things academic, even now. “You’re so hot when you do that,” you tell him, voice thick with desire. “I think I might get off just listening to you try to sound all scientific while you’re on the edge of losing it.”

He groans at that, and you can almost see his face, flushed with embarrassment, as he shifts around in his bed. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to—”

You cut him off gently. “You don’t have to apologize, Spence. I love hearing you like this. You can let go. You can talk to me, tell me exactly what you need.” He takes a shaky breath and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue or retreat back into his overly-analytical shell but then he says your name, low and desperate. The desperation in his voice makes your heart race. You’ve never heard him like this—raw and open, breaking away from his usual restraint. You’re so close to pushing him past that edge. You don’t let him finish his sentence. Instead, you keep him on the brink. “Tell me what you need, Spencer,” you whisper, your voice thick with anticipation. “You’ve got me right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I need you to…” he starts, but his words get stuck in his throat. “I need you to make me feel good. I don’t want to—fuck, I need to feel you.” Your pulse quickens as you hear the vulnerability in his voice.

“You can feel me, Spence. I’m right here. You just have to focus. Focus on how good you feel right now.”

“I’m trying,” he whispers and there’s that catch in his voice again. “I just—fuck, I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”

Your body aches at his words as you whisper back, “Let go for me. Let me hear you.” Spencer’s breath hitches again, faster. Like he’s teetering on the edge. You’re both so close. So close. But he’s still holding back, still refusing to let go completely. You feel the tension, the urgency in his voice. You’re both quiet for a moment now. Just breathing. And even through the static of the phone, you can hear every soft puff of air he exhales. Every subtle shift of movement on that scratchy motel bedsheet. He’s being so good. He speaks up through the groans. Just your name. It’s broken but like it’s the only word left in his vocabulary. You press the phone tighter to your ear and close your eyes, your free hand sliding between your legs as your voice softens. “Still with me, baby?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, hoarse. “I’m just—my hand’s shaking.”

“How long have you been like this?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

There’s a beat before he says, “Since before I called you.”

Your heart flutters. You shift in bed, biting back a moan. “That long?”

He hums a pitiful little yes. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to, but everything felt… empty. Like my skin was too tight. I—I kept getting hard every time I thought about your voice. About your hands. About the last time we—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. You know he’s fighting, hard. Harder than he should be.

“Spencer,” you murmur, “you’ve been so good for me. So patient. But I don’t want you to hold back anymore.” He exhales like he’s just been told he can finally breathe. “Come,” you whisper. The word is barely out of your mouth before you hear him fall apart on the other end of the line. The soft, slick sounds of his hand meeting skin. The choked gasp that gets caught in his throat. The deep, trembling groan like it’s been trapped in his chest for hours.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, his voice breaking. “It’s—it’s too much, God.” You can hear the rhythm. He’s fast. Desperate. Probably fucking into his own hand with nowhere near the control he had earlier. You let your fingers glide through your own slick heat and sigh into the phone.

“Does it feel good, baby?” His breath hitches again.

“Yes, it’s—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” you coo, “Feels so good, hmm?” A strained whine escapes him.

“It’s—it’s throbbing. It’s pre-cum. My whole body feels like—like I’m on fire. My hand is wet, I don’t—I don’t even know how much came out, it’s so fucking sensitive and I’m—I’m gonna lose it.”

“You’re doing so well,” you breathe. “I’m touching myself too, Spence. You’ve got me so wet.”

He whimpers. “Please,” You feel your own orgasm building, slow and steady like a wave about to crash. You want to finish with him. You want to feel it in his voice when it finally hits him. You don’t even get another word out before he gasps so loud it cuts through the speaker, his breath catching in his throat as he falls over the edge. It’s not even a groan—it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. Desperate, stunned, overwhelmed. You hear the wet slap of his hand faltering, the breathless moans as he rides it out.

“ah— please.” he keeps saying your name like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. And that’s what sends you over. You press the phone harder to your ear, hips stuttering against your hand as your orgasm hits you like a tremor. Your whole body arches as you cry out, biting your lip to keep quiet but knowing he hears it—feels it—because you can hear him panting through his own aftershocks. It’s messy. Loud. Intimate in a way that phone sex usually isn’t. Neither of you talk for a while. Just the sounds of two people on opposite sides of a phone line, breathing like they’ve just been pulled from underwater.

Eventually, Spencer breaks the silence with a soft laugh. “That was… wow.” You smile, sinking back into your bed.

“Yeah. Wow.” He’s still breathless but there’s a note of wonder in his voice, like he’s not entirely sure that just happened. “I’ve never… I mean— that was…”

“Good?” you offer. He laughs again, quieter this time.

“Yeah. Very.” You imagine him lying there, hand limp on his chest, flushed and dazed and probably trying to mentally calculate how many calories he just burned. It makes you ache with affection.

“You okay?” you ask gently.

“More than okay,” he says and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I just… wish I could hold you right now.”

You let out a breath, soft and sincere. “Me too.”There’s a pause before you sheepishly ask, “Think you can sleep now?”

He hums. “Eventually. I’ll probably fall asleep picturing you.”

You laugh softly. “Pervert.”

“Your fault,” he says, voice already thick with sleep. And it is. And you’re okay with that.

[luvnette]

Hi I like your work! Can you write Sevika and reader going on a honeymoon. Fluff and filthy smut 🫶🏾

𝐴/𝑛: Tyy, love this idea! I’m so sorry it took so long♥️

-𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠-

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: wife!Sevika x wife!reader

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡/𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Nsfw, mdni, fluff, semi-public and slightly inebriated (beach) sex, teasing, fingering (r! receiving), strap on, strap-warming, a bunch of cuddling and aftercare<3

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: After Sevika and you got married, you spend your honeymoon on a beach.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠: 1,1k

“I still can’t believe we’re married” you giggle, taking a sip from your cocktail.

“Me neither” Sevika chuckles, chugging the rest of her whiskey down.

You two are cuddling on a big towel in the sand, right in front of your small beach house, watching the golden-orange sun slowly disappear behind the sea.

“But I couldn’t be happier” she replies before she gives you a smile and pulls you into a tender kiss.

The taste of the different kinds of alcohol on your tongues mix, the kiss becoming more and more heated- until you pull away.

“Here? What if someone sees, Sev?..” you say, and although the beach is empty, your face grows hot at the thought.

“Let them, it’s our honeymoon after all” she smirks.

Propping herself up on her mechanic arm, Sevika leans in for another deep kiss while she unhooks your bikini top with her right hand, the warm air suddenly tingling your bare breasts.

“My pretty wife..” she whispers, gently fondling her thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Hmm..” you whimper, wrapping your arms around your wife’s muscular shoulders.

Her hand moves down to your lower region, pushing your bikini bottom to the side. Her thick middle finger carefully starts to rub up and down your slit, making you squirm underneath her.

“Oh sweetie, so wet at the thought of getting caught, hm? Naughty girl..” she coos in a sickeningly sweet tone.

“I.. please.. Sev..” you mumble, burying your face in her neck.

“Please what baby? C’mon, use your words”

“Please.. fuck me..”

Your whimpery voice is all Sevika needs to plunge two of her digits inside your aching cunt, the stretch and the slight amount of alcohol making your head dizzy.

“Mhh, Sevika!..” you moan, desperately pushing your hips down onto her fingers.

“So eager to get fucked..” she chuckles, slowly thrusting in and out of your entrance.

“Nghh.. so go-od..”

After a little while, you feel the knot inside your stomach tightening, Sevika’s fingers perfectly curling against your G-spot.

“I’m.. close.. -‘Vika..” you murmur, small tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

“That’s it, cum for me pretty girl..”

Your nails dig into Sevika’s back- and with a small whine you clench around her, slowly grinding the rest of your orgasm out.

“Shh..” she hushes and pulls out of your tight cunt to lick her fingers clean, crashing her lips into yours so you can taste yourself.

“God.. you taste heavenly” she whispers, giving you a slight smirk before she picks you up and carries you into the house, carefully placing your sore body on the edge of the soft bed in your shared bedroom.

Sevika removes her bikini and takes the purple strap on out of the drawer to buckle it onto her hips. She then kneels down in front of you and gently pulls your core closer to her face.

“What are you-..”

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart” she grins before she licks along your wet slit, earning a mewl from you.

Sevika gets up and strokes the silicone shaft like it’s her own, placing it against your cunt to push the tip inside.

“Hmm.. Sucha’ pretty pussy” she coos, cupping your cheek with her big hand, carefully forcing inch by inch into you.

“There you go.. Takin’ it like a slut, love..” she chuckles as the whole toy disappears inside your tight hole.

“Sevi- too big.. nghh..” you whine, grabbing onto the sheets.

“Tsk tsk tsk, you’ll live sweetie” she mocks, slowly thrusting her hips back and forth.

“Ah.. ah-” you moan, not sure if she’s right, you feel like you’re floating into another dimension.

Sevika speeds up her movements, gently pressing her hand onto the bulge in your stomach. Steamy air, grunts and moans fill the room, your second climax beginning to build up.

“Co- ming.. mhh..”

“This quick?.. Oh baby.. you really are.. a slut, huh?” she huffs, the back of the toy grinding against her own clit.

The pressure on your bladder is too much- you clench around Sevika once more, and with a loud mewl you squirt on her lower abdomen.

“Fuuck.. good.. girl..” she groans, her own orgasm crashing over her like a wave after a few more thrusts.

For a moment, it’s all quiet. You’re both panting heavily, trying to catch your breaths. Sevika wraps you into a soft embrace and carries you into the shower, the strap still inside you. Warm water runs down your sticky bodies while she carefully cleans you and whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

“You did so good.. my lovely wife..” she coos and kisses your neck, gently drying you off with a towel after you’ve finished showering.

Sevika carries you back to the bedroom, laying you both down on the mattress. You nuzzle into her chest as she pulls the blanket over your trembling body, holding you tightly against her.

“I love you so much sweet girl..” she mutters, gently caressing your back.

“Love you too..” you mumble, a sleepy smile across your lips as you drift off to sleep in her big arms, strap-warming her through the whole night.<3

[alinathinkstoomuch]

A HELLO AND A KISS

pairing: aaron hotchner x lawyer!reader summary: aaron hotchner survives serial killers and endless paperwork—but apparently not you breezing past him without a hello, based on this request. (im so sorry, i got carried away and did not include the part of r meeting the team!!! pls dont hate me) warnings | an: jealous hotch, protective hotch, simp hotch, hotch is just down bad for his girl, one bj joke word count: 2.4k

✧ masterlist

You hadn’t come home last night.

Aaron had simply received a brief text: Don’t wait up. A case fell into my lap last minute. It wasn’t unusual—not in your line of work, and certainly not in his. You’d both sent that message before, more times than either of you could count. It came with the territory.

You and Aaron had always kept your professional lives separate. A clean, white, necessary line in the sand. It helped keep the bloodstained parts from crossing over and kept your dinner conversations from becoming post-mortems or courtroom recaps. After all, it was easier not to talk about the men Aaron arrested when you were the one prosecuting them.

He didn’t put it together right away.

But all five of his senses were attuned to you. Honestly? his sixth sense was you. He didn’t need to see you to know you were there—he could feel you, hear you, even smell you before he ever caught a glimpse.  It didn’t take much. Sometimes, it was just the sound of heels—your heels—that gave you away.

It was that click-clack rhythm that he had grown accustomed to over the months, filtering through early mornings when you forgot your keys, then your case notes, then your coffee. It trailed after you in the hallway, embedded in every corner where you’d left pieces of yourself scattered around his home.

And now, that same sound echoed from behind him, followed by the heavy thud of the courtroom door swinging shut.

“Can’t believe he’s actually trying to weasel out of this,” Prentiss muttered under her breath, just as you swept past their row.

The unsub’s public defender had filed a not-guilty plea days earlier—citing supposed evidence mishandling, mistaken identity, even floating some half-baked theory about a setup. It was desperate. Flimsy. But just credible enough to stall the trial, to buy time he didn’t deserve.

You didn’t look Aaron’s way. Didn’t slow your pace. You gave no reaction at all, just glided by, slipping into the prosecution’s chair like it was your usual seat at the office.

“New face,” Prentiss noted, leaning toward Hotch. “She wasn’t at the prelims was she?”

Hotch finally cleared his throat. “No.”

He meant to say more—something neutral, something about new counsel, something properly professional, something more him—but the words got stuck somewhere behind his ribs. Especially when the most him thing in the world was standing right there, only meters away from a man he’d gladly kill with his bare hands if he so much as looked at you the wrong way.

Though, truthfully, he knew you’d get to him quicker with words, with strategy, with that cool, calculated tone that could cut deeper than any punch Hotch could throw.

You still hadn’t looked at him. Fully locked into that little world of yours, where the second you stepped into a courtroom, you grew fins and dermal denticles, transforming into a shark in couture and four-inch heels.

It stung. Just a little. But he knew why you were doing it. He just couldn’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to sit in a room and watch you give someone like that—worst of the worst—your full, undivided attention.

He’d only had the pleasure (and slight terror) of watching you in court twice before—neither case connected to the BAU and already, he was starting to sweat. Just a little. Maybe.

Aaron clamped his jaw tight, trying to keep his expression neutral, but the effort must’ve been visible because he caught Rossi huffing a laugh under his breath.

Of course Rossi knew. Rossi was the only one who’d actually met you off-duty. And the last thing Hotch needed was Rossi even hinting at the tiny, minuscule, barely-worth-mentioning fact that you wore Aaron’s old college t-shirt to bed, or that just a few hours ago, he’d been ogling your bare legs as you stumbled out of the shower, mumbling at him to go back to sleep.

Because as soon as Prentiss or Morgan—who already looked half-asleep in his seat—caught wind of it, it wouldn’t be a murder trial they were interested in anymore. No, it would turn into entertainment, something far more exciting than sitting at their desks, pretending to work through paperwork they never submitted on time anyway.

He shifted in his seat. No engagement was the best engagement, he figured.

Instead, he forced his eyes off you and onto the defendant, who was fiddling with his tie like that would suddenly make him more credible. Like anyone in the room would forget what he’d done just because he shaved and tucked in his damn shirt.

But the second you stood, rising slowly from your chair, Aaron’s gaze snapped right back to you, so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. Still, you didn’t look his way. Of course you didn’t. You were here to do a job. And right now, that job was dismantling a man with nothing but your voice.

He swallowed hard.

Yeah. He was definitely sweating now.

By the time the trial hit the halfway mark, he could tell your energy had changed—or was about to—with the unsub being called to the stand.

Hotch sat stiffly, watching you shuffle your notes with little effort. Morgan had finally roused enough to start paying attention, and Prentiss was scribbling away in the margins of her legal pad—none of which, Hotch would bet good money, had anything to do with the actual trial.

You stood once more, brushing that stubborn piece of hair away from your face—the one that always seemed to fall whenever you were reading something from above. He wished he could push it away for you, wished he could pull you out of this courtroom entirely, shield you from every ugly, broken thing the world could throw at you.

But then your voice cut through the room, reminding him that this was your job.

"Alright," you began, voice crisp but bored, like you were already three steps ahead. That’s what anyone else might think. But Aaron knew you were ahead five.

"Let’s go back to March 5th," you said, pausing just for a second. "You said you didn’t know Jessica Harlan."

"I didn’t," Tanner snapped back, so fast it almost made Hotch smile.

That kind of panic was never a good sign—and he knew it was one of your favourite tells. The second someone cracked like that, it was like flipping a switch, like flashing a green light across the battlefield. Go get him.

"Right," you hummed, nodding like you were humouring a stubborn child throwing a tantrum. "Right."

Another pause.

You were good at that—giving the poor soul on the receiving end (victim, really) of your arguing capabilities enough time to think. To second-guess themselves. Hotch had picked up on it early on, and when he’d once asked you about it, you gave him a dry, matter-of-fact answer: it gave people enough time to realise how stupid they sounded.

"And yet, a witness places your car parked across the street from her apartment two nights in a row. Same make, same model, same license plate."

Tanner shifted in the witness chair, but you didn’t rush him. You stood there, cool and composed, giving him just enough rope to hang himself.

“I –”

"Parked there?" you cut in, tilting your head like you were offering him an easy out. The trap was already set.

You reached for the remote, clicking the TV monitor on.

"Okay, that’s completely understandable," you considered with a polite nod toward the jury. "Though I’m not quite sure what your explanation is for getting out of the vehicle on the second night and standing in front of Jessica Harlan’s apartment for—" you glanced down at your watch, "—thirty-seven minutes."

You glanced back up, eyebrows raised just enough to look curious but not confrontational. Just a lawyer looking for answers.

Tanner opened his mouth, closed it, then looked down at his hands like maybe they’d have a better explanation than he did.

Aaron recognised the footage immediately, thanks to Garcia’s handiwork. The screen showed Tanner stepping out of his car, glancing around, and then just…standing there. Across the street from Jessica’s apartment building.

Doing absolutely nothing.

For thirty-seven minutes.

The same number of stab wounds Jessica and every other victim had endured.

You didn’t even glance at the screen. Your focus stayed fixed on Tanner like a blade against his throat.

“Maybe you were just out getting some fresh air. Though I’m not sure stalking is generally recommended for cardio.”

"Objection, Your Honour—" the defence attorney barked, already on his feet.

You raised a hand, before the judge even had time to respond. “Withdrawn.”

"I wasn’t watching her,” Tanner argued, drawing the attention back to himself.

"No?” you echoed, cocking your head to the side. “Then what were you doing, Mr Tanner? Practicing your standing endurance?"

He huffed out a weak laugh with no real humour behind it. It was the kind that people made when they realised they were cornered and didn’t have the tools to dig their way out.

“I just... needed some air,” he repeated, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

"I get it, I do," you agreed in faux sweetness. "We all need fresh air. Though it’s odd, don’t you think?"

“I’m sorry?”

“Jessica Harlan was stabbed thirty-seven times…" You took a step closer to Tanner, and Aaron had to physically stop himself from moving. Remind himself that you knew exactly what you were doing. That this was all part of the strategy. Even if, deep down, he wanted nothing more than to stand between you and every monster you faced.

"Which," you continued, "happens to be the exact number of minutes you spent outside her apartment."

Tanner swallowed, but that didn’t seem to faze you.

"Just like you spent thirty-seven minutes outside Eliza Horne’s place of work," you listed off, each word tightening the noose around Tanner’s neck. "Thirty-seven minutes outside the gym where Marissa Cole trained. Thirty-seven minutes at the café Danielle Ruiz visited every Thursday—”

Aaron felt Prentiss lean in beside him. “She’s good.”

He didn’t look away from you long enough to answer.

Good didn’t even begin to cover it.

You were extraordinary. And somehow—somehow—you were his.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve you, what twist of fate had put you in his path, but he would be grateful for it for the rest of his life.

Grateful that you had let him in.

Grateful that he got to see you whole.

Whether it was in a courtroom, where you left your smile and affection at the door to tear the truth out of some of the worst people, or in the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed—the way you teased him for how he pronounced pecan—he had seen it all. And he wouldn’t trade a second of it.

A nudge from Rossi pulled Aaron out of what felt like a permanent trance—the one you had managed to put him in with no effort whatsoever.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, absently rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"Got you reminiscing about your prosecutor days?"

Aaron let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh. "I think if I’d stayed," he said, glancing back toward you, "she would’ve put me to shame."

"Would’ve been one hell of a show,” Rossi murmured. “Don’t let her get away.”

Aaron’s mouth tipped into the barest hint of a smile. He wasn’t planning on it. Hell would have to freeze over before he let even the smallest possibility of that happen.

His eyes found you again—right where they belonged—just as you finished with Tanner.

The day wound down eventually, and Aaron doubted the trial would drag on much longer, not after what you’d done to Tanner and his defence team. There wasn’t much left of them by the time you were finished.

He lingered just outside the courtroom, waiting. He’d managed to come up with a half-convincing excuse to stay behind, though neither Morgan nor Prentiss seemed to question it. They were too busy arguing over whether they could convince Penelope to hack into your trial schedule just so they could sit in on another one.

Not that Aaron could blame them.

The courthouse entrance doors swung open again, and you finally stepped through, files tucked under your arm, eyes fixed on your phone as you breezed past.

You didn’t even glance his way.

Again.

Aaron blinked. Really?

"So I don't even get a hello?" he asked, stepping lightly into your path with a raised brow. “Twice in one day. Must be losing my edge.”

You looked up, startled for half a second before your entire face lit up at the sight of him.

"I’m so sorry!" you blurted, already smiling. "You know how much I hate it when things fall into my lap last minute. I've been running around all day just trying to catch up—”

"No, no," he interjected, keeping his face painfully neutral, though the corners of his mouth twitched, just a little. "It’s fine. I’m obviously not that memorable."

"And I thought I was the needy one." You shook your head, still laughing under your breath as you tucked your phone away and shifted your files into one arm.

“Come here,” you cooed, hooking two fingers into the front of Aaron’s jacket, tugging him down.

He went willingly—no surprise there.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek first, soft and easy, before leaning in for a slower one on his lips. The kind that made him forget you were still technically in public.

"Better?" you asked, pulling back just enough to see the answer written all over his face.

"Only a little," he murmured, and before you could so much as blink, he reached out and took the files and your briefcase from your arms like it was second nature, like he’d been carrying your things for years.

“You carrying my stuff now, too?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to earn my next hello.”

You laughed, the sound unwinding every knot in Aaron’s chest, loosening him in ways only you ever could.

“Keep this up and you’ll have my mouth doing a lot more than just saying hello.”

Yeah.

He was completely gone.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley

[sungist]

GUESS .. jake loves you on top of him

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗧𝗛─────── riding your boyfriend

百 SIM JAEYUN x f!r + 3OO+ count. ( ! ) slight nipple play, p in v, mdni 18+ 爱 don’t forget to click

JAKE thinks you look like angel with his cock buried deep in your cunt, struggling to move from his size. a groan slips past his lips when you start rocking your hips slowly.

his half lidded gaze lands on you, all pretty and flushed and struggling to take him fully in. your thighs tremble from the effort, hands weakly pressing against his chest as you try to adjust.

his cock is buried deep inside you, filling you so well. your breath comes out in shaky little whimpers.

a deep, broken moan rips from jake’s throat.

“fuck, baby,” he grits out, head falling back for a second as his eyes roll back. “you’re so fucking tight.”

you mewl softly, body trembling from how much you’re trying to move despite how much he’s stretching you out. jake’s hands grip your hips harder, holding you down, keeping you stuffed full of him.

“you’re doing so good,” he rasps into your ear, voice thick, he sounds wrecked. he is wrecked. “so good for me, baby. taking me so fucking well.”

you whimper again, shifting your hips slightly, and jake hisses sharply through his teeth, digging his fingers into your skin.

“slow,” he orders, voice low and commanding, laced with barely contained restraint. “go slow, let me feel all of you.”

you nod wordlessly, way too blissed out to conjure up a proper sentence.

jake watches you, eyes dark, jaw tight, as you start rocking your hips in slow, desperate rolls, your walls clenching around him so sweetly he almost loses it right there.

he thrusts his hips up once and the strangled gasp you let out is almost too much for him to take.

“shit,” he groans, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back just enough to make you look at him. “look at me while you’re taking my cock like this, baby.”

you blink up at him, dazed, lips parted, your entire body trembling with how deep he is inside you.

jake leans in, kissing you hard, desperate. while his other hand slides down to your ass, helping you grind down harder onto him. every slow, grinding roll of your hips has jake cursing under his breath, praising you in low, dirty whispers.

“you’re mine,” he growls into your mouth. “fucking made for me, yeah? look at you, angel. struggling to take it, but still trying so hard. you love it, don’t you?”

you whimper, bobbing your head up and down, barely able to form words. jake’s lips twitch upwards, he watches the way your tits bounce with every movement. his hands slide up from your hips to fondle your nipples. pressing hard on them, hearing your sweet moan spill out from your pretty lips.

“like that, baby?” he asks softly, hand coming up slowly to rest on the back of your head and pulling you into a kiss. when you feel his hips snap up in a quick rythmn, you cry out into his mouth.

the feeling of his tongue pressing against yours and the tip of his cock deep in your cunt felt overwhelming. you clench your thighs around his hips and white spurts of cum spills over both you and him.

[bunny-jpeg]

prime of your life

fernando alonso

tags: smut/pwp, age gap (20s/40s), cowgirl position, praise & dirty talk, slight reference to daddy kink

you knew something was wrong, back to back dnfs - never a good sign. you looked worryingly at the screen as the fernando was declared unable to finish the race. you swallowed, quickly on your feet as you moved away from the pit wall and towards the portion of the garage where fernando's car was being pulled in.

you felt the hammering in your chest as you watched your disappointed lover get out of the car, you went to meet him. even with the sweat and exhaustion of the race. you held onto him tightly and said, "you did amazing, honey. i love you." and you meant every word, and fernando knew that.

back at the hotel, you near smothered your lover with soft kisses. your lips grazed across the lines of his face, the softness of his skin and the scratchiness of his beard. he accepted it, he knew that you were doing your best to assure him that everything was fine and that he was still a great driver.

a championship was rarely paved with smooth races, you always told fernando. but he was less than inclined the agree, he remembered winning championships - but that felt so long ago.

it was a stone in his gut, maybe he was too old for this. it had been over twenty years, no one he started out with was on the grid with him anymore. years of shuffling between teams and the slow fade from the podium only amplified the dull pain in his shoulder. but as you held his face while you laid in bed, there was a small sparkle of something.

the way you looked at him, he thought that maybe he could be a champion once more. you believed him, so he believed in himself.

"how are you feeling?" you asked softly as you placed more kisses across his face. his skin warm and soft, comforting. you curled up closer to him, "don't frown so much, you'll get lines."

he chuckled lightly as rubbed your back, he got you in as close as he could and kissed your forehead, "i already have lines, my love." he admired you, his dark eyes gazed at you with a subtle affection. you were beautiful, what were you doing with a man like him?

couldn't even finish a race now, he felt like a lame mule. but yet, you kissed him. your touches were gentle and loving, all the affection you could give was across his skin.

"you didn't answer my question." you said softly.

"better. always better when you're here." he said softly, "you should be out with the girls tonight, celebrating. not here with me, helping me nurse my wounds."

you shrugged, "vodka and cranberry tastes the same in every country, but you, fernando, only get sweeter as time goes on."

he chuckled and watched you straddle his waist. your hands across his bare chest, you could feel the leap in his chest.

"like fine wine." you added.

he smiled softly, "more like old milk." he said as he rubbed your hips. your sweatpants were lower on your hips. he eyed the piece of skin that was exposed between the pants and your shirt, "should find someone younger."

"who should?" you asked, your brows knitted together.

he looked back to you, "oh no! not me. you. you shouldn't be with an old dog like me." he tried to chuckle off the knot in his chest, "what good am i?" doubt wasn't in fernando's vocabulary, he was a menace for so long. but tonight he felt old. vulnerable.

you scoffed, "no way." you took his face in your hands and smiled down at him, "never in a million years. boys my age are the worst. i always needed someone a little older." your smile grew.

fernando replied, "what happens if i can't make love to you the way i used to?"

"then we'll find other ways." you replied, "you act like sex is on position at one speed at one time." you pinched his cheeks, "which is surprising considering all the things we've done together." you could make a list of all the sexual escapades you had with him.

"what if i get too old for you?" he asked.

"then i'll be old too." you smiled before you leaned in to kiss him on the lips, "two races is a drop in the bucket for you, nando. you're always one to get back and keep going." you kissed him again, "i know you'll get that podium this year and rub it in the face of everyone who ever doubted you."

he smiled against the next kiss you gave him then said, "thank you, my love. my number one fan." he said with a bit more cheekiness in his tone.

you pulled away and rubbed his chest once more, "i mean, i am the president of the fernando alonso fan club! that is a title i hold with honour." you winked at him, before you went to take your shirt off.

fernando licked his lips, even at his lowest, he still yearned for you. your closeness, your touch, your body. every inch of you that he could feel under his palms. he was a fortunate man.

the two of you slowly undressed, marveled at each other's bodies like you hadn't seen it a million times. still, every inch was beautiful on both of you. fit together perfectly in a way that felt correct, you were made him. and he was made for you.

soon naked, you ended up back in his lap. you pressed your hands to his shoulders and leaned in for a kiss. you said softly, "you are the most wonderful man i've ever met. everything about you, my love. i love how you'll wine and dine me then be a complete menace on the track. you are my angel, and a devil to everyone else."

"your worship warms me, my dear." he said softly. he held onto your hips as you seated yourself onto his cock. you both tensed up as you sank down on his length. he cursed through a tense jaw before he said, "you are perfect."

"i know." you said sweetly before you held onto him tighter and started to move your hips against him. your thrusts were fluid, quick but not rough. it was about smothering your lover in affection.

he held onto you, he admired the changes in your expression as pleasure washed over you. how your breasts moved with each of your movements. he could feel the curl of lust in his gut too. it was a feeling that made his heart pound, even if he couldn't believe in himself, you were always there to believe in him.

for that, he promised, he'd give you the world. every star and every moon. everything for his beloved. the love of his life.

heat grew in the bedroom, and your pace quickened. the fire fueled both of you, the need for each other only climbed the more your thrusted your hips. today wasn't a good race, but there was always tomorrow.

and come tomorrow, you'd be curled up with him in bed before the next flight. before the week off together, and during that time you'd make it very clear that fernando alonso was no old dog. he wasn't a rookie, but he still had the fight of one in him. two champions could be three, and you'd be there was the loudest cheering voice.

because that was what you did for your lover.

"fuck, nando." you moaned as you felt the sweat on your back. the strong motions of your movements made you run hot, didn't help that the air of the bedroom was growing in heat. the thump of your heart and the rush to your core only made your movements quicker.

carnally, you wanted him. a deep ache down to your bones.

you shared another passionate kiss, you moaned into it and he wrapped his strong arms around you to press your chest against him. you moved against him, the new angle allowed his cock to hit places that made your toes curl.

you pulled away and looked into his eyes, your mouth hung open a little as you panted. you said softly, "and you're worried about not being able fuck me." you chuckled, it sounded airy, "i'm not worried about that one bit. not the way you fuck me now. fuck, honey."

he went in for another searing kiss and gripped onto you. chests pressed together like your hearts were connected by string. never stray too far away from one another.

"you keep me young." he chuckled, he he pushed back some of your hair from your face and kissed you on the forehead, "my sweet angel." the two of you continued to move against one another.

more kisses were shared, noises got louder and the overall heat between you two grew in intensity. you were going to be heated for a good while after this.

you knew you were getting close to your climax. you swore a little under your breath as you felt yourself reach the peak of climax. you let out a small pleasured gasp before you pulled him in for another searing kiss. you tensed up and came around his cock. your wetness soaked his pelvis, all the way up to his hip tattoo.

a wet, messy lover. just as fernando liked it.

he was close behind you. he held onto you tightly, both arms wrapped around you as he fucked himself against you. he cursed and panted, he admired your beauty as he came inside of you. as he did he said, "i love you."

and you, blissed out from immense pleasure replied, "i love you too." you two continued to move together through fernando's climax, he was the first to slow his pace to a stop and you followed.

both laid in bed together, you on top of him with his arms wrapped around you. another kiss was shared, you were both sweaty and hot. but neither of you cared. you only wanted each other's sweet kisses.

when you pulled away, you looked into his dark eyes and said, "you'll get them next time, baby. that's a promise."

and fernando was inclined to agree - he would.

-

it took a few races to climb through the positions. eleventh, then seventh, then fourth, but eventually he steered past verstappen, norris and all the other drivers - and he was standing on the podium with the trophy over his head.

bright smile, even with the aches in his body. he was no rookie, but he still had it in him to keep racing, keep winning. he laughed as the cameras flashed, and you were in the crowd. you were cheering as the proper president of the fernando alonso fan club should.

you had tears in your eyes and he was on the verge of them. he had been at this for so long, and he'd keep racing with you at his side. cheering him on <3

[ktownshizzle]

Watermelon & Suga | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x plus size female!reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: idol!au, Fluff, Smut, Drama, Whirlwind romance, Love at “second” sight

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Inspired by the events of Dday Phuket Vlog, Yoongi meets you, the island girl of his dreams, and now he can’t stop thinking about you.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Dday rockstar Yoongi, I love this MC I think she a baddie, writing might feel a little too indulgent at times, A world with no language barriers, A relevant time skip, check the dates. Sex on a boat, public sex/slight exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral (m&f), spanking, fingering, squirting (in that order lol), slight degradation and dirty talk but MC likes it, sweet pet names, tell me if I missed anything, but yeah… sex on a boat and then some, Yoongi is down atrociously bad for our curvy queen and is desperate to worship her and validate her <3

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10k!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Finally!!! Worked on this for months ever since some of y’all plagued me with Phuket vlog Yoongi as honeymoon hubby material and I couldn’t stop the fantasy from unfolding. It did take me a while to bang this out (I blame the Nerds), sorry. Nonetheless I hope y’all enjoy this lil slice of paradise. 💜 Thank you Aqua for betareading.

🗓️ June 2023 - 📍Phuket, Thailand

The air smells like salt and sunlight, a mix you’ve grown so accustomed to that it no longer feels special. Just another Tuesday workday on the Andaman Sea. 

It’s nice and calm out today, barely a ripple on the surface. There’s a light breeze from the southwest, nothing too exciting, just enough to keep things cool. No storm on the radar, and the water's warm enough for a good snorkelling sesh. Basically, a perfect day to fall in love (with the sea).

Your usual clients are giddy tourists, high on Tiger beer and oyster omelets. But today seems quieter, more chill somehow, even though your group today is unlike your typical clientele. Today, you were asked to sign an NDA.

The rest of the group has boarded already. Some seven men and women that comprise a group of musicians currently in town for their concert tour. Now, you’re just waiting for the last member to join. The VIP, apparently.

So who’s the diva? 

Well, after 15 minutes, he finally decides to grace you with his presence. 

“Min Yoongi?” you call tentatively.

He nods, barely glancing up as he steps onto the boat. A quick bow, respectful but distracted. You direct him to a seat near the stern, his cologne lingering in the air as he passes you.

To be fair, he’s not flashy, no monogram logos in sight, no jewelry, or any other loud proclamations of being the proverbial shit. Dressed in a black and white shirt with a plain black rash guard and shorts, a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes, he could’ve been mistaken for anyone. But there seems to be a deliberate nature in how he moves, careful and understated, like he’s trying to avoid notice but not entirely succeeding. 

Swag can’t be faked, even if he did walk a little bit like your grandpa. Those New Balance slides? Yeah, you’ve seen it in your halbeoji’s home.

You turn to speak with Soomchai from the coast guard—a moderately cranky but well-meaning old man who’s been doing this for decades. He scratches at his scalp through his faded fisherman’s hat as you hand him the passenger manifest.

“You’re staring too hard,” he quips, licking the pad of his index before flipping the pages.

Huh? “I’m not.” You say.

“So they’re famous, eh?” he reviews the names on the clipboard, surreptitiously glancing over your shoulder.

You look behind you, half of them are already asleep, half basically on their phones.

“One of them, yeah. You know BTS?”

His face remains unchanged as he counts the passengers. “I don’t and I don’t trust the lot of them. Want me to accompany you?”

“Loong Soomchai,” you smile at the man who has taken you under his wing since you moved here last year. “Chill. Besides, I have a black belt in taekwondo, if you already forgot. I can easily toss them overboard, then they’ll really be your problem.”

“Aish,” he waves a dismissive hand at you. “I’m on line 3. Stay safe.”

“Roger, that,” you speak into your hand-held radio, your voice blaring on the receiver tucked into the older man’s cargo shorts. 

Soomchai’s slouched frame disappears as the boat pulls away from the dock. You brace your legs and adjust your stance. The boat shifts beneath you—but you don’t. Learning how to move with the water, how to balance your weight just right, was something that came with time.

Before you officially start the tour, you check your rash guard, snug across your chest, and smooth down the high-waisted swim shorts that you are wearing. You’re quite happy with your fashion choice today. It made you feel like a Bond girl—but curvier, tougher, more badass.

Usually, you would take a moment to observe your audience, make eye contact and exchange smiles to open the communication. Your VIP, though, sits with his arms resting on his thighs, gaze fixed on the water as though it holds answers to questions only he knows. You wonder if he’s the type to make small talk or if he’d prefer you stayed silent. 

Still, it’s your job to guide, to narrate, to fill the spaces between the silence and the sea. You start with the usual pleasantries and introductions, your go-to joke to break the ice, and you’re off. 

“If you look to the right,” you gesture, “you’ll see Koh Tapu. You may have heard of it as James Bond Island, because a scene from The Man with the Golden Gun was filmed there.”

A polite murmur rises from the other guests. Some snap photos. Min Yoongi doesn’t look up.

You let the silence stretch, wondering if you should say more. It’s not often you get guests like him—someone who seems so unbothered, yet weighed down at the same time. 

It isn’t until you glance back at him again that you realize he’s watching you now, his eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap. Caught, you quickly look away, focusing instead on the shimmering turquoise of the water.

“How many times have you done this tour before?”

The question surprises you. You’re not sure if you should be offended, but you answer swiftly anyway. “Hundreds of times,” you admit with a shrug. “But the sea changes every day. It’s never exactly the same.”

You smile at him, genuine. “I imagine it’s a bit like your concerts. You practice it a thousand times, but it's still different in every show, every city, every audience… Makes things interesting.”

Something in your words seems to resonate with him. He leans back slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I get that,” he says softly, more to himself than to you.

After that, you noticed Yoongi’s guard begin to lower. He’d nod occasionally at your explanations, even ask a question here and there—about the history of a limestone karst or the kinds of fish they might see while snorkeling. His voice was quiet, with a faint rasp from overuse that made him clear his throat now and then.

“You know this fish?” Yoongi asks, holding out his phone to show you a screenshot.

“Wow, that’s beautiful…” you lean forward slightly.

He coughs a bit, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back. “Yeah, uh, they said it’s native to these parts.”

“I’m not familiar,” you squint. “Can you send me the photo? I can ask one of the other guides—I’m still no expert on marine life, I fear.”

There’s a pause. He gives you a look you can’t quite read, brows slightly raised, lips pressed in something not quite a smile. But it’s not disapproving either. Just... 

Oh shit. You just asked for his number. Or to exchange Kakao. Same thing. You basically asked to link up.

Such an idiot. A flush creeps up your neck. Stupid, stupid girl. You weren’t thinking. God, he probably thinks you’re trying to pull a fast one on him—playing the helpful guide when really, you just wanted an excuse. 

People don’t just ask for Yoongi’s number. Of course not. Unless they’re someone. You hope he doesn’t file a complaint after this.

You straighten, your voice a little brighter, a bit too eager to salvage what’s left of your professionalism. “But, um, actually, no need. We’ll see a ton of species later when we get near the caverns. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for that one.”

“Mmh.” He nods. You can’t quite tell if it’s thoughtful or distracted by your word vomit.

But as you turn to walk across the deck, you can feel his eyes burning holes on your back. Low on your back. Maybe lower even.

Should you look? Maybe you’re just imagining it. 

You chance a quick glance. And your eyes meet his. Looking at you with an interesting glint. His lips lift slightly. You tilt your head, curious. Pulse racing. Giddy.

Okay, maybe your job is safe after all. But your heart? Eh.

When you serve them a plate of watermelon slices, the group’s energy shifts. One of them jokes about how they should’ve brought soju, while another eagerly reaches for a piece, groaning in satisfaction the moment he tastes it.

You place the tray in front of Yoongi, and he immediately plucks a slice. He bites into it, and for the first time all morning, you see a full-blown smile—pretty enamals and pink gums on show.

“Good?” you asked, unable to stop your own grin from forming.

He nodded, wiping his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It’s perfect.”

“What’s your favorite fruit?” you throw out a neutral question as you struggle to ignore the stray liquid he’s trying to chase down with his tongue. 

“Tangerines,” he replies. “The ones from Jeju Island are the best. Have you ever been?”

“No, unfortunately.”

There was a beat of silence before he adds, almost to himself, “But this… this is nice.”

He pushes the plate towards you. “You should have one.”

“Ah, maybe later.”

“Don’t be shy,” the plate moves another inch closer. You pick up a slice, mumbling a thanks.

Sugar fills your mouth as you sink your teeth on the watermelon, juice dribbling on the side of your lip which you immediately catch with your tongue.

Unlike you though, he’s watching. Openly. Shamelessly. The way his eyes dart from your mouth to your eyes is not lost on you and you can’t help but feel excitement pooling in your belly.

“Sweet.” you remark, before sucking the juice from your thumb. Baiting him.

He smirks, “Looks like it.”

“You always flirt using fruit?”

“You’re the one licking your lips.”

You grin.

As a tour guide, you’re used to the art of the harmless flirt. It comes with the job—tourists with sun-soaked nerves and too much vacation confidence, tossing compliments like loose change. You’ve learned how to play along just enough, to keep things light, fun. A wink here, a tease there. Part of the act. People like feeling charming, and you don’t mind giving them the illusion.

But this feels different.

Right now, it’s just you, the sea, and this idol watching you like he’s the one mesmerized.

And maybe it shouldn’t matter, the way his gaze lingers—not over the places you’ve been taught to hide, but the ones you’ve learned to own. The dip of your waist. The curve of your hip where your swim shorts sit snug. 

There’s something about being looked at like this—not with hunger or pity, but with curiosity, appreciation, even. And it makes you want to keep his gaze a little longer.

‘Cause you know who he is. You’d recognized the name when you saw it on the manifest and when you signed the documents. He’s an idol. Part of Bangtan Fuckin’ Sonyeondan. A man with a carefully manicured image, a life guarded by rabid fans, dissected by media men with too many opinions, surrounded by sexy, slender women.

You’d think men like him don’t get to have ‘normal’ moments like this. They don’t make casual conversations about fish or share food with a rando. But here he is, acting like this is real. And god, why does it feel like it might be?

Honestly, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re not the only one who knows the art of the harmless flirt. Maybe he’s not even that interested.

But you’re gonna play along. See where this goes. At least for now.

Later, after anchoring in a secluded cove, you bring out the snorkeling gear. Most of your guests dive in with ease, their laughter echoing as they race toward the reef. Yoongi lingers on the boat, fiddling with the straps of his mask.

“Need help?” you ask, stepping closer.

He looks up, sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”

You laugh softly. “A little. Here, let me.”

He hands you the mask, watching as you adjust the straps. His gaze feels heavier now, like it’s searching for something beyond the simple act of fixing the gear.

You’re used to people skimming past you with their eyes, but when Yoongi looks, you feel like your skin is on fire. His gaze dips, just for a second, on the spot where the zipper of your top sits against your boobs. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t smirk—probably thinks he’s being sly. But you’re on to him. 

“You’ve done this before, right?” you check, eyes teasing, as you pass the mask back to him.

He shrugs. “A long time ago. I’m out of practice.”

“Good thing I’m here.” You flash him a reassuring smile and step into the water, gesturing for him to follow.

You surface and nod. He hesitates only briefly before jumping in—but his foot slips slightly on the boat’s edge, and he lands with an ungraceful splash and shriek that echoes across the cove. You can’t stop the laugh that bursts out.

“Grand entrance,” you say, grinning as he surfaces with a shy expression.

“Glad I could entertain you,” he mutters, pushing his wet hair back, and if that isn’t one of the sexiest actions you’ve ever seen done by any human being. God.

“Here.” You take a chance to reach for his hand, and to your mild surprise and relief, he takes it. “Just relax. The water will do most of the work.”

He follows your lead, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as you float together. The reef comes into view below, vibrant and teeming with life. You glance at him, his face half-hidden by the snorkel mask, and find him watching you instead of the reef.

“You’re missing the best part,” you pull your hand away, pointing toward the colorful fish darting between the coral.

“Am I?”

You take your mask off only to roll your eyes. “Are you always this smooth?”

He pulls the mouthpiece out just enough to smirk at you. “Only when it works.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you. 

“Admit it,” he says, leaning closer, his voice low. “You’re having fun.”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you start wading away, gesturing towards the reef. “Come on. The fish are much better company.”

Back on the boat, the atmosphere is lighter. Yoongi is more relaxed now, his earlier distance replaced by a quiet warmth. As you steer toward the island for lunch, you feel his gaze on you again.

When you glance over, he doesn’t look away this time.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he says, though his lips twitch into an understated smile.

At the island, the group disembarks for lunch, their excitement palpable. Yoongi lingers by the railing, his gaze flickering between you and the others.

“Come with us,” he says, his voice low enough that the others don’t hear.

You shake your head, smiling apologetically. “I can’t. Protocol.”

He looks as though he wants to argue, because he seems like the type that gets everything he wants, but resignedly nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” you echo, though you’re not sure if you believe it.

While they eat, you stay behind on the boat, finishing your own lunch, which one of the island ahjummas hands you as soon as you dock. There’s still some leftover watermelon, so you have it for dessert. It’s sweeter than any you have had all summer, but not sweet enough to distract you from the thought spinning in your head: Did the Min Yoongi really just invite you to join their group for lunch?

He was probably just being polite. Right? But then why did he stare at your lips for ten whole seconds when you were exploring the caves?

Fuck. You really need to get Lasik because your eyes cannot be trusted. Maybe a psychiatric evaluation too, while you’re at it.

Who are you kidding? At this point you can only afford the oh-so ahjumma-chic wide-brim hat so your lone brain cell is not fried by the sun.

BUT. Why does it feel like you had a connection?

Him with his kind eyes and that sexy smile. You’re so fucked.

Shaking your head, you grab a beer from the cooler and chug it, the cold brew doing its damnednest to wash down your delusions. For a moment, the only sound is from waves against the boat’s hull.

But then, footsteps.

You glance over your shoulder.

Yoongi is walking into the shaded area of the boat, pushing damp strands of hair with his beautiful fingers.

“Hey,” you say, clocking that he’s coming in alone. Your pulse races.

“Hi.”

“Craving more watermelon?” you ask, smiling as you gesture to the plate.

He leans against the table, his gaze steady, but there’s something else there. “I was,” he says, his voice softer now, “but I think I’m craving something else.”

Your breath stutters. The plate in your hand feels heavier. The tips of his fingers brushes along the edge of the table as he walks closer, and closer.

“There’s, uh, more delicacies on the island,” you try to use your tour guide voice, but you’re faltering. “Thailand has, umm, over 1,000 species of fruit, you know…”

“Mmm.” A faint smirk touches his lips, but his eyes are fixed on you. He’s literally in front of you now, so close that the air is sucked out of your lungs. You notice every macro detail—the faint streaks of sunscreen on his cheek, the fine grains of sand clinging to his hair, the way his scent is a mix of the sun and the ocean and his own musk. And those lips. Goddamn those lips.

“What is it that you like?” you ask, your voice small and shy as he studies you, too.

“I think I prefer,” he murmurs, before leaning in. “This.”

His kiss sparks upon contact against your mouth. His lips are a little chapped, but still soft. A hand slips around the back of your neck, guiding you closer until your lips part, and his tongue slides in. There’s not one second of hesitation, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You angle your head and kiss him back, a little messy, a little breathless. It’s not the kind of kiss meant for daylight, not while you’re at work, not something that belongs on a boat in open water, but fuck if it ain’t so goddamn good you forget where the hell you are.

His other hand settles on your middle, firm, squeezing against your soft waist. You’re keenly aware of every place your bodies meet—your chest against his damp shirt, your thigh brushing his leg, the faint heat radiating off his skin in the humid air.

You’ve never done this. Nope. Not while working. Not with guests, especially. But Yoongi doesn’t feel like a guest anymore. Doesn’t feel like a fantasy or a celebrity or whatever version of himself the world thinks he is.

He doesn’t feel new–like someone you just met. It sounds crazy that you connected on a level that doesn’t quite match the short amount of time since you’ve exchanged names. You can’t even correct your actions at this point. Not when he tastes like coconut and you’re slipping farther away from clarity.

Your hands move on instinct, sliding up under his shirt, fingers tangling in the sticky strands at the nape of his neck. “Yoongi…” His name escapes you like a plea, like you’re already wrecked—and maybe you are.

His tongue strokes yours, and it’s incredibly filthy how he’s sucking it into his mouth like he wants to own it. Own you. You moan. Your knees weaken. Your brain empties. The only thing you can feel is him—his mouth, his breath, the growing pressure of his body against yours.

Fingers are slipping under the hem of your shorts, gripping you behind with no hesitation.

“This ass,” he mutters, then smacks, and the sound cracks in the air. Your breath catches, a gasp hitching from your throat as slickness floods your bikini bottoms.

“Shit–somebody might see us,”

“Nah, nobody else is gonna come here,” he pauses, smirks. “Except you, twice. Then, me.”

The confidence. “Oh my God.”

“We ‘bout to break protocol.” He squeezes your ass again, groaning into your neck. “You want this?” he rasps. His lips latch onto your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “Tell me.”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe. “Come…”

You grab his hand and lead him toward the hatch, pulling it open and motioning for him to climb down. He does without question, dropping to the lower deck with a soft thud.

You grip the ladder, descending slowly, legs already shaky with anticipation. But before you can hit the floor, his hands are on your thick thighs, firm. Squeezes once.

“Stop,” he commands. “Face me.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, turning to face him as you grip the edge of the floor deck which is now at your eye level.

“What are you—?”

“You keep an eye out,” he says, voice low and dark with intent. “I'm just gonna eat you out real quick.”

Your breath catches—shocked, aroused, completely undone.

He curls his fingers into your waistband, tugging your shorts and bikini bottoms down in one smooth motion. A gust of humid air brushes your exposed skin as your knees nearly give out.

But you don’t get a second to process, because his mouth is already on you, making out with your pussy lips. His tongue licks a long, hot stripe through your folds, and your nearly fucking cum right there.

The metal ladder is cool against your ass as you struggle for balance. Your grip tightens on the deck, knuckles almost white. His hand slides up to part your thighs just a little more, anchoring you open for him. You feel his hot breath, before his tongue dives back in—savoring, circling, sucking.

You panic—just briefly. You spent hours in the ocean. You probably taste like—

“Mmm,” he hums against you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His grip on your thigh is a bit harsh as if he could read your mind that you wanted to squirm out of his grasp. 

There is something so incredibly arousing about feeling him, but not seeing him. Hearing him, but not touching him. As if the sensations are heightened. Every feeling more palpable because of sense deprivation.

Next thing you know his fingers are teasing your entrance, collecting the slick from your pussy.

You feel a wet tap against the side of your mouth and words aren't needed as you suck his digits in. You’re drunk of your own taste and heady scent, the feel of his bony knuckles massaging your tongue tipping you closer to the edge.

But then his fingers are gone and you almost want to bite it down but then he slides it into your cunt and Christ alive. 

He is moving in and out of you so shallowly, just knuckle-deep, the pads of his fingers barely scraping your inner walls. You move your arms to grip the ladder behind you, giving you the leverage to rock forward, coaxing it inner, deeper.

Fuck is he laughing right now?!

You halt your movements as you hear a throaty chuckle from underneath you.

“Why’d you stop,” he teases, kissing up the softness on the inside of your thighs.

“Hook your thigh over my shoulder,” he mumbles against your soaked heat, voice low and so filthy it makes your whole body tense.

You do as he says. Your leg lifts shakily, your body is burning with the exertion but his hand is already there, steadying you, guiding you, draping it over the curve of his shoulder like you don’t weigh nothing.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, just before his tongue dives back in.

It’s messier now. His fingers pump deeper, faster, the pace almost punishing as they curl inside you, finding that spongey spot that makes your thighs seize. His tongue flicks over your clit in short, relentless strokes, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

You cry out—loud, desperate, your hand gripping the ladder like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. Your hips jerk, trying to escape, but he growls and tightens his hold, tongue moving even faster.

“Fuck, Yoongi—I’m gonna—”

And then it hits. A blinding, body-shaking orgasm that tears through you so violently your vision goes white. You scream as your legs almost gives out, but his arm braces your hips as you fuckin’ squirt, soaking his chin, his neck, the tops of his shoulders.

He lets out a surprised, delighted laugh, breath hot and sticky as he looks up at you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes glazed, chin glistening. “You squirted all over me, you dirty girl.”

You whimper, half-mortified, half-high, your body still twitching. “Sorry…” you squeak.

His tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth, and he grins—smirks, really. Completely pleased with himself. “Don’t. Sexiest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

You’re trembling so hard you can barely stay upright, your leg slipping from his shoulder. He catches it, presses a final kiss to your inner thigh, then plants your foot down on a step. 

“Come here. Be careful,” he says, voice gentler now. He guides you by the waist, helping you down the last few steps until your feet hit the floor.

Your body collapses into his chest on instinct, and he chuckles again, arms wrapping around your middle.

“You okay?” he asks softly, nose nudging yours.

You nod, breath still catching in your throat. “More than okay.”

He pulls back just enough to flash that lazy grin. “Good. ’Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

He spins you back around, pressing you against the ladder. You gasp as his hand flattens between your shoulder blades, your palms bracing the handles above you as his hips roll into yours from behind—slow and grinding, just to let you feel what he’s working with.

“Still want this?” he asks, voice low, gravel edged with need, his hard cock moulding itself against your plush ass cheeks.

You push your hips back into him. “Yes. God, yes.”

There’s a frantic shuffle of clothes, from his end, his swim trunks dropped and kicked away, and then… He slides in with one rapid thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your mouth drops open, lungs pierced, your breath knocked right out of you.

“Fuck—shit,” you choke, forehead pressing against your arm.

“F-fuck,” he groans, fingers tightening on your hips. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He starts to move, hips snapping forward sharply. Each thrust drives you against the ladder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny space, the scent of the ocean mixing with the thick heat of your bodies.

Yoongi rocks against you desperately like he’s been holding back all damn day. Like he’s finally been let off the leash. Mercifully he slows down, but he is pulling you up by your hair so your back is resting against his chest. 

“Yoongi,” you say his name breathlessly, and he releases his ponytail grip as you struggle to stay upright. He licks the skin by your ear, whispering dirty things you’ve never heard of in your entire life, twitches against your walls.

“You like that, huh, you little slut?” 

Fuck. You didn’t expect to like the name so much. An involuntary clench of your pussy and you know he got the idea. It’s not just the name, but it’s the way he is literally manhandling you, fulfilling all your small girl fantasies.

“Mmh.”

“Yeah, you love it.” His fingers find the zipper of your rash guard top sliding it down just enough for his large hands to slip inside and grab a fistful of your breasts.

“Your tits are so soft, shit. Wan’ suck on them so bad.” He growls.

“Want it,” you mewl, pushing your chest forward for him to grasp.

“I bet you do, huh. Maybe later, if you’re a good girl I can suck on these. Make you cum just licking at your nipples—want that?”

“Uh-huh, please,” You sound so whiny, fucking back into him as he fondles and tugs and pulls at your sensitive nubs.

“Spit,” he instructs, his palm out. “Let’s get these nice and slick.”

A wet glob from your mouth lands on his palm and he slaps it against your tits. You whimper at the sting, but it’s quickly relieved by the soft massage against your breasts.

“Feel good?”

“So good. Ah–” your words are cut off as he folds you again to his liking.

Yoongi fucks like he is used to being watched, but right now? There’s no audience. No stage. Just you, bent over, body shuddering with every thrust, moaning like you don’t care who hears it.

Your hands scramble for grip, nails digging into your own skin as his rhythm gets rougher. His fingers trail up your spine, tracing the dip at the small of your back before curling into your hair and yanking just hard enough to make you gasp as he continues to rail you from behind.

“Harder, please, Yoongi…”

“So desperate,” he pants, breathing hot against your neck. “So fucking good like this. You feel—” a groan breaks his sentence, “—so goddamn perfect. A pretty little— cocksleeve just for me.”

You’re trembling now, thighs shaking as pleasure coils low and tight in your belly. You feel everything—his cock, thick, hot, hitting just right with every snap of his hips and your body is unraveling fast.

“Ahhh. Right there, fuckin there. That’s it…” You glance over your shoulder, and fuck he’s so fucking hot and he’s fucking you so good and…

“You gonna come for me again?” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs. “Shit. Give it to me, you dirty fuckin’ girl.”

You cry out as your orgasm slams into you, body clenching tight around his cock, eyes squeezing shut as white heat galvanizes every nerve. Yoongi curses behind you, hips stuttering once, twice—and then he’s coming too, spilling deep inside you with a growl that sounds more animal than human.

You both stay there, shaking and sticky and utterly breathless. The only sound is the ocean lapping against the hull and your heart pounding in your ears.

Yoongi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist, his fingers sink against your soft skin a bit firmer, though somehow gentler, too. Then, his lips press once, twice, thrice, softly, against your shoulder blades. You don’t understand what’s happening. It feels intimate, too intimate.

“Umm…” 

“Is there a bathroom here?”

“A tiny one, yeah. Over there.”

You wince as he pulls his cock out, walls pulsing once as if you wanna keep him inside you if you can. 

“C’mon,” he taps your ass playfully, lightening up the moment. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

By the time the group is back on the boat, skin sun-warmed and bellies full from lunch, the mood is mellow. No one makes any comment as to why you and Yoongi are already on the boat, or why you both have different tops on. You’re slightly relieved. But it also makes questions swirl in your brain that you don’t really want answers to. You shove it in the recesses of your mind and focus on getting back to work. You’re still on duty after all. 

You check on the other guests, making small talk about the yummy lunch spread. You know they had grilled squid, pad thai, mango sticky rice… like every other group you’ve toured, and it’s always a dopamine rush to see everyone so satisfied.

Someone puts on music through a Bluetooth speaker, the kind of acoustic guitar track that feels like the end of a movie. The boat sways gently as it begins to head back toward the mainland.

You pretend not to notice when Yoongi lingers near the bow, waiting until the others have found their seats before sliding into the open spot beside you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits close enough that your arms brush when the boat dips slightly with the tide.

You glance at him once. Twice. On the third time, you catch him already looking at you.

Neither of you smiles. He just reaches for the beer you hand him and takes a long sip, throat bobbing.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s in limbo. Like neither of you wants to name what happened, not while you’re still in it. Still riding the aftershocks of something way too fucking good to put into words.

At one point, he rests his arm along the back of the bench behind you. His fingers graze your shoulder. And you know it’s not by accident.

Your hand brushes his knee when you reach for a stray towel. Not by accident, either.

The sun dips lower as the coastline comes into view, and a knot begins to form in your chest. The same one he must feel, if the way his hand keeps tightening around his bottle is any sign.

Eventually, the boat eases into the dock. The group starts gathering their things—bags, towels, sun hats, laughter loud again as people gear up to head back to city life.

You move to help untie the mooring lines, and when you return to the deck, he’s standing by the edge, a small bag slung over one arm.

The others are already walking off. Bowing to you and thanking you for the tour. He’s the last one to leave just as he was the first to arrive.

“This is where I’m supposed to say thank you for the tour,” he murmurs, eyes still on the sea.

You nod. “This is where I say, come back anytime.”

He turns to you then. And for a second, the tiredness in his eyes softens.

“Will you be here, if I come back?”

You don’t answer right away. Just offer a small smile. “Maybe.”

He nods like that’s fair. Steps forward like he might hug you, or say something more. Maybe he considered it. But instead, he slips past you with a final glance.

The dock creaks under his steps. He doesn’t look back.

You watch him walk away until he disappears into the crowd.

Your chest aches with something unnameable.

You know how this goes. Men like him probably have groupies all the time, in every tour stop. You were Phuket. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

At least, you tell yourself, he was a really good fuck and you finished twice, which is more generous than any other one night stand or quickie you’ve had. A great story to tell your future grandkids that you once fucked a very famous idol. Okay, maybe not your grandkids. Maybe not a story to tell, actually. (You signed an NDA!) But something to shove in your heart, let every ventricle lock it tight there. But the taste of him is still on your lips, and the way your heart stutters in your chest says otherwise, like the memory is already struggling to be freed.

You’ve just stepped out of the shower when the knock comes. You freeze.

It’s late—well past when anyone should be dropping by. You don’t get visitors out here. Not unannounced. Not at this hour. Wrapped in your towel, you tiptoe barefoot to the door, heart thudding.

Another knock. Slower this time. Softer.

You squint through the peephole and nearly forget how to breathe.

It’s him.

Yoongi.

You open the door, towel clutched tight, words lodged in your throat.

It’s really him. Hood pulled low. 

His eyes sweep over your form, too. Wet, barely covered… but he recovers enough to explain what is going on. 

“I know this is crazy,” he says, before you can even speak. “But I had to see you again.”

He stands there, blinking at you under the harsh hallway lighting in your apartment building, like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door in his face.

“How did you even—?”

“I went back to the pier. Found the old guy? Practically begged him. And he gave me your address.” He exhales, shaking his head with a laugh. “I think he only did it because he felt sorry for me.”

You’re still standing there, stunned, the scent of body wash clinging to your skin.

“Can I come in?” he asks, quieter now. Like he’s unsure of the answer. “You’re in your towel.”

You nod, even though you’re still in shock, stepping aside. You adjust the towel on your chest. 

“Make yourself at home. Let me just put clothes on.”

Yoongi slips off his shoes and steps into your little house like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He looks around. It’s nothing special—worn tile floors, mismatched furniture, an abandoned oatmeal bar on the coffee table—but he doesn’t look disappointed. He looks like he’s breathing for the first time all day.

You grab a shirt and sleep shorts, quickly changing in the bedroom. When you return, he’s leaning against your kitchen counter, eyes scanning the fridge magnets, the little details of your life like they mean something.

You glance up at the clock, 8:30 p.m.

“I was gonna eat ramen,” you say, trying to play it cool.

His lips twitch. “You got enough for two?”

You both end up cooking together. He cuts vegetables with a precision that is completely uncalled for for a cheap pack of instant noodles. You make a comment and he huffs his chest with pride, his knife skills now in full show as he chops the onions in record speed. 

You laugh at how he makes a face and complains about being in tears afterwards.

The kitchen fills with steam and the smell of broth. You sit on the counter while it simmers, beers in hand. He stands in front of you, and your legs part instinctively, letting him through. Like he belongs there.

It’s oddly domestic. Ridiculously comfortable. Why? You still don’t get it.

You’re talking about nothing—favorite childhood snacks, weird airport food, your least favorite sea creatures—when the silence slips in between you.

He’s watching you now, the way you laugh, the way you push your hair behind your ear. His beer forgotten on the table.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, but unlike in the boat, they’re not unreadable. In fact, they’re very much readable and you don’t hesitate to call him out for it. 

“You’re gonna kiss me again, aren’t you?” you raise a brow.

“Been thinking about it since you opened the door in that towel.”

So he does. 

He kisses you slower this time. More careful. Not rushed, not frantic like it was in the boat. He cradles the back of your neck, the other slides beneath your shirt to rest against your waist.

You’re kissing each other like you’re trying to remember. Like you’re trying to make it last. His mouth moves with so much purpose, almost like he’s writing over the hurried, hungry moment from before and replacing it with this—reverence, sureness, clarity.

When he pulls away to breathe, you whisper, “This is crazy.”

He nods. “I know…”

At least you can agree on that.

Later, he’s between your thighs on the couch, and this time, he doesn’t tear at your shorts like he’s chasing a high. This time, he touches you with all the time in the world, so you feel it all. When he slides your shorts down, he pauses, eyes locked on your center, pupils blown.

“I wanted this before,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “But I didn’t take my time. I didn’t show you.”

“Show me what?” you ask, breathless.

He presses another kiss to your other thigh, then another, closer and closer to your mound. 

“That you deserve to be worshipped,” he says. He drags his tongue along your puffy folds, slow and tender. You arch into his mouth with a gasp, already so close just from kissing in the kitchen. But maybe it’s also the rasp of his voice, and the refreshing honesty, the way he seems to be convinced that you were special.

So this isn’t like the boat. You, suspended against the ladder. It’s not messy or wild. It’s not just lust, or tension exploding in secret.

This is something else. You, suspended in a different reality. Yoongi, telling a different story with his mouth.

He eats you out with care, overwriting that animalistic fuck at sea. His hands cradle your supple thighs as he buries his face deeper. His tongue works in slow, deliberate circles, building towards your peak. 

“Watch…” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear between breaths. He puts his index and middle fingers in his mouth, dragging it across his sinful tongue. Teases it against your hole before pushing it in agonizingly slow, relishing the way your body is writhing in pleasure.

When he pushes the length all the way in, you fist the cushions. “Yoongi—oh god—”

His mouth envelops your clit in a gentle suction as his fingers go in and out of you. 

“Ahh, so close…”

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking again, voice breaking on his name, thighs trembling on either side of his face.

He stays between them even after. Kissing. Calming. Worshiping.

You’re still breathless when he pulls back, lips slick, hair mussed, cheeks flushed with heat and pride. He looks up at you like he’s just done something holy—and maybe he has.

You’re still dazed by the time he pulls back, lips glossy, hair wild from all your pulling but his eyes, soft, focused completely on you. He rises slowly, kissing your stomach, bunching up the fabric as he goes, and you can’t even bring yourself to feel a little embarrassed like you sometimes do, with every cover that’s shed, every piece of you revealed, because he is treating you with the kind of reverence you’ve never felt before. Blind to the flaws, he’s not about to leave any part of you untouched by the pink petals of his lips, helping you out of your cotton tee.

When his face meets yours again, you’re already reaching for him, pulling him close, needing his mouth, his breath, the low rasp of his voice in your ear. You’re so high on this feeling. Of being wanted–no–worshipped, for who you are. He kisses you like a man obsessed, hands sliding under your thighs as he coaxes you onto him, settling you over the hardness pressed tight beneath his sweats.

You’re straddling him now, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side, your body still trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you. And then—you pause.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

The reality of it creeps in and your saboteur whispers the insecurities you’ve worked so hard to hide. You’re heavier than him. Curvier, fuller. And even though he just made you fall apart on his tongue, there’s a flicker of doubt when you feel your weight settle onto him.

He notices instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs like he knows, threading his fingers on your hair to pull you towards him, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His other hand grip your hips, sliding back to your ass where he gives it a soft squeeze. “Don’t do that.”

“I just…” you look away, voice small. “You sure you’re comfortable?”

He lets out the softest fucking laugh, breath hot against your throat. “Baby, sit on me.”

His grip tightens, pulling your hips flush against him. You feel all of him—thick and very solid right against your slit and you can’t help the moan that escapes you, mixing with his own with the slightest friction.

You whine when he thrusts up just once, just enough to make your clit drag against the bulge in his boxers.

“Shit. You’re so sexy…” he breathes, hands sliding from your hips to your thighs, then your asscheeks, cupping them with both palms. “You feel what you’re doing to me right now?”

You nod, dazed, as you roll your hips, slow and testing. He groans like it’s killing him—in the best way.

“Wanna see you ride me… wanna feel you come on my cock. You think you can take it?”

“Shit, yeah…” You respond with a shameless grind. 

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he smiles, ogling your tits, the way they jiggle for him.

“Yeah?”

He licks his bottom lip, nodding.

“Off,” you gesture to his clothes, his tee tossed haphazardly on the floor. You lift your hips slightly to give him room to shimmy his bottoms down. 

His cock flops against his tummy, heavy and reddened. Your mouth wants it too but your hands are already guiding him to your slick entrance on its own accord like it knows better. You finally sink down onto him and his head drops back against the couch, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

You gasp, reveling in the fullness of him, the stretch. You ride him slowly at first. Letting him feel all of you. Letting him watch.

And he does. Watches the way your body moves over his, the way your breasts bounce with every roll, the way you take him so deep he can barely speak.

“Look at you,” he pants, hands moving everywhere—your waist, your ass, your thighs, back to your breasts. 

“Shit…” he pants, eyes moving to where you’re riding him. “You’re so fuckin’ hot… fuckin’ perfect.”

He palms your breasts, groaning low in his throat. “Can’t get enough of these.”

He leans forward, licking the valley of your chest before closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. Your walls flutter around him in response, and he lets out a low, wrecked groan, before smacking your ass.

“Fuck!”

“Bounce for me, baby,” he gruffs hungrily against your skin, and he delivers another spank. “Come on…”

You do—riding him harder, feeling him twitch inside you. His mouth stays latched, teeth grazing sensitive skin. He’s relentless, filthy, utterly focused on unraveling you. 

When he finally pulls back, he finds your mouth again, devouring your moans between kisses as you both hurtle toward the edge.

“Gonna cum, Yoongi—” you gasp.

“With me, baby,” he pants. “Fuckin’ cum with me.”

He bucks into you harder, faster, harsher and finally you cum together—this time with his name sobbed into his neck—he holds you there, pulsing inside you as he paints your walls white, whispering things he probably shouldn’t say, things you ache to hear.

His head is fully tipped back on the couch, breathing heavy, body a little glossy from his sweat and yours. The aftermath clings to your skin, but the fire hasn’t burned out. Not even close. You’re not done.

He worshipped you, called you a goddess. But, aren’t you his dirty girl? His slut? And when he looks like the hottest man alive—

He looks up when you shift beside him, his brows pulling just slightly. “Wait. What’re you—”

You don’t answer. Just move lower, letting your hands glide down his chest. His abs twitch under your palms. 

“I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Suck you dry….”

He groans—low and hoarse—as you move between his legs, your mouth ghosting over the crease of his thigh. He spreads them automatically, lazy and loose, cock already half-hard and still wet with your juices. A drop of cum beads at the tip, glistening.

“Shit,” he breathes, pushing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum in amusement, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock—slow and soft, just enough to make him twitch. Then again. Firmer this time. And when you wrap your lips around the head and suck, you feel the ripple it sends through his entire body.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses. 

You take your time. Lap him up, your cum and his combined.  Lick up the length of him again, then back down to the base, tongue swirling as he expands in your mouth. The weight of him is perfect against your tongue, the way his girth stretches your lips obscene but delicious.

His hand finds the back of your head, not forcing—just resting there. “God, baby… that dirty mouth…”

You bob your head, eyes flicking up to meet his. He looks fucking ruined already, jaw slack, stomach trembling with every flick of your tongue. You clench your throat against his tip and feel him jolt. You love the way his body reacts, the little tremors in his thighs, the tension in his neck.

“Don’t stop,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck, you’re acting like a real slut right now.”

Yes, fuck. You choke involuntarily, swallowing against his tip. He groans, lips lining up into a smirk. You take him deeper, popping him off first to admire your handiwork, cock swollen and red. Let spit drip down your chin. Let your throat work around him as your hand pumps what you can’t take. You can feel him losing it—his moans getting louder, filthier, raspier. He swears under his breath, head thrown back against the pillows.

“Shit, shit—I’m gonna cum,” he warns, eyes fluttering open to find yours again. “Swallow for me, baby. Be my good fuckin—fuuuuck—”

You take him in faster, tongue firmly pressed against that vein as you slide up and down keeping your lips vacuum sealed, and finally—

He comes with a choked-off groan, hips jerking, both hands tangled in your hair now as his cock pulses on your tongue. You take it all. Every filthy, salty, slimy drop. You swallow without breaking eye contact. Brandish your tongue with pride.

He blinks down at you, stars in his eyes as he releases the grip on your scalp to move to your chin. “Shit. You’re unreal.”

You smile. 

You wish this was real.

Somehow he convinces you to move to the bed so he can clean you up. He emerges from your tiny toilet with a warm washcloth, damping it against your leaking cunt.

“C’mere,” he lays on his side, gesturing you to move into him. Alarm bells sound in your head but you can’t bring yourself to stay away when your lips are already towards each other like magnets.

Yoongi’s hand is splayed across your lower back, fingers idly tracing soft, lazy shapes into your skin. His other arm is tucked behind his head, smug and relaxed and still looking thoroughly fucked out.

The night goes on like that. You kiss, cuddle. Talk about small things—more favorites, random things—the suspicious little mole by his arm, scary things—his upcoming military service. And you share with him your own—favorites, why you sleep with an alien plushie, your uncertain future with your job and the economy going to shit.

Hours after, your heart is unrecognizable, suddenly morphing into the shape of someone you just met. It should feel wrong. You’re still not sure why it doesn’t.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else, I fear,” he says, voice rough, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

Go away, butterflies! You snort into his shoulder. “Pshh don’t lie.”

“Why would I do that?”

You lift your head slightly, looking at him. “Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence—comfortable, but loaded. His thumb still circles lazily over your spine.

“You should give me your number.”

You consider him for just a moment. But decide to shake your head. Not because you wanna see him sweat, but because you resolve not to. 

His brow shoots up to his forehead like he didn’t expect that response.

“If you’re still thinking about me after two years…” you say, not quite looking at him, “Then find me. Just like you did today.”

He huffs, repeating his request. “Or you could just give me your number.”

You meet his gaze now, seriousness in your eyes. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why? You were hustling me for it in the boat…” he teases with a sly grin.

“Shut up, I just wanted to help you find your fish.”

He pokes his tongue in the inside of his cheek, still waiting on you, deciphering that look.

“Look. I don’t want to wait around for your text or your call. I’m not that girl.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply. “I mean, you won’t have to. I do plan to call. And I’m a pretty good texter, actually.”

You roll your eyes, tracing a slow line over his chest with your fingertip. “Be for real. You look like the type who won’t charge their phone for days.”

He gasps dramatically. “You’re… super wrong. And I have a fucking cool library of cat memes. You’ll be missing out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There’s a moment. He tilts his head toward you, so adorable, so boyfriend, like you’re an old couple bickering about something mundane, like who’s gonna check the front door if it’s locked. Certainly not a conversation that basically dictated if you will ever see each other again. 

Then before you know it, you jut your lip, unable to stop yourself from acting cutely.

“Kiss me?”

He grins, cat-like. “I’ll do you one better. I can also give you tongue.”

You groan. “God, you’re cringe. You sure you have fans?”

“A fucking lot of em.” He hovers above you, his inky bangs tickling your forehead. “Shut up and take it.”

Tongue teasing against the seam of your lips, he kisses you breathless for the hundredth time tonight. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, deepening it just enough, with a lot of tongue, as promised.

It’s that feeling.

You could stay here forever.

And that’s the problem.

For now, you let it be what it is. Just a moment where your body fits perfectly against his, your laugh harmonizes with his, and it feels like—just maybe—you were really meant to find each other in the middle of the sea.

You’re both hovering by the door, breaking every rule in the one night stand playbook. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this..

But it fucking does.

He’s dressed the same way he came in last night—cap tugged low over damp hair that smells faintly of your shampoo. You’re in your oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, bare feet brushing the cold floor. It makes the contrast feel starker somehow—him stepping back into the world, you still rooted in this little bubble of what the night became.

“You think we'll see each other again?” he mumbles, leaning his shoulder beside the door. It’s a quiet question, almost tossed out like it’s nothing.

“You’re you,” you say simply. “You have the world in your hands. It really just depends on one thing.”

His brows lift, a flicker of interest breaking through the fatigue in his face. “And what’s that?”

“How bad you want this.”

That makes him pause.

His eyes dip down your body like he can’t help it. Then his teeth sink into his bottom lip. 

“Don’t make this harder,” he huffs.

“I’m not,” you whisper back. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, barely audible.

You shrug, trying for casual even though your chest feels like it’s about to collapse. “But you have to.”

And that’s all there is to it.

He turns, opens the door.

But he doesn’t leave. Not immediately. He stands there, hoodie sleeves too long around his hands, looking back at you one last time.

His gaze doesn’t wander. It lands right on your face, and stays.

“Maybe next time,” he says, just like he did in the island.

You nod, barely. “Maybe.” You try a small smile.

He hesitates for a second more. Tries that small smile to mirror your own.

Then he leaves. And this time, it’s goodbye.

The door closes with a soft click, and the room is too quiet all over again, everything intact like he was never even there. Except he left with maybe just a tiny piece of you and replaced it with a bit of sparkle that you don’t notice immediately until you step back in your room.

That morning, you fire off a text to Soomchai asking why he gave a stranger your address and demand he send you a generous portion of his seafood pad thai as a peace offering. He obliges.

🗓️ June 2025 -📍 Phuket, Thailand

Life goes on. You didn’t have much choice in that.

The tours picked up again after the rainy season, but not in the way they used to. Fewer tourists, more locals. The occasional influencer. You learned to smile a little brighter. Talk a little faster.

But when things got tight—and God, they got tight—you picked up a second job teaching English online. What started as survival became something sustainable. Eventually, something yours. Your own business, your own pace, your own students across time zones who asked if Thailand really was that beautiful. You always smiled when they did. You tell them how sugary sweet the watermelons are.

And then there was the bracelet.

The one Yoongi left on the nightstand without a word. Understated but expensive in a way you only noticed when you turned it over in your hand and saw the brand pressed into the clasp. You kept it for months. Until the rent was due and the electricity bill was on its last notice and your fridge was nothing but leftover rice, soy sauce packets, and a bottle of beer.

The pawnshop paid you enough to stay afloat for four months.

And then last week—after months of hard work, after finding your footing again, you walked back into that same pawnshop and bought it back. The bracelet. 

Not that he’d ever come looking for it. But it felt right having it again. Like you were reclaiming something. Maybe not him, but you.

You think of Yoongi sometimes. Not in the hopeful, aching, delulu way you used to.

He’s no longer in headlines. Gone stone cold on socials. Even ARMY wants to do a recon mission to find him. But he’s doing his bid to serve his country so the absence must have been necessary for him. At least you hope so.

You play his music when you’re cooking, or on the rare evenings you chill on your balcony with a cold one and the humid breeze and his husky voice and the sweet piano melody lulls you to sleep.

It wasn’t clear then, but it is now. He simply was a blip on your timeline. An unforgettable 24 hours that changed the pace of your heartbeat. And you don’t hold it against him anymore.

If anything, he reminds you of your favorite line from one of his songs: “Future’s gonna be okay.”

And deep down, you really believe that.

It was one of those nights. Adele was blaring through your bluetooth speaker. And you’re out singing the shit outta her in the kitchen, lyrics be damned, crooning in your frilly little apron with a wooden spatula being used as your mic.

“Never mind I’ll find, someone like youuuuu…

I wish nothing but the best for youuuuuuu toooooo

Bla bla bla I bet I remember what you said

La la la sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead…”

It’s probably the onions but you’re now crying and it feels phenomenal and oddly cathartic.

Your phone chimes with a text.

Soomchai: Hey. Sorry I know it’s late. Stopping by to drop off dessert.

Strange, but okay. Everyone likes a freebie. Especially when it’s sugar.

You’re rinsing dishes when the doorbell comes.

You wipe your hands, heart racing for a reason you can’t name. You open the door.

And he’s there.

Not Soomchai.

Min Yoongi.

Wearing a hoodie just like when you last saw him. His hair is a bit shorter, face slightly more gaunt and just as guarded. There’s a weariness behind his eyes—one you recognize instantly.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t step forward.

Says one thing as you struggle to regulate the thumping of your heart.

“Dessert?”

You stand there, barefoot and blinking at him, stunned into silence. You want to ask why now. You want to ask what changed. But instead, you step aside. Quietly. 

He walks in, a plastic bag with dessert in tow. Takes off his shoes. Looks around like the space is familiar and foreign all at once.

And then—

“I tried to forget you,” he says, voice a bit raw. “Turns out I can’t.”

You swallow hard, emotion clawing up your throat.

“Me too,” you say softly, lifting your wrist so he can see the glimmer of his bracelet. You haven't removed it since you got it back.

He nods, walking closer. He hesitates just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

You stare at him, waiting.

“Wanna try this again,” he says. “If you still want to.”

You don’t answer right away. You just step forward and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in the warm cotton of his hoodie. He exhales, slow and shaky, like he wasn’t sure you'd say yes. How could you not? He walks in with a pretty face, and even prettier words.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

And that night, he proves how much.

“Butterflyfish,” you whisper.

“Hm?” His voice is drowsy, the sound vibrating softly against your forehead.

You tilt your head back, just enough to glance up at him—but his eyes are already closed, lids heavy, expression peaceful in that half-dream state right before sleep.

“The fish you were looking for,” you say quietly. “Back then.”

There’s a small pause. A breath. Then a soft, sleepy grunt of remembrance.

“Ah.”

His arms tighten around you, warm and sure, like he’s tethering himself to this moment. To you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You feel it more than hear it—his lips brushing your hair, the words settling between your ribs.

“For helping me find what I was looking for.”

The End :)

A/N: … and now we know deez fish. 🤭

I hope this story was like a brief vacay in the tropics just like in Yoongi’s vlog, and made you feel like you were there in the moment with him. 

Well—tell me what you think! Favorite parts? Please leave me a note and reblog if you enjoyed this story! 🙏🏼😘

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human. xo

Check out my masterlist if you want more Yoongi.

Permanent Taglist: (the rest to follow in a reblog)

@wonh0oe @woozuzu @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

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@angellekookie

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Get Your Fuckin Ass Back Home 🏡

Jey Uso x Bratty!Reader

WARNING: Brat taming, creampie, rough sex, heavy dominance and submission themes, consensual power imbalance, safeword use (“blue”), face fucking, throat fucking, hard spanking, overstimulation, claiming and breeding kink themes, slight spit play and spit kissing, light degradation, possessive behavior, slight humiliation kink, minimal aftercare, and explicit sexual content (18+ only).

NOT BETA READ! LIGHT EDITING (I took my lunch break early for this.)

INSPO from pic above.

requested by: @acknowledge-reigns

bffls: @spiicii @cheappop @love4brutality @isabella-2025 @maineventabbey

You weren’t trying to start a fight with Jey.

But then again, you weren’t trying not to either.

You knew exactly what you were doing when you pushed back, rolled your eyes, tossed that slick little “whatever, Josh..” over your shoulder like you weren’t poking a damn bear.

Jey’s jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it crack.

“You gonna fix that fuckin’ attitude, or do I gotta fix it for you?” he asked, low and dangerous.

You just smirked, shrugging, playing dumb like you didn’t know the heat rolling off him was a warning.

Instead of answering, you grabbed your purse and headed toward the door.

“I’m going out with the girls,” you said sweetly, “Don’t wait up.”

You could feel Jey’s stare burning through you as you slammed the door.

⸻

Four hours later, you were three shots in, two tequila sodas deep, laughing too loud at a shitty joke at the bar.

Your phone buzzed once on the sticky table.

You ignored it at first. Then it buzzed again.

And again.

Rolling your eyes, you snatched it up and saw his name light up the screen.

And attached to the latest message — a picture.

One you knew he kept for when he meant business.

A picture of Jey standing near the edge of your shared bed — shirtless, legs spread, his cock bulge through his sweats with that pretty little champion belt he was always so proud — glaring straight into the camera.

The caption underneath was simple:

“Bring your ass home. Now.”

Your whole body heated instantly — not just from lust, but from that possessive command dripping off the words.

You shifted in your seat, thighs pressing together, your stubborn heart still trying to hold the line.

You typed back:

“Maybe I’m busy.”

Not even fifteen seconds later:

“Last fucking warning before I fuck your throat so hard you won’t be able to talk for a fucking week..”

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening. Your instincts wrestled with your bratty need to push.

But you knew better.

Knew what would happen if you ignored that tone one more time.

With a huff, you snatched your bag and muttered something about feeling sick to your girls.

—

The ride home was torture.

Your thighs rubbed together the whole way.

Your pussy throbbed.

Your mind ran wild with all the ways Jey was probably going to handle you the second you walked through that door.

You fumbled with your keys at the door, nerves and excitement tangling together in your gut.

When you stepped inside, you barely had time to blink before a large hand wrapped around your throat and pressed you back against the wall.

“You think you grown now, huh?” Jey rumbled against your ear, voice thick and mean.

Your heart skittered wildly, whimpering without thought.

“Talkin’ back… leavin’ like that… Ignorin’ me…” he growled, nipping sharply at your jaw.

“You asked for this, baby.”

You squirmed under his touch, pretending to be bratty still — but he wasn’t having it.

“You gonna learn tonight,” he promised, his free hand slipping down between your legs, cupping his pretty little pussy that he knew would be soaking through your panties.

You writhed under his grip, still trying to act like you weren’t five seconds away from crumbling.

Still batting your lashes like a brat, even though every second was turning you on even more.

“Awww, poor Daddy is mad ‘cause I went out without him?” you mocked, smirking even as your chest heaved.

The fingers around your throat tightened — just enough to make your toes curl — before he yanked you forward, dragging you by the back of your neck through the living room, down the hall toward the bedroom.

“You gon’ keep runnin’ that smartass mouth, huh?” Jey muttered darkly, kicking the bedroom door open.

“You want it rough, baby? You gonna get it rough.”

He shoved you down to your knees by the bed, your hands instinctively catching yourself on the floor.

You looked up at him, lips already twitching into a smirk.

“So what, you gonna spank me and call it a night?” you taunted, tipping your head to the side.

Jey barked a short, humorless laugh.

“Nah, lil’ mama. I’m boutta break you tonight.”

He leaned down, gripping your chin hard between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

“You listen good now you filthy slut..” he growled, his forehead pressing against yours, voice dropping so low it vibrated in your bones.

“Your safeword is blue. You say it if you need to. Otherwise, you take what I fuckin’ give you.”

You clenched violently.

But you still couldn’t help yourself. You still had to mouth off.

“I dunno,” you said airily, blinking up at him. “You sure you got the stamina to back all that talk up, old man?”

His nostrils flared.

Without another warning, he pulled his cock free, thick and already leaking at the tip.

Before you could get another word out, he gripped the back of your head and thrust deep into your mouth.

Your eyes widened as he sank all the way down your throat in one brutal glide.

No teasing.

No warning.

Just pure throat fucking.

You gagged immediately, nails digging into his thighs for balance, but he didn’t ease up.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, holding your head still while he fucked into your throat at a savage rhythm.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought,” Jey grunted, looking down at you, dark eyes blazing.

“Smart lil’ mouth… finally put to some good use.”

You tried to glare up at him, tried to glare even with tears prickling your lashes, but it only made him snarl and thrust harder.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that,” he panted. “Go on. Be a little brat. See where it fuckin’ gets you.”

You whimpered around him, half from the way your throat burned, half from the wetness pooling between your legs.

Your hands fisted the sheets behind you, legs trembling.

You wanted to be mad.

Wanted to stay bratty.

But you were drowning in him — specifically his power — and it was breaking you down minute by minute.

Jey yanked out of your throat abruptly, strings of spit connecting you as he tilted your head up.

“You done bein’ a fuckin’ brat yet, mamas?” he asked, voice rough with dominance.

You panted, spit running down your chin, mascara smudged, chest heaving — and somehow you still found a way to smirk.

“Not even close,” you croaked out, defiant.

Jey grinned — a feral, predatory flash of teeth.

“Good,” he said, dragging you up onto the bed, flipping you onto your stomach and second your body hit the mattress, smack— his hand came down hard across your ass, the sound echoing through the room.

“‘Cause I’m just gettin’ started.”

You jolted forward with a sharp gasp, but before you could catch your breath — SMACK — another slap, harder.

“You think you run shit, huh?” Jey grunted, landing another vicious spank, his palm connecting with the same tender spot.

You bit your lip, trying to muffle the whimper that climbed your throat.

“You think you can walk out,” smack, “mouth off,” smack, “and not get checked?” SMACK.

Your ass burned, the sting radiating up your spine. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes — not from pain alone, but from the way your body ached for him, despite your pride screaming not to give him the satisfaction.

He landed one final, punishing slap, making you yelp.

Your fists twisted the sheets under you.

And still — still — you couldn’t help yourself.

When he leaned down over your back, you huffed out:

“That all you got, bitch?”

Dead silence.

You couldn’t even turn your head before he grabbed your hips roughly, yanking you up onto your knees.

You barely had time to gasp before he slammed into you from behind with one brutal thrust, splitting you wide open.

You cried out, your walls fluttering helplessly around him.

“Keep talkin’ now,” Jey growled, snapping his hips against you, setting a ruthless, punishing pace right from the start.

The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, filthy and hot as fuck.

You clawed at the sheets, your body lurching forward with every savage thrust, but he just dragged you back onto him over and over again.

“You want rough?” slam

“You want punishment?” slam

“You fuckin’ got it, baby.”

He gripped your hair again, yanking your head back so you had no choice but to feel every inch of him stretching you to your limits.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you still bared your teeth — biting back your whimpers.

Jey let out a possessive moan deep in his chest — a dangerous sound — before he flipped you over onto your back in one brutal move, not even bothering to slip out of you.

You cried out from the sudden shift, thighs trembling from how deep he hit inside you now.

Before you could do anything, he grabbed both your wrists and slammed them above your head, pinning you down hard into the mattress with one massive hand.

His hips never stopped snapping into you, brutal and relentless, making the bed frame crash against the wall.

You squirmed beneath him — one last surge of bratty fight — but he just pinned you harder, grinding deep until you screamed his name without meaning to.

“Uh-uh, don’t run now,” he snarled.

“You was big n’ bad an hour ago you fucking slut..”

You shook your head weakly, tears sliding down your cheeks, your body betraying you completely — clenching around him, aching for him, loving the way he manhandled you.

“Say it,” Jey demanded, his forehead pressing to yours, hips punishing against yours.

You whimpered, trying to turn your face away.

He bit his lip and snapped his hips hard, making you cry out again.

“Say who you fuckin’ belong to!”

You panted, shaking, the fight finally leaving your bones.

The orgasm building between your legs made your head spin.

“You,” you sobbed brokenly beautiful.

“I belong to you, Daddy!”

Jey groaned in approval, slamming even deeper, grinding hard against your sweet spot.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing your tear-stained cheek.

“All fuckin’ mine.”

He kept your wrists pinned, kept you trapped under him, until you shattered around him — your walls clenching so tight around his cock that he finally let go too, cumming deep inside you with a loud, guttural moan.

Pinned, claimed, ruined — exactly where you belonged.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before Jey’s rough voice rasped against your ear:

“Lemme taste you, baby.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted — but you were too weak, too wrecked to stop him even if you wanted to.

Jey slid down your body slowly, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide, ignoring your feeble whimper.

You tried to squirm — still too sensitive, your pussy clenching around nothing — but desperate for something.

And then —

He buried his face between your thighs without mercy.

His tongue lapped greedily at the mess leaking from you — his cum, your cum, all mixed together — and he groaned deep in his chest like you were his last meal on earth.

You cried out, trying to twist away, the overstimulation making your legs kick, but he just gripped your thighs harder, forcing you to take it.

He devoured you shamelessly, not caring how sloppy, how wet, how absolutely filthy it was — in fact, he seemed to love it even more.

Your hands scrambled for the sheets, looking for something to hold onto as your body trembled uncontrollably.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with you, his eyes were molten.

But he wasn’t finished.

He crawled back up your body, pinning you down again easily, his mouth hovering over yours.

You could see it — the juices dripping from his bottom lip — seconds before he crushed his mouth to yours.

He kissed you hard, messy, his tongue forcing your lips apart, feeding you the taste of yourself mixed with him.

You whimpered into his mouth, too wrecked to fight it — tasting everything, gasping as he groaned into the kiss.

He pulled back just a little, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting.

“You taste so fuckin’ good, babygirl,” Jey murmured, his thumb brushing your swollen lower lip.

“You taste like mine.”

You whimpered again, your thighs rubbing together instinctively, even though you were already so wrecked you could barely think.

Jey smirked down at you as he brushed your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

“You got one more in you, baby?” he asked, voice dark and teasing.

“Or you tappin’ out?”

And god help you —

Even after everything, that bratty little fire in you flickered again.

You blinked up at him and whispered:

“…Is that all you got?”

[miaoua3]

RIDING SEUNCHEOL'S FACE LIKE FULL-BLOWN SITTING AND GRINDING ON IT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH

YUUUUUUUP PREACH IT GURLLL YOU COULDNT TELL ME CHEOL ISNT A CERTIFIED MUNCH OHMYLORD THE NASTINESS THAT IM ABOUT TO WRITE OOOF-

Sit On It

Pairing: bf! scoups x f!reader

Genre: the nastiest smut i will probably ever write (MDNI), face sitting, praise, power play (slight), cunnulingus

Description: you make cheol’s terrible day so so much better by finally fulfilling his biggest fantasy-you sitting on his face.

Note: hyperventilating just by thinking about sitting on his beautiful face, eyebrows furrowed, big arms wrapped around my thighs- UNHOLY THOUGHTS BEGONE XJAJAKANNSOQJAIA (also, not proofread, as per usual💔)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

here’s the thing-a lot of things that you and cheol did in the bedroom was relatively new to you, considering that your previous lovers (if you can even call them that by the lack of effort they put) were selfish and conceded. so when you two started dating, and eventually sleeping together, it was surprising to experience being with someone who was so…giving, almost catering to all of your needs.

that man, if he could, he would spend every waking moment of his between your legs, either lapping and licking and sucking on your sweet pussy, or pounding into it with the force that makes the whole bed move, never mind your body.

still, there was one thing you two still have yet to try. something he has expressed he would love to do-or, well, for you to do to him.

or rather to his face.

naturally, he respected your wishes and you saying ‘no’ to his proposal. but you could see how pouty he turns every time he tries to ask if maybe you have changed your mind yet, only for you to vigorously shake your head.

it’s not that you don’t want to, it’s just…

it’s one thing to have him lay between your legs, lapping on your juices and make you soak both his face and his sheets.

it’s an entirely different thing to have that control over him-over the situation- and just grind on his face, to make yourself cum all over it, when usually he’s the one to usually make you cream all over his face.

and you thought your answer wouldn’t change. not for a while at least.

…well. about that.

you just felt so bad. he came back from work visibly under stress, his thick eyebrows set in a frown so deep they were almost touching.

he barely said anything to you, a clear sign that one wrong word could set him off, hence why he’s avoiding any conversation that could leas up to that.

he immediately locked himself up in the shower for a while, before he came back and went directly to your room, laying flatly on his back. his naked chest rose up and down in shallow and stressed sighs, face hidden in the elbow of his arm that he threw over his gorgeous face.

he just looked so…tense, you felt like you had to do something.

and so, before you knew it, you let your shorts and panties hit the floor, your (actually, cheol’s) shirt following next.

he was just laying there, deep in thought, that he didn’t ever hear you walk across the room, didn’t even pay too much attention to the mattress dipping under your weight as you crawled towards him.

it was only when you forcefully removed his arm from his face that he was ready to say something, mean things to snap at you just on the tip of his tongue immediately dying the moment he registered your nakedness.

at first, he was ready to decline your offer, ready to say that he wouldn’t be too gentle on you right now if you two decided to have sex, that he would use you rather than love you. and that is something he wouldn’t allow to happen, not with you.

but then.

instead of straddling his hips, you went ahead and put your other leg.

on the other side of his shoulder.

cheol just stares up at you, at your gorgeous body, an angle making him both salivate and his lips completely dry, your sweet pussy that he loved more than almost anything in this world hovering over his chin, so close yet so far away.

cheol followed the trail that is your body-your wetness right in front of his eyes, followed by your soft tummy, the curves of your waist connecting right into your chest where your soft and bouncy tits stood proudly, and lastly your visibly shy and nervous face.

he could feel himself panting already, ready to actually suffocate under your weight if you would so kindly let him. but despite his urges and needs, he waited. waited for you to make the first move.

waited for you to take control.

gulping one last time, in low and raspy voice you asked him one final question.

“still want me to sit on it, baby?”

and so here you were, head thrown back as the moans flew freely out of your mouth. almost like an instinct, like an animal, you were unconsciously grinding all over his face, your juices smeared all over his mouth, cheeks, and even nose. and yet, cheol just continued to lap on your pussy like a good boy that he was.

he was so so loud as well, you can’t honestly remember if you have ever heard him be so vocal, maybe even more vocal than you. his groans were bordering on animalistic ones, vibrations coming from his mouth traveling through your pussy, through your quivering tummy and shaky chest, all the way to your ears.

his big and strong arms were strongly wrapped around your thighs, locking them in place, so even if you wanted to move, cheol wouldn’t allow you to.

your hands were so indecisive, going from strongly holding onto the headboard, to leaning back on one, hand pressed into his chest that was tight from the lack of the air, while the other was holding onto his hair, pulling on it as you were grinding all over his beautiful face.

you peaked over your tits to look at his face, only to see his eyes closed in pleasure, eyebrows now furrowed in pure ecstasy instead of anger. you notice his eyes trying to open for a second, only for them to roll back into his head the moment you circle your hips again.

and the noises-god, it was so loud and nasty, it was all the more turn on.

you were just moving your hips, sometimes back and forth, properly grinding on his hungry lips, sometimes just making circular motions, smearing your precum all over his face.

which he seems to like so much, as every time you did it, you could feel his hips buckle upwards into the air and his moans travel through your pussy.

his tongue was splitting your lips apart before dipping inside your hole, collecting your sweetness on his tongue before swallowing it, the tip of his tongue then lapping at your clit for a second before doing it all over again. you swore, it almost looked like he was passionately making out, except it was with your pussy and not with you.

you were worried that you might be too heavy, that you were suffocating him, but that seems to be exactly what he wanted, as any time you tried to raise your hips a bit and let him breathe, he would just harshly pull you back down, a sound somewhere between disapproval and warning leaving him before he goes back to being a moaning mess.

it actually came so naturally to you- being in control. you weren’t even aware just how much control you had over him right at this moment. you were the one that set the pace, the one that used your hold on his hair to move his face in the direction that you wanted him to, the one who was a babbling mess, words like “such a good boy for me” and “fuck, just like that, baby, you do it so good” involuntarily leaving your mouth.

and cheol, just like a good boy you claimed he was, took whatever you gave him.

he was so lost in the pleasure, that he didn’t even notice just how close he was to cumming untouched until your hips started buckling out of control as well, moans getting breathier the closer you were getting to creaming all over his face.

before you knew it, you harshly pulled on his hair to push his face further into your pussy as you threw your head back, a loud scream escaping you as you reached your orgasm and came all over his face, your cum smearing all over his lips and chin as he tried to clean it all up, to swallow it, to lose himself in the pleasure for just a bit longer.

after you became sensitive, you recoiled away from his touch, finally being able to lift your hips away from his face and let him breathe again.

upon you lifting yourself up, cheol uses his newfound to take one deep breath, shakily filling his lungs with fresh air. he wasn’t even aware of just how oxygen deprived he was until he tried looking up at you only for everything to become very very blurry for him.

you two just stayed like that for a minute or so, both looking at each other as your chests were heaving.

and as you were looking at each other, a clear agreement was concluded between you two as you two were trying to come back to your sanities.

fuck, we are going back from this.

[riddleswhcre]

────۶ৎ welcome home

joel decides to welcome you the only way he knows how — with slow, filthy devotion.

warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), creampie, slight breeding kink, praise, soft roughness,

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: hi!! this is a lil welcome fic to celebrate moving from my sideblog to my main! thanks for sticking around and welcome to the chaos ily mwah

ᖭ༏ᖫ

the door clicked shut behind you, the sound barely registering over the thundering of your heart. joel leaned against it, arms crossed, eyes dark and hungry like he'd been waiting all goddamn day.

"bout time you got here, darlin'," he drawled, voice thick like honey left out in the sun.

you barely had a chance to open your mouth before he was on you — calloused hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. his mouth found yours, rough and desperate, tasting of coffee and sin. you whimpered into him, feeling the heat of him everywhere, the hard press of him between your legs already making you ache.

"wanted to fuck you proper for this new start," he murmured against your neck, voice all grit and heat. "welcome you nice 'n slow... make sure you feel it."

you shivered as he worked you back towards the bed, hands slipping up under your shirt, fingers teasing the soft skin until you were gasping his name. he laid you out, eyes roaming your body like you were somethin' holy.

he tugged his jeans down just enough, thick cock heavy in his fist. you moaned at the sight of him, the tip flushed and leaking, begging for you.

"need you to cum all over me first, sweetheart," he said, voice rough. "then m'gonna fill you up so good you won't think 'bout nothin' else."

your hips bucked up, desperate, and he just chuckled, settling between your legs, mouth hot and greedy, tongue working you over till you were writhing, fingers tangled in his hair, sobbing his name as you came hard against his mouth.

he didn't even give you time to breathe — lined himself up and pushed in slow, the stretch burning just right, stealing the air from your lungs. he fucked into you deep and lazy, every thrust hitting that sweet spot, every filthy word in that low southern drawl making you tighten around him.

"fuck, that's it, baby," he groaned. "c'mon, milk my cock. want every fuckin' drop."

you shattered around him, vision going white as he spilled inside you with a guttural curse, holding you tight like he never wanted to let go.

when you finally caught your breath, he kissed you slow, sweet, all that fire banked into something warmer.

"welcome home, darlin'," he whispered.

ᖭ༏ᖫ

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[lynbels]

honeymoon with jake BUT he said he was too tired to do anything, until he saw you in lingerie and practically pounce on you 😛😛

honeymoon high - sjy (m)

pairing: jake x reader

synopsis: After a long wedding day, Jake swears he’s too tired for anything — until he sees you in lingerie and proves just how much energy he has left. ✉️ wc 1218 - ‼️tw: lingerie, pouncing, riding, slight dom!Jake, explicit smut, creampie, praise, honeymoon setting

💌: jst lemme take care of my mans

Your first night as newlyweds wasn’t exactly how you pictured it.

You’d spent the whole day traveling — endless flights, missed connections, heavy bags — and by the time you got to the hotel, both of you were exhausted. Jake dropped onto the bed with a heavy sigh, arms spread wide, hair a little messy from the humidity.

“You look gorgeous, baby,” he said, flashing you a lazy smile. “But I’m so dead. Can we just… cuddle tonight?”

You swallowed the disappointment, forcing a little laugh. “Of course. It’s been a long day.”

Jake didn’t notice the way your smile faltered. He just tugged you down onto the bed with him, tucking you into his chest, already half-asleep.

You lay there for a while, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart. It wasn’t that you were upset — you understood. Still, you’d been excited about tonight. About showing him the new lingerie you bought, the one you’d been too shy to wear until now.

Quietly, you slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. If nothing else, you thought, maybe you could feel a little pretty for yourself.

The lingerie was delicate — soft white lace that hugged every curve, almost innocent if it weren’t so sheer. You caught your reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushing. This had been for Jake. You wanted him to see you like this.

You hesitated by the door, hand hovering over the knob.

Maybe you were being silly. Maybe he really was too tired—

The door creaked open.

Jake’s voice, thick and groggy, floated over. “Babe? You okay?”

You stepped out.

He blinked up at you — once, twice — and then his whole body jolted upright, all sleepiness gone in an instant.

“Holy shit.”

He stared, mouth parted slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. You shifted under his gaze, suddenly shy.

“I, uh… I just wanted to try it on,” you mumbled, hugging your arms around yourself.

Jake was off the bed in a second.

“You wore that for me?” His voice was low, a little awed.

You nodded, cheeks burning.

He reached for you slowly, like he was afraid you might disappear. His hands found your hips, fingers pressing lightly into your skin. “You’re unreal,” he whispered, almost to himself.

And then he kissed you — deep and needy, like he’d been starving and didn’t realize it until just now.

You gasped into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as he backed you toward the bed. His hands roamed your body reverently, tracing the curves and lines of you like he was committing them to memory.

“You’re so perfect,” he muttered between kisses, voice shaking with how much he meant it.

You let out a little whimper when his mouth found the swell of your breast, nipping gently through the lace. His hands framed your waist, holding you still as he peppered kisses down your torso, pausing to suck at the sensitive skin just below your ribs.

“Jake,” you breathed, fisting your hands in his hair.

“You got me all worked up now,” he said with a breathless laugh, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His cheeks were pink, pupils blown wide.

He tugged the lingerie aside carefully, like unwrapping a gift, groaning when he finally saw you fully. “Fuck, baby. Look what you do to me.”

You tugged at his shirt until he peeled it off, baring the lean lines of his body. You barely had time to admire him before he had you on your back, crawling over you with a grin that was all boyish mischief and unfiltered hunger.

“I thought I was too tired,” he murmured against your throat. “Guess you changed my mind.”Jake’s hands trembled slightly as he dragged you onto his lap, sitting back against the pillows, his legs spread wide and welcoming.

“You’re…you’re gonna kill me, baby,” he mumbled, voice low and wrecked as you straddled him, the delicate lace of your lingerie brushing against his bare chest.

You smiled, heart hammering. “You said you were too tired, remember?”

Jake groaned, tipping his head back. “Not anymore.”

You kissed him — slow and teasing — grinding your hips just a little against the bulge straining in his boxers. Jake cursed under his breath, hands finding your thighs, squeezing them like he was grounding himself.

“Take these off,” you whispered, tugging at the waistband of his boxers.

He helped you, lifting his hips so you could drag them down his legs. His cock slapped up against his stomach, thick and flushed and already leaking.

You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your belly.

Jake laughed breathlessly when he saw your face. “You’re staring, baby.”

“Can you blame me?”

You lined him up, heart racing, and sank down slowly — inch by inch — until you were seated fully on him. Jake’s mouth dropped open in a silent moan, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed. “You’re so tight… so good for me.”

You rocked your hips experimentally, moaning softly at the stretch. Jake just lay there for a second, eyes wide, watching you move on top of him like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered hoarsely, tracing the lace still clinging to your body with one hand while the other guided your hips.

You set a slow rhythm, grinding down onto him, rolling your hips in lazy circles that had both of you gasping.

Jake’s head fell back against the pillows, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Baby, you feel unreal,” he panted. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You leaned down to kiss his jaw, nibbling lightly, smiling when he whimpered underneath you.

“Jake,” you whispered into his skin, “you’re so good. Always so good to me.”

That seemed to break something in him.

Suddenly his hands tightened around your waist, helping you bounce faster, fucking himself up into you with desperate little thrusts. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and Jake’s soft, breathy curses.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped, thrusting up harder. “Taking me so well. My gorgeous wife.”

You cried out, clinging to his shoulders as the pleasure built higher and higher, your thighs trembling from the effort.

Jake saw it — of course he did — and immediately shifted, flipping you both over in one smooth, strong motion so you were beneath him, legs spread wide, caged in by his body.

“Let me help, pretty girl,” he said, voice thick with need.

He thrust back in deep, setting a relentless pace, kissing you hungrily between thrusts, groaning when you clenched around him.

It didn’t take long after that.

You came first, back arching off the bed, your nails dragging down Jake’s back as you sobbed his name. Jake followed moments later, burying himself deep inside you with a broken moan, spilling warmth into you, forehead resting against yours.

You lay there tangled together, sweaty and spent, breathing hard.

Jake chuckled quietly after a minute, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Guess I wasn’t that tired after all.”

You laughed weakly, still floating from the aftershocks. “No… definitely not.”

He pulled you closer, his hand gently running up and down your spine.

“Best honeymoon ever,” he whispered, and you smiled into his chest, feeling happier than you ever thought possible.

[shyoko]

✧Dance for Me, Break for Me ✦༺⊹

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. (English is not my first language.) 

✦ 0.6K words * Masterlist˚ Taglist✧ Requests “Open”₊‧ ✦𓂃 

dom!Ni-ki x fem!reader ⚠️ cw: NSFW / +18, rough sex, semi-public (dance studio), light choking, spanking, degradation + praise, dirty talk, mirror sex, overstimulation, light bruising, slight crying, multiple orgasms, creampie. Minors DNI. Read responsibly.

The bass thumped against the studio walls, matching the rhythm Ni-ki shattered with every movement. He was a hurricane: precise, powerful, fucking sexy as hell. And you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

You tried to pretend you were focused on your task, phone in hand, but Ni-ki noticed. He saw you. Every sharp turn, every snap of his hips, every bead of sweat trailing down his neck... it was all for you.

Sometimes, his eyes drifted away from the mirrors just to lock onto you. Cold, dark, insatiable. You felt his gaze burning your skin, a silent threat promising things you knew you shouldn’t want.

When practice ended, the air was thick with tension. Everyone was laughing, joking... but Ni-ki only walked straight towards you, his shoulders taut, unable to hide the tension. He stopped right in front of you, jaw clenched. "Stay," he said — low, firm, leaving no room for refusal.

Ni-ki didn’t even wait for your answer. He knew you would obey. One by one, the others filed out, leaving the studio empty. The silence that remained was heavier than any music.

And then, without warning, Ni-ki moved. He grabbed your wrist and pinned you against the mirror, his body pressing against yours with raw strength.

"Had fun drooling over me?" he whispered against your ear, his voice a dangerous threat. His hand slid up to your throat, squeezing lightly, while his other hand slipped under your skirt.

"Did you get wet just watching me?" he laughed darkly.

Before you could answer, he spun you around, pressing you back against the mirror. With delicious brutality, he hiked your skirt up, leaving your ass bare. The slap that followed was swift, intense, the sound cracking against the glass.

"Count."

"One..." you gasped, the sweet sting blooming across your skin. Another slap, this time tearing a moan from your lips.

"Two..."

Ni-ki freed his cock, yanking his pants down just enough. Without warning, he thrust into you in a single brutal stroke, making you choke on a desperate moan against the mirror. He pounded into you with wild, relentless rhythm, his hips slamming against your ass.

His hand returned to your throat, tightening his grip as he moved. The sensation was addictive — the mix of light choking and overwhelming pleasure making you see stars.

"Look at yourself," he growled. He forced your eyes open, making you stare at the reflection: flushed, soaked, completely at his mercy.

Every thrust shook your body, your breasts bouncing against the fogged glass, your mouth open in silent cries. Ni-ki panted against your ear, dirty words falling from his lips between thrusts:

"You're mine. Only mine."

"This cock's the only thing you'll ever want inside you, understand?"

"Look at you... so fucking beautiful breaking on my cock."

Suddenly, he let go of your throat, only to lean down and lick the curve of your sweaty neck, his hot tongue dragging across your sensitive skin. Without slowing down, his hand slipped between your thighs, fingers finding your clit. He rubbed you with filthy, relentless circles.

You didn’t last long. You screamed his name, your orgasm tearing through you in violent waves, your legs trembling on the brink of collapse.

But Ni-ki didn’t stop. He kept thrusting, riding you through your overstimulation, your body trembling, vulnerable, wrecked. Every time you thought you might fall, he held you tighter, pinned you harder, fucked you deeper.

Finally, he let out a rough growl and spilled inside you, his hips slamming into you with one last brutal thrust. He stayed there for a moment, forehead resting against your back, panting heavily.

Slowly, he released you, his hand sliding from your neck to your waist, stroking you with dangerous tenderness. His voice was a dark, ragged whisper full of filthy promises:

"This isn't over. I'm not stopping until you can’t walk tomorrow."

And you knew he meant every word.

✦A/n: Hii, I really hope you liked it. I love you very much. MWAH!

✦Taglist : @lezleeferguson-120 @nuki-riki @ijustwannareadstuff20 @vvenusoncasual @miellette @enhacolor @xxkatsusjinsux @somieverse @ourshin @han-to-my-minho @douqhnxtss @nuggets4lifers