#maybe i'm coming at it from a curved angle but like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sosa2imagines · 3 months ago

Text

My girl.

Warning- Soft dark Bucky and Steve, manipulate, spiking drink, planning and kidnapping maybe?, possesiveness, jealousy, 6.6k words.

You tug at the hem of the black dress Natasha had lent you, feeling a little out of your comfort zone but enjoying the way it hugs your curves. Even Thor, your ever-blunt best friend, had taken a moment to whistle in appreciation when he saw you. “Damn, Sweets, if I wasn't already taken...” he'd teased with a wink, earning a playful slap from Wanda.

You laughed, shaking your head, “Thank you, but come on lets go, Natasha is waiting for us!!!”

Now, inside the nightclub, you were mesmerized. The music was pulsing through the air, vibrating under your skin, and the flashing lights created an electric energy that makes it impossible not to get caught up in the atmosphere. Wanda and Thor were already pulling you towards the bar, but your gaze lingers, scanning the crowd.

That’s when you see them.

Two men, both wearing baseball caps, an odd choice in a place like this. One has short blond hair, his face sharp yet friendly even under the dim lighting. But it’s the other one who catches your attention. Dark brown hair falls slightly into his eyes, piercing blue beneath the brim of his cap. He’s leaning against the bar, his expression unreadable, yet there’s something about him... something dark, something intriguing.

You quickly look away when Thor hands you a shot, grinning widely. “To a great night!” he declares. You, Wanda, and Thor clink glasses and down the shots, the burn spreading warmth through your veins. Laughter bubbles out of you, as Natasha joins and drags you to the dance floor, and soon you're lost in the music, swaying and spinning with the beat.

Little do you know, the two guys in the caps were watching you.

The blond one, Steve, nudges his friend with a knowing smirk. “See something you like?”

Bucky’s lips curl at the corner, his eyes never leaving you as you move effortlessly to the music. The lights catch on your skin, your smile lighting up your face in a way that sends a spark through him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and dark. “I do.”

The music pulses through your body, and you let yourself get lost in it, swaying and twirling under the flashing lights. Laughter spills from Wanda and Natasha as they dance beside you, their energy infectious.

But despite the music and the crowd, your thoughts drift back to those two guys.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you glance back toward where you first saw them, only to find the spot empty.

Your brows furrow slightly. You could’ve sworn they were there...

Before you can finish the thought, some movement catches your eye. They're closer now. Much closer.

The dark-haired one with those piercing blue eyes stands near the edge of the dance floor, his gaze locked onto you like he’s been watching your every move. The blond one leans in to say something to him, but Bucky doesn’t react, his focus entirely on you.

You swallow hard, a strange mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your chest.

And then it happens, gradually at first. The more you move, the closer they seem to get. Each beat of the music shortens the distance until, before you realize it, there’s a presence behind you.

A warmth at your back.

Your heart stumbles in your chest as you turn, and suddenly, he’s there. The dark-haired stranger stands close, almost too close. The sharp angles of his jawline, the way his eyes pierce right through you, leave you momentarily speechless. Up close, he’s even more devastatingly handsome, and your brain screams at you to keep it together.

He offers you a small, almost sly smile and reaches out, taking your hand in his. His grip is firm but gentle, sending an unexpected thrill down your spine.

“I'm Bucky.” he says, his voice deep and smooth, laced with something that makes your breath hitch.

You blink, trying to ground yourself, “Y/n…” you manage, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks as you force yourself to meet his intense gaze.

The moment lingers, and with a shy smile, you turn back to Wanda and Natasha, hoping to gather your scattered thoughts. They’re both watching with matching grins, their expressions practically screaming “we saw that.” Your cheeks heat further, and you shake your head, laughing nervously.

It isn’t until you try to raise both hands to gesture at them that you realize something.

Bucky was still holding your hand.

Your eyes flick down in surprise, and when you look back up, there’s an unmistakable glint of amusement in his gaze. He gives your hand a light squeeze, as if testing whether you'll pull away.

You don’t.

Bucky tugs lightly at your hand, a silent invitation to follow him. Just as your feet begin to move, a familiar voice cuts through the music.

“Whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going?”

You turn to find Thor standing there, arms crossed and an amused yet protective look on his face. His gaze flickers to Bucky, sizing him up with that big-brother energy you’ve grown used to.

“Just to the bar.” Bucky says smoothly, but there's an edge to it, like he's not used to being questioned.

You introduce Bucky and Thor to each other.

Thor’s eyes narrow slightly, looking at Bucky, before turning to you. “Stay where I can see you, yeah?” His voice is light, but you know he’s serious.

You roll your eyes with a playful smile. “Yes, Dad!”

Satisfied, Thor gives Bucky one last look before heading back to Wanda and Natasha, who are too busy dancing and whispering to each other to notice much.

You finally let Bucky lead you through the crowd, feeling the warmth of his grip as he weaves effortlessly through the pulsing bodies. The bar is busy, but he navigates it like he’s been here a hundred times before.

“This is Steve…” Bucky says, nodding toward the blond guy in the cap you noticed earlier.

Steve offers a friendly smile, his blue eyes warm. “Nice to meet you.” he says, tipping his drink slightly in greeting.

“You too…” you reply, offering a small smile.

Bucky leans in a little closer, his voice low against your ear. “What’ll you have?”

You wave him off, feeling a little awkward under his gaze. “Oh, I’m good.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “C’mon, something.”

You glance around nervously, then mumble, “Uh… orange juice?”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Your brain practically screams at you, “Who on earth orders orange juice in a nightclub?”

Steve stifles a laugh behind his drink, and Bucky just smirks, his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place. “Orange juice, huh?” he muses, signaling the bartender. “Classy.”

You groan, covering your face for a second, “I panicked, okay?”

Bucky chuckles, leaning a little closer, “Don’t worry, doll. I like classy.”

Your heart does an embarrassing little flip at the nickname, and before you can come up with a response, he hands you the drink. The way his fingers brush yours sends a spark of warmth up your arm.

Before you can sip, Bucky’s hand returns to yours, leading you further away from the crowded bar area. You find yourself in a quieter corner of the club, where some people are lounging, some are smoking, and the music feels a little more distant.

Your nerves kick in again, but Bucky’s presence is oddly steadying. His gaze never leaves you, like he’s figuring you out piece by piece.

“So,” he says, leaning against the wall, “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

You take a tiny sip of your orange juice, trying not to cringe. “Apparently... making excellent drink choices.”

Bucky laughs, and you realize then how soft his smile can be despite the dark edge lingering beneath it.

You glance around the dimly lit corner of the club, your fingers tracing the cold glass of your orange juice. The air here feels heavier, laced with smoke and whispers of conversations that don’t quite reach you. Bucky stands close, his eyes never leaving your face as if he’s studying every flicker of emotion.

“Do you smoke?” he asks suddenly, his voice low and rough, cutting through the haze around you.

You shake your head, offering him a small smile. “No, not really my thing.”

He nods, then tilts his head. “Mind if I do?”

You glance at him, the way he stands with such quiet confidence, and shrug. “I don’t mind.”

With a smirk, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it with practiced ease, taking a slow drag before exhaling the smoke in a way that somehow makes your heart stumble. The glow of the cigarette highlights the sharpness of his features, casting shadows across his jaw.

You find yourself mesmerized…again.

And then, in that same soft, dangerous voice, he says it.

“You’re my girl now,” he murmurs, his eyes cutting through the smoke to meet yours. “If anyone comes near you... I’ll fucking kill them!”

Your breath catches, and for a split second, your mind flashes to your ex. He never said anything like that to you. Not once. Your brain screams at you to stop thinking about him, to stay in the present, but it’s too late. The comparison lingers.

You shake it off, letting out a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Is that so?” you tease, tilting your head. “Then prove it.”

Bucky’s lips curve in a way that makes something tighten in your chest. Without another word, he takes your hand, still warm from before and leads you back toward the bar. The music grows louder again, pulsing around you like a heartbeat, and just as you start to feel the weight of his words settle in, Thor intercepts you.

“Alright, sweets” Thor grins, grabbing your hand before Bucky can react. “Time to dance.”

You throw a quick glance over your shoulder at Bucky, but Thor’s already twirling you into the crowd. Wanda and Natasha cheer, and soon you're moving with them, laughing and letting the music wash over you.

But it doesn’t last long.

Before you know it, a familiar grip wraps around your wrist, not gentle this time. Firm, almost painfully tight. Bucky. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls you away, but the intensity in his hold is enough to make your heart race for a different reason. He’s not asking. He’s taking.

You barely manage to throw Wanda a glance before you’re dragged through the crowd again, your feet struggling to keep up with his pace. The air between you thickens, and it finally hits you. You’re not just his girl now.

Bucky Barnes is possessive about his girl.

Your skin tingles under his touch, and for the first time tonight, a little voice in the back of your mind wonders just how deep that possessiveness runs.

You don’t notice the way Steve watches from the sidelines, a slow smirk tugging at his lips, as if he knows exactly what’s going on inside Bucky’s head. As if he’s seen it all before.

Bucky’s grip on your hand loosens as he finally stops, and when you look up at him, expecting to see the same intense expression from moments ago, you’re met with something entirely different.

A soft smile.

It’s disarming, almost as if the possessiveness he showed just seconds ago never happened. His blue eyes are calm now, gentle even, and it throws you off balance. You’re not sure how to react. Should you call him out? Ask what that was about? Or just... let it go?

Your heart is still racing from how easily he dragged you away, but before you can decide what to say, Steve steps closer, and Bucky turns his attention to him. Their conversation is low, their words blending into the pulsing music, and for a moment, you’re left standing there, trying to process everything.

Meanwhile, back at the dancefloor, Thor is anything but calm.

“I don’t like it,” he says, eyes narrowing as he watches you with Bucky from across the room. “I don’t trust his intentions.”

Natasha, ever the observant one, nods in agreement. “Did you see how he pulled her away? That wasn’t... normal.”

Wanda, though quieter, presses her lips together in concern. “Y/n didn’t seem to mind too much, though.”

Thor lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s the problem. Guys like him? They have a way of making it feel like it’s okay... until it’s not.”

Natasha’s eyes darken slightly, and she exchanges a knowing glance with Wanda. “We need to step in before this goes any further.”

Wanda nods. “I have an idea.”

Before long, Natasha and Wanda are weaving through the crowd toward you. You’re still standing with Bucky and Steve when they reach you, their smiles bright but calculated.

“We’re just gonna steal her for a sec!” Natasha says smoothly, looping an arm around yours before Bucky can protest.

Bucky’s jaw twitches slightly, but he nods, letting them take you. “Don’t take too long.”

You let them pull you away toward the restrooms, barely registering the way Bucky’s gaze lingers on you as you disappear into the crowd.

Inside, Natasha closes the door behind you, and Wanda immediately turns to you, her eyes full of concern. “Alright, spill. Are you okay?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, he dragged you off the dancefloor!”

You let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Okay, yeah, that was... intense. But he’s…I don’t know, it’s weird. He’s intense but then... soft?” You groan, pacing a little. “And I’m not even drunk, so I can’t blame it on that, but part of me just... wants to be around him.”

Wanda’s eyes soften. “You sure it’s not just the mystery?”

You sigh, leaning against the counter. “Maybe? I don’t know. But I’m fine. Really.”

Natasha exchanges a look with Wanda, not entirely convinced. “Just... be careful, alright?”

Meanwhile, outside the restroom, Steve watches as Bucky takes another slow drag of his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the door you disappeared through.

Steve sighs. “Buck, you gotta calm down.”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately. He exhales smoke slowly, his eyes still on the door. “She’s mine.”

Steve shakes his head, crossing his arms. “You barely know her.”

Bucky finally looks at him, and for a brief moment, there’s something dark in his expression. “I know enough.”

Steve watches Bucky carefully, noting the way his jaw tenses as he stares at the restroom door. The silence between them stretches until Steve finally breaks it.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Buck?” he asks, his voice low but firm. “What’s the plan here?”

Bucky flicks the ashes from his cigarette, his lips pressing into a thin line. “She’s mine.” he says simply, as if that alone explains everything.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “And?”

Bucky’s eyes remain fixed on the restroom door, his expression unreadable. “I’m not gonna rush it. She’ll come to me.”

Steve lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “And if she doesn’t?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “She will.” His voice is full of quiet certainty. “We wait. We watch.”

Before Steve can respond, the restroom door swings open, and you step out with Wanda and Natasha. You look more composed now, but your eyes instinctively search for Bucky. When you find him leaning against the wall, his gaze unreadable, something inside you twists unexpectedly.

Before you can take a step in his direction, Thor is suddenly at your side. “C’mon, sweets…” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulder and leading you straight back to the dance floor. His grip is firm but not overbearing, a silent reminder that he’s keeping you close. Wanda and Natasha follow, shooting Bucky a subtle glance.

Bucky watches, his expression darkening as Thor keeps you firmly within the group, away from him. His fingers tighten around his cigarette before he flicks it to the ground and grinds it under his boot. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, but he makes no move to come closer. Instead, he leans back against the wall, arms crossed, his attention shifting to Steve.

“What’s the plan now?” Steve asks, watching Bucky carefully.

Bucky’s lips curl into a slow, almost dangerous smirk. “Wait and watch.”

Steve nods knowingly. “You’re playing the long game, huh?”

Bucky’s eyes follow you as you laugh at something Thor says, but there’s a flicker of something in your expression, something almost hesitant. “She’ll come to me,” Bucky murmurs, as if it’s inevitable. “She’ll start missing me soon enough.”

And maybe he’s right. Because as you dance with your friends, trying to enjoy yourself, you can’t help but steal glances in his direction. Every time you do, he’s already looking away, ignoring you as if you don’t exist.

And for some reason, that stings.

You know you shouldn’t feel this way. Thor and the others are just looking out for you, making sure you’re safe. But there’s something about Bucky’s sudden coldness that unsettles you. You can’t explain it, but a small part of you feels... bad.

Kindness.

It’s one of your biggest weaknesses. Your friends adore that about you, but they also know it makes you vulnerable. People can take advantage of it.

And as much as you try to shake it off, that little voice in your head wonders if Bucky is counting on that very thing.

You sway half-heartedly to the music, but your mind isn't on the beat or the flashing lights. Your eyes keep drifting to where Bucky and Steve are standing, and every time you see Bucky deliberately looking away, something inside you twists.

Natasha nudges you gently. “Sweets, stop.”

You blink, pulling your gaze away. “Stop what?”

“Being you!” Wanda chimes in with a teasing yet serious look. “You’re too kind. You always feel bad when you shouldn’t.”

Natasha nods in agreement, crossing her arms. “Kindness is great, but not when it keeps you up at night worrying about people who don’t deserve it.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I can’t just switch it off, Nat.”

Natasha rolls her eyes but smiles knowingly. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Doesn’t mean we won’t try.”

They both mean well, and you know they’re right. But it’s easier said than done. Your kindness is part of who you are, for better or worse. And right now, it’s gnawing at you, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

Meanwhile, across the club, Steve watches you carefully before turning to Bucky. “She’s getting restless,” he says, sipping his drink. “You counting on that?”

Bucky smirks, tapping his fingers against the table. “Of course, I am.”

Steve exhales slowly, leaning in slightly. “Why her, Buck? There’s plenty of girls here tonight. Hell, there have been plenty of girls before her. What makes this one different?”

Bucky's smirk deepens, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “She’s not like them,” he says simply. “She’s got... a softness. But not weak. She’s got fight in her too.” He pauses, his gaze locking onto you from across the room for the briefest moment before he looks away again. “And she doesn’t even realize it.”

Steve shakes his head with a knowing chuckle. “You’re obsessed.”

Bucky’s smirk fades slightly, replaced by something more dangerous. “I don’t do half-measures, Steve.”

Steve leans back, watching Bucky with careful eyes. “Yeah... I know.”

Back on the dancefloor, Thor notices the way you keep sneaking glances in Bucky’s direction, the way your shoulders sag with indecision. With a heavy sigh, he leans down, his voice gentle but firm.

“Alright, doll,” he says, using the nickname Bucky had claimed as his own. “Go.”

You blink up at him in surprise. “What?”

Thor gives you a knowing look. “Go back to him. But stay where I can see you.”

A wave of relief washes over you, and you can’t help but smile. “Thanks, Thor.”

He ruffles your hair playfully. “Just don’t make me regret it, yeah?”

With a nod, you turn and make your way back toward Bucky and Steve, your heart pounding with anticipation. You don’t notice the way Bucky’s lips twitch as he watches you approach, like he knew this moment was inevitable.

Steve watches you approach with a knowing smile, nudging Bucky slightly with his elbow. “Told you…” he mutters, amusement dancing in his voice.

Bucky doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans against the bar, his expression unreadable as you finally reach him.

You stand there for a moment, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he doesn’t. He doesn't even look at you.

“Hey…” you say softly, but he doesn’t react.

You clear your throat and try again, a little louder this time. “Bucky?”

Still nothing.

Frustration bubbles up inside you, but you push it down, giving it one last shot. “Are you seriously going to ignore me all night?”

Silence.

Something sharp twists in your chest, and with a sigh, you take a step back. “Fine,” you say, your voice steady despite the sting of disappointment. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone, just like you want.”

Before you can turn away, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist. The grip is firm but not rough but possessive, in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t like being ignored.” he says, his voice low and dark, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

Your breath catches in your throat. “I wasn’t ignoring you…” you murmur, suddenly feeling the heat of his touch.

His lips twitch into something that’s almost a smirk. “Apologize.”

You blink up at him, your heart racing. “I…what?”

“Apologize,” he repeats, his thumb brushing lightly against your wrist.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Fine. Sorry, Bucky.”

Satisfied, he tugs you closer and starts leading you toward the dancefloor. You don’t resist, letting him pull you into the crowd. The music pulses around you, and before you can fully register what’s happening, his hands find your waist, drawing you flush against him.

There’s no space. None. His body is pressed firmly against yours, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest. The heat between you both is undeniable, and your mind is racing, screaming at you to think straight, but it’s impossible with him this close.

“Relax…” Bucky murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

You try, but it’s impossible. His hands grip your hips, guiding you in sync with his movements, slow and deliberate. Your skin tingles under his touch, and every time your body brushes against his, your pulse spikes.

After a few moments, he leans down, his lips ghosting over your ear. “I wanna do something for you.”

You swallow hard, shaking your head slightly. “Bucky, there’s no need for that.”

He grins, and the playful banter begins. “I didn’t ask if there was a need.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.”

“Let me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

And then, without warning, he silences you the only way he knows how.

His lips crash against yours, stealing your breath and every coherent thought in your head. The kiss is firm, confident, and leaves no room for argument. Your hands instinctively find his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

When he finally pulls away, his blue eyes flicker with mischief, and he winks at you. “Told you I’d do something for you.”

You’re left standing there, breathless and stunned, as the music pulses around you, but all you can focus on is him…just him.

Bucky leads you through the crowd, weaving past dancing bodies and flashing lights until you reach a secluded corner of the club. The music is quieter here, the atmosphere darker, more intimate. You stand close, the space between you charged with something you can't quite name.

For a while, neither of you say anything. You shift awkwardly under his intense gaze, biting your lip as you wait for him to speak first. Eventually, he does.

“I like you.”

The words are so simple, so unexpected, that they make you laugh. “Really?” you tease, arching an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

Instead of answering, Bucky takes a step back and, to your horror, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “I like her!”

Heads turn, eyes land on you both, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks as you frantically reach for him. “Bucky! Shut up!” You hiss, tugging at his arm.

He grins, utterly unapologetic, and takes it a step further. “I REALLY LIKE HER!!!!”

You slap a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in mortification. “Okay! Okay, I believe you! Just be quiet, you goof.”

Bucky chuckles against your palm, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Slowly, you lower your hand, and before you can say another word, he kisses you again.

This time, it's slower, deeper, less about teasing and more about something real. Your hands instinctively find their way to his chest, your palm resting over his heart. You can feel the steady, strong rhythm beneath your touch, and it does something to you. A soft sigh escapes you, and Bucky’s lips curve into a smile against yours.

When he finally pulls back, he presses his forehead against yours. “Come with me…” he murmurs, his fingers brushing against your waist.

Your heart skips a beat, but reality crashes in just as quickly. “I can’t…” you whisper, shaking your head. “I came here with my friends. Thor won’t let me just disappear.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens, and for a split second, there’s something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. “I don’t take no for an answer, doll.”

Before you can protest, his lips are on yours again, stealing your breath, your words, your logic. You feel his arm tighten around your waist, holding you close, keeping you in his orbit.

What you don’t see is the way he locks eyes with Steve over your shoulder. There’s a silent exchange, a plan forming without words. Steve nods subtly, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he knows exactly what Bucky is thinking.

You’re too lost in the kiss to notice.

You try to pull away, your hands pressing lightly against Bucky’s chest, but he doesn’t let you go. Instead, he tilts his head, a playful yet dangerous glint in his blue eyes. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” he says, his voice low and laced with something that makes your stomach twist.

Your eyes widen in surprise. “What? No, of course not!”

Bucky hums, unconvinced, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your waist. “Then why won’t you come with me? You think I can’t take care of you?”

The guilt hits you like a truck, and you immediately shake your head, your voice softer now. “Bucky, that’s not it at all. It’s just… my friends. Thor won’t let me go that easily, and I don’t want to worry them.”

Bucky stares at you for a beat, then his lips curl into a smile, his hands sliding up to cup your face. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, and makes a face, his eyes wide, mouth open like he’s about to devour you whole.

You burst into laughter, swatting at his chest. “Stop that, you’re ridiculous!”

He grins, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “But you love it,” he teases.

Your laughter fades into a soft smile, and for a moment, you forget everything else. But what you don’t see is the way Bucky’s eyes flick over your shoulder, locking onto Steve.

Behind your back, Steve nods, the plan silently set into motion.

And just like that, you’re already one step closer to exactly where Bucky wants you.

Just as you’re starting to relax in Bucky’s hold, a familiar voice cuts through the moment.

“There you are!” Wanda’s voice is laced with amusement and just a hint of suspicion. She strides over, her eyes flickering between you and Bucky with a knowing smirk. “Come on, we’re not letting you disappear just yet.”

You sigh, reluctantly stepping back, but Bucky doesn’t let you go so easily. His hand stays wrapped around your wrist, and he tilts his head at you with a playful pout. “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

You blink in confusion. “What?”

He leans in, voice dripping with faux hurt. “That’s why you’re not coming with me. You think I’m some idiot who can’t handle Thor.”

Wanda laughs, crossing her arms. “It’s not about you, Barnes. Thor’s just… let’s say, protective about his friends.” She glances at you. “Right, dear?”

You nod quickly, grateful for Wanda’s backup. “Exactly. I don’t want to cause drama.”

Bucky smirks, but there’s something sharp beneath it, something calculating. “Drama? Doll, I’m all about drama.”

You roll your eyes, about to respond when Wanda grabs your hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

Just as you turn to leave, something shifts in the air. Steve, who had been lingering nearby, subtly moves into position, blocking Thor and Natasha’s view of you both. The timing is perfect.

Bucky doesn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, he pulls you back suddenly, spinning you right into him. “Not so fast…” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

Your heart stutters in your chest, but before you can process what’s happening, Steve casually bumps into Wanda with a distracted, “Sorry, miss.” causing her to stumble and momentarily break her grip on your hand.

In that split second of distraction, Bucky tugs you further into the crowd, his grip firm but playful, as if daring you to resist.

“Bucky…” you start, but his grin is all you get in response.

Steve watches from a distance, arms crossed and an amused look on his face. The plan was working.

And deep down, despite the warnings ringing in your head, you don’t really want to stop him.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” you whisper, breathless as he pulls you deeper into the crowd. The flashing lights dance across his face, highlighting the mischief in his blue eyes.

Instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you. Soft at first, teasing, before deepening it with a possessive edge that makes your knees weak. Your hands instinctively grip his shoulders to steady yourself, but your mind is screaming at you to get back to Wanda and Thor.

When he finally pulls away, his lips brush against yours as he murmurs, “Still wanna leave?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to regain control. “I have to go…” you insist, your voice lacking the conviction you wish it had. “Wanda and Thor are looking for me.”

Bucky’s grip tightens just slightly, his fingers tracing over your wrist. “Stay.” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You shake your head, trying to find your footing in this whirlwind. “Bucky, I can’t just…”

He tilts his head, watching you closely, and then with that signature smirk, he says, “Just for a little while. We’ll stay in the club, I promise.”

Your resolve wavers, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible to think straight. After a moment, you sigh in defeat. “Fine. Only in the club.”

Bucky’s lips twitch in victory. “Good girl.”

But what you don’t realize is that Bucky’s promise means nothing, not when he’s already made up his mind. While you’re distracted, his eyes flick over your shoulder to where Steve stands near the bar. A single nod passes between them, silent and calculated.

You may think you’re staying, but Bucky has other plans.

Just as you begin to relax in Bucky’s presence, the music pounding in your chest like a second heartbeat, a familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“There you are,” Thor’s deep voice rumbles from behind you. His expression is firm but not unkind as he reaches for your arm. “It’s time to go home, Sweets.”

You glance up at Bucky, feeling the tension in the air shift. For a second, you consider arguing, just a little, but something about the way Thor is looking at you makes you nod instead. “Alright, you say softly.

Bucky’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t stop you. Not yet.

Just as you turn to follow Thor, Bucky appears at your side, holding out two glasses. “One for the road?” he offers, his voice smooth, his smile disarming. He hands one glass to Thor and one to you.

Thor eyes Bucky suspiciously before taking a sip. You hesitate for a moment, but under Bucky’s expectant gaze, you take a small sip too.

Before you know it, Bucky has his hand on your lower back, steering you gently away from the dancefloor. “C’mon, just for a second,” he says, his voice low and persuasive. “One last moment before you run off.”

You follow him, oblivious to the subtle exchange of glances between him and Steve.

The club lights flash around you, and you’re too caught up in the conversation to notice Thor’s steps faltering behind you. Steve quietly steps in, keeping Thor distracted just long enough for Bucky to guide you further away.

It isn’t until you reach the quieter edge of the club, near the exit, that you realize something is off.

“Bucky,” you say, blinking as you look around. “Where are we going?”

Bucky smirks, his hand firm around yours. “Told you, doll. I don’t take no for an answer.”

Panic rises in your chest, and you yank your hand away, taking a step back. “I have to go back to my friends.”

Bucky doesn’t let you get far. He grabs your wrist again, his grip just tight enough to make your heart race for an entirely different reason. “Apologize,” he says, his voice lower now, laced with something darker. “For trying to leave me.”

Your pulse hammers in your ears, and suddenly, the warmth in his eyes seems a little more dangerous. “Bucky…” you whisper, trying to pull free, but he refuses to let go.

Behind you, Steve stands with his arms crossed, his smirk never fading. He knows exactly how this will play out.

Your heart pounds as you take a step back from Bucky, trying to create some distance, but you don't get far. Your back collides with something solid, someone solid.

Steve.

His arms snake around your waist, holding you firmly against him. You freeze as he rests his chin lightly on top of your head, his breath fanning over your hair. The casual intimacy of the gesture makes your stomach twist, and you can feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.

Bucky watches the scene unfold with a lazy smile, his eyes dark with amusement. “Relax, doll,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “I already told you, you’re my girl now.”

You shake your head, your voice shaky but firm. “Bucky, you promised. You said we’d stay in the club.”

Bucky’s grin widens, his fingers reaching out to brush against your cheek. “Yeah, well... there’s been a slight change in the promise.”

You stiffen, your mind racing. Steve's arms tighten subtly, his hold secure but not forceful. Yet.

It’s clear he’s enjoying this, the way his body presses against yours, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You’re way too tense,” he says with a chuckle. “Loosen up, doll.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Thor will come looking for me...”

Bucky’s expression softens into something almost pitying. “Thor?” He tilts his head. “Sweetheart, he won’t be coming for you.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Steve chuckles from behind you, his grip tightening just slightly as if to keep you in place. “Let’s just say... he’s taking a nap.”

Your stomach drops. “What did you do?”

Bucky waves a dismissive hand. “Nothing too bad, doll. He’s fine. Just a little... distracted.” His smirk deepens. “That means it’s just us now.”

Your pulse races as realization sinks in. They had planned this from the beginning.

Steve finally releases you, only to grab your hand with a firm grip, and Bucky takes your other hand, his thumb stroking over your skin in a way that feels both soothing and possessive. Together, they lead you toward the exit.

You glance back over your shoulder, searching for a way out, for Wanda, Natasha, anyone, but the crowd of strangers swallows the dancefloor whole, and just like that, you’re outside.

Under the cool night air, Bucky leans in, his lips grazing your ear. “Told you, doll. No one’s taking you from me. You are my girl now!”

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

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@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @saranghaey @greatmistakes @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt

@pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

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sukeruton-san · 3 months ago

Text

A Coffee Heart pt 2

First Next

There's a coffee shop in Gotham that allowed him way more caffeine than Amity allowed. . .

He likes it here he can have 21 shots of expresso and all he got was an eye roll with some grumbling about a guy named Tim and twins, it's great!!

_______________________________________________

___________A table in the far corner______________

Do I have a twin. . .

No seriously does he have an unknown twin cause standing at the register is a guy that looks so much like him, but not exact enough to be a clone.

We both have pitch black hair the same thick and soft kind but his is infinitely more fluffy and wild like his Red Robin look, bright blue eyes with analytical intelligents and slightly unhinged but his are more icey in color and somehow more dead inside,both our body types are small soft and lean with muscle, small waist, and rounded in the hips, shoulders in mid range, but he has more curves with his shape he's also worriedly more skinny to an unhealthy degree even in my standards, face shapes similar but his are little more angle too it, hell even our voices are similar his being softer and a little deeper than mine

What made me really catch my attention was the fact that he's coffee intake is just as death inducing as mine maybe even more deadly. Hes eye bags are worse then mine from what I can see from here which is across the fucking room.

So I have reasonably concluded that he is my twin. I mean there was a popular rumor that Janite was pregnant with twins and gave one up to adoption as soon they came out with how big she got. Maybe it was true when I am look at someone who has to be related to me.

Though this begs the question where he has been the entire time, He may be visiting with how he has an Midwestern accent but he also holds himself like an Gotham native.

hnmmmmmm. . .

What's he doing?. . .

He's comING OVER HERE ABORT ABORT ABO-

_______________________________________________

"Um you mind if I sit here for a little all the tables are full"

Why he look familiar? Have I seen him before? . . .

Wait that's Timothy Drake-Wayne Co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises, I only know him because of the research binge for the Gothampedia and Tucker's fanboying.

He probably wants some privacy. . .

Probably to relax a little bit and be normal if he's just drinking some coffee in the back corner, alone. He looks nervous as hell too probably don't want any unwanted attention brought to himself, I sure as hell know the feeling

" No it's fine you can sit here "

Is it just me or does he look a little eager

" Cool I'm Danny by the way " sitting and taking a sip of his coffee he notices that Tim seems to be in some sort of dilemma with himself finally he asked

" So you happen to be around and about here often?" He drinks his own coffee

" No, just found this little shop" he cringed a little "I was draged here because my parents wanted to work on something here"

Tim Slightly invested slightly worried " What are they working on?"

" They uhh want to 'help make Gotham more prepared for dangers that may arise in the haunting world' their words not mine"tilting his head slightly to the left "to be fair I think the bats have all that covered, no need to interfere and cause more problems than what it's worth" grumbling under his breath " Don't want them to get on the bats radar cuz they are doing reckless shit and I have to clean it up"

_______________________________________________

Tim is slightly panicking now who are his twins adopted parents and why are they wanting to 'prepared for dangers that may arise in the haunting world'?

What does the haunting world mean?

What does he mean by causing more problems?

Are his parents escaped midwestern rouges or something?

Does he need to do a welfare check on him as Red Robin?

Also he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear that last part but that's just making him more worried.

How reckless can they get?

How many times has he had to clean up their messes?

What does he do. . .

(Thank you for helping me with the idea for the next chapter @ghostlysuitnight )

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dcxdp #dpxdc #tim drake #dc x dp #dp x dc #A Coffee Heart

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scarletwinterxx · 5 months ago

Text

won't let these little things slip out of my mouth - jeon wonwoo imagine

i have a confession... i cried while writing this. now i'm sad no one will ever propose to me this way, why oh why did i even write this BUT I LOVE IT SO MUCH🥺🥺🥺🥺

A/N: I HIGHLY SUGGEST PLAYING SPRING SNOW BY 10CM WHILE READING THIS. or not if u don't want to cry like a baby (like me🥹)

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The cold winter air nips at your cheeks as you walk beside Wonwoo, his camera slung over his shoulder as always. The streets are adorned with twinkling lights, festive wreaths, and the hum of Christmas carols drifting from nearby speakers. Despite the chill, you feel warm. Maybe it’s the cozy scarf he insisted you wear or the way his hand occasionally brushes yours as you walk.

He’s been unusually quiet tonight, though. You steal a glance at him, noting the slight curve of his lips as he stares ahead, the golden glow of streetlights reflecting in his dark eyes. He’s up to something. You just know it.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you say, breaking the silence, “what’s with the secrecy? You’ve been grinning like a kid who knows something I don’t.”

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar. “Patience,” he teases, his tone as smooth as always. “You’ll see soon enough.”

He leads you to a quaint little gallery tucked away on a quieter street. The windows are frosted, but you can see the soft glow of light inside, illuminating what looks like an intimate exhibit. Your curiosity piques as he holds the door open for you, the bell above jingling softly.

The gallery smells of wood and faintly of pine, and the atmosphere is calm, almost reverent. Wonwoo leads you through the first room, where a variety of black-and-white photos hang on the walls. They’re beautiful, sure, but they don’t hold your attention for long. Not when you can feel Wonwoo’s excitement radiating beside you.

“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently toward a smaller, dimly lit room at the back. “This is the part I wanted you to see.”

The moment you step inside, your breath catches. The walls are lined with photographs, but these aren’t just any pictures. They’re familiar. Too familiar.

“That’s... Wait, that’s from our trip to Jeju!” you exclaim, pointing to a shot of you laughing on the beach. Another photo catches your eye—a candid of you staring in awe at cherry blossoms during spring. And then another, of you holding an umbrella, your face lit up with laughter as the rain poured down.

You turn to Wonwoo, your heart racing. “What is this?”

He’s smiling, that soft, shy smile that always makes your knees a little weak. “Keep going,” he says, nodding toward the other wall.

You walk further into the room, and your chest tightens as you take in rows and rows of photos. All of you. Every angle, every expression, every moment he managed to capture. There’s one of you napping on a park bench, another of you squinting at a map, and one where you’re mid-bite into an enormous burger, ketchup smeared on your cheek.

You burst out laughing, tears pricking your eyes. “You didn’t!”

The walls of the gallery feel like they’re closing in as you walk further into the room, your gaze darting from photo to photo.

Each one is a piece of your life together—your smiles, your laughter, even your messy moments. You pause at a picture of you trying to eat an ice cream cone that’s melting faster than you can keep up with it. You remember that day vividly, how Wonwoo kept laughing and snapping pictures while you tried (and failed) to salvage the cone.

“Wonwoo,” you say softly, your voice trembling as the weight of it all settles over you. “You’ve been collecting these... all this time?”

“Every moment I could,” he says from behind you, his voice warm and quiet in the stillness of the room.

You move to the next photo. And then the next. They’re all you, and it’s overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

Then your eyes catch something different.

The very last photo on the wall.

It’s simple—a close-up shot of a ring nestled in a velvet box. The light glints off the delicate band, making it shimmer in a way that feels almost magical. Your breath catches in your throat as you take a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Is that—” you start, but the words die on your lips when you turn around.

Wonwoo is there, down on one knee in the middle of the gallery, holding that same velvet box in his hand. The air leaves your lungs as your gaze locks onto his, the vulnerability and love in his eyes almost too much to bear.

“It’s just us,” he says softly, as if he’s answering a question you didn’t ask. “No distractions, no one else. Just you and me.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. He takes a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“I’ve spent so much of our time together trying to capture every moment, every expression, every laugh, because I never want to forget a single second with you. But the truth is, none of these photos come close to how I feel when I’m with you. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—through my lens and in my life.”

He opens the box, revealing the ring that you’d just seen immortalized in the photo. It sparkles under the soft lights of the gallery, but nothing shines brighter than the love in his eyes as he looks up at you.

“I want this to be my last photo project,” he says with a small, shaky laugh. “Because after this, I just want to live the moments with you. Will you marry me?”

The world tilts and rights itself again as you nod furiously, your tears spilling over. “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you!”

Wonwoo grins—one of those rare, wide grins that you know he reserves for the moments when he can’t contain his joy. He slides the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and sure, before standing and pulling you into his arms.

The silence of the gallery wraps around you both like a warm blanket. It’s just the two of you, the faint glow of the photos on the walls casting soft shadows.

You lean back to look at him, laughter bubbling up through your tears.

“You seriously used a picture of the ring for the big reveal?” you tease, your voice trembling with joy. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s a story, isn’t it? And now it has the perfect ending.”

You rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. “Not an ending,” you whisper. “The perfect beginning.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the story of your love etched in photographs, you know you wouldn’t want it any other way.

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ggidolsmuts · 1 month ago

Text

Pillow Play - Twice Nayeon

Nayeon arrives home, bringing in the package she saw at her door.

"Oh, wonder what this is?"

She doesn't think too much about it, leaving it at the entrance of the door. Nayeon sheds her clothes, walking into her bathroom already naked. The water soon runs down her body, flowing smoothly down her curves as the stress of the day slowly drains away.

She comes out of the bathroom after her shower partly dressed and completely relaxed, in her underwear and a towel around her hair.

"Let's see what you are..." Nayeon mumbles as she sits down on her sofa, grabbing a pair of scissors and slicing open the package. It's a pillow, and Nayeon takes it out of the packaging, feeling it's extra firm feel that maintains its shape through her squeezing. It curves naturally in her hand, like it would perfectly support her head and neck if she slept on her back or side. Nayeon tilts her head from side to side, and she warms under her own touch—she hadn't seen her boyfriend in a while, maybe it was time for something that could give her good support.

She brings the pillow to the bed, except she's using it all wrong—Nayeon lays the pillow on it's edge, and her thighs trap it in place as she sits down on it, the solid firmness of the pillow applying firm pressure between her legs as her knees sink into the mattress.

"Oh, that's nice." Back and forth she rocks, grinding her dampening core on the pillow. It has the perfect amount of push back, the pillow trying to return to its original shape pressing right against her. Nayeon adjusts her angle a little bit, breathing out loudly as it brushes against her clit, pushing her further to climax.

"Almost there..." Her hands slip under her bra, and Nayeon begins playing with her own tits, grabbing and squeezing them roughly, like how her boyfriend would. She goes one step further, leaning forward and twerking her hips on the pillow, as if she's grinding on his cock, feeling her clit get properly rubbed against the pillow. With a shudder and a low moan Nayeon's thighs seize around the pillow, and she bucks her hips down and into it as she cums.

"Nngh... fuck that wasn't bad at all." Nayeon rolls off the pillow, blushing slightly at her own soaked spot on her panties and the pillow. She throws both into the laundry when she receives a message from him.

*Hey I ordered a pillow for my neck but put in your address instead by mistake. Could you hold it for me until I come over? Thanks!*

Oh she's going to do more than hold it for him.

*Sure, I washed it too just for you <3*

*Thanks, love you!*

A/N: Something quick and stupid when I saw she was a model for Tempurpedic pillows lol. I grabbed some of the descriptions from it's website, I'm sure you can tell. Also reminds me of that one locke fic that uses a similar pic. Thanks for reading!

#smut #nayeon #twice #sss

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dollyyss · 1 year ago

Note

I FELL INLOVE WITH THE KYLE FIC OMG??? OK OK WHAT ABOUT THIS.

the main gang with an S/O that is like, VERY VERY SNUG/TIGHT, like unnaturally tight (but not negatively ;)). Also a virgin, like the biggest virgin out there, completely oblivious to stuff like that and super sensitive to touch in general, talking just a graze of fingertips might gain a small whine. I'm thinking maybe a correct adjective for this would be just the classic virgin reader + the things listed. AAAAA FEEL FREE TO DO THIS DEPENDING ON HOW YOU HAVE ENERGY I KNOW UR SICK😭🙏

-🃏

..sigh you just love to do things to my brain don’t you anon.. WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO ME- NEOCIE IM GONNA GO FERAL RAWR RAWR RAWR jk I’m such a sweet girl, I’m an angel I would never. Tehehe. And I’m sick so I’m an even more touchy just brain melty mood.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Kyle’s gang + butters with virgin reader!

Established relationship ₊ ⊹

All characters are aged up! Highschool AU! ‧₊˚✩彡

Kyle, Stan, Kenny, Cartman and butters 𐙚

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: smut/ NSFW, some degrading

Kyle 🐇𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒🪐

“Just like that holy fuck.. you’re so good for me.” Kyle let out a low moan, his head leaned far into his pillow whilst you slowly rode him. “That’s it baby, slowly, don’t look away, keep looking at me, that’s it. Keep watching me baby” his hands held either side of your face in an attempt to keep you with him, to keep you from looking away from him. Your legs shook on either side of his waist, your hands covering your face as you helplessly rutted against Kyle. You practically sucked him in earning groans and whimpers from the lanky gingers lips. “Fuck you’re tight.” He couldn’t hold back anymore, not with the way you gripped so tightly around him, not when he was trying to pull out to slam back in. No you gripped so tight he couldn’t even pull out. It was enough for him to grip onto the sides of your face harder, pulling you down so your forehead rested on his and he snapped his hips up into a ruthless pace.

- He’s a sweet boyfriend. He’s just a sweet guy in general. So when you tell him you’re a virgin he of course would never ever judge you for it.

-what he didn’t know was everything he did could basically make you drip on the spot, and majority of the time it’s shit he doesn’t even think of. He’s sitting with you in a restaurant with Stan and the rest, he softly touches your thigh, opening it to drag you closer to him. He doesn’t think a thing of it until you let out a squeak. Everyone raises their brows, Kyle looking at you when he feels your thighs squeezing his hand. Ahh.. you were sensitive too.

-“have you.. ever touched yourself..?” He asks curiously before feeling you shove his shoulder “Kyle broflovski!” “What? Sorry, I’m sorry. I just. Wanted to know” there was silence before you slowly nodded. He thought for a moment “has anyone else ever touched you?” He questioned again, watching as you shook your head side to side looking at him with big doe eyes. Your hands placed between your thighs. He softly bit his bottom lip, watching your body gently rock back and forth at the thought “do you.. want to be touched?” He slowly scoots closer to you, watching as you slowly lay back on his parents couch, his hands coming to tease the hem of your pants.

-he goes so god damn dumb when you grip him. He doesn’t know how to act. It’s like his brain shuts off and he goes into auto pilot. He’s usually gentle but fuck when he feels you grip so tightly, tight enough that you can feel almost every curve and vein littering his cock, he’s biting your shoulders and slamming into you. He’s swearing, panting. He’s so fuck drunk he doesn’t know what to do.

Stan .° ༘🎧⋆🖇₊˚ෆ

Panting. He’s a panting mess. He tries to form words but he’s so focused on trying to find a deeper angle, trying so desperately to feel you tighten even more then you already were. Your finger nails dig into his raven locks watching as your feet bounce due to your legs being locked around his waist. He was slightly hunched over, his hands on your ass to lift the bottom half of your body off your bed by a couple centimetres, his face buried in your hair while he lets out pleasurable grunts. “Stan!” Your lips spewing his name made him open his watery eyes, lips immediately coming to your ear. “I know, I know. I’m right here.” His hips snap as he slowly sits up, his member pulling out but with a struggle, his tip being the only thing remaining in your gushing warmth. “Can you take some more for me? Hm? Think you could do that?” When he watches you nod he gently takes your legs from his waist and pushes them against your chest, finding himself thrusting deeper at the new angle, your walls clenching so god damn good.

-“virgin? Really.. you? Are a virgin?” He almost doesn’t believe you because to him he can’t see how someone like you could be one. He’d thought everybody would be all over you. But he would admit he was proud to be the one to take it from you. He’s kinda dumb. So he doesn’t catch on. He just thinks you innocence is just, well how you are. But no.. no it’s for many reasons.

-he guides you 100%, you might actually make him a bit nervous because he doesn’t want to ruin this for you. He doesn’t want to take your purity away in such a vile way, he actually wants to make sure it goes exactly how you want. Tell him and he’ll do it. “You’ve got it babe”

-like I said Stan is a little dumb from time to time so he just doesn’t understand why you can’t sit still on his lap. He doesn’t get why your legs are practically shaking and stuttering against him when his large calloused hands come to hold at your hips. Maybe he’s not dumb he’s just, oblivious. He’s noticed that when he sweeps the hair from your neck to the other side you shudder, gripping onto his arm. “Are you? Are you good?”

-when he finds out the reason for it being you were a virgin he kinda.. likes it. He likes that he can be the one to make you act like that, how a single touch from him could have your legs open for him. Of course he takes is time with you. But he does enjoy teasing you from time to time.

-.. the first time you give him a handjob he’s definitely staring at you. He’s on the couch because his parents aren’t home. So what a perfect spot to do so. Your hands pump his cock so well while you partially hide your face, turning it the other way. His arms are resting on the head of the couch, one hand coming to turn your head so close to his you can feel his breath. “Don’t shy away from me..” his eyes are on you, nose pressed to your cheek as you pump him faster, you bottom lip tugged harshly under your teeth.

Kenny ₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉

“Mm I think you can take more sweet thing.. shhh I don’t wanna hear another word. You lay and look pretty for me yeah?” Kenny’s pace was torturous as it was; but having him grip onto his headboard, and pushing you further into his sheets was enough to make you clench harder around him. He shivered, his smile growing wide enough to expose the missing tooth on the right side further back. “Kenny please! I can’t do it.. I-i can’t take much more” you pushed at his lower stomach, still your grip around him was hard for him to pull out, pulling out would mean feeling every inch of his cock and that alone was pleasurable enough to send you to your edge. “Awh the poor baby, that’s a shame isn’t it, cuz you are” he was quick to take your jaw in his hands, pounding into you, his other hand pushing down on your shoulder to keep you from squirming. “Fuck I love the way you clench around me, like you don’t want me to leave” he cooed at you. Feeling yours fingers scratch and grip at his sides and lower stomach once more.

-he’s a horndog. So finding out you’re a virgin? “SCORE” he’s jumping over the moon for joy! Really it’s nothing to be so happy about, so giddy, but he’s just more or so happy it gets to be him that shows you everything.

-he’s probably one to tease tremendously until you finally lose your virginity to him. He likes watching you twitch and squirm at every touch he gives, but he makes sure his touches are extra touchy. He’ll walk behind you to grab your chest, when your making out his tongue is tracing your collarbones all the way down to the hem of your underwear. He wants you to feel like it’s about to happen but he’ll keep you waiting just a little longer.

-he’s probably gotten you to hump his leg. I’m not kidding. He was sitting on his bed, watching you walk around a little too tempting for him. He wasn’t exactly ready to do things to you quite yet, and he didn’t want to force you but when you ended up on his floor, sitting on his foot to try and get off. That shit eating grin never left his face. “Where did that pretty little innocence go hm?” “Kenny.. s-stop it’s not funny”

Cartman 🎧✮🧺✧˖°

“You’re so pathetic.” cartman pulled out, before pushing himself back in further “squeezing and gripping my cock like you don’t want me to stop.” He repeated slowly pulling out before pushing back in. “You go so dumb for my cock you can’t help but clench onto me huh? You silly little thing” who knew Eric cartman was also a teasing little shit even in bed. You. You did. Your hands held onto his shoulders, your feet planted on his bed, knees up and shaking as he worked his way to a somewhat quicker pace. He kept his thrusts short but he was deep. Both due to him and you pulling in him each time he tried to pull back a bit. “Eric, m-mm~” he cocked a brow stopping for a moment before looking at you fully. “Go on, say it, I won’t move until you do” your eyes shot open “mmm- more I want more please” he chuckled gently “you greedy bitch, I’m giving you so much and you want more” he listened though, he gave you what you wanted. He always did in the end.

- “pfft. Fucking virgin” he was too. So don’t let him get to you. Is he going to tell you that? Fuck no. Do you know? Yeah most likely I mean it’s cartman he’s lucky he even landed you. “Cartman shut up. That’s fucking rude and it’s not funny” you crossed your arms. “I’m sorry I’m sorry.. hmm” you shot him a glare. “Cartman.” He placed his fingertips to his lips “it’s just.. a little funny” he pinched his fingers together to make a small gap between his thumb and pointer finger. “I hate you.”

- a fucking tease, like Kenny he uses it to his full fucking advantage. He’ll tease the fuck out of you but just won’t give you want you want. You want him to take your virginity and baby he will. He just wants to get you all pent up, hot and bothered.

-from time to time, when things feel like they’re getting closer, and both of you are practically undressed his tip is teasing at your entrance, slowly circling before he stops for a moment, “hm, I don’t know, I’m feeling a little *yawn* sleepy yknow?” He smirks before laying down on his back watching as you look wet and dumbfounded, legs slowly closing as you sit up. “What the hell Eric..” he looks at you. “You could, suck me off? How does that sound?” You roll your eyes lowering your head at his commend. Don’t worry.. he’ll do it. He just likes to tease you to the very edge, to where you think you’ll get it.

Butters ˚☆🐈*๑

“P-please I won’t last much longer if y-you keep doing that..” butters stutters his words. He has you in a mating press, his legs surprisingly keeping him up, as he slams back down repeatedly. “I’m sorry baby.. I-i can’t he-help it oh my god~” your hands run through his hair, his head lowered towards yours as his lips try to reach your own. You clenched around him each time he pushed in. And god did he love watching himself pull out to watch you grip, your juices coating his member. And when you were left empty he watched as you pulsate trying desperately to find him. The look of it.. fuck he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help but to give your tight fit exactly what it wanted “ahh~ lord.. I’m so close~” he whispered against your lips. He knew if his parents seen him now he’d be grounded for god knows how long but Jesus you drove him crazy the way you sucked him back in.

-“virgin? Well that’s alright darlin! Me too! We can learn together!” What he doesn’t know is you’ll have him sucked in, he can’t escape. Not that’s it’s bad. But he becomes addicted. Ever since the you told him, all he’s had on his mind is you gripping him so tightly, your warmth and softness. He’s like a rabid little bunny. But he does keep it to himself, he wants to be gentle with you, sweet and attentive the very first time. You both wanna make sure the other is comfortable.

-he finds it cute when he touches you and you practically moan. Because.. he does the same thing. You touch the back of his neck? He’s shuddering and moaning at the way your fingertips softly lingered. He loves when you you lay him down on his bed, lifting his shirt to kiss around his belly button, your lips lingering against his slight bright blonde happy trail. And he does the same to you, his lips tracing every inch of your body until he reaches between your thighs “mmm.. can I?” He asks gently “well I’ve never done this before so if it’s bad.. I’m sorry” he looks up at your with puppy dog eyes, making sure you know he’s just never done this. When you give the okay, he gentle.. but he can’t help himself when he tastes you, he’s immediately got your legs over his shoulders, and he’s making you squirm and scream. He’s very proud of himself. He’s not much of a tease but he tries to when he gets in the mood

“Well don’t you look awfully pretty” he mutters in your ear, watching the blush creep onto your cheek and you squirm in the place you sat. He’s not the greatest at teasing but hey he tries. And he makes sure you both learn one step at a time.

-but once he’s had it once…. There ain’t no going back. He’s like a wild dog off its leash.

Im sick.. and I’m feeling.. in the mood. I love them. I want them.

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jasmineoolongtea · 11 months ago

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― if you think i'm pretty 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚

― the ways in which they lay their hands on you and can't stop thinking about it ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

contents: gojo x gn!reader, geto x gn!reader, nanami x gn!reader, megumi x gn!reader, yuuta x gn!reader, headcanons/brief drabbles, quite suggestive (all characters are aged up!!!!), a lot of touching, making out, both reader and characters are needy and down bad for each other what can i say a/n: inspired by if you think i'm pretty by artemas and baby by madison beer, as you can see, i was very inspired for some of them compared to others so don't mind the difference in length djkajdwd

gojo satoru can't help but have his hands on you at all times. it's a genuine problem. some might even call it a disease or affliction, a deadly illness if you want to go that far.

whatever it is, he doesn't think he wants to find a cure for it. not when he can so easily coax out those wonderful sounds from you with the brush of his fingertips, those noises that are reserved just for him even though you try and deny it, and especially not when you decide you want to try and turn the tables on him.

that's how he finds himself underneath you on the floor of an abandoned office, his wrists pinned above his head as a devilish smirk graces his features. you're hovering above him, one hand locking his troublesome hands in place while the other is pressed against the cold floor to support your stance. right now, he's thinking about how this might be one of his favourite angles to look at you from.

he knows you're trying to tease him back, testing his patience and will to resist like he does with you, in a sort of punishment for his wandering hands but he can't even hide how much he's visibly enjoying this moment. it annoys you, deeply. you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, shifting your weight onto your knees to free up your other hand so you can run it down from his neck and stopping just right where his belt sits which earns you a breathy gasp from him.

you smile to yourself, clearly pleased at your own doing. but you don't have long to celebrate your victory as it seems you've underestimated how thin his patience runs when it comes to you. in an instance and in one fell swoop, you're flipped onto your back as satoru is now the one caging you against the floor. your faces are barely inches from each other when he leans in, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear as he whispers,

"it's my turn now."

geto suguru thinks apologies are useless. in most cases, he rather you show him instead.

to him, words often get in the way of many things and even more so when emotions come into the mix, scrambling them up to the point where they are nothing more than regurgitated word vomit. he's a firm believer in the phrase, actions speak louder than words, and he's definitely not shy about carrying out said belief in his daily life.

why tell you how much he wants you when he can simply show you through how his hand never seems to leave your waist even in the most crowded of places and how his lips seem to find yours in an instance as if he's worried that they might miss his company even if just for a second.

the same goes for you. why tell him how sorry you are when you can just show him? and so you do, caressing his jaw with your fingertips while your lips roam the expanses of his neck and collarbones, making it their sole mission to map out and commit each curve and mark to memory. every kiss you place is an apology in its own way and it makes the both of you forget what you two were even in arms over anyway.

"satisfied yet, sugu?" you murmur against his skin, the sound of your voice sending tiny vibrations that grants you a pleased hum from him.

too bad for you, it turns out that he's tough to please, or rather just tough to fully satiate his seemingly insatiable appetite for you.

"not yet. actually, far from it."

kento nanami is pretty sure that you're trying to punish him for something he did.

maybe it was because he didn't tell you what was truly on his mind when he came home from work last night in fear or burdening you with worries or maybe it was because he didn't touch you then, even though he knew that you were looking too good for no one to be touching you like they should.

but whatever it is, he knows that whatever you are doing, it's dangerous.

you two were in public, wide out in the open. he could feel his breath hitch in his throat as you nudge your heel against him, dragging lazy lines up and down his leg and stopping just right next to his upper thigh before disappearing again underneath the cover of the table. as usual, you offer him no visible reaction that could possible give away your true intentions to him, just a ghost of a coy smile on your lips.

was this fun for you? to test his resolve as a gentleman, drawing it thinner and thinner into a taught line ready to snap at any second? or did you just want to see first-hand what it would be like to see come undone from your actions alone. knowing you, it would probably be the latter but he could never know for sure as it seemed that he would inexplicably always play into your hand.

with each lingering touch wherever you could get your hands on and each teasing glance at his necktie, as if you were already trying to undress him with your eyes, he had never wanted to throw caution and any ounce of public decency he still had at this point and return the favour to you.

god, you were going to be the death of him.

fushiguro megumi thinks that you're a handful and isn't shy about making it known to you.

it doesn't help him at all, of course, only earning him a sly grin from you as you continue with your wandering touches and teasing kisses, lingering on certain areas such as right under his jaw where you know you can elicit a low breathy groan from him. he tries to hide his reaction in an attempt to not give you more fuel to continue but he fails every time with his body betraying him as the tips of his ears seem to grow impossibly redder and he even finds himself subconsciously leaning into your touch.

in response to his words, all you say is, "hmm maybe, but that's what hands are for." as if to prove your point, you entangle one of his hands with yours, pulling it closer towards you and placing it right in the middle of your chest like you were inviting him to do some of his own exploration himself. he avoids your gaze, knowing the moment he made eye contact he would be done for and whatever was holding him back now would shrivel into nothing in an instant.

you giggle softly to yourself, showcasing your obvious amusement at how much he's trying to prove that he's stronger than this. you lean in closer towards him, your faces barely centimetres apart as you murmur, "and last time i checked, i'm pretty sure you have two of them."

that's when he makes his fatal mistake, looking down to see your plump lips just a breath away from his and noticing how your eyelashes flutter softly as you, in turn, look up at him through them. he can imagine your body on his lips and that's all that it takes him to use his free hand and to close the distance between you two as your lips crash against each other.

screw this, he doesn't want to wait anymore.

okkotsu yuuta is obsessed with you to the point where to others, it could be seen as concerning. thankfully for the both of you, he's never been much to care for other's opinions.

it doesn't matter if you manage to kill him, whether intentionally or unintentionally, because no matter what, he'll just come back more obsessed with you. a fact that he so clearly demonstrates whenever you're around him.

"p-please," he mumbles against your lips, his fingers tightening their grip around your cheek, "don't go." his voice is shaky with a tinge of desperation and his pupils are so enlarged with his unquenchable thirst and desire for you that you've lost track of the whites of his eyes. to him, even parting for a breath of air when it comes to you is a painful act that causes his heart to ache and swell.

yuta's never been much of a sweet tooth but he thinks you taste like the sweetest candy that could ever exist and it's as if you're covered in a layer of sugarcoating he wants to be the only person who has the privilege of being able to lick it off with his own lips. your hand snakes its way up his arm and around his neck, pulling him tighter into your grasp and he takes this as his cue to dive back into your lips.

at this point, he's no better than an addict with how much he's greedily devouring you with his mouth, wholeheartedly consuming you with every fibre of his being as his tongue desperately awaits to explore more of you and see if this is the only place that you taste sweet. all good things in this world cost something and you're no exception but whatever the price is, he doesn't care because he'll pay for it.

hopefully, he's planning to repay it now in his own sort of way.

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capslocked · 2 years ago

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight.

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

#hyewon smut #izone smut #izone hyewon smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Been an awful good girl

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Summary: Your roommate brings you along to a holiday gathering without much cheer.

Character: Steve Kemp

Day Sixteen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - I'm your present.

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

“I don’t know about this. I don’t really know them as well as you,” you say as Lindy's thumb flicks on the steering wheel to hit the ‘next track’ button.

“How so? We hang out all the time,” she snorts.

“No, you hang out with them all the time. I’m just... a hanger on.”

“Bull shit. Everyone loves you. Besides, what were young going to do? Sit home alone and mope.”

“Yes,” you huff. “I really appreciate you inviting me but it seems very... intimate.”

“Boo,” she rolls her eyes as she follows the subtle curve of the country road. “Really, it’s no big deal. Steve’s place is huge. Really, I told you to come in the summer.”

“Some of us work.”

“I work. Sometimes,” she giggles.

“Sorry, I didn't mean...”

“Oh, I know exactly how spoiled I am. Don't worry. It’ll be fine. Everyone’s going to be drinking anyway.” She sighs, “honestly, would you really rather be going home to face your stuffy family? Definitely not me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you drone. “I don’t know. I was kind of looking forward to a Christmas alone.”

“Pfft,” she blows a raspberry. “Well it’s too bad, because I know who drew you in the gift swap and it wouldn’t be very courteous to ghost.”

“I’m here,” you whine.

“Because you’re a good girl,” she sticks her tongue out as she peeks over at you. “You ever think that people like having you around because of that? You’re the perfect contrast to me. The Mufasa to my Scar, the Woody to my Buzz, the uh... Gandalf to my Saruman.”

“Wow, a Tolkien reference, I’m impressed,” you snicker.

“You remember that guy, Jensen. Aside from crying when he cums, he loves that shit,” she scoffs. “It was endearing but the tears weren’t.”

“Ew, wow, uh, thanks for that information.”

“Anytime, sweetie,” she trills.

She drives on, into the dark sentinels and grim back roads. As the evening falls, the silver moon shines through the branches and needles. Despite the beaming saucer, the sky hangs like a dark sheet of satin.

There are lights ahead. Windows aglow with life within. Other vehicles litter the large lot. You must be the last ones to get there. You’re not surprised. Lindy is always late.

She parks without much concern for the other vehicles. You’re patient as she takes her time getting out. You don’t want to take the lead on this one. You follow her to the trunk to grab your bag and she takes hers, nearly shutting the lid on you.

You head towards the cabin. You nearly trip up the steps as the only lights are those inside and the sole bulb beside the door. As you clatter up, you hear a strange creak. You wince and look over at the shadow that stands from the porch swing, the back knocking against the house siding.

“Hey, was starting to think you weren’t coming,” Steve says as he steps into the yellow sheen of the porch light. The creases and angles of his face swallow the shadows perfectly.

“Huh, oh, hey,” Lindy has one hand on the door. “Whatcha doin’ out here? Waiting for us?”

“Sure,” he chuckles, “was getting a bit warm inside. Plus, Ransom’s been into the tequila.”

“That sounds fun,” she giggles.

“Maybe for you,” Steve sniffs.

“Oh Steve, once I get some in me, I can be a whole lotta fun two,” she purrs. “And once I’m not standing out in the cold.”

“Door’s open,” he says. “Hey, good to see you.”

You meet his eyes, you think. His face is mostly hidden. You try to smile but it feels more like a grimace. “You too.”

“You bring something for the gift swap?”

“Course we did!” Lindy tosses over her should as she pushes down the lever of the door handle.

“Uh, yeah,” you pat the strap of your bag.

“Here, let me get those,” he offers. He grabs your napsack by the handle on top then slips between you and Lindy to take her D&G bag. “I’ll put them in your rooms. If you make it to yours, Lin.”

“And we’ll see if you make it back to yours,” she snipes back. “Come on, sweetie,” she grabs your hand, “let’s go bug the others.”

“Um, thanks, Steve,” you say. "Um, one second.” You reach for the zipper on your bag and undo it. You take out the paper gift bag then tug the tab back. “Thanks.”

He smiles as he hooks your bag over his shoulder. He wears a deep blue sweater, his usual look, and his hair is floppy around his chiseled square face. You wonder about Lindy’s joke. Steve’s married to Ann, isn’t he?

You Lindy her drag you away after you hang your coat. The rabble of voices beckons you into the front room where a fire crackles in the large fireplace. A table is draped in plaid and bowls and platters line the top. Ann is there, scooping sauce with a spoon onto a small saucer with crackers and cheese.

“There they are,” she beams. “Girls. We’re finally balanced.”

You tilt your head and look around. There’s three men in the room; Ransom, Charles, and Andrew. Four if you count Steve, and there’s one other woman besides Ann; Juliette. That would make four men and four women. Not that it really matters.

“Don’t forget to put your gifts beneath the tree,” she points to the artificial fir.

You put your bag underneath with the wrapped gifts and Lindy follows. She searches her pockets and pulls out a plastic gift card. Whoever she got will be drinking a lot of specialty coffees. She tosses it on the biggest box there.

“Come, have some cider!” Juliet insists, “we added whiskey.”

“Don’t get too wild, girls,” Andrew intones.

It’s a bit awkward to refer to thirtysomethings as girls but you don’t pay it much mind. He doesn’t seem like he’s in a great mood. You wonder if it has anything to do with his wife Lori, being absent.

Juliet hands you a crystal mug of cider. You sip it tentatively but Lindy eagerly guzzles it down. She leaves you without a word as she heads over to Ransom. He sits in a chair with a bottle of Tito’s in one hand and a cup of soda in the other.

You peer around awkwardly and sway. Great. It’s not that you don’t get along with these people, you just find it hard to relate. Now that you’re here, that big question rings in your head. Why did you come? You’ve known these people as long as Lindy and yet, they are her friends, not yours. Still, you can’t name a single thing they’ve done that could justify you hating any of them. They more so inspire indifference, if not dejection.

“You still working at the college?” Andrew startles you as he approaches with his short tumbler of dark liquor. You didn’t think he drank. He was always telling Lori to slow down.

“Um, yeah,” you turn to him and run a finger nervously behind your ear. “How’s the, uh, attorney-ing going?”

He shrugs, “thinking of starting a private practice. Maybe. Might have to relocate...”

“Oh, that sounds like a big change.”

“Lots of those,” he grumbles. You have a feeling you shouldn’t ask about his wife.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking for a new gig. College is nice but a bit stagnant.”

“Oh yeah? I could use an exec assistant if I do go to a firm,” he says.

“Wow, really, uh, well, I guess that would be a big if,” you push your shoulders up.

“Andy,” Steve appears, “don’t tell me you’re bringing her down with your sad sack schtick. We’ve all had enough.”

“No, I was actually offering her a job. Possibly. What do you want? To annoy us with your slimy schtick? Go bug your wife.”

“Woah, buddy, nothing meant by it. Just a joke. Thought maybe I could cheer you up. But I see why you went with this one,” Steve gestures to you. “She’s a sweetheart.”

“Uh, oh, thanks,” you mutter into your cup. “Um, you know, we drove quite a ways. Could I use the bathroom?”

“Sure thing,” Steve puts his hand on your shoulder and points back to the doorway, “down that hallway and to the right. Let me know if you get lost.”

“Thanks, er, I’ll be back,” you sidle away and set your cup down on the table. You flee without looking back. You still can’t think of a good reason why you came. Not aside from the favour to Lindy. Sometimes, you think even she finds them too much.

🎀

“I think all the gifts are under the tree so everyone can grab theirs whenever. You have to guess who got you by breakfast tomorrow!” Ann declares.

The din doesn’t break. There are nods in her direction but most are unconcerned. Of course. You feel a bit dumb for spending so much time trying to find something for Ransom. He isn’t easy to buy for with his expensive tastes. He’s not even in the room... nor is Lindy.

You don’t really care about yours. You really just want to go to bed. You wait and watch. No one else goes toward the tree. Sigh. You don’t want to seem like a vulture waiting to take your share of the carrion.

After a while, Ann wanders over. She bends and moves around some of the presents. She picks up the gift card with sharpie on it. She rolls her eyes. She has that drunken wobble in her head as she stands and curls her lip at the gift. You feel bad for her. Lindy really didn’t try very hard. You even think she regifted that.

Charles and Juliet go together. Both have more substantive prizes. They chatter as they return to the sofa. You get up and glance around. Everyone seems distracted; by each other or by their phones. You tiptoe over.

You read each tag. You count the presents and tally up only seven total, including those already taken. You crane back and forth as you try to see if there’s a stray one around the back. You nod and back away, trying not to show your disappointment.

You’re not surprised. You don’t know that whoever got you forgot so much as they didn’t both. You told Lindy, you’re the odd one out. You’re only invited because you’re roommates. To be honest, it’s mostly because she’s clingy.

You yawn and check the time. You don’t care about a gift. You peek around. Steve is standing at the window, staring out at the moon. The eerie light gives his features an odd glow.

You approach him, “uh, hey, can you show me what room is mine? I’m pretty beat.”

He sets his glass on the window ledge and turns to you with a grin, “gladly.”

He leads you away from the window, the darkness solid and thick. You walk out of the front room and he takes you around the staircase.

“I hope you don’t mind. I gave you the room down here. The rest are upstairs...” he explains.

“It’s fine. I appreciate you thinking of me.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that? You don’t think people do?”

“No, I didn’t mean—I just... It was nice of you to invite me.”

“Of course. You’re a nice girl. Lindy isn’t,” he chuckles, “you even her out.”

“She’s not that bad,” you argue unconvincingly.

“Sure. She can be... sweet when she wants something.”

“Hm,” you hum.

He stops outside a door and taps on it, “this is you.” He turns to face you, “I know what you’re thinking. Why are we friends if we don’t like each other? Sometimes, you just can’t get rid of people.”

You nod awkwardly. You don’t want to be involved. You never really thought they hated each other, you just thought that was normal for them. That they were all a little bit abrasive.

“So, the gift swap. You got Ransom, I see.”

“How...”

“I shouldn’t have been a snoop but I did see the tag when you took the bag out,” he smirks. “Oops.”

“Uh, yeah, well, I don’t even think he’ll like it. It’s just socks. The only thing I could afford from the designer.”

“Like he’d know the difference between a knock-off and the real thing. He’s new money,” he turns the knob and pushes the door open. “Bag’s on the bed for you.”

“Thanks. Again,” you step past him as he flips on the light. “This is a really nice cabin. Must be nice in the summer.”

“Maybe you’ll see next year,” he says. “So what about you? What do you think of your gift?”

“Ummm,” you draw out as you shuffle into the room, “I...”

The door clicks and you turn to face him. He’s just inside, standing in front of it, in almost a sinister way. Filling the frame so you couldn’t get past him if you tried.

“Well,” he puts his hands on his hips.

“What?” You blink.

“Your present. I'm your present,” he tilts his head, “Merry Christmas.”

“But... Ann?” You utter.

“Ann what? You think she cares? She might if she wasn’t on her phone sexting the anesthesiologist from my office. Wonder if he puts her under before they... you know?”

You shake your head, “oh, I’m sorry--”

“Look, I don’t wanna worry about all that. I’m your secret santa,” he opens his arms as he comes closer, “guess I shoulda put a bow on me.”

“I... Steve, I’m not... I’m sorry but I can’t--”

He stops before you and presses his finger to your lips, hushing you.

“It’s not polite to turn away a gift someone put a lot of thought into. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” He drawls. You squeak as he drags his fingertips down and turns his hand to cradle your chin. “Plus, if Ann was so concerned and she came in to find you seducing her husband, well, I’m not sure she’d let you stay.”

“Steve,” your eyes tinge hotly. “Why?”

“Why what?” He bites his lip and hooks his arm around you, bringing you flush against him. “I’m giving you exactly what you need, honey.”

#steve kemp #dark steve kemp #dark!steve kemp #steve kemp x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover #fresh

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tricksh0t · 20 days ago

Text

★ really good girl

☾ matthew murdock x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ papi's home and he brought takeout 😎 poured like 6 hours into this hope you like it <3 (title is a reference to "I'm a really good lawyer")

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 3.10k

cw: this shit long, catholic boy swears, a little bit of talk about catholicism (why swearing bad) but not as dialogue, feminizing Matt (mostly nicknames, a thong, pretending his hole is a cunt), soft Matty as well as humor, daddy kink, missionary, creampie, lotta teasing, dacryphilia

"Oh, God, look at you, sweetheart. You're beautiful."

Matt blushes under your praise. You're talking like he's in this beautiful gown, head to toe in mother of pearl or tule, as if that imaginary gown hugs all his curves–the bounding hills of his biceps, the muscled thickness of his thighs, the fat of his pecs–or is revealing enough to leave just enough to the imagination...but no, Matt's just wearing a thong.

A women's thong, practically bursting at how hard he is, it leaves nothing covered in the front, and it does the same for the back. That's what you're looking at.

It's in a pretty pink, like ballet shoes you'd said, the pinnacle of grace. On him, it feels like the opposite, it's making him stiff. He never thought about how clenching your ass is visible from the outside until you'd pointed it out.

"Ease up, sweetheart. You look great."

"You said that already."

"Please?"

Matt arches his back some more, just for you. He tries to relax his glutes, and he's not sure if it works, but you're not complaining.

At a certain angle, you can see more than how the singular one-inch-wide fabric disappears between the perky globes of his cheeks. At a certain angle, if you sit up a bit straighter, you can see his hole.

You can see the way it gapes, how wet it looks... it's lube, but, "You're so wet for me, Matty."

Matt audibly gulps.

"Yeah, you heard me right," God, he just looks like a delicacy. "come here."

Matt remains on his hands and knees as he crawls towards you, slowly, inch by steady inch.

He knows just when to stop, right in front of you without even touching your lap. He looks up at you. His signature red glasses are gone, letting you gaze into those puppy brown eyes that despite being dysfunctional still find yours. "Good girl." You praise, cupping his cheek.

Matt doesn't often swear. It goes with his little Catholic boy thing, to put it lightly. To expand on it, however, it's ingrained in him. Maybe he does swear when he's out there being Daredevil, but according to the sparse things about Christianity you've learned, any swear is slander; and he'd never dare to slight you.

Yet, a shiver goes down his spine, shakes his body, and makes him say, "Fuck, Daddy."

"Why's a pretty girl like you using curses, hm?" You hum, and the worst thing of all (for Matt) is that it's a genuine question.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Daddy–" His voice is on the verge of a whine, it's pathetic.

"Oh, sweetie, don't be." Your voice is soft, genuine. He can hear the smile in it. "Daddy was just asking you a question. Go ahead, try again for me, okay?"

Matt nods his head just slightly. "It's you, Daddy." He catches himself, catches his tongue, quickly. "I don't mean to blame you, D-Daddy, sir. It's just, you make me feel so good."

"Do I, baby?" Matt hums a yes. You continue, "I haven't even touched you yet, sweetheart...apart from your cheek, that is, but I haven't kissed you neither."

"It's what you say to me." Matt says in a little whisper, in a lack of confidence. He's afraid. It's adorable.

"Can you say that again?" You ask, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "Couldn't quite hear you."

"Daddy, please." He breathes out, knowing you did.

"Didn't hear you." You repeat, relentless, ungiving, stern. You haven't even called him anything: darling, sweetheart, baby, good girl. Oh, he is getting absolutely railed tonight.

"It's what you say to me." Matt repeats. In fact, he doubles down, pushing past your hand to lay his head on your thigh. "When you call me "baby girl" or "good girl", Daddy, it drives me nuts."

"Good girl." You praise, it drives a shiver through his spine, and you follow it with a finger. "Would you look at that. It really is what I say."

The tracing of his spine, the trail your finger leaves, makes him arch his back just that bit more. You can reach just far enough to cup one of his asscheeks. It lacks precision, but makes Matty moan all the same. You dare to dig a finger below the waistband of the thong, watching it go entirely taut around the rest of him, squeeze his hips just that tiny bit more. You don't even have to pull the fabric away, just slip your finger out of its confines, to hear it snap against his skin. That makes Matty moan too.

He moans so nicely you just want to hear more. "Can you get on your back, sweetheart?"

"I wanna...blow you, Daddy." Matt admits shyly instead, head inching closer and breaths hitting the shape of your clothed cock. He wants it, and you know it.

"Another time." You promise, pulling back, "Now, go on."

Matt does as you wish, because he's yours; and you're his Daddy, and he really really loves being a good girl.

He lays down on his back and he spreads his legs wide open, you don't even have to tell him to. He's obedient like that, always a pleaser. You could never ask for more.

"Hips up, please? Thank you, sweetheart." You prop a pillow under his ass to prepare.

Just the thought of it, of how considerate you are, has Matt leaking. You don't address his hard cock, your eyes don't even glaze over it. It has a certain shame burning through his chest, but at the same time, in the pit of his stomach, there's excitement.

"Thank you." Matt mutters.

"Thank you, who?"

He blushes, "Thank you, Daddy."

"Hands on–" You watch as Matt holds the underside of his knees and pushes his legs up for you, before you can even ask. "Good girl."

He's all trained for you. "Mm, thank you, Daddy."

"Let's get this thing off you, shall we, sweetheart?" Matt nods his head subtly, though the question was rhetorical. You begin to pull off the thong. You'll mourn its pretty pink loss, but first you'll watch the way it presses against the fat of his thighs and makes it spill over like a garter. By the end of it, you take it off one of his ankles but leave it on the other, and watch it slide down.

It's crude; like you've picked him up off the side of the road for a quick fuck.

Nevermind that. "Look at you, all wet and leaking for me." Matt's asshole clenches and unclenches around nothing in anticipation. It's pretty and pink, not quite ballerina but more sultry mauve, and puckered. The only displeasing part about it is that it can still close fully.

You press your thumb against one edge and watch it open, awaiting. "God, if you could only see yourself, baby girl."

"Ple-Please, Daddy."

You look at him. You look at the way his eyes aren't quite focused, but still on you, glassy. Glassy. Pleading, begging, you don't even know if he's doing it intentionally.

Matt Murdock wants you. His body wants you. Daredevil is all trained instincts, Matthew is too.

"I know. I'm getting there." You promise, hovering over him, holding his cheek, staring. Gosh. "Just...you're beautiful."

You press your thumb into him eventually. Your eyes are preoccupied, but you can still feel the way his hole sucks your finger right in. He clenches around it, and you can feel that too.

It's no cunt, but it'll still take you all the way. You shudder at the thought of it.

Matty does too. His toes are already curling. The pretty ballerina pink thong still hangs around his knee, wet at the very little fabric in front. Wet and drying, you can smell it, and you're sure he can too. He's probably ashamed—but to you, it's all the same: evidence of his arousal, the anticipation.

"Pl-Please." He stutters. He really can't wait, can he?

"Puh-lease." You taunt almost immediately. It was instinct, your insatiable, quick wit—you swear.

"Daddy..."

"Sorry, baby." You chuckle, and despite the apology, you continue. Driving your thumb in and out of him is consolation enough. "You know, I really think you'd look rather pretty in a skirt, or lingerie. A bath robe, too, the frilly ones...maybe I just want to see something wrapped around your pretty little waist. You know, it's a fight every day not to pick you up by it and prance you around like a prize: the new, hot commodity."

...

"Am I making you blush?"

Matty is about to snap back with a little something when suddenly your breaths ghost over his hole. It makes him jump. His senses are already going haywire, with the cold air around him and the bursting anticipation. You're probably one of the only people that can startle him.

Your thumb is out, but he won't complain, not when you press a kiss to his hole.

"Such a pretty pink." You hum before diving in, pressing increasingly open-mouthed kisses before beginning to lick and suckle. You don't speak the abcs into it, you haven't the luxury of surface area for that, but it still has his toes–and ignored cock–twitching.

Matt moans. He melts further into the mattress, arches his back a certain way that makes his rear press into you.

You laugh into it, and Matty can feel the reverberations of it in his body, in the air, in his ear drums. It's a pleasant sound, has his heart beating fast...or maybe it's your tongue.

"Oh, Daddy..." He moans richly. Rich like a perfect steak sauce, a good, long taste; a good long moan. Fucking exquisite.

But it's no scream.

You might just know a remedy for that though. "You want Daddy's cock, baby girl?"

You don't have to tell him twice. "Yes–" He's breathless already, and yet he cannot leave you unanswered, even though he'll have to chase his breaths, "Yes, please, Daddy. I really need it."

"How badly?" You part from his pretty cunt with a kiss to prepare, lube up and all, leaving him to answer.

He does so without any complaints at all, fingers twitching in their hold on his knees with excitement, "Really badly, sir, Daddy."

"Can you be a bit more descriptive, sweetie?"

He can hear you lubing up your cock for sure, the schlk schlk of it. It has his cock twitching too. "I've been waiting so long, Daddy. It's been too long since you last fucked me, already so long since you even prepped me. I...I miss it. Please."

"Good girl. Wrap those legs around me?" Not even a second later, "Good girl."

Matt's breath hitches when you drag your length against his hole, let its tapered edge catch along his rim. He's holding his breath, and it's adorable.

You pause, suddenly, "What was it you said about missing my cock?"

"Please." Matty breathes out, exasperated.

"Okay, okay, alright." You chuckle, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't even realize that his nails are digging into your bag when you begin pushing in. It's a slow process, but it does nothing against the fact that you're stretching him out. Your fingers just cannot compare. It's just so...so goddamn wet; and for a moment, he can imagine that it's his.

Matt can imagine that he's all wet for you, pussy just sooo excited and warmed up in anticipation. He moans at both things, that thought and that delicious stretch, and the way your pelvis feels pressed up against his ass.

You wince once you've all bottomed out and only then does Matt realize that he's dug his nails so far down your back.

"I'm sorry, Daddy." He's quick to apologize, pads of his fingers replacing his nails, soothing over the trail they've left.

"It's okay, baby." You breathe out, slow, "Can hardly feel it, actually. The feeling of you? So much more powerful."

Matt gasps when your hand finds his happy trail and your fingers play with the hairs. It's almost like you're playing with his clit...and then moving? Fucking into him?

Like a koala, Matt clings to you: arms around your neck and legs around your waist. He wants—no, needs to feel you. Every single inch of you.

Sweaty and hot as it is, he needs to hold you, because he loves you, loves this. Loves to feel your tender skin below his palms, the flesh of you between his legs, your muscles at work, and your cock driving into him, stretching him, keeping him full. It's the gentleness in it, the absolute love he feels radiating from you.

It's not a sixth sense. It's the fact that your breaths are calm and that your grip on him is soft and yet your heart is beating so terribly fast. Matt doesn't sense emotions, but he can sense this.

So again, he fucking loves it, and it's no slander.

"Want it a little harder, baby?"

"Yes." He answers immediately, through a choked gasp, "Yes, please."

"Sure thing." A kiss to the top of his head, and Matt smiles.

He starts to hold on a little harder when you speed up. The bed rocks underneath your movements, and Matt is struggling to keep up. His palm cups the side of your neck, thumb ghosting over the front, looking for a pulse, looking for something grounding. It doesn't help, even when he finds it.

But it's just instinct. Matt doesn't mind getting lost in a sea of senses, not with you.

"Aw, fu–" The curse is on the cusp of his tongue. He doesn't give it the time of day, though only because he moans again. "Ah!"

And again, "Ouhh."

Normally, Matt has no trouble keeping quiet, but he cannot keep up with your thrusts. Harsh once, then prolonged and awfully loving, as if an apology.

He cannot think.

And then your voice penetrates through it all. "Good girl. Taking me so well, aren't you?"

Oh, you really are driving him nuts.

"Huh, sweetheart? Think you can answer that for me?" Someway, somehow, you break from his strong just enough to look at his face. His eyebrows are screwed up and his eyes are closed, it's adorable.

"Yeah! Yes, yes, yes, sir." He spews uncontrollably. It only takes the smallest display of disappointment, the click of his tongue, for him to correct his mistake. "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl. You look so pretty, you know?" You fiddle with the thong, pulling it back and letting it slap against his thigh. "Just for me?"

"Just foryou." Matt slurs. He slurs, because it's all too much. It's all you, you, you, you and that cock of yours. "'S so good, Daddy."

Oh, he's lost his mind. It's all too much—he can hear the creaking of the bed, smell the lube and all that he's leaking, feel a wetness glass over his eyes, and taste the growing amount of mucus in the back of his throat...

Not long after, there's a hiccup.

"Oh, you're crying, baby, am I that good?"

"Y-Yeah!" Matt cries.

Isn't he a sweetheart? So overwhelmed by all that you're giving him, and so thankful for it too...though not explicitly, not for a little while. "Matty, baby, where are your manners?"

"Thank you!" He gasps, thighs squeezing tighter around you. Aside from sharp gasps, he can't even speak. "Th...shi–shoot! Th-Thank you, Daddy."

It's adorable just how much he's avoiding swearing.

"No, thank you, sweetheart." The kiss you place to his throat has his next moan come out choked; and then you're kissing up his skin, past his pulse point, and up to his ear. "You're so damn fuckable, baby girl. Cunt open, just so wide for me. Bet you won't even be able to close after this."

Let alone walk. You chuckle into his ear, baritone and deep and so attractive somehow that it has Matt's eyes rolling back on pure instinct.

"Please."

"Please what?" You pull back suddenly and Matt's hold around your neck breaks. His hands fall onto the mattress, where they immediately grip. His knuckles go white. "Hm?"

"Go–shi..." Matt sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, it comes in as a wince. "C-Can't, Daddy."

"Can't what? Can't speak?" He nods, frantically. You decide to take pity on him. "Alright, I'll play your little guessing game. You want me to fuck you?"

No, too easy. Though he nods anyway. "Want me to kiss you?"

He nods, and you peck him on the lips, but both gestures are tiny. He's still unsatisfied. There's no skirting around what he wants. "You want me to leave you gaping, don't you, sweet girl?"

"Yes!" Matt cries out.

Well...who are you to deny your baby girl?

You redouble your efforts; faster, harder, more precise, even, right where he wants it: right into his prostate.

His tears begin streaming down your face, even jerking around with each harsh thrust that has him being drilled into the mattress. The pretty pink thong around his leg jumps up and down his calf too.

Even his legs fall from your waist, unable to do anything except jolt around and take you. Instinctively, they close around you; but you take Matt's knee and push it against the mattress, keeping him open. It makes Matt yelp.

"Please!" Matt moans. For what, he's not even sure. "Fuck, Daddy!"

He has all he wants right here.

A steady "uh, uh, uh" falls from his lips, head tilted up to the sky. Between the crying and the chanting, he almost looks as if in prayer, angelical.

He looks so fucking beautiful. Oh, you love ruining him, love to see the way those tears slide down his cheek, and the slobber and spit leaking from the corner of his lips, and his weeping, hard, red dick.

Maybe that's what he's begging for.

You hook one of his knees around your hip, leave it there, and then wrap a hand around his cock.

"Oh, Daddy! Yes!" Matt screams. His hands are on you again, gripping hard at your shoulders. He spews more words, gratitude, nonsensical things.

He keeps spewing, keeps sobbing and crying, as you fuck him harder and harder, and "Oh!"

He screams again, when he finally cums. Not not "yes", not an obscenity, but Daddy; and then softer as you fill him up with your own spend, in a pant: your name.

When you pull out, he's not just gaping. He's leaking too. "Try clenching for me, baby?" You ask, soothing your palms over his thighs just one last time.

Matty does as you ask, and he clenches around air. Air. His hole cannot fully close.

"Good girl."

#tricksh0t #backsh0t #x top male reader #x dom male reader #daredevil x male reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x top male reader #matthew murdock x male reader #matthew murdock x top male reader #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x male reader #matt murdock x top male reader #bottom!matt murdock

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fast-burn · 4 months ago

Note

Maxiel + 14. Sloppy seconds !!

i think this is maybe my most requested kink 😂 but you gotta give the people what they want! hope you don't mind if i add background garage gangbang into this (and also cw for drug use reference, off-screen)

kink list here

XXX

Generally Daniel tries not to live with regrets, but he's a little miffed that the whole thing with Max's mechanics began after he left Red Bull. Granted, it couldn't have started before. The concept of Max coming off his first race and his first win getting gangbanged within an inch of his life is something Daniel avoids thinking about like someone might avoid grasping a hot poker. That whole idea is just--well yeah, better not.

Still though, it's like Red Bull didn't start having real fun until Daniel was out of the picture. Not that Daniel would have joined or anything, but it would have been nice to have the invitation.

Daniel is in the hotel lobby, late, buying chamomile tea from the bar instead of room service because--he doesn't know. Better to put a couple euros on his credit card rather than charging it to the team? He's just in time to see GP and Calum walk in with Max propped up between them. They each have an arm around his curved waist. Max moves sluggishly, but he seems happy. Downright blissful. They carry him to the elevator and Daniel holds out his AmEx to tap it against the machine.

It takes maybe three minutes of Daniel being back in his own room before he's texting Max.

you good?

yes very good is Max's reply, almost immediately.

Daniel bites his lip. His mind is blank.

wanna come up and watch a movie or something? can't sleep

lol netflix and chill? Max asks, and well that's not-not what Daniel meant. He totally gets if Max is too tired for it. Hardly a big deal.

He says up to you, we can just hang if you want, and then rm 1220.

Daniel sips his tea and then goes to brush his teeth. He's rearranging his curls, trying to make them look fuller, when finally Max knocks on the door.

"Hi Daniel," he says, leaning in the doorway, eyes half-lidded, body swaying like he's drunk. He isn't drunk. He's probably taken a ton of poppers, but now he's genuinely just tired, the effects long since worn off. Daniel scoops him into the room.

Max is easy to direct to the bed, and as soon as he lays down he starts kicking off his shoes, toes prying down the heels before he flicks his ankles and nearly launches them at the goddamn TV. He smiles up at Daniel, the stretch of his mouth a shiny with a smear of lip balm and sore-looking in the corners. He makes grabby hands until Daniel crawls on top of him. Cute. The last time they did this, Max said he always wanted a breather after it all, but once he cooled down he wanted the weight of something anchoring him. Daniel isn't particularly heavy, but he's happy to provide in whatever way he can.

"I don't think I can come again," Max says, rubbing his face against Daniel's neck. His stubble is so scratchy-rough-good, dragging against the grain of Daniel's own beard, that Daniel shivers over and over. "But I'm not ready to sleep yet."

"Lucky me," says Daniel. "You wanna talk about it?"

Max makes a vague noise, but then he gives Daniel the post-gangbang report in broad strokes. They put several big packing blankets down on the garage floor, they took turns, they made sure his holes were always full, they cleaned him up when they were done. Daniel is hard when Max finally snuffles into Daniel's collar and says, "That's all, just the usual. Pretty simple stuff."

The pictures flashing through Daniel's mind aren't simple at all. It's like that guy with the painting of the staircases, tangled up in all different angles. He grinds his dick against the bed in the soft, open vee of Max's legs.

"I don't think I--" Max starts.

Daniel interrupts him. "No. No, I know."

"You would be very nice, Daniel. It's not you that is the problem."

It's twelve to fifteen guys other than me, Daniel thinks to himself, then chastises himself for being jealous. They're not a couple, and Max loves these nights. It makes him feel connected to everyone. It makes him feel so satisfied that he has to be hand-delivered back to the hotel, poured into Daniel's bed to sleep it off for eight hours.

"Can I just take a look?" He asks instead, and Max nods, twists in Daniel's arms until he's flat on his stomach.

"I won't fall asleep," Max promises.

"You can if you want. It was a big day." Daniel tugs Max's soft pants down: Red Bull-branded sweats. It was probably impossible to get him back into his tight jeans, afterwards.

The skin on Max's arse and thighs is red-hot, spanked all over, but nothing looks bruised. Daniel skims his hands across, barely touching but Max still squirms against the sensation. The mechanics clearly love Max so much. They give him exactly what he needs and nothing more, always working together like a well-oiled machine even when said machine is a train they're running on Max.

Daniel slides his thumbs between Max's cheeks, starting from his taint and un-zippering upward, spreading Max so Daniel can inspect the damage. Someone has cleaned him up, got him all sorted out. His hole is like a halved cherry, like Max's lips when he's been biting them, all puffy and used and raw. Daniel can't help but press his face into it.

Max whines lightly when Daniel licks across his hole. He tastes like antiseptic and aloe, and beneath that copper and salt and the undeniable flavour of latex. "Everybody wrapped up?" Daniel asks, almost directly into Max's arsehole.

"Yes, of course," Max says. "It would be too messy if they didn't."

And there's another thought Daniel shouldn't have: Max so full of sperm that he's leaking down his crack and across his balls, all of it mixed together into a mystery sludge, and Daniel could suck every drop out of him.

"You can come on me, though, if you want," Max offers then, and Daniel doesn't need to be told twice.

Daniel kisses up Max's spine and shoves his hand into his own pants, pulls his dick out and strips it fast. He can't be bothered for finesse, suddenly on the edge, totally desperate. "They really got you good, huh?" He asks, mouthing Max's shoulders, his neck, the shell of his ear the same colour as his slapped arse.

"Mm hm," Max murmurs, face mashed into Daniel's pillow. He's gonna pass out any moment. "It was so lovely, Daniel. I wish I could just get fucked like that all the time, but then it wouldn't be special. I can still feel them all, inside. Like they are still doing it. Here, feel," he says, and pulls Daniel's free hand back to his hole just in time for Daniel to feel it pulse and throb against the tips of his fingers, a needy little mouth. And Daniel feeds it, striping Max's back and thighs and arse with his release as he comes.

#maxiel #sorry if the ending is sudden!! i got tired of writing it and this is just for fun anyways #it.......is what it is #i know that sounds horribly self-deprecating but please trust me it's not a critique i'm trying to let go of perfectionism #i'm also tired of writing the word arse. i hate the word arse. how do you all stand it?#kink prompts

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occasionalsnippets · 4 months ago

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Okay I'm so very curious on what would happen in case fd!mc died. I've not caught up on all the lore but the idea that they'd focus on everyone elses tragedies, only to forget they're now a character too with their own problems and enemies and that (or something else) being their end. Like the angst potential just calls to me.

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream

Asdlaskjdh I would love to kill them off, maybe like a bit after Jason comes to the manor. I just know that everyone is going to be trapped in the shadow of the pedestal they built for you!!!

Like, Bruce’s perpetual longing to make things right by you. He forever catches himself thinking “what would you do” and “what would you tell him to do”, but never able to rely on your guidance to fix things again. Even though you acted essentially as his emotional crutch and translator and the initial impression of you basically being a (not) adult in his life, he’s eternally going to wish he could’ve done better for you. He isn’t your father and you weren’t his daughter. But, maybe you could’ve been something. It’s too late now, regardless.

Even though you’re six feet under, you’re no farther than you were in life. Dick remembers the distance between you and him more than anything else. Be it the distance he placed between himself and the manor or the ravine you dug yourself. He had always been more focussed on Tim than you and in many ways, you had orchestrated things so that it would be that way. You didn’t need him. Not like everyone else. And that leaves him with nothing of you but distant text messages and memories of you, dancing just out of his reach.

Jason remembers you amidst fluttering fabrics and blurry faces, shutters of a past he can barely recall. Your face in childhood is smeared in washes of green, blending with the images of the you of now that blares with every headline of your death. He’s never gotten to know who you are now when you aren’t hidden behind velvet curtains, in dresses covered in rhinestones worth more than an apartment complex. It haunts him. Just a bit. The same way he knows the memory of who he was before his death haunts Bruce.

Tim mourns in the Drake manor that has always been filled with more you than either of his parents. You’re gone now, just like them. It hits him harder than anyone he’s ever lost. Unlike everyone else, he almost had a surplus of memories of you, the good, the bad, the annoying and kind. It casts a daunting shadow of a role he’ll never be able to fulfil. A role that you, his perfect, unfailing, older sister, have left behind. The lingering warmth will kill him someday he thinks as he traces your path and follows in your footsteps.

Damian only knows you from stories and photographs and the half-aborted actions that the rest of the family takes. They are all trying to be something good for him and in the depths of the records his father keeps, he knows that it is your doing. You have always been larger than life to him. An idol-like figure he can never reach or know. There are millions of photos of you, thousands of angles, all of which he has learned to draw. He can imagine the gentle curve of your smile, mimic the posture when you stood, count the number of lashes on each of your eyes. But, he can only grasp at the ghost you left behind, unable to reach who you truly were.

The family will grieve. They will mourn. But, they will collect themselves eventually. You did not spend the last years of your life forcing them to communicate only for them to fall apart after you’re gone, after all.

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lotuseye · 7 months ago

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KINKTOBER 2024, I DIDN'T CHANGE MY NUMBER.

don't take it out on me, i'm out of sympathy for you. maybe you should leave, before i get too mean and take it out on you ( and your best friend too! )

suguru geto & satoru gojo. it was so, so difficult to put up with satoru sometimes- especially when every 9 of the 10 words that left his mouth was lies and excuses. in a particularly rough patch where there seems to be a whose-d*ck-is-bigger contest between the two stubborn idiots, she runs into geto in the bar they frequent and decides he deserves an earful for enabling gojo to be atrocious- but a torture can come in various forms, can't it?

word count: 6902.

genre: one-shot, kinktober product.

characters: suguru geto & satoru gojo & reader.

notes: hi so this is an insane idea that i could not help but write. satoru being a bad boyfriend. suguru being an even worse friend. pr*ise. degr*dation. kind of ch*king. car s*x. pet names. mean dom!gojo. submissive leaning p*ssydrunk switch!geto. switch!reader. dont even perceive me with this one i have no clue how we got here even.

“ you are such an… such an asshole.”

“ and your learning curve is horizontal, sweetness- i don’t recall you leavin’ me.”

the liar, the bitch and the master manipulator, she hated every single bone in satoru’s body.

well, except the one he was burying her to the sheets with.

the same old unfinished story of broken promises, it is a rinse and repeat now with the vibrant colors of their relationship is diluting in the waters of exhaustion and exasperation. oh it was limitless alright, the number of times he could have let her free fall from the tallest skyscraper of tokyo and be forgiven with how he catches her right before the fall, a honeyed coo or two in her ear. no language on the face of earth is adequate when it comes to explaining the way satoru exists on the axis of the world he’s tilted, but the words detached & displaced are the first ones that come to mind. she is simply one of the many things bound to be lost in the infinity between him and the space he occupies, a hard-swallowed pill that she couldn’t still digest even when he had his veined hands splayed on the curve of her hips, his steel of a bicep pressing against her throat as the bed rhythmically creaked beneath them.

it felt too good, and he knew it- he knew he had her when she left that airy sigh into the pillow she had been drooling in with the spot he found without effort, he knew he had her when she preened underneath him with her shoulderblades against his ribs. it’s lazy, lazier than satoru usually indulges in, his hips maintaining an angle that let him bully the spongy g-spot tucked between the snug walls with such fervor that he has her reeling with each languid thrust. his damp locks are tickling the nape of her neck, the beads of sweat collecting at the conjunction of their limbs, wetting the already messed sheets. she can hear each grunt, each breath of his, feel it vibrate in her chest. the same old tale, he does something rancid enough to piss her off and then instead of an apology he fucks her until she forgot what she was mad about in the first place, but like any trick, it has a point where the audience tires of the repetitive schemes.

“my baby’s pissed at me, huh? would ya’ look at that. ” he coos, his mouth pressed against the junction of her jugular and her neck, his mouth wet. she has no choice but to listen, no choice but to take it- he doesn’t leave anywhere for her to escape, having her stuck beneath the mattress and his heavy figure, with her throat sitting tight and cozy in the crook of the arm he has wrapped around her neck like a shackle. her maroon nails are digging into his sinewy forearm until crescent moons shine with a painful pink color and it is not only a rightful response to the merciless pounding, but also a subconscious punishment, a silent outlet of her anger.

satoru doesn’t like that.

the position shifts, the man atop her whining rather dramatically before his weight lifts off of her. “ naughty girl, so ungrateful.” he chastises breathlessly, and just when she thinks she’s free of the torment she can’t stop cumming from, he yanks her up by the fat of her hips, propping her up on her knees but her attempts to rise on her hands is strictly prohibited, satoru lets out a “ tch tch,” as he catches both her wrists in one large palm to cross them on the small of her back, right in the middle of the twin dimples before his empty hand grasps the nape of her neck and push her face into the sage green, satin pillowcase she had been moaning into few moments ago, burying himself to the hilt in one go simultaneously. “ this is why we can’t have nice things,” he clicks his tongue, and she can almost see the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, all educated deductions from the way he speaks through his gritted teeth. complain he might, but he cannot deny that he lives for the thrill of her, lives for the thrill of having her in his bed, the taste of cherry lipgloss stuck in the back of his throat and her laughter his favorite siren song. “ because you don’t appreciate ‘em, baby.”

“ don’t even start-” she groans, and his hips snap harsher the next time as a silent yet effective method of shutting her up, liking her pliant and obedient as always. “ sorry, what was that?” he leans over, asking with a faux undertone of surprise in his tone. “ can’t hear you over the sound of her, babe,” he pulls out temporarily, just to bring his palm down for a hard smack on her swollen cunt, only pleased when he hears her cry out and shudder to grasp the base of his painfully hard cock and nudge it right back inside her to resume. “ wanna’ repeat that f’ me?”

but she can’t, her vision already having painted white as she stiffens and seizes with a whimper choked on her throat, clenching around satoru impossibly as her climax pulls her right under the crashing wave, a steady ringing in her ear that deafens her briefly- she can call him every single name under the sun and he’d deserve each one of them, but she cannot deny that the bastard has a way of pushing her to the brink of feelings & sensations she didn’t know was possible. it’s what makes it all so alluring, it’s what makes her heart swell with the ease of familiar affection when he follows her almost immediately, his hips slapping against the back of her thighs faster as he falters, the feeling of wet ropes fill her to the brim a one that makes her toes curl, a nice warmth spreading through her system.

“ why are you adamantly trying to get me to leave you?” she asks, breathless, rolling to her back- her knees hurt, and she’s definitely pulled a muscle in her neck with how strained it feels. the heel of her palm presses against the junction of her neck and shoulder, rubbing in idle motions to alleviate it a bit. she watches him collapse next to her, just as breathless, his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips, snowy lashes fluttering with exhaustion, gaze heavy lidded. “ didn’t i tire you enough? ” he mutters but she doesn’t need to know him as well as she does to hear the whiny undertone. he blindly reaches through the sheets to find her warmth next to him, yank her to his chest without paying any mind to the way she yelps, and nuzzle his face against her spine. “ you talk too much, go to sleep.”

it had been a long shot, but at least she wouldn’t say that she didn’t try. “ get off of me,” she sighs, exasperated more than anything as she pushes satoru’s heavy arm to slide further away in the sheets. still drowsy & a bit lightheaded but still not relaxed or prideless enough to fall asleep next to him. “ ‘m gonna’ go take a shower.”

oh, that gets his attention. his head slightly lifting from the sheets, he watches her go, wearing nothing but his shirt. “ can i come?”

the only response he gets is the door that slams shut on his face.

****

she hadn’t expected suguru to be home. by the time she takes a stroll to the kitchen with her damp hair tucked in a soft towel, having switched back to her own clothes to deprive satoru of the pleasure of seeing her in his own clothes, adorned in a pair of rust nike shorts and a hot pink crop top. she finds suguru by the stove, cooking something that smells like thyme with his headphones on. she would have snuck her head in to get a good sniff of the pot, but since sneaking up on someone who is handling a hot pan while wearing headphones is never a good idea, she makes her way to the fridge as intended. he notices her by the shadow that falls on the counter, pulling the headphones down to his neck. “ hey there,” he greets, simple as he spares her a single glance. he doesn’t need to look at her twice to imagine what went down, sighing before turning to his meal.

“ i can feel you judging me,” she says as she pulls the bottle of milk out before closing it shut with a sway of her hips. suguru snorts. “ i am.”

ever the honest.

“ you don’t get to,” she comments simply as she occupies the same counter he’s cooking in. their shared apartment having memorized by now, she pushes on the side of his head slowly to avoid him hitting his forehead on the cabinet she pulls open ( thinking about it, maybe she should have let it hit him ) to get the coffee she had been desperately craving. she releases him a moment later, putting the coffee jar on the counter. like the calm before the storm. “ you’re the one who told me he was home when he was out with the bitches, if my memory isn’t failing me.” she states thoughtfully as she licks the spoon she delved into the coffee jar earlier. “ and you were the one who told me not to worry when i, in fact, should have been worrying.”

suguru sighs, clearly discontent to be in the conversation but too bad- he wasn’t discontent when he was lying straight to her face. her gaze is keener than a knife when she turns it on him, the smile that curls on the corners of her mouth is cold enough to look cruel. “ you’re a disappointing friend, suguru.” she comments, her tone sing-song-y enough to sound eerie. too serious and unserious at the same time, like his mistake was spilling her favorite coffee on the floor or forgetting to pick up groceries on his way home. “ and you’re not one bit innocent.”

“ don’t get me involved in your shit,” he exhales, keeping his gaze on the pan- chicken pesto & rice, hm. delicious. what a pity she felt too nauseous to take a bite. “ it’s not my responsibility to keep your deranged man in check, satoru is the way he is and you know it.” he places a large palm on top of her head but not ruffling her hair, instead bending over a bit unnecessarily to get down on eye level with her, his voice reeking of condescension. “ aren’t we a little too old to be blaming others for our bad life decisions, missy? ” she smiles at him, as sweet as a plum. “ fuck you, suguru.”

he grins. “ oh, i’d bet you wish. ”

***

it has been two months without satoru, two months with letting his calls go to voice mail or turning the flowers away from her doorstep. he’s using every trick in the book, from the gifts to the soft epilogues he is murmuring into the mic in the late hours of the night, hoarse and truthful but satoru’s truth as subjective as it can be- his emotions shift with the weather, and so does his intentions. his detachment applies to his ability to hold onto his promises, and the last couple of years he had not learned from his mistakes or her pleading, and she doesn’t necessarily deem herself the teacher he loves being. it’s not in her nature to be coddling a man that is not getting the message, at least not without making him regret every bit of a wrong he’s done her.

early 2010s are playing in the club that smells like pot & cigarettes & sweat, the fog of everything & anything that’s been smoked blurring in her gaze and dimming the moving purple & pink of the lights, coating the glitter on her cheeks prettiest of technicolors. four martinis in, she’s feeling the buzz in the marrow of her bones, not drunk enough to be stumbling on her feet but drunk enough to not try to see satoru’s white head in the packed crowd. the soles of her butterfly shoes are hitting the back of her ankles, and the polyester of her cheap dress is sticking to her damp skin in ways uncomfortable enough to assure her she definitely is getting a rash the next day. still, it is not nearly as bad as the urge to check her phone every twenty minutes to see if he’s texted. he probably has, and not that she’d text him back, but still it was a reassurance of its own to know that she occupied his thoughts. it was hard, for someone like satoru, to stay focused without drifting away. she’s even surprised he seems to have object permanence altogether.

just when her tired feet are dragging her to the bar for a refill of her empty martini glass, a similar figure draws her attention. the oversized black sweater that’s ridiculously loose on his shoulder, the fresh wolfcut, the black circle earrings and the cargo pants that also sit nonchalant on his waist and that goddamn manspread. he’s been staring at her.

if he was here…

“ the pot and its lid, how lovely.” her smile is forced when she leans over him, to the bar, yelling inaudibly over a loud remix of lady gaga for a refill, trying to contain her suddenly restless heart in her ribs, over the prospect of satoru popping out of somewhere to tap her on the shoulder with his disgustingly saccharine smile, sticking a tongue out through his perfect teeth. her knees feel weak and the alcohol is not the only culprit. suguru chuckles, taking another sip of his own drink, neat whiskey as usual. “ he’s not here.”

thank fucking god. she breathes, and he takes the sight in, nursing his whiskey, slowly twirling the glass with leisure movements of his wrist. “ you want me to call him?” he asks, mocking, teasing. she doesn’t give him the reaction he probably had been pulling and poking around for, instead waiting patiently with her elbows on the counter, a little bent, her midsection resting on suguru’s knee. she’s too occupied in her thoughts to notice it, but he’s not. though, it remains a silent acknowledgement. “ no,” she tells him, mouthing a thank you to the bartender before she turns to suguru eventually, her blue eyeliner having smudged around the corner of her eyes. he offers a grin. “ why, you here with someone? ” he shakes his head at the possibility of that being true, accompanied by a disapproving sound. “ don’t let him know, princess- he can dish it out but he can’t take it. such is the man, your boyfriend. ” the cynical undertone is laughable, so she does- it is swallowed by the slender glass in her hands. “ look at the one talking,” she gestures, amused. suguru shrugs, his head tipping back with the big sip to down the rest of his whiskey, adam’s apple bobbing and the chain that shines distracts her, gleaming under the now red hues. “ jus’ saying,” he shrugs. “ i know him. and you know him. don’t understand why you’re so obsessive over things you know that ain’t good for ya’.”

well, that had been a little too real than what she expected. she blinks, her expression shifting into one of confusion and of restlessness- a question she cannot answer truly, as she herself is yet to discover the big revelation. instead, her limbs retract, the ghost of a smile playing on the corner of her mouth. “ careful, suguru.” she muses, words laced with honey but not without the sting. “ you don’t know me like that. you don’t know me at all, actually. ” how would he, when all he has seen of her was her reflection created in satoru’s image? he hasn’t known her the way satoru or even shoko did. he knew her as the girl satoru couldn’t treat right a day in his life yet the girl he simply was too entranced to move on from.

his expression remains untouched, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth catches her eye. “ you’re here for him,” he says, without an attempt to correct her. “ you’re wearing that skimpy little dress for him. you’re drinking, laughing, dancing- for him. and he’s not even here.” it feels like a dare, the way his shoulders move, how he leans back. “ what a shame.” her ears are burning, the root of her hair red, and the flush on her cheeks is reeking of shame. she feels exposed, at the way suguru pecks at her open wounds without a care- but she asked for it, didn’t she? she stills, then leans, until both of her hands press against the cold edge of the marble counter, caging suguru in. she can smell the whiskey on his breath, can smell the cologne he wears, earthy and woody, lacking the sharp scents satoru uses. he leans back in his stool, carefully curated expression watching every single movement of hers to see what she’s after, decipher the secret message except there is no secret message- she’s angry, and she feels like a lesson has been due by yesterday.

“ and you’re here for me,” she says eventually, cracking into an eerie smile with the dawning of the revelation. “ oh, suguru, you sneaky bastard,” she can’t help the airy chuckle that escapes her, her eyes having widened with something she’s found in the poker face he had been wearing. he is good at this but so is she. “ you’ve almost had me, gotta’ give it to ya’.” she coos, mingled with mockery in the worst way possible as her head cranes aside, withdrawing to take a good look at him. “ who knew?”

he laughs, the tormenter that he is, and it’s pretty. has it always been this pretty, or is the newfound depth to dabble in make her see him in a light she hasn’t before? “ please,” he snorts, shaking his head, asking the bartender for a refill and tossing his empty glass on the counter. he makes no moves to get out of her symbolic cage, pretty content to be sitting where he is, a knowing look painting him more annoying than he already is- but how could he not be, with the pretty girl lodged between his knees? satoru’s girl, at that. or not. that part was always confusing, even for them. “ i’m flattered, but you’re… not my type.” he finds the words he had been looking for eventually, clicking his tongue with satisfaction. “ i don’t like ‘em as whiny and loudmouthed as you.” she can’t tell if he’s joking or not, can’t tell why the room went up a hundred degrees all of a sudden. “ do me a favor and pick up the next time he calls, yeah?” he murmurs, digging around for something she assumes to be a cigarette, no longer focused on her. “ he’s been nagging like a bitch all day, ‘m tired of it. we both know you’re not going anywhere.”

she didn’t think it was possible to despise someone as much as she did satoru, but suguru is full of surprises. even if he is not able to find that one particular vein satoru adores pressing with the soles of his pretty, expensive shoes, he finds a completely different one- condescension dripping off his mouth, that lazy stare boiling the blood in her veins. he deems her not worthy of him, whiny and loudmouthed.

she kisses him just for that.

it is short, it is confused- it is filled with the urge to prove something, unsure to herself or to him. he tastes like whiskey & mint and it burns the back of her throat, and for a brief moment, he parts his lips, to which she takes as an invitation to push her tongue in and lick at the roof of his mouth as her hands grasp the collar of his hoodie.

it is short because suguru breaks it, his hands on her elbows, eyes widened and the cherry hue of her lipgloss smudged on his lower lip with the saliva that it shines with. “ ‘m not the revenge you want,” he warns, perhaps the most serious thing he’s said to her that night- but she lacks the fucks to give. “ shut the fuck up,” she says in return instead, before pushing him incessantly to return to the bittersweet taste she had been craving before it even died on her tongue. this time, suguru doesn’t reel back or stop. this time, his tentative hands slide around the small of her exposed back, pulling her flush against him as his teeth sinks into her plush lip. it’s dizzying, how he kisses the breath out of her lungs, and how it sets a dozen fireworks in her ribs.

“ oh, fuck, i can’t- he’ll kill me,” the sentiment returns, and she doesn’t remember hearing him so desperate in her life- doesn’t remember hearing him so out of breath and pleading, a begging more to himself than her as he rests his forehead on her temple and draws in heavy breaths like it might make him want her less. it doesn’t. satoru doesn’t plead the way he does, doesn’t look at her with the same pathetic insurmountable need in his eyes. maybe it’s what makes her bold enough to push her thigh between his knees, watching the way his jaw falls slack, slender fingers tightening on her hips as if he can’t decide if he wants to stop her or not. “ you’ve been lying to me for him long enough,” she murmurs, hot and breathless into his mouth, watching every single way his face contorts with shame and pleasure like a hawk through heavy lidded eyes. “ time to lie for me, sugu.”

it’s how they end up in the back of her car- with her perched atop suguru’s large thighs, moaning into each other’s mouths, raven locks bunched in her incessant palm and his hands splayed out on her thighs. it’s sloppier than anything, and all she can think about is how utterly beautiful he is, with his heavy breathing he is pointless trying to regulate and the way he keeps clutching at her, ridden with guilt & lust at the same time. she doesn’t carry the same concern as he does, doesn’t care about satoru- not in the way she should, at least. it was time he stopped underestimating her. it was time he stopped believing her lack of retaliation on his bullshit was because she thought he could be a better person than he was, not because she was weak enough to stay. she only realizes her mistake now, how wrong it was of her to try to handle things the way adults did- but forfeiting grudges, by trying to forgive and communicate. he mistook her kindness. he thought her sweet, thought her all bark no bite.

but looks could be deceiving.

no clothes are coming undone, but suguru is half unraveled underneath her thighs. “ look at you,” she says in pure admiration, catching his chin between the knuckle of her index finger and her thumb, tilting his head to her liking- which is straight at her, having no choice but to see the diabolical grin that turns her into something he has never put his hands on before. something he wouldn’t know what to do with, if he had. “ whiny and loudmouthed, you said?” she quotes, and a single shift of her hips is enough to drown out any response he might have, to which he responds with a grunt of restraint and a kiss harsher than loving. “ shut up,” he kisses it on her teeth, and she has no objections to that. his presence is overwhelming. it’s unusual, the attachment that comes along- suguru is intense in a way she cannot define to be good or bad. so explore she does, tilting the corner of his jaw with a stubborn push from her nose, teeth grazing at his jugular. she can feel the way his breath hitches, feel the way he twitches. he attempts to take control of the situation by manhandling her on his lap, squeezing the fat of her hips in his palms with a grunt as he forces her into movement. the sticky material of her long drenched panties stick to her, the zipper of his pants getting caught at her clit and making her jolt with each drag. it gives him a momentary release from her evil clutches, but it is questionable how it can be considered relief when he has that drunk look on his face, jaw setting with a low grunt. “ such a fucking slut,” he whispers it against the column of her throat, freeing one hand to resume the movement by lazy & languid rolls of his hips, having her gasp on top of him, boneless on his lap. “ grinding on me because your boyfriend just can’t act right, huh? is this how you get back on him? ”

she nods, even if she doesn’t want to, too caught up in the way he pseudo-fucks her, unhurried and devoid of any rush- like they had hours to spend in the back of her car. his pants might be deceiving her, but even the outline of him pressing against her is enough to have her mouth watering for the real deal, satoru half forgotten in suguru’s warm lap. his fingertips trail beneath the hem of her blue skirt, and they dance around the edge of her panties without ever getting to business. she squirms, desperate for a taste of something she can’t go back from, but his hold is a one of steel- “ if you want something, you’re gonna have to say it,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing hers without properly kissing her, each thrust making her jolt on his knees. she melts halfway, face contorted in pressure. “ are you this much of a headache for satoru too, or is it special f’ me?”

that does it, her lower lip trembling as she rests against his chest, hips lazily grinding back into his to keep up with the delicious rhythm that has her seeing stars before anything. the fingers that now ghost over the damp spot of her underwear is her undoing. “ performance anxiety, sugu baby?” she lets a breathless, airy chuckle, accompanied by a sweet aw she manages to utter. “ don’t worry, i’ll guide yo-ohhhh shit,” he tucks her words back into her mouth without batting an eye, he’s good like that, of course he is. there is nothing to be questioned in his abilities to touch a girl, it seems- he doesn’t struggle as he slips underneath the wet fabric and plunges two fingers deep inside her, the sudden intrusion sending an electric jolt down her spine. for a moment, it becomes so, so hard to speak, toes curling in the pretty heels satoru has gotten them as an apology gift for one of his many fuckups. she doesn’t think suguru would like to know that.

“ sorry, you were sayin’ somethin’?” he hums, a pleased, toothy smile tugging his mouth upwards as he takes in the sight of her squirming on his lap to handle the pressure. he brings an end to those wiggly hips by pressing the forearm that has been on her thigh even harder to pin her nice & tight. “ uh uh, don’t run away from me, now, you wanted this, remember? ” he tuts, still keeping his slow grind her swollen bud as his fingers pump leisurely in & out. “ suguru,” she shudders, gripping the car seat behind him just to be able to have some sort of anchor but even that is failing her. suguru is an asshole of his own kind, so instead of easing up on her, he tugs on the lace ribbons of her dress with his teeth, like an animal, just so he can nuzzle his nose between the valley of her breasts. he’s not as chatty as satoru, it turns out. not as hurried either- it’s not the same rush, not the same avid sense of detachment. this is not turning out the way she expected it to, not the mindless fuck she had been going after just so she could see the look on satoru’s face when she told him she fucked his best friend.

“ mhm, i see what’s got him so hooked alright,” he reveals to himself, half mesmerized and half amused, an afterthought as he drags his tongue on the velvety edge of her dress, dipping it underneath. “ i’d be tweaking too, if i fumbled this.” the this he is talking about is not her sparkling personality, she assumes, but it has her chuckling breathlessly anyway. it’s one thing to be wanted by satoru who wants everything he can get his hands on all the time, but it is another to be wanted by suguru who seems to want nothing at all. well, except the girl he lied to the face of repeatedly. just for that she thinks of leaving him blue-balled, but all thoughts flee her mind once his teeth catches her hardened nipple and his fingers crook in that delicious way, pulsating around his fingers as the tight coil in her guts snap.

she doesn’t realize the buildup, nearly panicking with how sudden it all crashes into her- eyes widening impossibly as she clutches onto suguru desperately as the man holds her still. “ keep cumming, keep cumming, good fuckin’ girl,” he grunts with his nose pressing hard against the column of her throat, effortlessly handling the mess of limbs on his knees that is stiffening & seizing with the pressure it takes her to release it all. she thinks she’s seeing sounds, she thinks she’s hearing colors- by the time she comes back down to earth, she has half a mind on her to breathe, and only through the demanding of him who is now holding her chin in his palm: “ don’t pass out on me now, keep breathin’, keep breathin’.”

it feels cold, when his fingers finally vacate their cozy home, but they are soon to find another- he uses the hand on her chin to pull her jaw a bit down, fingertips squishing into her cheeks to make her open up so he can stuff her mouth with the very same fingers with a dazed look in his eyes. “ polite girls clean up after themselves,” he murmurs. the tangy taste melts on her tongue, sucking on suguru’s fingers as he slowly rocks them a bit, imitating the lewd imagery of her sucking his cock. it would be a pretty sight, she thinks. to see him with his head tipped back, to rob him stark naked of any control he might have, to own him by the balls, as they say. but suguru doesn’t seem interested in the idea, as he just sighs, contently watching her suck on his fingers. she’s always thought he had pretty eyes, violet hues that have been shining with brilliance from the day she’s met him. “ i can’t be doing everything around here, can i?” the way he asks is so fucking condescending, she can’t help the way her ears burn as he pushes his hips into hers to remind her of the very painful hard on that’s been straining against her thigh now. “ ‘m not satoru, sweetheart- i don’t give out free dick. if you want it, you earn it. ” the now empty hand comes harsh against the plush fat of her ass, making her let out a muffled cry through his fingers. “ ride me like you mean it. ”

he doesn’t have to tell her twice.

the unbuckling of his belt and the freeing of his hard on is unceremonious, but the thrill of it is so, so heavy in her blood she thinks she’d ride this high for a good year, if she was lucky. he’s not as long as satoru, but the girth of him makes her gulp with the unsavory calculation- it doesn’t take a genius to know it’s going to be a hell of a stretch. suguru, who seems to have noticed her hesitation, grins a little. “ aw, afraid of dick, now?” he mocks, and she hates how much she really likes the genuine laugh he lets out, even when he’s bullying her. “ it doesn’t bite. go on, now. ” she wraps a hand around the base of it, her knuckles brushing against the dark happy trail as she indulges herself in a leisure stroke, watching his eyes roll back with an animalistic pleasure. all she knows is that she wants to see more of it, so when her thumb reaches the angry & leaking tip, she makes sure to apply all the pressure she can manage. “ i think the dick is afraid of me, baby. ” she teases, teeth grazing the corner of his jaw. “ you’ve been packing this the whole time? damn, maybe i got the wrong bestie.”

suguru can’t manage a response with the way he looks like he’s on cloud nine beneath her, and she finds it sweet, the way he leans into her touch, the way he’s lost in it. having decided that she doesn’t want pleasure if it doesn’t involve hers, she aligns him with her slick entrance, letting the fat tip nudge against her folds with a shaky breath, and tilting her hips to let him sink into her without further teasing.

the moan they let out when he’s finally inside her is in unison, but his is much whinier than hers and she finds that she revels in the sound- she’d never think him to be whiny in bed, never think him the one to release control. but here he is, holding onto her hips in the backseat of a honda civic, the living and breathing embodiment of pussy whipped. “ holy fuck,” he gasps out, his adam’s apple bobbing as his head tips back to the headrest. “ holy fuck.”

“ you’re gonna eat your fucking words, suguru,” she confesses in his ear, in the most saccharine voice imaginable as her thighs part to dig her knees on the leather seats so she can ride him to her heart’s content, moaning every single time he bottoms out, every single time his head kisses her cervix, filling her up so nicely. all she can think about is how he deemed her unworthy of him in the bar an hour ago. “ oh, no words? the whiny girl’s pussy got your tongue, baby?” she latches onto his throat just so she can leave a pink mark of hers, just for him to see in the mirror, just for him to have to sit down in satoru and try to explain where that came from. what a scene it would be, how she would have given a kidney and a lung to see it. suguru, to the proof of her point, is too focused on not busting on the spot all her teasing is returned by radio silence except for grunts and whines. he looks so drunk, she wants to kiss him just for that, but she bites on the inside of her cheek instead, wanting him to know what real desperation was. his hands are so, so tight on her waist, and his mumbles are her favorite song.

well, except the ringtone that disturbs the perfect rhythm she has found, an unexpected caller.

it is coming from suguru’s pocket, to which she has no problem digging around to find. “ i’ve got you, sweetness, keep moaning like that,” she kisses his forehead just to drive her mockery home, before her eyes lock on the screen.

gojo.

if it wasn’t lucky.

“ no, no, give me that back-” suguru attempts to get his hands on his phone but she is already answering before he can manage, and the first thing they hear is satoru’s voice, who never lets anybody speak first if he’s the caller: “ dude, i’ve been calling you all fucking night, ” he complains. “ where the hell have you been?”

suguru is looking at her with pleading eyes, but seeing how that desperation erodes with a single roll of her hips is so satisfactory there is no shame in her voice as she responds: “ he’s busy, satoru babes,” she laughs, giddy. and it takes a hot minute for the white haired walking ego on the other end of the line to register her voice. “ what?... how?... what the fuck?” by now there is no fucking way he’s not hearing the sweet moans suguru is releasing, too pussy-whipped to realize the situation she put them in, too pussy-whipped to stop. “ say hi, sugu.” she plays an evil more diabolical card, shoving the mic right in the corner of suguru’s mouth, who is now scrambling for the last bits of his late composure. “ sato-oh, fuck, satoru, i can’t- i couldn’t- oh my fucking god, ‘ts so tight, ” unable to string a form of coherent sentences, she thinks she could cum from just how mouth-watering the view is.

“ suguru, are you fucking my girl right now?” satoru is asking with a bamboozlement she has never heard in his voice before but before he can get an answer she hangs up, tossing the phone somewhere in the messy seats- not everything is about satoru, and leaving him hanging is a bigger punishment than letting him stay on the phone for the whole thing. there was no knowing with the bastard- it wouldn’t be a punishment if he turned out to be into it, after all. torture or not, suguru is hers for the moment, and there is a prized possession in such belonging, she honors it with wrapping her arms around his neck and rocking into him like there is no tomorrow. “ you feel so good,” she breaths into his ear, honest and genuine. “ you feel so fucking good, suguru. you’re so beautiful, look at you,” she slides his chin into her palm, gaze boring into his heavenly visage with an adoring look, even when he looks so utterly fucked out. “ who’s passing out on who now, hm? ”

maybe he would have panicked at the aspect of being caught red handed, maybe he would have stopped or would have actually do something about it when satoru calls again immediately after- but all he does is to shift deeper in the seat, spread his legs wider and start fucking up into her in a rhythm so unforgiving they go back to square one, all power evades her, being reduced to a ragdoll in his arms as he hooks his arms beneath her thighs and spreads her all the way open. “ you got wetter when he heard this,” he tugs on her earlobe, hoarse and teetering on the edge of his own pleasure. “ you got tighter when you picked up, such a fucking whore,” he grunts, and she is reeling, nails digging into his shoulders as she tries to take the pounding without screaming. “ little slut is gonna cum from being caught,” he mocks, breathless. “ go ahead and fucking cum.” he is so right there is no fighting it- he commands with that growl and she is falling apart before she can stop it, and suguru is right behind her.

it takes minutes, for both of them to come down from their highs, as suguru keeps spilling into her with no end and she keeps milking him for all he’s worth, clinging to each other like their lives depended on it. knowing that satoru had stopped calling somewhere right before they came, it truly might have, as there was no knowing what he would be doing right now. his silence was scarier than his reactions, but at the moment she really can’t bring herself to care. “ you doin’ okay?” he asks, making her jolt on his thigh just to get a reaction out of her, brushing her damp strands away from her face, revealing her hazy gaze and unfocused eyes. “ cockdrunk,” he grins. “ look at yourself, poor little thing.” her limbs still work enough for her to give him a slap on the bicep along a roll of her eyes. “ says the man who moaned like a bitch to the boyfriend of the girl he’s fucking. who knew you were such a whore, suguru?” her tongue darts out to lick her dry lips. “ you’re full of surprises.”

“ and you’re so full of unnecessary words,” he sighs, both to how she immediately became annoying again and how it feels when she finally lets him slide out of her, remaining seated on his thigh. none of them make an attempt to leave this cozy nest they have been indulging in for a good hour or two now. “ at this point i just think you are incapable of going fifteen minutes without hearing your own voice.” she snorts with the response, shifting off his lap to collapse right next to him, both of them breathing heavy in silence for a moment. “ what now?” he asks after a few minutes, looking over at her with those heaven of violet eyes.

she offers him the most charming, dazzling smile of hers. “ what happens is that you tell satoru i said hi,” she says. “ and get out of my car, suguru. i’m done with both your asses.”

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xmintpiex · 3 months ago

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Honeymoon - sfw, sae itoshi x gn!reader, bubbly reader, cheesy wc: 680

Another snowflake falls onto your cheek, already flustered and stinging from the cold wind. Lashes wet and blurry with melted snow as you carefully adjust your phone in your mitten-covered hands, cheeks slightly puffed out in concentration.

Only the sound of your little phone camera fills the winter landscape. The dark wood of the cabin porch so stark against the blinding snow, the heavily blanketed green trees, and the carefully paved snowy path that led down to the resort town.

"You forgot your scarf."

The sound of the porch door sliding open behind you, that quiet, steady voice that always brightens your smile, makes your heart warm and soft. You're barely able to turn around to see him before you feel him.

The warmth of his fingertips against your cold cheeks, the soft fabric of your favorite scarf carefully wrapped around your chin, around the collar of your puffy jacket. Not quite red, not quite brown, but a soft color in between, the scarf that Sae had picked out for you. His own scarf neatly wrapped around his neck, the one you had picked out for him, the color that you liked best on him. A matching set. Bought so long ago yet still in perfect condition, the colors still as vibrant. You don't think the colors will ever fade.

"Let's take a selfie, Sae, we need it for our honeymoon photo album!"

Your silly giggle and twinkling eyes, the corners of your lips pushing at your cheeks as you clumsily try to reposition your phone, your wool mittens too bulky.

An amused snort before his hand smoothly reaches down to take your phone, holding it at the perfect angle (just like how you taught him). Your cheek against his, your smile bright and toothy, his soft yet just as warm, maybe even warmer. His arm around your shoulder, the puffy fabric of your coats squeaking against each other, the gentle sound of falling snow.

"Oh! These are absolutely perfect! Look how pretty it is with all the snow, coming here for our honeymoon was the best decision ever! "

You beam as the two of you look through the photos, cheeks still pressed together, his hand now on your hip. A soft exhale of breath as he looks at your face, his calloused thumb gently wiping the melted snowflakes off your cheeks. Teal eyes pale, nearly glowing in the blinding winter sun, full of your smiling face.

"You keep saying that."

You tilt your head a little, lips pouting in that familiar look of curiosity as you wait for him to continue. His thumb pressing a little firmer, gently rubbing against the cold, soft feel of your cheek, long fingers against your jaw, your scarf, the cold metal of his wedding ring an addicting sting against your flesh.

"Honeymoon. Last year in Okinawa, the year before that in Sicily…we've been married five years now, six tomorrow."

The flush of his cheeks a combination of the cold wind but also you. Always you. The soft amused curve of his lips, the continuous gentle rubbing of his thumb, needing to feel your skin. Teal eyes like melted ice, too full of adoration to ever fully freeze.

"Oh! Hmm…maybe because it always feels like a honeymoon when I'm with you?"

The cheeky shape of your smile, the little coy flutter of your lashes you attempt until you can't help but burst into dazzling laughter, only stopped by his fingers squishing your cheeks together.

"…Too cheesy."

A failed attempt at a scoff, lips too upturned and face too softened, too full of that palpable tenderness that always made you giddy.

The sweet, slow touch of his lips against your pouted ones, heated even in the wintry wind. His hand reaching for your mittened one, leading you gently back into the toasty warmth of the cabin. The crackling fire, the rose petal-covered bed, the table covered with your favorite dishes, the overly intricate cake. All arranged by your beloved Sae.

After all, it was your honeymoon. Always.

#xmintpiex work #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x y/n #bluelock x reader #okay now back to work xD #another silly little piece<3

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luveline · 2 years ago

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𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐛 —send me an established relationship request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 1k or less

reader pulling Hotch in by his belt loops trying to break the ice after they get into a disagreement

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! vaguely suggestive. fem!reader

You know why you argued, but you kinda wish he'd stop being mad. You're not mad anymore, and he's the one who started it so he should be the one to raise the white flag. Maybe. It was only a little fight!

You sigh dramatically. Hotch doesn't budge, wiping down dishes with a cloth one by one.

"I'm sorry," you say, your third apology overall.

"It's fine." He smiles from over his shoulder. You believe him, but he's still put out. You understand not everyone can move from an argumentative mood into a happy one quickly and try not to worry about it much longer, though the urge to kiss his scratchy jaw has its hooks in you.

You put away the plates after he's dried them and figure you'll just have to go for it. While he's not paying attention, you slip your finger into the snug of his belt loop and pull him toward you. He wraps his arm around your shoulder rather than elbow you, looking down at you with a mixture of nearly hidden surprise and pleasure. He tries very hard to keep a straight face.

"Hey, baby," you say, "you come here often?"

"I'm still annoyed," he says, warmth creeping into his voice.

"Yes, well. Me too. But I like you more than I'm annoyed at you and I'd really like to kiss you, so… can I?"

Hotch looks down at your hand in his belt loop and does that thing older guys do, a sound between a scoff and a laugh with a nod to seal the deal. "I suppose."

"Oh, you suppose," you say, leaning up to kiss his chin, your following words smothered in his skin, "you would suppose, Hotchner, you're such a supposer."

He laughs again and you glow, sure it had been a weak joke. His smile twitches under your lips as you kiss him, and his hand cups the back of your neck. Forgiven.

"Sorry," he says between kisses. It's low but impossible to miss, and his tone is sincere. "I'm not trying to be unreasonable."

"You're very reasonable. And you can make it up to me, if you like." You blink your eyes open to meet his dark gaze, smiling as his hand slinks down the curve of your back.

"Should I pull at your jeans?" he asks. His finger curves into your belt loop, his hand angled further down.

You lean in for another kiss. "Yes, please."

#luveline's 40k party #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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cherrychilli · 1 year ago

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18+

Eddie Munson x flexible! reader, AFAB reader, allusions to PIV sex

Eddie finds out you're double jointed.

A/N: This one's super self indulgent because I'm very bendy and I felt like writing about it. Also they smoke weed but everything's consensual✌️

"C'mon, there's gotta be something about you I don't know already", he prompts after another smoky exhale, blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. It wisps out into the evening air beyond the back doors of his van, opened out to overlook a moon dappled lover's lake.

This is what the conversation had dwindled down to after having spent the whole day together, most other talking points already stretched thin by now.

Usually you would have considered the question more carefully but now that your intuition's been dulled by his stash, you search through the foggy corridors of your mind for an answer like you're feeling around for a light switch in the dark.

Eddie has been your closest friend for the better part of five years now and you weren't exactly a closed book by any means which made coming up with something all the more difficult.

Most of what comes to mind feels too mundane to mention so you pass them over in favor of searching for something that might pique his interest.

"Hmm, I'm kind of double jointed I guess", you slowly recalled, too mellowed out to realize the kind of implications something like that might carry to a man like Eddie.

But where there should have been raised eyebrows and a lascivious curve on his lips you find his eyes narrowing into a puzzled little squint instead as he looks at you from where he's leaned against the back of the driver's seat.

"But we've only had one", he turns the joint in his hand over to examine it closer as if a second one might be hidden somewhere underneath.

Maybe you'd given him too much credit.

You roll your eyes at him playfully, leaning closer on your hands and knees to pluck the joint out of his hand and take another puff. The weed might have made him a little slow and sluggish to fully comprehend your what you'd just shared with him but not enough to prevent him from sneaking a peek at your cleavage from this angle.

"No Eddie, it just means I'm flexible. Like, a little more than most people", you return to your side of the van, leaning back against the side door with your knees pulled up to your chest.

"So, like the splits?"

"More than that"

"More?", his eyes go wide and you can see a hint of redness bordering his sclera, certain the same tinge is present in own eyes too.

"Yeah, like check this out", you hand him back the last of the joint for him to finish off and put out. Holding up your left hand, you fold your thumb into your palm and gather the rest of your fingers with your right hand, slowly bending them back beyond what he thought to be your limit.

The unnatural arc might have unsettled anyone else but not Eddie and you begin to giggle when his face lights up instead of twisting into a wince.

"Shit, does that hurt?"

"Nope", you start to beam a little, letting him take your hand in his when he reaches for it eagerly.

Carefully, he manipulates them, making them bend in all kinds of ways; touching your thumb to your forearm, pushing the first joint of each finger back as far as possible.

"Oh that's fucked", he smiles big and wide as if he could gladly spend an entire day just messing around with your fingers.

"What else can you do?"

His impress fills you with a new kind of high, one much more heady than the weed and you fail to resist it now that you've gotten a taste.

"Mm, I can get my legs behind my head too", you shrug, this time much more aware of what you're divulging.

"Seriously? both of them?", he manages to ask calmly enough though you can almost feel him buzzing under his skin like a cicada about to take flight.

"Yeah, don't even really have to stretch to do it"

His jaw tenses, his normally expressive face unreadable before he quietly asks, "can I see?"

Oh this is dangerous. You feel like you're entering uncharted territory in your friendship but you like the look stirring in his eyes too much to deny him.

"Maybe just one", you offer, thankful that you're wearing your cotton shorts today instead of something denim.

Sitting criss cross on the old blanket he uses to carpet the back of his van for smoke sessions, you slip off your flip flops and place both hands on your right foot. With your left hand cradling the ball of your foot and your right hand gripping your heel, you begin to lift your leg up past your chest.

The underside of your thigh which he only gets to secretly ogle on days when you're dressed like this is bared to him as you get your calf over your shoulder, no trace of pain or discomfort on your face. Dropping your right hand, you duck your head slightly to maneuver your foot over it with your left hand then it's done. Your foot slips into place behind your head, heel nudging the nape of your neck. You're able to straighten up to look him in the eye, shooting him a wink while you wiggle your toes.

"There. Not so hard", you can't help but show off, drunk on the stunned look etched on Eddie's face.

And then his eyes trailed lower.

He does it quickly -- a mental snapshot that he'll file away for later. He memorizes the way your shorts have ridden up, so tight around your core he can make out the print of your underwear and the shape of your cunt beneath the stretched out fabric, wishing he could rip the stitches of the offending material apart and fit his tongue there instead.

Pleased with your display, you untangle yourself smoothly, limbs returning to their rightful alignments as Eddie takes a few seconds to blink himself out of his thoughts. His entirely non platonic, downright debaucherous thoughts.

"Woah that was...wow", he settles, pressing his lips together before his motormouth revs up and he lets out something he'll regret. 'You're like a sexy stretch Armstrong', nearly makes its way through but he's able to bite on to it and swallow it back down just in time.

"You're the first guy I've ever shown that to", you laugh but it comes out a little weak now that you're processing what you've just done.

"Seriously? what about Mark?", he asks, face scrunching up slightly like the name left a bad taste in Eddie's mouth.

The mention of your last ex sobers you up even more. "No, I never told him", you tell him simply, smothering down a laugh. The truth was Mark's idea of kinky was leaving the lights on so you never brought up your little contortionist act, afraid it would be too much for him to handle.

"Don't think he would have been into it", you tell Eddie instead and he looks back at you, deadpanned.

"What?"

"Sorry I just find that really hard to believe", he clears his throat, barely disguising his own interest.

The silence that follows has a certain weight to it. It's a familiar kind of weight that you've felt before on days when you're alone with Eddie and the line between friends and something more begins to blur. The weight of possibility.

"Always wanted to try it", you add, hoping like hell that you haven't misread that hungry look in his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I don't know just seems like it could be...fun?", you shrug, a not entirely successful attempt at appearing nonchalant because you've begun to sweat. The van feels far too small all of a sudden which doesn't make sense because you're nowhere near as close as you would like to be with the boy who's seems to be stuck on what to say next.

Call it a leap of faith or call it a huge fucking mistake but you decide to take the plunge and ask him the question that's been beating on the inside of your cranium like a hammer on a nail.

"Eddie, would it be weird if I ask you to-"

"Yes", he answers quickly. Resolutely.

The swiftness of it hurts like a guillotine coming down on your heart -- shot down before you'd even finished the question so you swallow down your regret like a throatful of gravel.

"R-right. Yeah I know it was stupid of me to even try to-"

He doesn't know where he went wrong until he sees your bottom lip tremble and the confidence you'd worn up until now completely strip away, realizing you've mistaken him eagerly jumping the gun for flat out rejection.

Eddie's hands come down on your shoulders as he bolts up to kneel in front of you, shaking you to shock the tears away before they have a chance rise and turn your eyes glassy.

"No! I mean yes, it's not not weird but I don't care because YES, I want to um, do that with you… is what I meant"

His grip eases up but his eyes stay wide to read your expression, chest no longer feeling like an anvil had been dropped on it when a smile breaks out on your face, the kind that feels like it could reach beyond his ribcage and touch his heart.

"Really?", you ask, somehow understanding him perfectly. If there was anyone who could make sense of Eddie's nonsense it was you.

"I mean, if you want to...", he leans closer when he catches you looking at his lips.

"I do want to", you lean in too, hands smoothing up his chest, bringing your lips closer to his.

For all the effort he put into keeping his unfiltered thoughts from spilling out it's just his luck that he stumbles over the very last hurdle before the finishing line.

"Oh my god I'm going to fold you like a pretzel"

It's so abrupt and silly and just so Eddie that you can't help but laugh, dropping your head. His lips skim your forehead and he laughs too, both of you holding each other, locked in a giggle fit until it tapers and subsides.

When you do look back up the heat that had been there before his gaffe returns tenfold. "Maybe leave the dirty talk to me", you place a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a proper kiss.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things smut #stranger things #eddie munson x reader

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