#not very thigh focused :pray:

[ahollowgrave]

-- mercy.

[aemondsbabe]

Give Me an O!

summary: billy walks in on you in a bit of a compromising situation, and you finally go after what you want

pairing: billy hargrove x cheerleader!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, reader is very flexible, minor injury it's fine, piv sex, unprotected sex oopsy daisy, public sex technically, hand over mouth, fingering, breast/nipple play if you blink, dirty talk, reader's hair is long enough that she can have a ponytail but no other physical descriptors are used, billy is a himbo, steve harrington cameo

word count: 5k

a/n: finally getting around to a request from @sweetshifter! thank you for the idea bby & i hope ya enjoy! also, my first time writing for stranger things! yay! images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @unwanted-animal

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“You sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” Your best friend asks as she slings her gym bag over her shoulder, “I don’t mind staying a couple minutes.”

“Nah,” you shrug, still panting a little from practice as you lean to the side with a little sigh, stretching down toward your leg, “You go on, I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

“Alright, cool,” she chirps, glossy lips flicking up into that sincere, beaming smile that had become her signature, “Bye!” She calls over her shoulder as she turns, white tennis shoes thumping against the shiny wooden floor as your name echoes around the gym. 

“Bye, Chrissy!” You reply with a smile, glancing up as the heavy metal doors at the side of the room click closed, leaving you alone for the time being. 

With a tired huff, you check your watch, one that matched Chrissy’s exactly – gold with a baby pink face. You’d gotten them at the mall last summer, a joint birthday present. 

4:34pm.

A sigh leaves your lips as you lunge forward, hands planted firmly on your hips as you try to ignore the slight burn in your thigh. So, that’s… like, forty-five minutes until basketball practice starts, you think, eyes pointed up at the white metal ceiling as you do mental math, trying to figure out exactly how long you’ll have to work on your stretches. 

Deciding to give yourself a few more minutes before calling it a day, you breathe out steadily through your pursed lips as you switch sides and lunge forward again, savoring the light burn in your calf. After a fifteen second count, you move onto your hands and knees, needing to stretch out your back. 

You hum softly under your breath, one hand planted firmly against the blue tumbling mat beneath you as the other reaches back and grabs onto one of your ankles, your limbs forming a graceful arch above you. A small grunt leaves you as you pull your leg up as high as you can, before dropping it down and reaching back with your other hand to do the other side. Mid-pose, you swear you hear one of the gym doors click open, the one out to the hallway with the locker rooms and various storage closets judging by the direction, but you’re so focused on holding your pose, you honestly can’t be sure. 

Huffing, you decide to just ignore it – Probably just the janitor or something, you think, keeping your eyes focused, once again, on the white metal ceiling as you roll over onto your back. 

Breathing steadily, you let your eyes slip closed as you press both legs together before slowly lifting them up, using your hands and elbows to support your back as you lift onto your shoulders. Wincing slightly at the twinge of pain from your left one, you work through it, trying to keep your breath steady. As your green and gold cheer skirt pools at your waist, you silently pray that if it is a janitor, that it’s at least not the creepy one.

Slowly but surely, you work both legs up and over your head until the tips of your white sneakers press into the mat, your arms planted firmly onto the floor for support. 

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, you count silently, breathing a little shakily as you focus on balancing… and on ignoring your shoulder. 

Suddenly, a loud wolf-whistle cuts through the silence of the gym, punctuated by a few slow claps and the heavy footsteps of someone walking across the wooden gym floor. 

“Aah!” You squeak as you topple to the side, concentration thoroughly broken. Huffing, you prop yourself up on one elbow as your head snaps up, eyes already narrowed into an irritated glare. Upon seeing who it is, you can’t help but sneer.

“Can I help you, Hargrove?” You sigh, exasperated, rolling your eyes as you angle both legs out in a side split, determined to get through your stretches even with the added annoyance of Billy’s presence.

“Just admiring the view, princess,” he drawls, blue eyes trailing up the length of each of your spread legs in a way that makes your cheeks flush, “You’re real good at that, aren’t you?” He questions, plump lips quirked up into that signature, flirtatious smirk. 

“Good at what?” You ask, brows furrowing as you bend over to the left, easily grasping the toe of your tennis shoe as the muscles in your legs stretch into a taut, familiar ache. 

He chuckles at that, hands on his hips as he studies you, the spicy, woodsy smell of his cologne filling the space around you. He cocks his head to the side, pearly white teeth flashing every few seconds as he chews a piece of gum. 

“Stretching,” he all but purrs, golden curls blowing slightly from the large fans that hum loudly on the ceiling. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he ogles at you, watching carefully as you bend to the right, “I bet it’d be really easy to just fold you up like a pretzel, huh, sweets?” 

With a sigh, you finally let yourself relax for a moment and tilt your head up to look at the boy as you lean back on your hands, your ponytail swishing across your shoulder blades as you do. 

“In your dreams, Billy,” you murmur, trying to keep the expression on your face plaid, wholly uninterested, which is easier said than done. 

You don’t like Billy, and you’re very quick to correct anyone who says you do, even if it is just friendly teasing. But, well, there’s something about him that just draws people into his orbit – charisma combined with a certain mystique. You knew from talking to the girls in the locker room that he was a lady’s man, and a player, but from how they all talked about him, there appeared to be something more there, some hidden layer that no one had been able to crack yet. He’s different from the other boys in Hawkins, no small town charm to hide behind. 

Plus, come on, he’s gorgeous. You might not be Billy’s biggest fan but you have eyes. 

“Damn right, in my dreams,” he murmurs, pulling you from your thoughts as he draws out every syllable of your name in a low, husky tone, familiar smirk playing at his lips like always. 

Cocking your head, you narrow your eyes as you peer up at him, “Aren’t you going out with Amber now?”

“Wouldn’t exactly call it going out…,” he answers as he bends down on one knee to retie the laces of his shoe, shooting you a little wink as he does so. 

“Does Amber know that?”

He pauses at that, a little huff of laughter bubbling up from his chest as he fixes you with a grin that is much too self-satisfied for your liking. “Now, princess,” he starts slowly, blue eyes narrowing at you playfully as he rests a forearm across his knee, “Why do you care so much about what I’m doing with Amber?”

“She’s my friend, Billy,” you say, sitting up a little more, the chill from the AC units making the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end. 

“So, it’s definitely not because you’re, I dunno, jealous or anything?”

“No!” You cringe inwardly as you say it, too quick and too defensive and just what the blue eyed boy had been hoping for, judging by the smug grin plastered on his face. 

This is how it’s been between the two of you for months now, ever since his stupid Camaro had rumbled into the school’s parking lot way back in August. Since then, it’s been a whirlwind of teasing jokes, sitting through History class after History class as you feel those blue eyes practically boring a hole in the back of your head, and somehow mustering up the willpower to dodge his advances. 

In the nearly three months since his arrival, Billy had managed to charm his way through at least a handful of girls, maybe more depending on which rumors you listen to, but you are determined not to fall for it, not to be just another notch on his bedpost. 

Which would be a lot easier if he’d leave you the hell alone. 

Flustered, you pull your knees up, tucking your chin over top of them as your arms wrap around your calves, silently rolling your eyes as Billy drops to the blue tumbling mat, rolling onto his back with a satisfied sigh, making it clear to you that he was here to stay. 

“Why’re you here so early, anyway?” You question, glancing at your watch once more, “Basketball practice isn’t for, like, another half hour.” 

“Had to drop my stupid step-sister off at some trash arcade,” he grunts, annoyed, “Didn’t wanna waste the gas to go all the way home, plus…,” he pauses, tilting his head to the side to slyly grin at you once more, “I figured I might get here early enough to catch the end of cheer practice.” 

“Creep,” you scoff, much more playfully than you’d intended to. 

The two of you fall into a, surprisingly, comfortable beat of silence. You let your eyes trail over Billy as his own droop shut, one arm propped behind his head as he lazes on the gym mat, jaw clenching every so often as he works the gum in his mouth. You start at his feet, taking in the faded black canvas material of his Converse before you let your eyes roam up his long, tanned, muscular legs. Finally, you reach the familiar dark green shade of his school-branded shorts and your eyes wander up the expanse of his stomach and chest, covered by the grey t-shirt he wears, the familiar eyes of Hawkins High’s tiger mascot staring blankly into your own. 

You nearly gasp as your eyes trail up to his face again, only to find his steely eyes already looking at you, a knowing smirk etched into his face as you feel the apples of your cheeks flush. 

“It’s rude to stare, princess,” Billy drawls, catching you red handed.

“And it’s not rude to perv on me stretching?” 

“Never said it wasn’t,” he shrugs with a little chuckle, sitting up and resting one forearm on a bent knee. You merely roll your eyes as he studies you for a second, the blush on your cheeks deepening enough that you can feel the slight tingle of blood rushing under the surface. 

“Whatever,” you sigh, shaking your head as you stretch your legs out in front of you again. You stretch forward again, letting out a breath as you grab at your ankles and try to ignore the way Billy sits up, propping his forearm up on a bent knee. 

“Could you, like, put your legs behind your head and all that?” 

“Probably,” you say with a little eye roll. 

“Will you?”

“Not for you!” 

The two of you carry on like that for a moment longer — you working through various stretches and familiar yoga poses as Billy seems overly curious about each one, questioning if you can twist into all kinds of poses. 

“Can you do a handstand and do the splits?” He questions, grinning when you groan in frustration, eyes trailing up your long legs to the bottom of your short cheer skirt. 

With a huff, you stand with one hand on your hip, the other pinching at the bridge of your nose as Billy’s incessant questions throw you off the silent count in your head again.

“Did you want something or are you just trying fuck me over?” 

“Mmm, close, princess,” the blond teases, earning another glare from you. Playfully, he holds his hands up in surrender, “You’re single, aren’t you?” He asks, smirking triumphantly at the way you balk.

“I’m not talking about this with you, Hargrove.”

His smirk widens when you don’t deny it, blue eyes darkening as they travel over the length of your body once more. “Look, all I’m saying is that the guys talk in the locker room and… well, I can’t help but notice that your pretty name just doesn’t come up.”

“Maybe I have better things to do than put out for you assholes,” you smirk, quickly stretching out your problem shoulder before kneeling back on the tumbling mat, meaning to finish up with a couple quick pushups.

Undeterred, Billy merely matches your smirk with one of his own, watching as you kneel next to him. “Just come with me to Harrington’s Halloween party next weekend, sweetness,” he offers, his voice a low rumble, “Come on, a couple hours, some drinks. Hell, I’ll even dress up with you, whatever you want.”

“Hmm,” you hum, taking a second to tighten your ponytail as you shoot him a playful little smile, “Whatever I want, huh?” 

“Name it,” he says lowly, watching appreciatively as you get on all fours. 

“Okay, how about…,” you stall, drawing out your words as you extend your legs behind you, grunting softly as your shoulder zings with pain once more, “Willie and Indiana Jo– Ah!” You cut yourself off, exclaiming in pain as you land with a small thud on the mat, wincing. 

“Whoa, hey,” Billy says softly, scrambling onto his knees, brows furrowed as he gingerly helps you roll over onto your back, “You okay?”

You nod, glancing away with a little embarrassed huff as you rub at your shoulder. “Yeah, it’s nothing. I just probably sprained it earlier during practice or something.”

“Lemme take a look at it,” he says, offering a hand to help you up.

Not expecting such chivalrous behavior from Hargrove of all people, you only nod dumbly and let him pull you up off the mat, chest heaving.

“Here,” he murmurs, gently nudging at your arm until you turn your back to him. You can hear the tumbling mat crinkle as he steps closer to you, the warmth from his chest practically radiating through his t-shirt as the spicy musk of his cologne seems to envelope you once again. 

“You better not be using this as an excuse to feel me up,” you warn, albeit playfully, pulling your ponytail over the opposite shoulder. 

“In your dreams,” he teases, goosebumps peppering your skin from the low way he says your name and from the gentle brush of his fingers over the back of your arm as they trail their way up to your shoulder. 

He’s silent for a moment, carefully pressing warm, slightly rough fingers against your skin, watching until you wince just slightly when he pokes at your shoulder blade. “That’s where it hurts?” 

“Mhm,” you nod, lips parting ever so slightly as he kneads around the area. You can practically feel him smirking when you sigh a moment later, his fingers working perfectly over the sore muscle as his other hand anchors itself at your hip, “You’re… actually, like, really good at this,” you murmur with a little laugh, needing to find some way to break the silence. 

“My mom is – was, she was a masseuse, back when we lived in Cali,” Billy explains, leaning in closer, his lips all but brushing against your ear as he speaks softly, like he’s telling you some deep, dark secret, “I might’ve looked at one or two of her books.” 

“Really?” You ask, brows furrowing as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“Sue me, I was thirteen and they had nudes in ‘em,” he chuckles, biting into his bottom lip when your breathy laugh morphs into a moan when he presses just right against your shoulder. The fingers of his other hand tighten on your hip as he pulls you back against him, his lips just barely grazing over the crook of your neck, “But I still picked up a thing or two.”

“Clearly,” you breathe, brows tugging together as you tilt your head to the side, an open invitation. The blond doesn’t need any more convincing and you let your eyes flutter shut as his lips descend upon your neck, pressing hot kisses against the sensitive skin. 

The rise and fall of your chest grows shallow as the two of you seem to lose yourselves; you gasp as the hand on your hip trails down over your thigh, until Billy can drag the tips of his fingers beneath the white and gold hem of your pleated skirt just as the hand on your shoulder begins slowly moving around your ribs, to your front. Despite the AC units humming away, you can’t help but feel flush as he presses himself against you, already half-hard against the small of your back. 

With a gasp, you jerk away from him at the sound of a door opening and closing in the hallway, muffled voices and laughter filtering in through the closed doors of the gym. 

“Dammit,” Billy mumbles behind you as he quickly glances at the clock hanging above one of the exits, sighing disappointedly when he sees the time – fifteen minutes until practice. 

Deciding to finally give in to the wants you’ve been harboring for months, you grab one of his hands and playfully bite your lip, nodding to one of the sets of gym doors, “Follow me.” 

Smirking, he follows behind you as you quickly make your way to the doors, both of you pausing for a second to make sure the coast is clear before you bolt down the hallway. A second later, you’re pushing Billy through a door into a random classroom.

“This is the old Health room,” you explain, gasping as he turns and presses you against the old door, the metal of it cool against your back as you quickly scan over the empty room, dim other than the early evening light spilling in through the thin slats of the blinds, “No one ever comes in here.”

“Uh huh, fascinating,” he nods, turning his head to spit his gum into a small trash can by the door, before eagerly pressing his lips to yours. He smirks into the kiss as you mewl, his lips parting to quickly swallow the sweet sounds you make.  

Always one to give as good as you get, your lips move against his just as fervently, both of your hands trailing up underneath his t-shirt as you rub over his stomach, muscles taut under your touch. His tongue slips into your mouth in the same second he presses against you, his thin gym shorts doing nothing to conceal the hardness of his length as it presses against your lower stomach. 

You arch into his touch as his hands cup your breasts through your uniform, a low growl rumbling through his chest as you rake your nails over his chest and down his stomach. Boldly, you reach down and palm at his cock, savoring the surprised grunt he lets out before you quickly nudge your hand down the front of his shorts and into his boxers. 

“Shit,” he breathes, one hand still kneading at your breast as the other skates back up your thigh, his forehead resting against yours. Biting your lip, you watch through hooded eyes as you experimentally stroke over his cock, marveling at how hard he already is, like velvet over steel. 

Just as you feel him twitch in your grasp, the blond pulls away from you with a teasing grin and presses one last kiss against your lips before tapping the back of your thighs, urging you to jump. 

“Fuck, there you go,” Billy rasps, fingers digging into the curve of your ass as you clamber up into his arms, your shoulder only barely smarting as you wrap your arms around his neck. “I gotcha,” his muscular biceps flex as he quickly walks a few feet from the door and deposits on you on top of the, thankfully barren, teacher’s desk pushed haphazardly into the corner. 

“Billy,” you sigh, the sound being practically pushed from your lungs as he presses himself back between your thighs, cheer skirt rumbled around your waist as he all but folds you in half – your hands cling to his shirt desperately, one leg wrapped securely around his hip as the other ends up slung nearly over his shoulder.

“Yeah, princess?” He taunts with a wolfish grin, smirking at the way the muscles of your thigh twitch as his fingers move toward your pussy, hardly hidden beneath your boyshorts. You all but levitate off the desk as two of his fingers swipe over your slit, the apples of your cheeks flushing when he chuckles triumphantly, the thin cotton doing nothing to hide how wet you are. “Finally gonna give me what I want?”

You can feel your ponytail bobbing wildly at the crown of your head when you nod, a whiny moan blooming from your lips when he moves his fingers in tight circles against your clit, the flimsy material of your underwear quickly dampening against his touch. 

“Yeah, yeah, Billy,” your hands tremble as you pull at his t-shirt, desperate for what you’ve been wanting for so long, “C’mon, please!”

“Easy, tiger,” he laughs, tongue running over his bottom lip as he easily tugs his shirt over his head, your own hands scrambling to push down your boyshorts. Taking mercy on you yet again, he helps you, eagerly tugging the white cotton down your legs. He damn near tears them in two as he pushes your underwear over one sneaker, letting them dangle from your ankle. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, crowding against you again as you lean back on the desk, propped up on your elbows. You stare up at him, lips parted, as he all but folds you in half, warm hands pressing against the backs of your thighs, “Fucking leaking and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Oh!” You hiss, trying your hardest to keep your voice down, head thudding back against the desk as Billy quickly tugs his shorts down, just enough to get his cock out, and teasingly runs it through your folds, “Billy, oh my God, just do it!” You all but beg, teeth biting into your bottom lip at the wet sounds of him moving against you, deafeningly loud in the otherwise quiet room. 

Were you anywhere else, Billy would have absolutely no qualms about teasing you to within an inch of your life – payback for playing cat and mouse with him for almost three months straight. Lucky for you, he’s just as nervous at the thought of getting caught with his pants down as you are, shuddering to think what Neil would do if he got expelled over this. 

With a barely contained growl, he pushes into you, his cock sliding easily to the hilt with how wet you are. Your back arches off the desk as he slides home, stretching you beautifully as he fills you completely.

“Oh – oh my God,” you breathe as he stills, giving you a few seconds to adjust. Your hands scramble over the smooth top of the desk before you grab onto his wrists as his hands hook behind your knees. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans – the way he grumbles your name makes your walls clench around his length, punching another grunt from his chest as he starts shallowly thrusting against you, grinding his hips against yours. 

The two of you dissolve into a flurry of breathy mewls and sighs, each of you desperately trying to keep quiet as the muffled sounds of skin against skin and the dull creaking of the desk fill the room. Your eyelids flutter as you watch Billy above you, golden curls bouncing with each of his thrusts as a light sheen of sweat covers his tanned chest. 

Grunting lowly, he presses harder against the backs of your thighs, practically pressing your kneecaps against the desk below you, blue eyes sparkling as you easily follow his movements. With the small change in angles, the head of his cock thrusts perfectly against that sensitive spot within you, and he grins triumphantly as you tremble beneath him. 

“That the spot, princess?” He questions, smirking when you nod your head with a little broken squeak, “Fuck, I can’t wait to get you in a bed – bet you can bend in all kinds of pretty ways, huh?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, Billy,” you agree, willing to agree to just about anything as long as he keeps moving. You can hardly contain the moans spilling from your lips as he works you higher and higher, the adrenaline from the possibility of getting caught as well as the rush of finally having him making you rush toward your end faster than you normally would. 

Breathing heavily as your pussy clenches at his cock, he lets go of one of your thighs and shoves your shirt up, unceremoniously taking your bra with it. You bite at the back of one hand as he teases at your breasts, using one hand to pinch and pull at one nipple before moving to the other as he stares down at you with half-lidded eyes, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“O-Oh, my – fuck, I’m –” You moan brokenly, squirming beneath him as you feel yourself nearing the edge, teeth biting desperately into your bottom lip as you claw at his forearm and waist. 

Cockily licking over his lips, Billy leans forward as he grinds against you, his hips putting pressure on your clit as he covers your mouth with one hand, propping himself up against the desk with an elbow as his other still grasps at the back of your knee. 

You squeeze him tightly as the tail end of his happy trail rubs deliciously over you, giving you just enough stimulation to throw you over the edge. 

“Yeah, princess,” he encourages, grunting with nearly every thrust into you as he feels you clenching around him, pushing him further and further toward his own edge as he clenches his jaw, determined to hang on as long as possible. 

After only a few more thrusts, he quickly pulls out with a small groan. “Fuck, fuck,” he pants, chest heaving as he strokes his cock, painting your lower belly with stripes of his release.

Both of you still for a moment, breathing heavily as you each come down. Half expecting Billy to simply get dressed again and leave, you’re surprised when he softly kisses you, more relaxed this time, as his warm breath fans over your cheek. Dazedly, you kiss him back, your lips moving together unhurriedly as you card your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck. 

After a moment, you part and your lips quirk up into a shy smile as he moves back half a step, giving you enough room to sit up. 

“Oh, uh,” you breathe, looking down when you feel his cum cooling against your skin. Glancing around the room, you pout a little when you don’t see any tissues or paper towels, “There’s paper towels in the locker room?” You offer, looking over at Billy, watching as he quickly tugs his shorts back into place. 

“I got it,” he says with a small smirk and before you have time to question what he means, he quickly tugs your underwear off your ankle and uses them to wipe at your skin, grinning meanly when you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Jackass!” You exclaim, laughing softly despite yourself, “That’s the only pair I have with me!”

“Nothing wrong with going commando, sweetness,” he says with a wink, chuckling when you wrinkle your nose at the thought while you pull your bra and shirt back into place, “Come back to my place and I’ll was ‘em for you, my parents don’t get back until late, anyway.” 

“You just want a round two,” you laugh, hopping off the desk and straightening out your skirt the best you can before running your hands over your hair, trying to smooth out your ponytail. 

“Told you I was gonna fold you up all pretty,” Billy smirks, crowding against you yet again once he tugs his shirt back on and lightly grasping at your jaw, “Something tells me you won’t have a problem with that either.”

“That’s presumptuous, don’t you think?” 

“Sure, yeah, I dunno what that means, princess,” he says, grinning when you laugh, your hands pressed against his chest as he quickly tucks your boyshorts into the waistband of his shorts, “Just come back to my place, hm?”

“What about basketball practice? Jason hates when people ditch.”

“You really think I give a shit about what Carver wants?” Billy laughs, taking one of your hands in his as he makes his way toward the door.

“Okay, okay, fine,” you finally agree, rolling your eyes playfully as you let him pull you out into the hall.

“And come with me to the Halloween party?”

“You have quite a list of demands, Hargrove.”

“Hey,” he says with a little shrug, glancing at you as you walk side by side toward the locker rooms, “That’s what you get for teasing me.”

You merely giggle as the two of you round a corner, nearly freezing and nervously glancing over at Billy when you come across Steve, chest heaving as he leans over a water fountain. 

Standing straight, he wipes at his lips with the back of his hand, narrowing his eyes at Billy, watching as he quickly scoops up his duffle bag from where he’d tossed it down earlier in the hallway. “Dude, why’re you leaving? You’re almost, like, half an hour late for practice.”

“Yeah, well, tell Carver something came up,” the blond boy huffs dismissively before taking your hand once more. You shoot a bashful smile at Steve, blushing as you and Billy walk toward the doors out to the parking lot. 

Behind you, Steve takes a minute to connect the dots, brows furrowing as he plants his hands on his hips. After a second, his eyes widen and he shakes his head. 

“Come on, at school?” He calls down the hallway, shaking his head as you and Billy laugh, “Fucking animals, man.”

gen tags: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild @cruelworldlana @mheraxes @eternallyvenus @chaotic-fangirl-blog @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[clarkpip22]

𖥻.•𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ✴︎.

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A/N- this is my first time writing smut so sorry if this isn't good but I hope you'll enjoy<3

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↪loves eating you out

- she will devour your pussy like it is a full-course meal.

- makes you squirt all over her face

- and she won't stop unless you tell her to

- "You taste so good, mama~"

- Emily's eyes always look so heavy when she's eating you out, sometimes she closes her eyes while moaning into them. Enjoying every inch of your cunt

↪strap game is insane!

- treats your pussy like it's a toy when she's fucking you

- she may talk to you nicely but there is nothing nice about the way she pounds you into the bed

- sometimes she gets carried away because she is so focused on making you feel good

↪ Speaking of talking to you nice. THE PRAIS! THE DIRTY TALK!

- her mouth is dirty <3

- anytime you are doing good for her, she showers you with compliments.

- calls you her good girl <3

- some of her favorite phrases♥︎

- "Yes baby, you're doing so well for me"

- "Please make that pretty cunt squirt for me baby"

- "Ride me mama~"

- "I love your pussy so much"

- even outside of the bedroom she's praising you

- there have been times were she will whisper dirty things to you out in public

- "I can't wait to take you home and shove my face between your legs"

↪Emily struggles to keep her hands to herself

- she is in love with you and her favorite way to show you is through touch but it always leads to more than just innocent touches

- Emily's hands 🤝 your thighs

- she also loves grabbing your neck

- Em will hold you by the neck when she wants you to look at her

↪loves ass

- she spanks you a lot for fun

- Anytime she walks past you or you bend down, all you feel is a big, strong, muscular hand land on your ass

- "Ow Emily! That hurts!"

- "Hush baby, I didn't hit you that hard"

↪Emily is into punishments

- if you are giving her attitude or act like a brat, she will embarrass you

- her favorite way to punish you is by making act like cat or dog

- she'll strip you down and put a dog or cat buttplug in you and makes you crawl on all four

- Emily has you crawl up on her lap and sit while she plays with your cunt

- fingers the life out of you

- "Don't try to run away from me baby, you wanted to act like a brat so imma treating you like a brat."

- spanks you hard if you complain

- if you take your punishment well, Emily will eat you out all night long

- if you don't then she'll pound your cunt for hours, making you cum over and over again until you apologize like a good girl<3

↪ And finally... the aftercare

- she makes sure you are nice and cleaned up

- kisses you on the cheek telling you how good you are and how proud she is of you

- Emily is usually very soft after sex, stroking your body and cuddling on

- feeds you snacks and makes sure you are well hydrated.

- "You did so well for me baby, I love you~"

- "I love you too, em"

You guys are so cute 😩<3

[spookyrea]

You Can Wrap Me 'Round Your Finger...

You’re having a crisis trying to pick the perfect moment to tell Loki you love him. Loki is having a crisis, too, except his is decidedly way more embarrassing. Also, your pillows keep disappearing.

(aka - frost giant biology is weird and Loki has to suffer the consequences.)

a companion to Love at First Sight (or should I walk by again?) - can be read on its own!

Chapter 1 / 2 -- read it on AO3 here

Word count: ~5k

Warnings: fem reader; Loki is CLINGY

You could just make out the rosy hue of a late-season snowfall from your vantage point behind the cockpit; it blanketed the city, turning the streets a pale orange where streetlamp light reflected off of a crisp, white coat. For a city that never slept it was strangely quiet; at just past three o’clock in the morning, not even the snow plows were out yet.

Your team was returning from a four day long deployment to San Francisco – a retrieval mission where you were tasked with tracking down and seizing off-world cargo. It had gone over surprisingly well - zero casualties, a handful of actual combat incidents, and a scant few million dollars worth of petty property damage. It did require a proper cargo plane, though, which meant that the team had to rely on a local airplane hangar to get back home. 

(Despite his truly unparalleled complaining, Tony’s choice to put the Avengers tower in the centre of a busy New York metropolitan block meant that there were certain restrictions - namely, the laws of physics - that limited the size of plane they could have on-site).

An unfortunate consequence of it all was that you were freezing. You made a face and folded your arms over your chest; you were dressed for a late February chill, in tac-pants and a knit sweater, not a snowstorm. As romantic as the snow looked, the cold was settling over you like an ache and, coupled with the early-hour and a tender bruise on your left side, your mood was only souring. You cast your eyes to the ceiling and prayed that a car was already waiting for you on the tarmac.

The quin-jet touched down a little roughly; you felt Wanda’s wince without looking at her, but Tony immediately came to her defense. “No, that was because of the snow. Poor visibility. Out of your control. Definitely. I’m passing you with flying colours - hey, get it?”

The loading ramp slid open with a pop and a hiss; your ears felt funny now that you were on solid ground, like they were full of cotton. Natasha tugged on her earlobes, then reached over and tugged on Steve’s too to be a pest. He swatted her away with a scowl. 

Moments later, attendants began to climb the loading ramp in groups of two. You scowled. They were at least dressed for the weather.

You pulled your hands from between your thighs, trying to focus on anything other than the way your core muscles were tensed against the chill, and thanked whatever powers-that-be that you could finally go home. You were half way through unbuckling your seatbelt when an automated voice warned you from overhead not to leave your seats.

“Sorry, everyone,” Tony called. “Safety or whatever. All cargo has to be removed before we can get up. Just a few minutes. You’ll be warm and in bed in no time.”

You sank low in your seat, arms crossed, and focused very hard on glaring a hole in the quid-jet floor. Who knows -- maybe you could spontaneously develop heat-vision. It would look good on your resume.

“I was beginning to think I’d have to go collect you myself.”

Crossing the jet in long strides, tall enough to peer over most attendants' heads, was Loki. Your boyfriend.  

Dressed in civilian clothing, Loki was something resplendent. His pale skin, warmed by the cool twilight haze outside, was a stark relief against his mop of riotous dark curls, and his green eyes caught the light in a mysterious way. A pair of neatly-polished shoes rattled the grated floor as he approached, weaving in between attendants, until he came to a stop at your side. With a wave of his hand, Loki manifested a fine wool cloak to drape over your shoulders. His long fingers drew the golden hook at the collar through its eye and smoothed it flat against your sternum.

“Can’t have you freezing to death,” he murmured.

You thumbed the stitching along the hem of the cloak; the thread was such a dark green that it almost blended in with the black fabric. “I would have been fine.”

“Well, if you’re too warm, I can certainly help cool you down.” Loki slid into the seat next to you and blew an icy breath across your neck, making you shriek. The grin he shot you was lecherous - truly vile , you mumbled - and sent a hot thrill from your nape to the pit of your belly.

“You are evil.”

“You should have me locked up.”

You pulled the collar of his cloak up to your face, pressing the velvety edge to your mouth. “I’m putting in a request immediately.”

Loki offered you his wrists, that sticky grin growing even wider. “Why wait?”

A flash of green seidr crackled suggestively, implying where a set of handcuffs might bind him. Your eyes snapped to the whirlwind of snow outside, cheeks hot. 

Tony gagged obnoxiously from the pilot’s seat. The comms system crackled to life overhead. “Get a room, you two.”

Loki scoffed, mock affront dripping from his lazy posture, and poured himself over your shoulders, even though the armrest was in the way and was without a doubt digging into his side. He plucked your hand from your lap, lacing his fingers through yours and drawing it up to his mouth. His lips idly traced the edge of his signet ring on your thumb while you watched the cargo roll by, box by painstaking box. 

You had only been dating for a few months, having finally confessed your mutual attraction after a tumultuous, alcohol-fueled evening together. It turned out that the entire time that you had been harbouring a monumental crush on Loki, he’d been just as gone on you - a fact you hadn’t known, since his idea of showing interest was to give you shiny rocks and hand feed you foods, and yours was whatever Tinder had going on.

Once the two of you had gotten over your - admittedly pretty embarrassing - communication barrier, you fell into a nice routine. You found that you were more confident without the weight of an unrequited crush looming over you, and Loki was eons more likely to finish his paperwork as long as you were there to play footsie with him under the table and let him ramble every fifteen minutes. He still flirted with everything that moved, but you recognized the nuances of his affection now. He never touched anyone, but he hung off of you like a limpet; he might smile and schmooze at parties, all lecherous grins and innuendo, but his eyes always sought your approval out after every punchline; and he only ever called you pet.

(And on one occasion, master. But that was a different story.)

Once the attendants had unloaded the last crate into a van, Tony gave everyone the OK to exit the plane without worrying about being trampled. Steve was the first out, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Natasha, Bruce and Tony were quick to follow, all stumbling into the first car they saw, while Wanda stayed and fiddled with a few switches from the co-pilot’s seat. Under Natasha’s suggestion, she was trying to get a proper license to fly - mostly for paperwork-related reasons, because the insurance company charged a fortune every time an Avenger ‘borrowed’ a vehicle without permission.

Before you could protest, Loki scooped up the duffle bag at your feet and started down the loading ramp into the storm, leaving you and Wanda as the last on the plane. You rapped your knuckles against the ceiling and sent her a questioning look. Decked out in her oversized headset and a fuzzy quarter-zip sweater Tony had commissioned for the team, she looked right at home behind the quinjet control panel. She shot you a thumbs up, gesturing for you to go on ahead. You blew her a quick kiss and then hurried after Loki, fighting to keep the cloak shut against the blustering wind. 

Wet snow crept under your pant legs, clinging unpleasantly to the strip of skin left exposed by your socks. Loki had already packed your belongings away in the farthest van and was waiting by the back door, held open for you. You jogged - as best you could given the weather - the last couple of feet and slid into the backseat.

Loki hauled himself through the other door a moment later. The driver - a bored looking man with a dark beard and greying temples - pushed the stick shift into gear and turned off the runway. 

You shivered, brushing clumps of snow off your ankles. Dark stains were climbing up your shins where the it bled through. Loki leaned across the seat to help you, running a shimmering hand over your shoulders to dry you off. 

Mostly satisfied, you sank back and watched the city roll by, the empty streets cast in shades of neon as the snow reflected billboards and store displays. It was a beautiful sight, the kind of morning you would normally want to commit to memory for the postcard-ness of it all – except you were exhausted and a little cranky, so you turned your eyes to stare at your boyfriend instead. 

(You made it a full three minutes without looking at him - a new personal record.)

You admired him the way an owner might creep up on a beloved pet in a sunbeam; you didn’t want him to know you were looking, in case he spooked and moved, so you kept your cheek turned and watched from the corner of your eye. He was deep in thought, luckily, which gave you some leeway to admire his profile. There was something decidedly boyish about him when he was relaxed, a softness you so rarely got to see; it made you want to kiss every inch of him just for the sake of kissing.

He drew an aimless pattern with his thumb across your upper thigh. His pinky finger was stretched comically far from the rest of his fingers, as if willing your hand to reach out and intertwine but too stubborn to ask. For a silly, love-sick moment you were overwhelmed by the need to tell him you loved him - and then your brain caught up with your heart and bludgeoned it into submission.

The knowledge that you were in love with him and the nebulous un-knowledge of how he felt about you was starting to wear on your nerves. You understood logically that he liked you - enough to court you, under different circumstances - but what you felt when you looked at him was a hurricane of emotions, a self-sustaining cycle of hot air up and cold air down, whipping the sea so hard that it formed storm clouds unbidden by the laws of nature. You knew that he felt things differently, had lived a dozen of your lifetimes no doubt filled with pretty things. Would this change your relationship? Would you breaking that last barrier make yourself less desirable somehow?

You wanted to tell him. To share the inherent joy of being in love.

It just scared you to death, was all. No big deal.

His mouth twitched; his eyes caught yours in the window’s reflection as the car entered the dark parking garage. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you squeaked. “Just tired. Sorry.”

The car dropped you off in the underground parking of the Avengers’ tower. Yours was the last of the convoy, so you and Loki slipped out of the car into an empty lot where only a few strangler attendants were unloading and taking inventory. You held one corner of the cloak in your hand, worried it would drag through the slush puddles tracked in by the cars. Loki’s hand came to rest on the small of your back while he hoisted your bag over his shoulder.

“After you, pet.”

You led him to the elevators, where you leaned against the railing and let your eyes slip shut. Loki selected a floor and then joined you, draping one arm around your shoulders to draw you into his chest.

You leaned your cheek against him. Now that you were home, the full weight of your exhaustion was bearing down on you. The pattern of knots Loki was drawing across the back of your neck wasn’t helping. You were suddenly grateful for the support of Loki’s body under you, solid and steady; you slid your hands under his jacket to hug him… then paused.

Something was… off.

You pulled back and gave him a once-over. Nothing outwardly betrayed him as different. He wore a pair of simple, straight-leg tac-pants and a white t-shirt under a brown vintage-style bomber he’d no doubt swiped from Bucky or Steve; the cut of each item flattered his narrow build exceedingly, a fact you knew he was aware of by the way he kept glancing at you during your drive home. His hair was wild and unstyled in a hopelessly endearing way - a look he’d taken to wearing often after you made a passing comment about liking it that way.

The jacket though… 

He filled it out well. Too well.

“You’re bigger,” you blurted out.

Loki raised one eyebrow in a perfect, mocking arch. “Excuse me?”

“You’re,” you waved your hand up and down his body, “bigger. Like, broader. Have you been working out more?”

Loki glanced down at his chest. “No?”

You pushed the jacket off his shoulders to get a better look at him. The white cotton of his t-shirt puckered across his chest, wrinkling under the strain of an extra inch or so of muscle, and the side seams were pulled so taut that you could see the thread. You poked him right over his heart, admiring a new, plush firmness.

The tips of Loki’s fingers wormed under your shirt. His smile took on a wicked edge as he soaked in the sight of you in front of him. When you shot him a look, he screwed his face up into something resembling innocence. “If you’re going to ogle me like a piece of meat, I think it’s only fair that I get to admire you, too.”

You hummed and slipped his jacket back into place, smoothing your palms down his chest to rest just above his waistband. Loki’s evilness washed away to something sticky sweet; he slid his hand up between your shoulder blades, his fingers splayed wide to admire the shift of your muscles under your skin. His other hand twined with yours to lift your knuckles to his mouth.

The doors slid open on his floor. With a flourish and a fleeting kiss, Loki stooped to collect your bag. His free hand trailed behind him, outstretched for you to take, but you lingered with a smile and a shake of your head.

He came to an abrupt stop under the threshold, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He wiggled his fingers, as if you were refusing because you’d missed his offer to hold your hand. “What are you doing?”

You pressed the button for your floor. “I’m going back to my room.”

“No,” Loki whined, his hand still outstretched. “Please, darling.”

You rolled your eyes and attempted to pull your bag from his hands. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Loki.”

“But you’ll miss out on my new, broader body. Your bed will seem extra empty now in comparison. You should just skip the trouble.”

“Loki, I’m tired. And all my stuff is in my apartment.”

“You can wear something of mine.” Loki, exasperated, threw your duffle down in front of the elevator door and cornered you against the railing.

“Just for the night, Loki.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, one he didn’t return… and then seemed to regret, because only a heartbeat after you pulled away he was on you, cupping your face between both his hands and swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You huffed out a sigh and pushed on his stomach; he managed to get two more kisses in before you finally won and put some distance between the two of you.

In a perfectly Loki-fashion, Loki sulked. He stomped out of the elevator and then turned to you, his hands firmly on his hips. “You vex me. Understand that I will be taking you out for breakfast tomorrow, no exceptions.”

You hooked a finger through your bag strap, dragging it back into the elevator. “Make it a late lunch. If you wake me before noon there will be punishments.”

Loki’s eyes twitched with the briefest hint of a smirk. His voice dropped an octave. “Promise?”

The elevator doors slid shut on his leering expression. You spent the rest of the ride valiantly trying not to fall asleep. The low hum of its engine was terribly soothing.

When the elevator opened to your floor, you weren’t surprised to find PAL - Tony’s Paperwork Assistant Lite robot, who usually helped organize and retrieve files in the office downstairs - waiting by your door. Measuring just under two feet tall, PAL could navigate the halls and elevator just fine as long as FRIDAY was willing to unlock the doors for him, but your manual lock-and-key front door was an insurmountable obstacle for him.

“How long have you been here, buddy?”

As soon as he recognized you, PAL trilled with delight. His metal chassis vibrated with the effort of waiting by the door. He rounded your feet while you dug through your pants pockets for your keys, narrating the week to you in his language of whistles and beeps, and raised his tiny paper tray, straining to try and take over the weight of your duffle bag. You huffed out a laugh, leaning ever-so-slightly to the side to set it on him but not to smother; the LED display on his face narrowed, as if he was concentrating very hard on not dropping your belongings.

As soon as you were through the door, you threw your bag by your shoe rack and toed off your sneakers, leaving them in a pile on the floor. PAL set to straightening them, sweeping them to the wall with his tray ahead like a snowplow. He tried to do the same to your bag, but his treads could only pinwheel against the weight. 

You stood in the living room for a moment and folded Loki’s cloak over the back of your couch, contemplating skipping your whole routine and going straight to bed. You settled on missing a shower but washing your face - everything else could be dealt with in the morning. You made your way to your bedroom in search of clean pyjamas, then continued to the bathroom to brush your teeth, PAL close on your heels.

You had just exited the bathroom when someone knocked on your door. You tossed your washcloth into a bin on top of your washing machine and rounded the hallway to answer it.

Loki stood on the other side, dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and an oversized AVENGERS TACTICAL UNIT t-shirt. “Please, darling.”

“You have your own bed.”

“It’s too big without you.”

“You’re even bigger now. You’ll fill it out just fine.”

Loki stepped into your personal space; he hadn’t even bothered putting on shoes, wearing only a pair of grey wool socks. His hands curled around your hips as if to steady himself. “I’m afraid of the dark?”

“Try again.”

“My room was taken over by starving wolves while you were away and I only narrowly escaped.”

You sighed. You had to admit that it felt nice to have him in your arms like this, even if you knew giving in would only encourage him to lord over more of your time. “Absolutely no funny business, Loki.”

An incandescent grin split his face in two. He swooped in to kiss your cheek, then sauntered off toward your bedroom. You locked the door, made sure PAL was settled into his charging dock for the night, and then followed after your boyfriend.

You found him curled up on the side of your bed closest to the door, facing you, and holding one of your pillows hostage. He buried his nose in the fabric, a pleased sound rumbling through his chest, and watched you approach.

You swatted at him, not even bothering to round the bed, opting to crawl over his body to reach your side. Loki unfolded, abandoning the pillow to gather you up instead; his arms circled your waist and tugged you into his chest in an awkward collision of limbs, legs tangling in the comforter. You squirmed while he maneuvered you to his liking, tucking the length of his body around you tightly and nosing at the junction of your throat and jaw.

“Loki,” you chided. “I said no funny business.”

“This is a perfectly serious matter.” Loki untangled himself from you just long enough to pull the comforter over your body before sliding in beside you. One hand returned to your neck, tipping your chin back so he could press a loud kiss to your pulse point. “You don’t have enough blankets.

You stifled a yawn and pushed him to lie on his back, draping one leg over his. “Why’s that?”

Loki continued to rearrange the sheets with a scowl. “You’ll freeze to death under this thing.”

Already, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. You hummed. “I feel like I had more pillows than this. Maybe I’ve finally lost it.”

A small voice in the back of your mind whispered that you loved him, you loved him, you loved- 

You settled with tracing a heart over his collarbone, over and over until you fell asleep.

You woke to the sound of FRIDAY’s voice through the PA system. “Mr. Laufeyson, your presence is being requested on the thirty-first floor. Mission briefing in fifteen minutes.”

You peeled your eyes open. You could tell by the slant of the sun through the curtains that it was past noon - a small victory, really. Behind you, Loki burrowed deeper into the fabric of your t-shirt, nosing along the ladder of your spine while groaning his displeasure. He drew the comforter around you tightly, trapping you under one muscular arm with a vengeance.

His voice, still deep and rasping with the last threads of sleep, rumbled through his chest. “Good morning, dear heart.”

Lovesickness bloomed like a bruise in your chest. “Morning,” you said, instead of I love you. 

You half-turned and pecked the side of his mouth before sitting up. Loki made an affronted sound and reeled you back in by a fistful of your t-shirt, sending you sprawling halfway across his chest. He kissed you soundly, licking into your mouth with a low groan.

You blinked up at him once he pulled back. “Um. Good morning?”

“I was a perfect gentleman all night and you reward me with a peck. ” A scowl twisted his pretty face, petulance dripping off him in droves. His hands slid over your ass possessively, kneading the soft flesh with purpose. “I should have you flogged for that. Put over my knee.”

“Patience is a virtue,” you mumbled.

“Wrong faith, pet. Now- wait, where are you going?”

You paused, halfway through peeling yourself out of his arms (again), and pointed at the ceiling where FRIDAY’s voice reminded him that he was needed in thirteen minutes, Mr. Laufeyson . ”You have a debrief and I have a date with my coffee pot.”

“Not after you so callously rejected me. Come down here and make it up to me.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned in to kiss him again, slowly but deeply. Loki chased your mouth when you pulled away, frustration evident in the heavy way he sighed. Lifting you by the hips, Loki deposited you in his lap and held you there, digging his thumbs into the plush of your sides. Using the resulting sigh to his advantage, Loki cradled the back of your head and bullied your lips apart, pulling a sticky kind of want from your chest, leaving you dizzy and aching all at once.

When FRIDAY gave him a five minute warning, blinking the emergency strobe in the corner of your bedroom for good measure, Loki finally drew himself away and let you catch your breath. His head tipped back against the pillow, his throat on display in a long submissive line, and his shiny mouth parted in a groan. He mumbled something in his mother tongue, your name nestled right between lilting consonants.

“What was that?”

“Nothing important.” 

“One day you’ll teach me what you’re saying,” you grumbled. “And then I’ll know all your secrets.”

Loki lazily arched one brow, smothered behind a curtain of riotous curls. “Is that so? All of them?”

“Mhm. All of it. Every last one.”

You traced a finger down the line of his nose. If ever there was a moment to tell him you loved him, now was probably it. Here, on the laziest of saccharine mornings, while the city outside was muted by a thick wall of snow and you were both ignoring responsibility to enjoy the other. And yet– doubt wove its way through your ribs, tying knots in the hollow spaces in your chest; you rolled off of him and sat up, pulling the hem of your shirt down where it had ridden up. “FRIDAY is going to bring the appliances to life if you don’t leave soon.”

Loki poised himself on the edge of your bed and snagged your wrist when you rounded it. There was nothing to the gesture – no comment, no complaint to make. He held onto you for the simple joy of owning a second of your time.

As if one cue, PAL rolled through your bedroom door, his little paper tray aloft. He chirped in greeting, then ran head-long into one of the bed frame’s legs. 

You tamped down a lingering disappointment. Later. You would tell him later.

“Pest.” Loki swatted at PAL, who had taken to repeatedly bumping into Loki’s shins to convince him to get dressed. You gasped scoldingly when Loki shot a warning green spark in the robot’s direction; PAL, undeterred, narrowed the LED display on his face and wound up, knocking the god extra hard for good measure.

“PAL, go sit in the living room. You can pick something on Netflix for us to watch. And you,” you pointed a finger at Loki. “No threatening the robot.”

You left him to dig through your closet for something to wear; the far corner was steadily developing a growth of black, Loki-sized clothing. While you busied yourself with the coffee machine, PAL chirped at the TV and then parked himself in front of your window with his face pressed against the glass. Once your coffee was poured, you left out the gaudiest mug you owned – chipped, declaring you were Thor’s Number One Fan!, which Loki hated with a burning passion – and a spoon for when he joined you.

PAL beeped distractedly when you joined him by the window; there was a tender tilt to his little head as he gazed out, studying a pair of birds who had built their nest just below. His body shuddered, as if sighing, and his LED display blinked one long, slow blink.

It started as a tiny bundle of twigs a few weeks ago, trembling in the wind but shielded from the elements in the nook between a metal support beam and the windowsill. Then a few pieces of long grass were woven in, and a handful of fresh green branches, still flexible in their newness. They must have finished their home while you were away; two mates were deep under the spell of a snowy Sunday morning, bundled up under a layer of down and straw.

A solid pair of arms wound around your waist, drawing you backwards into an equally solid chest. Loki’s hair was damp where he’d run wet fingers through it, no doubt trying to contain the curling mess of bed head he woke up with every morning. It clung to your cheek a bit, the crown of his head pressed up to your face while he nosed at your shoulder. “Oh, hi– hello.” 

“I don’t want to go,” Loki whined. He rocked you gently from side to side, resting his cheek against yours. “We should feign illness. It’s dreadfully contagious. And then we can—” a kiss, just under your ear, “stay in bed all day. To recuperate, of course.”

“As lovely as that sounds, you really do have to go. You know how Steve gets when you’re late.”

“As soon as I can I’m coming right back up here to ravish you. That’s a promise.”

PAL cooed, excited by some small movement from the birds. One of them had woken to preen the other, sweetly running its beak through its feathers.

“Look at their little nest. How cozy,” you said quietly. “Maybe that’s where my pillows went.”

The longer Loki considered the birds, the deeper the furrow between his brows grew. He seemed to be having a revelation of some kind. “I… have to speak with my brother about something.”

“Something wrong?”

“No. Just a thought. Don’t worry.”

PAL rolled backwards into Loki’s shins with purpose. He chirped sternly, as if chiding Loki in his machine-speak, who, in return, toed PAL’s chassis very gently in warning. 

You laughed. “He’s coming, buddy.”

“Actually,” Loki muttered darkly. “On the contrary. My problem is that I’m not-”. You suspected the next words out of his mouth would have been incredibly inappropriate, had PAL not rolled pointedly over Loki’s foot.

You exited the elevator on the 31st floor a few hours later. A far cry from Tony’s party, the room was empty and mostly tucked away; chairs were stacked on tables and the bar was cleared of bottles; bright, unfiltered sunlight poured through the enormous lofted windows, allowing you an unobstructed view of the skyline and the meandering streets below. A couple of interns were having lunch on one of the couches in the corner. They must have been part of the newest wave of college recruits, because their eyes lingered in a starstruck kind of way that made you feel a little embarrassed. 

You shot them a playful salute. Both startled, turning away in a rush.

Oh well. You couldn’t look Steve in the eyes for your first week on the team– you got it.

You found Loki in the farthest conference room, sat at the end of a long, round table between Steve and Bucky. You watched their fingers walk across its surface, handing a piece of folded paper between the three of them. Steve wrote something while the speaker was turned, then slipped his hand surreptitiously under the desk. Bucky coughed; from your vantage point, you saw his and Loki’s fingers unravel the note so they could read it discreetly.

Some executive droned at the other end, gesturing to a dreadfully laid out powerpoint. Matching manilla folders were spread open in front of the agents; you had a sneaking suspicion that whatever the speaker was saying was also written down and could have been read in half the time this meeting took.

You tried to catch Loki’s eye through the window but his attention was aimless, lost in some faraway place. A thought came to you; you rearranged your belongings to clasp your hands in front of you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you prayed - albeit poorly - to the god sitting a few dozen feet from you.

You peeked through one eye to see if it had worked; through the glass, Loki shot you a private smile, so sweet that it was practically a kiss. You waved him over, jerking your head toward the conference room door.

You watched him interrupt the speaker, his lazy posture rolling forward until he was sitting straight. Steve and Bucky nodded sagely, immediately following whatever story Loki had spun. Bucky pointed exaggeratedly to his metal arm, rubbing it as if it was tense.

The door opened and Loki slipped out into the hallway to meet you. Your grin bordered on becoming painful. Both your hands were folded behind your back. “You didn’t have breakfast this morning.”

“Observant.” He plucked a loose thread from the collar of your shirt and flicked it aside before leaning in for a quick kiss. You decided, even if you couldn’t say you love him, to treat him no less lovingly; you chased him when he pulled away, pressing your lips to his jaw. His grin was dazed, like you’d turned him dumb with the simple act of wanting him. “You’re even lovelier than the last time I saw you.

“I brought you something. Pick a hand.”

Loki walked his fingers down your left arm and pulled; you let him have it, your palm open – and empty. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

“Hmm. Terrible luck.” His knuckles dragged down the length of your other arm. In that hand was a take-out container from your favourite coffee shop, defaced with a smiley-face and cute message from the barista, Yvonne. It was his usual order, nothing special, but when his eyes tipped up to meet yours, there was something uncharacteristically open about his expression, a shy edge to the tilt of his smile. He leaned in and kissed you, soft and sweet like honey. “Do you think they’ll notice if I’m gone much longer?”

“Absolutely.”

Loki groaned, tipping your hips until they were flush to his. He kissed you hard enough to bend you backwards.

“I’ll come by your apartment tonight and we can get dinner?”

His fingers stilled where they were kneading your sides. “Yes, about that. Let’s… Let’s stay at yours tonight. The wolves that chased me out last night haven’t been evicted yet.”

Loki's answer confused you – he’d spent the entire night complaining that you wouldn’t go back to his room, then insulting your blanket choices, and now he wanted to stay at yours? “Ok. That works. Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he said quickly. “Perfectly fine. You’re so tired though. Easier to stay where your belongings are. I won’t– won’t make you commute.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Behave today.”

Another groan, this one pitched low; Loki traced your cheek with his nose. “I love it when you order me around.”

“Loki! Be-have.”

“Just one more, nymph. To tide me over.”

You sent him off with three more kisses. You were starting to wonder if you were too lenient with him; he delighted in taking advantage of your weakness to weasel more affection out of you. He returned to the conference room with his little box, opened in his lap under the table. When Bucky made to swipe a grape, Loki flicked his hand away with a glare.

When you returned to your room that evening, with Loki hot on your heels and his hands already halfway up your shirt, you were baffled to find your bed down one more pillow.

“PAL, did you do this?”

He shook his little head, LED screen blinking wide doe eyes up at you. It was the strangest thing, but when he thought you weren’t looking, you could have sworn that he shot Loki a pointed look.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Sfw and nsfw alphabet headcanon for Logan!! PLEASEE

-🌸🌸🌸

I live laugh LOVE this idea omggg

Sfw

A for aware. Logan is always, always, always aware of you, no matter where you are or who you're around, he's making sure you're comfortable and safe and that you know he's there for you if you need anything. And the moment he senses any discomfort from you, he'll get you out and to a safe space <3

B is for baby. The first time he calls you baby, you two are just chilling in the mansion and you playfully ask to see his claws. They amaze you, intrigue you, and you want the opportunity to see them up close for once without him swinging them through someone's neck. He sighs but smils and draws his claws. You grin, fingers tracing the metal. “Careful, you'll cut yourself, baby,” he says. Your eyes snap up to him and a slight blush covers his cheeks. You didn't say anything about the nickname, just kissed his cheek, and he's called you baby since.

C is for cuddles. He may seem like the big, bad wolf, but really? He's super soft when it comes to cuddling with you. He loves to lay down on the couch or the bed, watching TV or just chatting or hanging out, and he always has you close, his legs tangled with yours, his fingers tracing your soft skin be it on your shoulder or your stomach or your thigh, wherever he can touch.

D is for detailed. Logan keeps up the facade that he doesn't care about anything and that he doesn't pay attention, but he's actually hyper-focused. You have a favorite type of flower that you mentioned once? He'll bring them to you again and again for date night. You're bothered by a specific situation or person? He'll make sure to keep you away if he can. And if not, he'll be there for you to hold your hand and reassure you.

E is for embarrassed. Logan is sometimes a little shy about how whipped he is about you. Like, really. He feels like a puppy around you, always keeping his eyes on you, always needing to feel you close. And yes, he's aware he's sometimes got separation anxiety. Especially when you're apart for too long, like when he's gotta go on missions you're not included in :((( but when he comes back, he'll stick to you for hours and refuse to let you go.

F is for fights. He hates fighting with you, hates whenever you're upset at him. He knows it's healthy to disagree, but it frustrates him so much because he's just constantly afraid that you'll get enough of him and leave him. But then after fights, when you two apologize and make up, he'll hold you close and pray to God or whoever is up there and listening that they never take you out of his life.

G is for greedy. So so so greedy. He wants you always, all the time, in too many ways. He can't let go of you, won't ever get over you. He adores you and he can never ever get enough. He wants everything you can offer and more, and sometimes he worries he demands too much. But when you're with him, so willing to love him, he knows it'll be okay.

H is for handsy. Logan's super super super handsy. Whenever, wherever, he's touching you. His hand on your lower back, your hand in his, his arm around your waist. If you're sitting somewhere, he has a hand on your thigh, your head on his shoulder. He's always feeling you next to him because it makes him feel safe.

I is for immature. Not in a bad way, really. Just sometimes he can be very immature. When you get busy, when you don't pay enough attention to him, he'll get pouty and upset, maybe even only grumble every now and then when you try to talk to him. Once you realize what's going on, however, all it takes are a few kisses and hugs and he'll melt in your hands, forgetting any slight.

J is for jealous. C'mon, Logan is crazy jealous, especially because of your age gap. He's worried that maybe those younger guys might someday seem more attractive to you than he is, and that scares him. And when he sees some twenty-something kid eyeing you, he gets pissed. He'll grab you closer, glare at whatever boy is watching you, and then he'll kiss you, maybe groping you a little for good measure. He ensures his message is clear: you're his.

K is for knuckle kisses. He'd never admit it to you, but he loves when you grab his hand and kiss his knuckles, right where his claws come out. There's something about the gesture, so soft and sweet, that makes his heart race and butterflies fill his stomach. He just loves when you show little hints of affection, it kills him in the best way.

L is for the L-word. He's so scared that you won't feel the same way, that when he realizes he loves you, he doesn't say it for almost months. He's terrified of scaring you off. If he lost you, he'd be done for. But one day, it slips out of him and when he sees the way your eyes light up and you smile, he knows you feel it too. And you tell him you love him more than he tells you, but that's just because he doesn't say it. He shows it. At first, he'd say it and nuzzle against your neck as he spoke the words. Now, he nuzzles into your neck and kisses your jaw and says, “You know I do, right?” And of course you know he loves you. He makes it so clear and he's not ashamed to.

M is for mornings. The first morning you wake up in his bed, he's mesmerized. You look so beautiful asleep there, tranquil, happy. So vulnerable, like someone he has to protect from this cold, fucked up world. He will never let anyone hurt you, he'll never leave you alone or in danger. He'll always be there for you, every morning for the rest of your life, if you'll let him.

N is for nights. Nights with Logan are the best. Especially if it's a weekend and neither of you has any work to do. You'll relax while he puts on a movie and makes popcorn, and you'll cuddle while you watch TV. Then, he'll let you put a face mask on, even if it's pink and shiny, because he knows you enjoy it and he also likes doing these things with you. He'll let you give him massages and do a skin routine. And he'll draw a bath and carefully wash you, his fingertips grazing over your skin with reverence. And then you'll go to bed to sleep, (among other things) and he'll hold you close all night long.

O is for ordinary. Logan knows he's a mutant and he's one of the X-men.. There'll never be anything ordinary for him. Never. But when he's with you on a tranquil morning and you two are lazying around or he cooks for you and you walk up and hug him, he thinks that maybe someday, you two could have a simple, domestic life. You and him, a picket fence, maybe kids if you want. He feels like maybe he deserves that kind of ordinary life, and he knows he wants it with you. Only you.

P is for period. When you're on your period, Logan is the sweetest, most caring man ever. He'll buy you whatever you're craving. He'll let you stay in bed, wearing his shirt and a pair of his boxers. He'll bring you pills if you need them and warming pads. He'll spend all day with you, babying you, making sure you don't lift a single finger. Not when he's around.

Q is for quandary. Logan isn't a big love man. He isn't used to relationships and he isn't sure about how to manage one. Especially when he's with you because you're so sweet, you're so young. He'd hate to break your heart or hurt you in any way, and he's terrified whenever he realizes how serious things are getting with you. He'll have a few panic attacks when he overthinks it. And one day, when he finally admits to you that he's not sure how to love, you smile softly and tell him, “Me either. I kind of just go with it.” And there. Right there, he knows you're the one.

R is for ring. Yes, ring. It's hidden in his closet, in a corner far away where you'll never find it. He never thought he'd be the type to marry and settle down, but the idea constantly haunts him every time he sees you. And now he knows, you're the one for him. All he's struggling to do is figure out how to propose. Should it be all fancy and well planned? Or spontaneous, when all the love he feels for you just gets the best of him? He's still not sure, but he knows he doesn't want to let a single month pass without asking if he can be your husband.

S is for safe. He's always alert, always on edge. But around you, his guard is down. For once, he's living in the moment, just enjoying the time he's spending with you, not worrying about whatever may be going out in the world. You're his safe space and he adores it. Whenever he comes home from a mission, stressed and on edge and upset, he'll just get back to the mansion, go into your room and lay in your arms. He'll let you hold him, make everything that happened go away until he's at peace. Until it seems like the world isn't gonna end the next day. Until your love consumes him.

T is for true. True because he knows how you feel about him is real. There are so many people that want something from him. But not you. No. You accept all of him. His mistakes, his flaws, his strengths, all of it. You just accept him. And what's more, you love him for it. And he knows how you feel is real. He knows you only want him. And it's the kind of love he's been looking for his entire life, the kind he can't ever live without, the kind he'll never let go.

U is for unwavering. Logan's love for you is unwavering. There is nothing, nothing you could do to make him stop loving you. For starters, he's a very bad man, much worse than you could ever be. The things he's done...And yet you love him. Compared to him, you're a saint. And it's so easy to love you. So easy. He sometimes feels it's unfair to you because it must be more difficult to love him. Still, he's extremely grateful for you and he knows nothing and no one will ever make him stop loving you.

V is for vulnerable. Logan's walls are made of steel. He never, ever opens up to anyone. He hides his emotions, expresses everything only through anger. But you make him vulnerable. You can read him like a book, there's no point in hiding anything from you, so he's found out it's easier to just open up to you. And he's surprised to feel...relieved. When he talks to you, his shoulders feel lighter. He's not as angry, not as mean. You make him a better person, and he loves you a lot for it.

W is for worship. The way Logan treats you is damn near to worship. He takes care of you like you're a goddess, a divine being he's not worthy of. But he tries his best. He cooks for you, he pays for everything if you let him. He'll take you out on dates, put his jacket on your shoulders, carry you if you two have gone dancing and your feet hurt. He sees you as a deity and he loves you. He worships you and he will continue for the rest of his days if you allow him to.

X marks the treasure. He's not sure what he did to deserve you, what superior power decided to put him in your path. He's even more amazed you're into him too. You're his treasure. He feels like he's been wandering around aimlessly until he ran into you. Until he found you, his treasure, his love. You're all he's ever needed.

Y is for you. You perfect, sweet, smart, young thing. You're gorgeous. You're funny. You're everything any guy would ever want. And you chose him? Him, out of all people? He can't believe it. He's not sure he ever will, but he's always grateful. You are his world. You are his everything. His motivation and his patience and his safe space. You're his life, his universe. Without you, there is nothing.

Z is for zeroed. Ever since he met you and you two started dating, Logan's entire perspective has shifted. Now, everything he does and thinks is zeroed in on you. You and your needs and how to make you happy. You're what gets him through every mission, what gets him out of bed in the morning. He feels like you give his life meaning. And that's not something he's ever gonna lose.

Nsfw

A is for addict. Because that's how Logan feels about you. Whenever he fucks you, when your pretty pussy is wet and clenched around his cock, he knows he'll never get enough. He knows only you'll make him feel this way and that he's going to start fucking you more often if he doesn't wanna lose his goddamned mind.

B is for breasts because Logan loves yours. He knows sometimes you feel insecure because they're not like this or they're like that, but he's never seen a prettier pair of tits on anyone. Yours are perfect. He can suck on them, bite them, nuzzle into them all day and still want more. And when he comes on them? Fuck. That's heaven right there for him.

C is for cockwarming. I imagine it would go like this. Really, Logan loves feeling your cunt around his cock. He loves seeing you squirm as you ache for the pleasure only he can give you. It sends his ego through the roof. Plus, he's just a man, how is he gonna resist you looking so beautiful and desperate on his cock?

D is for dacryphilia. One of his favorite things to do is fuck you for hours, slow and deep, making you come over and over and over again until you're crying from the ecstasy. He loves seeing you so weak, so vulnerable for him, so unashamed to show him how good he makes you feel. There's nothing better for him than when he sees those tears of ecstasy in the corners of your eyes and he knows he's doing a good job.

E is for endurance. Logan's healing ability also means that his body doesn't wear out as quick. So he can go for hours, literally fuck you an entire night without breaking so much as a sweat. You may be weak, panting, almost sobbing with pleasure, but he'll keep going until you tell him to stop. He'll fuck you dumb just because he can.

F is for “Fuck!”. That deep, low rumble that leaves his lips when he comes. Or the way he says it in your ear as he slides his cock into you. And when he sees you wearing some skimpy outfit, he'll murmur it under his breath. It's his go-to word, really, whenever you do or say or make him feel something that blows his mind.

G is for g-spot. Logan considers you to be a very knowledgeable woman in regards to your sexual pleasure. That's why he's surprised when, one day as he's fingering you and he curls his fingers against that spongy spot, your body convulses and you gasp, asking him what he did. So now, he redoubles his efforts when he fucks you, making sure his cock rubs your g-spot just how you like it, and he enjoys teaching you about the pleasures of that particular spot. But also, G is for guilt. You gorgeous, perfect, young thing. What are you doing with him? He's fucked up. Broken. A whole fucking mess. And you still love him. He feels guilty about it, as if he's stealing your life away. But when you look at him with those precious eyes and he sees the love in them, he knows he must be doing something right to deserve an angel like you.

H is for hickeys. Hickeys everywhere. If you've been with Logan, everyone's gonna know. He leaves hickeys where others can't see—the swell of your ass, your inner thighs, the underside of your tits and between them—but he also leaves them where everyone can see. Your shoulders, your neck, your collarbone. And you wear them with so much pride, it drives him insane. And knowing you have his marks under your clothes? Yeah, he loves leaving hickeys on your perfect body, just a little reminder that you're his.

I is for insatiable. No matter how much he gets, he always wants more. If you two have a couple of free days, it's guaranteed he'll fuck you senseless the entire time. His stamina is impressive, his dedication to your pleasure otherworldly. He can never get enough of you, and he takes more and more each time, always pushing you to your limits and then some.

J is for jealous. So right after he's established that you're his, he'll drag you to the nearest private corner and fuck you. He fucks you hard, rough, deep, making you come as many times as you can until you're weak and sweating and whimpering. He wants you to feel how much he loves you, how much he appreciates you, and he's hoping you'll never ever leave him.

K is for kink exploration. Logan will never, ever shame you for whatever you like. In fact, be quite enjoys learning what you like and, in turn, teaching you, as well as finding out what else you two enjoy. Not only does he feel more connected to you that way, but seeing the look in your eyes when he's doing exactly what you like the way you like it? Jesus, he lives for that.

L is for lingerie. Pretty lacy lingerie, usually tiny skirts and half-cup bras with little bows. He loves seeing you in them, he loves fucking you in them even more. The way you look in them has his mind reeling, and he also adores tearing them off you when you take too long to take them off. He adores it. So much so, that he can spend hundreds of bucks on lingerie he knows he's only gonna tear into pieces a few hours after they're bought.

M is for masturbation. Be it mutual or when you're not around, he likes to fist his cock in his hand and jerk himself while he imagines you or watches you. It's not the same as being in you, and it's not the same as you touching him, but it's better than nothing. What he likes most, though, is watching you touch yourself, his eyes fixated on your pussy as your fingers work eagerly to bring you to your orgasm. More often than not, he can't help but do it for you himself.

N is for naughty. You can be a naughty little thing sometimes, especially when you're trying to rile him up. He'll let you misbehave a little, like wearing those pretty skirts he likes on you or leave him Polaroids of you naked under his pillows. But he keeps count. When you strike out, he'll punish you. Rough, deep, hard, edging kind of punishment as he fucks you, taking out every little ounce of anger or frustration or jealousy you've made him feel. It'll keep you nice for a while, but Logan knows you'll act up again. And when you do, he'll be ready.

O is for oral. Now, yes, Logan loves when you suck him off. He loves seeing you on your knees, his cock all the way down your throat, the way you gag as you fit him. But he loves eating you out more. He can—and has—spent hours between your thighs, licking your cunt, enjoying your taste and your scent. He loves how you grind against his mouth, how you tangle your fingers in his hair and lead him to where you want him. He likes giving you that little ounce of control while he worships you like the goddess you are.

P is for pregnancy. The idea of you pregnant with his baby...Fuuuck. He imagines you nice and round, breasts heavy, his little child kicking in you. So he'll fuck you again and again, wanting so bad to fill you up and give you a baby. But P is for pullout also. Which he also enjoys, especially when he spills his load all over your stomach, or your lower back, and he gets to see the mess he's made. But one day, be promises himself, he'll give you one of his babies.

Q is for quarrel. Logan is in a constant state of war with himself. He loves taking control, loves how you submit with so much ease. But sometimes, he just wants to give in to you, let him do whatever you want. The thought haunts him at night and he's constantly considering asking you to take control for once, to let you do as you want with his body...

R is for raw. He's a very careful man, and you a very careful woman. But after being together for a few months, going raw is the obvious option. And once you do, Logan will never turn back. Your bare, soft, wet, tight pussy around his cock is a vice. Nothing with no one has ever felt as amazing as fucking you raw, and he needs it daily now. He has has has to feel your gummy walls on his cock if he wants to function properly, otherwise you'll all he'll ever think about and he doesn't want anyone reading his mind when they realize how distracted he is, especially since you're naked in there all the time.

S is for spit. Logan is a dirty, dirty man when it comes to sex. And there's not much he likes more than seeing you coated in his saliva. He likes to lick you all over, a thin trail of spit decorating your skin. He loves to spit on your tits, in your mouth, on your pussy and your ass. God, it makes him crazy. It's a small way of marking you, but it means the world to him.

T is for thigh fucking. Logan is a thigh man through and through. He'll finger you and make you come as many times as you need until your slick is all over your inner thighs, and then he'll stand behind you, slipping his cock between your soft thighs. And it's the only time during sex when he whimpers for you, his hands digging into your hips as he thrusts his hips, his long, thick cock rubbing your clit in the perfect way for him to pull more orgasms out of you.

U is for uninhibited. When he fucks you, Logan's mind is completely focused on you and the feeling of you. He doesn't even realize it when it happens, but he'll start murmuring, “Pretty pussy. So tight, so wet. So ready for my come.” Or, “Perfect tits. Perfect. Can't wait to knock you up, see them swollen with milk, maybe try some...” It's like he can't hold back his thoughts and they just leave his mouth without his permission. “Gorgeous. Fuckin' gorgeous, always so good to me. This cunt is so good to me, I'm gonna make her feel so good.”

V is for videos. His phone is full of videos of you, either of you touching yourself or spread out while he fucks you or your pussy wet and raw with his fingers pumping in and out of you. He'll watch those videos again and again, especially when you two are apart because of missions, and it's the only thing that keeps him going. He'll jerk off to the videos of you, groaning, gasping. He can almost feel your warm cunt around him, your wet walls tightening around him. He never lasts long when he watches your videos. And when he returns to you...Let's just say you won't be walking around the next day.

W is for whipped cream. Logan loves to spread whipped cream all over your body. On your stomach, your nipples, your pussy. And he licks it off. Little by little, the sugar mixed with your taste driving him almost over the edge. He's, maybe once or twice, actually comed in his pants just from licking the whipped cream off you. He loves it that much.

X marks the treasure. And in this case, you've marked a big yellow X on yourself. You're lying naked on his bed, the paint going from your shoulders, over your nipples, and crossing on your belly button, ending just at your thighs. You're waiting for Logan like this when he returns from a mission he'd said was particularly stressful over the phone. And when he sees you. Fuck, when he sees you. He shuts the door after himself quickly and walks to you, standing in front of you, stunned for a moment before he reacts. He's on you in seconds and he doesn't stop until you're a mess, sweating so much that the X painted on your skin is smeared everywhere. It's still one of his favorite times. And now, whenever he sees the X on his suit, he thinks of you.

Y is for yearn. Logan yearns for you, your touch, your body. And it's not always wild, rough sex. He actually enjoys making love to you, as corny as it sounds. Slow, deep thrusts, gentle kisses on your neck and face. He loves it. Holding you, his hands tracing your body, feeling your skin underneath his fingertips...He knows that everything that's happened to him is worth it since he gets to be with you. He yearns for your love, your approval, yearns to be worthy of you.

Z is for zeal. Logan is around 200 years old. He looks somewhere around thirty five, maybe more maybe less. But he fucks like he's in his twenties. He has so much enthusiasm when it comes to giving you pleasure. His stamina is crazy, his endurance unbelievable. You always end up more exhausted than him, body weak and sweating and trembling, and it fuels his ego. Knowing he can make a mess out of you even though he's much older than you makes him proud of himself.

---

Omg I'm so sorry this literally took me so long 😭😭😭 but I hope you guys enjoy it 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Blog masterlist

[cptnhngjng]

pretty sounds (part 4)

“get up. don’t keep her waiting now. unless you don’t think you can handle it,” hongjoong challenged.

in which san finally gets to join in

-san x f!reader x hongjoong -2.2k words -smut, 18+ only, mdni -c/w: studio sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), threesome, face and ass slapping, messy and pathetic san, pussy drunk san, controlling mean hongjoong, probably missing other warnings

part one two three

not properly proof read so pls ignore any mistakes 🫶🏻

“fuck,” you heard hongjoong say. “you pathetic fucker. you came in your pants.”

you had your eyes closed, trying to come back down from your high. but hearing that made you open your eyes and look towards the man sitting on the couch in front of you. san’s face was flushed, eyes closed, and he was chewing on his lip. you had finally looked down at his crotch—his jeans were wet from when he came, untouched. came from just you alone being pleasured by your boyfriend.

“look at him, y/n,” hongjoong said, “you made san cum in his pants, like the pathetic little pervert that he is.”

san had finally opened his eyes and they were glazed over. he was so unbelievably turned on from what he saw happening in front of him. the words that hongjoong was saying sounded muffled and far away—all he could hear was his pulse pounding in his ears. he was desperately trying to catch his breath.

“get up, doll,” hongjoong commanded, smacking your thigh softly. you stood up, legs weak from your orgasm. “help clean up san like the good girl you are.”

you stepped towards san before falling to your knees in front of him. his eyes followed your every movement. with shaky hands, you reached towards his lap and undid the button and zipper of his soiled jeans. san shifts some as you start to pull down his pants, his boxers full of sticky cum. you started to rub at his cock through his mess, bringing it back to life, becoming hard again quickly. san hissed through his teeth when you finally freed him from his underwear and started stroking him softly.

“such a pretty cock, sannie,” you whispered as you placed a kiss on his tip. san bucked his hips when you took him into your mouth, causing you to gag.

hongjoong chuckled from his spot behind you. “very good, san. she’s a greedy whore who likes to choke on cock.”

a high pitched moan escaped san’s mouth as you took him deeper into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat. you gagged again, causing your throat to constrict around him.

“ah, fuck,” san whined out loud, his hands finding their way to your head, pushing you further down his cock. you groaned as you felt his cock twitch in your throat. you grabbed the hand that was holding onto your head and moved it, before pulling away from his cock.

“oh, sannie,” you cooed. “it’s too soon to cum again.”

you pumped his dick a few times, spreading the mix of your saliva and his cum over his shaft. you brushed your thumb across his slit, which earned you a loud, guttural moan from san. he threw his head back and you could feel the muscles in his thighs tense.

“y/n, please,” san begged. “please, please, please let me cum.”

hearing san begging to cum turned you on. your cunt started to ache for something. you squeezed your thighs together, praying that the friction would give you some relief. your hand started to slow down, and san was quick to wrap his hand around yours, forcing you to keep stroking his cock. after another minute, san released all over both yours and his hands and his shirt.

“you are so sensitive, san,” you said as you licked his cum off your hand.

“bet he wouldn’t even last a minute in your pretty pussy,” hongjoong commented. you had forgotten he was there for a moment, too focused on the whiny male in front of you. “he’d become too pussy drunk.”

“mmngh, i can handle it,” san muttered.

“i don’t believe you can,” hongjoong mocked san. “too pathetic and needy. you’d cum the moment you felt y/n’s pussy around your cock.”

“let’s give him a chance, joongie,” you say, looking over your shoulder at your boyfriend. “maybe sannie will surprise us.”

you looked back at san and stared him right in the eyes. “want to try? i bet you are the type who likes to fuck from behind,” you teased him, running a hand down his thigh. a shiver ran through san as his cock started to get hard again. he knew he wouldn’t last long, especially not for a third orgasm, but he needed to fuck you more than anything.

san broke eye contact with you and looked towards hongjoong. the older male was definitely enjoying this—his pupils were blown out, face slightly flushed, and a very obvious erection was straining against his jeans. was it because he was being humiliated by both hongjoong and y/n? or was it because he genuinely enjoyed seeing his girlfriend fuck around with him?

for hongjoong, it was all about being in control. knowing that he had his girlfriend doing everything he asks of her. knowing that he has san at his mercy. whatever he says, it happens. he could feel himself getting harder and harder as time went by. he palmed at himself through his jeans as he thought about the next move.

“so you think you can handle fucking y/n?” he asks san. hongjoong really wanted to see how long poor little sannie would last. with a wave of his hand, hongjoong authorized san to fuck you. “just don’t fucking cum inside of her. only i’m allowed to do that.”

“get up. don’t keep her waiting now. unless you don’t think you can handle it,” hongjoong challenged.

san moved from his spot on the couch and you took his spot, getting on all fours. you wiggled your ass in anticipation…and to tempt san. san let out a deep breath as he finally positioned himself; he stroked his dick a couple of times before he finally lined it up with your pussy. it was very noticeable how horny and ready you were; you were leaking, just waiting to feel san’s cock inside you. his tip pressed against your wet folds, and he rubbed it through your slick, in an attempt to tease you. you whined, wanting more than what he was giving you.

hongjoong let out a curt chuckle, breaking san’s focus. “who do you think you are? trying to tease y/n? just fuck her already like the dirty whore she is. she’s been waiting for this, san.”

finally, san started to push his cock into your waiting hole. the stretch was more than what you were anticipating. he was bigger than hongjoong. thicker and slightly longer. you let out a low hiss and bit your lip as you felt san push further into you, not fully letting you adjust to him. he was too lost in the feeling of your tight cunt around him, he didn’t realize he was going too far.

“ahh, sannie!” you cried out, breaking san from his focus. “so big, please san!”

“doesn’t even know how to handle his own dick,” hongjoong teased, shaking his head in mock disappointment. by now hongjoong had finally undone his jeans was was softly stroking himself as he watched the scene in front of him. watched as you struggled to take san’s cock. watched as san was already becoming drunk off your pussy and he just started.

“slow down, please,” you begged. san stopped, realizing that he wasn’t letting you adjust to his size. he placed his hand on your lower back and rubbed soft circles, attempting to sooth you. “i’m sorry, y/n,” he whispered. “felt s’good.”

once you finally adjusted to san’s girth, you pressed back against him, tempting him. in a quick thrust, san bottomed out, his cock head pushing against your cervix. you moaned loudly, arching your back. thank god this studio is soundproof. “ah, fuck, san!” you exclaimed as he started to pound into you.

san’s hand found way to your hair, and he bundled it up into a ponytail, gripping it tight. you arched your back more, allowing san’s cock to hit you in all the right spots. san really was becoming pussy drunk. all he could think about was how good your cunt felt; how warm and wet it was, gripping his dick so tightly.

a loud smack echoed through the small studio, and there was a stinging sensation on your ass. san had slapped your ass. and he slapped it hard. you let out a moan and your pussy clenched around san’s cock. hongjoong raised an eyebrow before laughing quietly to himself in disbelief.

“fuck, san, you are getting a little cocky, don’t you think?” hongjoong had finally stood up from his chair and walked around the two of you, before standing in front of you. he stroked his cock a few more times before slipped his pants further down his thighs, fully exposing himself. “open up that pretty mouth of yours, y/n. let me fuck your throat,” he directed, slapping your cheek.

you opened your mouth, anticipating his cock. two more pumps of his cock before he thrusted into your waiting mouth. he groaned as he hit the back of your throat. your throat constricted around him as you gagged. your jaw went slack as he continued to fuck your face. being taken from both ends was pushing you towards the edge, you felt the knot in your stomach twisting—you were so close to cumming. you moaned, sending vibrations through hongjoong’s cock. his thrusts were getting harder. tears were falling down your cheeks, mixing with the spit that was leaking from your mouth.

san continued to fuck you from behind, but his thrusts were becoming sloppier. he was at the edge, too. a few more thrusts and he knew he was gonna cum. you bounced your ass back against san, finally pushing him over the edge. he pulled out quickly, not wanting to cum in you; he was afraid of what hongjoong would do if he had accidentally finished in your pussy. with a quick pump to his cock, he came all over your ass and lower back. white, sticky sperm covered your bottom half.

san closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. hongjoong was still fucking into your mouth—he was getting close, too. because san had finished before you came, you whined in dissatisfaction. the whines you made sent hongjoong over the edge and he came into your mouth. you swallowed his cum and stuck out your tongue to show him. hongjoong caressed your cheek in approval.

“did you not cum yet, y/n?” hongjoong asked. “did san here cum for the third time without making you cum once?” hongjoong clicked his tongue and shook his head. “i think he needs to take care of that as soon as possible.”

“mm, need to cum,” you mewed. “sannie please make me cum.”

san moaned as you looked back at him with pleading eyes. hongjoong watched expectantly, waiting to see what san would do next. hongjoong took a step back, watching what was happening.

“i’m sorry y/n,” san apologized. “let me clean you up first, and then i can finish what i started.” san quickly grabbed the wet wipes that hongjoong has sitting on his desk, and quickly wiped you down, cleaning his cum off you. rough hands caressed your thighs as he flipped you around so you were sitting on the couch. you brushed your fingers through his dark hair, pushing his head closer to your core. your thighs trembled as san’s pushed them further apart.

“savor it, choi san. who knows if i’ll allow this again.” hongjoong’s voice was low.

the threat hung in the air as san dove into your cunt, hungrily licking up your slit towards your clit. he sucked and licked at you as if he hadn’t eaten his whole life. his thick fingers poked at your entrance as he continued to slurp messily against your clit. you rolled your hips against san, wanting more from him. his fingers curled up against your sweet spot, rubbing it roughly. san was messy. and loud.

you gripped at san’s hair tightly, pressing his face further against you. san ate you in a way that was so different from hongjoong. it was desperate and uncoordinated. you were about to reach your climax. your thighs began to quiver as you clenched them around san’s head. san moaned against your cunt—he was so intoxicated by your taste.

you were finally cumming. you threw your head back against the couch and let out a shaky scream. “fuck! san! i’m cumming!” your vision went dark for a moment, you didn’t know where you were. blood was rushing through your body, you could hear your pulse pounding in your ears. you laid there trying to catch your breath.

san pulled away and watched as you fell apart. he sucked your juices off his fingers, and hummed in satisfaction. “you taste so good, y/n. thank you.”

hongjoong came back over and patted san on his back. “congratulations, san. now get the fuck out of here.”

san quickly grabbed his clothes and dressed before sneaking out of the studio. meanwhile hongjoong was next to you, brushing your hair out of your face. he knew it was too much for you. you were still trying to come back to reality. he held your face in his hands as he placed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“you did so well, y/n.” he whispered. he helped you clean up and get you dressed again. continuing to pepper you with kisses.

[milkteabinniechan]

Professor Chan

Possessive Chan x !female reader

warnings : implied age difference (reader is over 18!) Just smut, probably typos

I love writing about possessive Chan so please let me know if you want more <3

You knew when his offive hours were. You had memorized the hours. You fantasized. You lost track of time in his classes, staring at his hands, his lips, the way he walked across the lecture hall. He spoke so passionately about everything. He would recite poetry with fire in his eyes. And every time he made eye contact with you, your body shudder. Jesus Christ, your body would literally shudder. You'd lick your lips and close your legs together, squeezing around nothing. An emptiness you were begging him to fill. You weren't even subtle about it anymore. Your eyes glossy with need and desire. You wanted him to see you. Really see you. You were all his.

Now you were here. On his desk. During office hours. Unbuttoning his slacked black pants. His hands gently around your neck while his lips traces kisses down your neck. Once his zipper reached the end of it's line, you reach in eagerly to pull him out completely. You chuckled deeply into your neck at your readiness. It was making him hungier. You wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, the girth of him pulsing into your palm. God, he was huge. You found yourself praying to a god you didn't believe in to will you the strength to take him completely.

"I want you to teach me something, professor." You spoke softly. A small smirk grew as Chan lifted one of your thighs high to give him the best view. A string of wetness spread across your center and you exposed yourself to your teacher. Your heart began to race faster as his hand gripped tighter around your thigh. His other hand grabbed your chin to pull your focus to his eyes. You were very focused on another, larger, part of him.

"are you ready?" His question was genuine. He was focused on your face, waiting for your answer. Unmoving until you responded. "Yes. Yes. Yes." You answered in slow succession. You wanted him to hear every single Yes you uttered. With that, Chan began to slide in you. Slowly at first, the sensation of fullness already becoming too much. You grabbed onto his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from levitating off of the Earth itself. This man. This man.

Chan was now farther inside of you. Not completely. But enough now he could grip your ass and help you move into him. You started a rhythm with him almost instantly. Both of you pushing and thrusting. His hips bucked into you and you saw stars. Your hand was wrapped around his tie now. A red tie. You loved when he wore the red tie. The leverage it gave you allowed you pick up speed. A primal growling rose from your professor.

"Am I doing good, sir?" You begged for approval. You loved it. You needed it.

"You're doing so good. Look at you. You're doing so good for me." Chan was picking up speed now. You were leaving a mess on his desk, you could feel it beneath you. You were so close. His full length now inside you entirely. Your core becoming so hot, your release was reaching its peak now and you were near falling apart. In danger of being left a puddle on his desk.

As you screamed through your climax, Chan pressed a hand over your mouth, still thrusting vigorously. "You'll have to be quiet, another class might hear you." He said with a smile.

He loved the thought of that as much as you did. You broke apart for him and his eyes promised to put you right back together again. You just hoped this wouldn't be the last time you came to visit him during office hours.

[lieutnt]

i promised i would post this so enjoy a half-baked fic/drabble i sent to alec at 2am

john price x werewolf!male reader cw: piss kink (just a little), possessiveness

Werewolf!Reader joining the 141, and with you comes a guidebook about having a werewolf on the team. It’s given to Price and he decides to read through it, most of it obvious stuff that he could have guessed but something sticks out to him, a section that reads ‘As the bond between a Werewolf and its pack mates (the soldiers it serves with) grows, some have shown a tendency to become possessive over their territory and those within it.’ It has Price slightly concerned, and since he’s inexperienced with dealing with werewolves he calls you into his office to discuss it.

He asks you to clarify what this ‘possessiveness’ can mean - for your territory and your pack mates. Before you can stop yourself you make a joke, “I’m not gonna be pissing anywhere other than the toilet if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Price is confused at first until you explain the joke about werewolves marking their territory and warning other werewolves away. It makes something flutter through Price and he dismisses you, except the thought of others like you being able to smell your claim on him has his pants growing tighter, thighs squeezing together and suddenly he’s finding it hard to sit still.

Cut to however long of working together and the relationship between you is way passed soldier and commanding officer - not only is Price yours, you are his. Every so often the thought of what he read in that guidebook floats through his mind, especially when on certain days you’re attached to his hip but he never acts on it, not until one day another team with a werewolf is temporarily staying on base. Full preparations are made, keeping you and the other werewolf apart as much as possible to try and prevent any unnecessary tension, the 141 is very clearly your pack and Price doesn't want the headache if something happens. 

Price still has a duty as Captain to interact with the other team, and when he comes back to his room (that you’ve practically moved into), you’re instantly on him, huffing at his scent and pulling away in disgust when you catch whiffs of the other werewolf on him.

You rectify that quickly, stripping him of his clothes and scenting yourself on his body, fucking him until he’s sure his insides are moulded to you. When you carry him to the shower and his brain is still rebooting the question slips out, Price asking if marking your territory is true. You don’t give an immediate answer, Price finally turning to you to see the way your eyes are focused on him, and just by your breathing he can tell you’re interested. 

As the water switches on Price hides his face in your chest and mumbles how he wouldn’t mind if you marked him like that. His face burns with embarrassment as he waits for your answer, mind running wild with thoughts on if he’s pushed too far when your grip on him tightens and you press him against you, mouth dropping to his ear to tell him to get on his knees.

He does, looking up at you as if he was praying at an altar as you grip your cock and aim towards his kneeling body, nothing happening for a few seconds until he feels the warm stream hitting his chest and trickling down to between his thighs. Despite how eagerly you fucked him earlier his cock makes a valiant effort to harden again, and by the time you’re finished you’re both hard again. You fuck him multiple more times in the shower, being able to smell yourself so clearly on Price sending you haywire.

The next day you manage to catch the moment the other werewolf attempts to approach Price and stumbles over his feet, quickly turning around and walking away. Price stands confused for a few seconds until his cheeks and the tips of his ears start to turn pink as he realises what just happened.

[jewels-writes]

Call of Duty - Fatal Injury Scenarios

Warnings: There is character death in all of these. You, the reader, are fatally injured. In Keegan's, there are themes of drug overdose, I know some people can be considerably sensitive to that. Please consider this your warning. Do not read further if you feel you may be triggered by these topics. Included Characters: Ghost, Price, Keegan, König Word Count: 1.9k Notes: This is very lightly proofread, apologies for inconsistencies or typos/grammatical errors. As always, requests are open. — — — —

Ghost (gunshot):

You and Ghost were paired up for a mission, per usual. You had to clear a building, you took the upstairs, Ghost took the ground floor. You heard the occasional pop of gunfire from downstairs, praying it was Ghost’s gun that was making the sounds.

Focusing on your own work, you cleared the upstairs rooms, being as thorough as possible. As you went through the rooms, you gunned down the enemy, not hesitating once. You were a soldier, you knew hesitating could mean life or death.

“Clear.” you relayed into your communications headset. Before you could turn your radio off, a door swung open at you, the enemy raising their gun and putting three rounds through your chest. Your vest normally would have stopped the bullets, but not this close. You made a gurgling noise before crumpling to the ground, your gun clattering out of your hand beside you.

“Report in, what’s going on up there?” Ghost demanded, making his way to the stairs, gun trained at the top of them. “Soldier, come in.” He ordered, but got nothing in response. He knew something was wrong. You didn’t respond, you couldn’t. Not when your lungs were turned to swiss cheese.

He saw the figure of a body on the ground and after seeing the uniform, he knew it was you. You looked dead.

“Fuckin’ hell..” He clenched his jaw and looking around, his gun raised, waiting for the enemy. He knew they were lurking around here somewhere. He heard a floorboard creek off to the right and burst the door down, shooting the enemy with deadly precision. He didn’t stop even after they’d fallen to the ground. He was furious, angry that the enemy had been able to touch you.

With the threat neutralized, Ghost moved to your side, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure how to fix your injury. His face contorted beneath his mask, realizing the bullets went through your vest and to your vitals. His eyes looked up to yours, looking for a sign of life.

Your labored breathing gave him hope. Hope that you were hanging on. 

“Can you hear me..?” His voice was low and careful, his eyes searching your confused expression. “You did good, soldier. You did good.” He could see you were losing your fight and his gloved hand came down to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing your skin.

He was beside you as you took your last painful breath, his hand on your cheek. His heart seemed to stop with yours. He grieved in silence, never being a man of many words when it came to losing someone. Gently, he removed your dogtag, placing it next to his own.

“Until we meet again, soldier.” — — — —

Price (bombed):

After the mission, everyone was exhausted as they all squished into the transport truck. Price sat next to you, his hand resting on your thigh. It was a tough fight, and he knew you needed your rest. He guided your head to his shoulder, a normal routine between the two of you.

Just as your eyes began to close, there was an explosion in the distance.. It sounded like bombing. Then there was another one. And another. Getting louder. Getting closer.

“Price? What’s going on?” You asked, lifting your heard from his shoulder and looking around.

The next instant everything went black. The truck was targeted by an aircraft, the spraying of it’s missiles were the last thing you heard before you passed out. 

When you came to, it was to Price dragging you out of the wreck. The next thing you registered was the agonizing pain you were in. Everything hurt, everything burned. It was like you’d been used as a punching bag before being thrown into an oven.

“Shh, shh. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Price’s voice was in your ear as he pulled you away from the burning wreck, his fingers looped into your vest’s handles on the back. “Look at me, you’re okay.” He muttered with a grunt, pulling you away farther.

You tried to talk, tried to ask him what happened. But you couldn’t, didn’t quite know why. Reaching a hand up, you felt around your neck, feeling an uncomfortable pressure there. Your hand froze when you felt hot liquid.

“John-” You mouthed, a dreadful realization dawning on you. Hearing your struggle, his eyes met yours before flicking down to where your hand was probing at your neck. You saw his anguish in his expression, no matter how hard he tried to mask it.

“Oh, shit.” Was all he could manage. “Look at me, you’re gonna be fine. It looks worse than it is.” He lied through his teeth, kneeling beside you, one of his hands running through your hair, the other hovering over your neck. He knew you wouldn’t make it. The gash had gone through an artery. He could see the inside of your neck.

“Shh.. shh.. I’m here. Look at me.” He soothed you, placing both hands on either side of your face, looking you in your eyes. “You did good. You’re the best of the best.” He tried his best to not get choked up. He could see you were fading, the blood spilling from your neck onto the ground, staining the grass a brutal red.

He watched as the last remnants of life flickered out of your eyes, left open and unseeing. His face contorted as he registered that he watched your final breath. He reached a hand up to cover his mouth in despair.

“I’m sorry, my sunshine.” Price felt the tears running down his face as he retracted his other hand. Reaching for your dogtag, he clutched it in his fist, holding it to his chest. “I won’t forget you.” — — — —

Keegan (overdose):

“Sweetheart? I’m home!” Keegan called as he kicked off his shoes in the entryway to your shared home. Normally he’d hear you bounding down the stairs, eager to hug him after he’d been away after a long mission, tackling him near to the ground. It sent a pang of concern through his body when he heard nothing but the air conditioning unit in response. “Honey? Where are you?” He called out again, his body tense with gnawing dread. Something felt wrong.

Everything in the immediate area looked fine, but he couldn’t rule out a potential break in. Not when you were his lover. Not when you meant so much to him. His hand reached for his concealed pistol, unclipping the button that covered it, resting his hand on the body of it, ready to use it if necessary.

Remaining quiet, he searched the house, starting with the main areas. Living room, dining room, kitchen. All clear. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, it dawned on him that you could just be asleep. He jogged up the stairs, ignoring the soreness from deployment. 

The light was off in your shared room. It made him feel slightly relieved, realizing you were probably just asleep and that he’d been worked up over nothing.

Quietly turning the knob, he opened the door and let out a slow breath. There you were, sound asleep on his side of the bed, holding one of his hoodies he’d left you. 

“Christ. You’re asleep. Had me worried as hell.” He grumbled, taking his hand off his pistol and walking around to the side of the bed and switching the lamp on, hoping to slowly wake you up. As he retracted his hand from the bedside table, he froze, his eyes catching a pill bottle he hadn’t seen before he left for his mission. Was it new? Picking it up, he inspected the label. “Sleeping pills..? How many..” His voice trailed off as he looked back over to you, his eyes on your back, looking for breathing. For any movement.

“Sweetheart? Oh shit.” His voice gained volume as he shook your shoulder. Nothing. “Babe, wake up right fucking now.” His voice grew more concerned. Reaching for your wrist, he begged silently for a pulse, his stomach dropping when he didn’t feel one.

“No.. no please.” Keegan’s voice hitched as he pressed harder into your cold skin. It was no use. Your life had been taken hours before he arrived home. It was an accident, you were just trying to get some sleep, turning to pills to help your insomnia. You’d taken too many.

“Why..? Oh my god.. Sweetheart, please don’t do this to me. You were my everything..” — — — —

König (poison):

The mission was going smoothly, no issues yet. You and König worked together like a well-oiled machine, picking up the slack where the other lacked perfectly. As you and him reached the office, König motioned for you to go in, implying he’d stand guard as you grabbed the intel needed.

Nodding, you stepped inside, doing a quick sweep over the small office. There was no one inside, just a normal office space. Moving the the computer, you powered it on, hooking up your own laptop to break into the locks. As you worked, you felt on edge, like somethin was wrong. This was too easy. As you saw the file on the desktop, hidden under a false name, you faltered.

Cursing at yourself, you clicked on it anyway. The instant that you did, the room went dark, replaced by a flashing red that came with alarms sounding. König, who’d been standing just outside the door, immediately tried to help, his hand shaking the handle of the now locked door.

“Shit-! It’s a trap!” He called from the other side. “Are you okay? What’s going on in there?” He demanded, his voice high with concern. Looking around, you realized something. The room was filling with some kind of gas. 

Hurriedly, you stuffed your laptop back into your pack before rushing over to the door, putting your whole body weight against it. Your hand came up to cover your mouth as the gas reached your face. You realized it was some kind of toxin. And of course you didn’t have a gas mask. 

“Schatz! Get out of there!” König shouted from the other side, his fists connecting with the door. “Back up! I’m kicking the door in.” He ordered, hoping you’d get out of the way in time.

Stumbling back, you leaned heavily on the desk, the toxin affecting you. Your knees were weak, you felt your mind detach from your body. You couldn’t control it when your body slumped to the ground, your eyes rolling back.

As König delivered a devastating blow to the door, it flew off of it’s hinges, landing on the other side of the room. “Schatz! Nein.. nein.. Look at me.” He kneeled beside you, tapping your cheek. Cursing to himself, he put his arms under you, hoisting you up over his shoulder as he began to run out of the toxic office space. When you two were out of the building, he propped you up against the wall, his stomach flipping when your body was completely limp.

“Hey, hey, wake up.” He begged, shaking your shoulders as he squatted beside you. “Gott verdammt, look at me!” With a sickening realization, he saw you weren’t breathing. “Nein..” He muttered as it felt like his heart shattered in two.

“Schatz.. Come on.. Open your eyes.” He begged, cupping your face in his hands. It was useless, whatever you’d breathed in was toxic enough to kill you. 

“I’m so sorry.. I failed you..”

[thebadboyfanclub]

Gods Have Mercy (Daemon x Reader)

This was very particular but so much fun, I was listening to “God help the outcasts” from the hunchback of notre dame which is the whole vibe I’m going for. Please leave a comment about what you think I really do appreciate them. Hope you enjoy

Daemon felt like a fish out of water when he stepped into the Sept, a sea of candles and utter silence as the statue stood tall and stoic, its shadow could frighten a small child or command a common man to bow,

Hesitantly Daemon approached as he looked around to take in the small details, the dim lighting, and the smell of herbs burning, he was not accustomed to the routine of a man that came to pray, truly he was forced to even step foot in here, his brother the king commanded him after he was found on the side of the street naked after a 3-day bender on the streets of silk.

“Wonderful isn’t it? Just its presence brings goosebumps”

A woman’s voice startled him that came from behind, swiftly he spun on his heel to view the person that interrupted his thinking but also kind of knew what was he focusing at.

A young woman dressed in the usual gown of a Septa, as the light managed to shed some light within the room he could see her dark hues that reminded him of grass, her red plump cheeks, and pink lips, she was… beautiful, a concept that was quite foreign for someone that had hid behind the burden of a Septa.

“You are too young to be a Septa”

“You honor me, my prince”

“Why did you even choose this? Or was it forced upon you?”

“You can ask me all the questions you want it will not change the fact that you feel awkward within the walls of our sacred place”

She spoke the truth, Daemon shifted on his feet as he once again looked around to no actual aim, it was just to buy himself some time until he finds the proper way to respond.

“Honestly I am disappointed, I was told I would burn alive if I ever even walked past from here”

“The Gods guide, they forgive, they simply take you under their wing and protect their children that chose to follow their path”

“What happened to you? There must be something that forced you to have this mindset”

The Septa remained silent, she could sense the prince's urge to not only figure out what lay behind her mask but to also find a way to kill time, her guess was that he was not a common visitor, and judging by the comment he was not a follower of the faith either.

She simply walked past him and kneeled in front of the candles, she lit two of them and placed one in front of her and the other by her side, once she intertwined her fingers with one another she waited for him to follow.

“I promise nothing will happen to you if you kneel my prince”

Daemon scoffed at the Septa who called for him, howbeit he complied and with heavy footing and a little bit of grunting, he kneeled and mimicked her gestures.

“A few years ago I fell from the top of a whore house”

“What were you doing on top of a whore house”

“I come from a poor family, we lived near it and I wanted to know what was all the yelling coming from. I was bedridden for a full moon turn, I broke my hand and got an infected cut on my thigh, the fever was the worst part, yet all I could hear was my mother praying, she prayed to the mother to save me, she prayed to…. To take her instead, she offered her life for mine, so I prayed to the mother to spare us, to nourish me back to health, and in exchange, I would devote my life to the faith”

The Septa had not realized she had started to cry, the voice of her mother crying and begging for her child to be saved rung in her head to this day as clear as the sky. Daemon instinctively reached to wipe the Septa’s tears away, the love of a mother was always the strongest force, he could faintly recall his mother, such a spirited woman, he would often wish to feel her hug one more time.

“That is why I believe the Gods will listen to you, is there anything you have to say?”

“I lost my mother due to childbirth, if the Gods listened to you? Why did they ignore her?”

“We are all children of the Gods, some of us must stay and some must depart from the physical realm, you can still find her, in the gust of a wind, within the walls of the Sept, maybe in the silence of your chamber whilst you lay for the night, why don’t you try?”

“How to do I-“

“Just… listen”

Daemon stopped talking, he just waited for something, he did not know exactly what but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth making his shoulders relax.

(Y/n) could slowly pick up his facial expression change, his tough front slowly break and then came one tear, then a second, a minute after that came the first sob, slowly but in a steady pace Daemon went from a cold warrior to a boy that cried with his head on the lap of the Septa who allowed him to be engulfed by the vulnerability he had shoved at the very back of his mind.

Daemon was inconsolable, trembling like a leaf in the winter wind, (y/n)s heart shattered for the poor prince, all she could do was stroke his hair while he fought with the waves of emotions he had turned a blind eye to for years.

“I’m sorry”

“There’s no need to apologize, emotions are what makes us human, mayhaps the saying of Targaryens are closer to gods than to men is not deliberately true”

“What is your name?”

“I am (y/n), my prince”

“(Y/n)”

He whispered more to himself. The name tasted like honey in Daemon's mouth, without really understanding why Daemon smiled at the sound of her name slipping through his lips, it rolled off his tongue so naturally like he was meant to call for her, to meet her.

“Can I see you again?”

“The Sept is my home, my prince, I will be here”

Daemon visited her every morrow after he broke his fast, once he found her lighting some candles, he found her praying, a few times she would conversate with other visitors of the Sept, (y/n) would be there for him for as long as he needed, however, it would always be on arm's length, a veil of faith and celibacy kept them apart, (y/n) could not marry nor bare children, she would forever be a maiden dedicated to the Mother.

(y/n) had once professed her wish to help women with childbirth, perhaps be a midwife for the poor, her selfless act was astonishing to Daemon, a young lady that was so soft-spoken and kind that some would say she was the Maiden herself in human form that came down to serve the Mother, Daemon witnessed how others would yearn for (y/n)s encouragement, old women and men, even children would run to her and hug her, he could imagine what it would be like if their children ran to her arms.

“May the Warrior guide you and keep you safe my prince”

“Can I write to you?”

“It is not common”

“Would you get in trouble?”

“The followers can be close to us in any way they wish”

“Then I want to write to you”

“As you wish”

(Y/n)s heart skipped a beat at the pressing question of Daemon, she had prayed many times asking why the Gods send her such temptation, the kind prince that tested her oath every day with his gentle words and soft touch, the Father was resting her judgment there was no doubt about that.

“I- I want to give you this”

(Y/n) presented a small pendant that was the star of the seven, it wasn’t of value but (y/n) had prayed over it and begged the mother to protect Daemon, to wrap him in her cloak and keep him safe.

“It would mean a great deal to me if you wore it”

“Thank you, I shall bring it back to you, alive”

(Y/n) subtly looked around before she gave in to her urge and rushed into his arms for a hug, she might never see him again, war was cruel and the Stranger visited often if this was their last encounter then she shall at least know what his hugs felt like.

Daemon hugged her tightly, he feared for his life but mostly he feared that he might never be able to call for her again, to say her name and see her bright smile on every morrow.

“If I come back, I want us to leave together”

“Daemon”

“Please (y/n), see it as a sign, if I survive this then we are meant to be together, the Mother will protect me only if you agree to marry me”

“Do not use the Gods for a vile game”

“It is not a game, I-I love you”

“Leave, please”

“(Y/n)”

“May the Gods have mercy on your soul”

She simply dismissed him after she pulled away to turn her back on him, Daemon took a step but stopped before he took another, he could not see it but (y/n) was already tearing up, she felt her heart rip to pieces as his steps echoed less and less until they became nothing, the silence lasted only a minute before her sobs took over.

In a blink of an eye (y/n) kneeled in front of the candles, the burden was a heavy one for a girl, she had never experienced such a trial, she had almost looked the Stranger in the eye still this was the most difficult of all.

“I beg you, Mother, I beg the Gods, show me a sign, I do not know what to do, I am a mere mortal, help your child, if you can hear me, please help me”

She muttered in between her cries, she felt weak, unable to continue by the fear of making the wrong choice as she stood at a crossroads, was this union a blessing or a test?

Daemon fought fiercely during the day and at night he would lay and play with the pendant, twirling it around his fingers and sometimes even resting it on top of his lips, was she praying for him? Was she waiting for him? Did she wish to see him again? Questions raced in his head before the dreams took over and brought him the gift of imagination, his precious (y/n) playing with their children, 5 children, he could almost taste her but she was always slipping through his fingers, never enough time to hug her as tightly as he could.

(Y/n) was tormented, with bags under her usually bright eyes, sunken cheeks, and pain growing on her legs as her mother fell ill, with a high fever, (y/n) stood by her side until the very end.

“Go to him, my sweetling, he waits for you”

Her mother whispered before she left her last breath, (y/n) had tired herself from crying to the point that she did not know what was she even crying about anymore, was it the worrying over Daemon? Her mother's passing? The overall confusion over what her life has come to?

“(Y/n)?”

She brushed it off as her mind playing tricks with her now, she continued to pray along, it was the only thing that had kept her somewhat sane, the Gods had been cruel to her, not only did they take away her mother but Daemon has stopped sending her ravens if he was alive and well was unknown to her.

“(Y/n)”

Could it be? (Y/n) slowly turned her head towards the direction of the voice, there he stood, Daemon, her prince, his hair was short and he was skinnier than the last time she saw him.

(Y/n) wiped away her tears but remained kneeled, has she lost her mind? Was she seeing just a vision or was he truly standing there? Her lip quivered as they both stood frozen, waiting for the other to do something.

“It’s me, my dearest”

He whispered to reassure her. Daemon sensed her pain, her questions, and how she was afraid to make a step, he knew it well, they were times he could have sworn he saw her on the battlefield or waiting for him on his bed, and others he could hear her praying.

(Y/n) In an instant rose and ran to him, she fell in his arms as she was engulfed by a plethora of emotions that drowned but one overtook all, relief.

“You are alive”

“I made a promise, I needed to bring you your pendant”

She laughed between her sobs as she wrapped her arms around him one more time, squeezing the life out of him but he did not mind, her hug was the closest thing Daemon had felt when it came to religion, she was his church.

“I missed you”

“We must go”

“What?”

“Get us out of here before I change my mind”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Do you want to question me now that I am agreeing to your plans?”

Daemon could not contain himself anymore, before (y/n) could comprehend or respond his lips had crashed into hers into a deep, passionate kiss, soon his arms wrapped around her waist to bring her as close as humanly possible, it was (y/n)s first kiss.

“Let us leave before the Hods strike us for sinning”

-

(Y/n) and Daemon chose to make their home in Pentos, a beautiful free city that (y/n) had dreamed of visiting, they had eloped the day they landed, (y/n) wore a simple gown and it was the first time Daemon saw her hair, her beautiful mane that framed her face perfectly, she was his for the rest of their life and hopefully the next, how could a woman so perfect love a sinner like him?

The raven Daemon send to king landing to announce the birth of their first child angered the faith to no end, the rogue prince had lured a Septa and turned her to lust and sin, and whispers grew about their children being cursed, that they were all deformed and that is why they did not dare to come back.

Daemon shielded his family from such vile words, (y/n) was gracious to bless him with 5 children, 4 girls, and one boy, all of them beautiful, kind, and happy, (y/n) and daemon made sure of that.

Daemon had gifted (y/n) with creating a Sept for her after she gave birth to their first daughter, Elara, she had deep grey eyes like a wolf and dirty blonde hair like the color of a golden sunset, when Daemon walked in to find (y/n) holding their daughter after laboring for a full day he cried, his wife, his love, she created life.

“Thank you”

“For what?”

“For everything”

Then came their son Aeron, who came rather quickly and without fuss, (y/n) only felt some discomfort during her evening nap and the maester had just stepped into the room when the babe was crowning, he had his mother's eyes and hair as white as snow.

Adira gave everyone a surprise, she was not alone, she was with her twin sister, Naeva, who was frail and so small in comparison to Adira who was chubby and red-cheeked, (y/n) refused to leave Naevas side, she would spend her nights in a rocking chair by her cradle.

And then came their last little girl, (y/n) would often reminisce about the day that her children burst into the room after the labor to peak at their new sibling, Aeron was the first to hold her, and the little boy was in utter awe of the new sister, he had leaned to place a peck on top of the babes head.

“Mother, I was hoping I could name her”

“What do you suggest sweetling?”

“Avyanna”

“It is a perfect name for a princess, don’t you think so my love?”

“Indeed, it’s settled then”

Avyanna was a spitting image of her mother, except for the dark lavender eyes, she had even inherited (y/n)s hair which made her stand out from her siblings, she had a few blonde streaks but you couldn’t see them if her hair was pulled up.

Daemon was proud of his family, he patted himself on the back for being able to rise to the occasion and prove himself worthy of (y/n)s love, he took great care of his lady wife, anything his family wished for they had their feet.

(y/n) worried that the children will grow spoiled, she taught them the importance of sharing and the great value of gratitude through her faith that she never forgot, often she was seen attending orphanages and anyone that knocked on their door for help.

“Alright now settle down, this ceremony is sacred and serious, you must be on your best behavior”

“We know Mother”

“My dear, you have told them about it a thousand times now”

“I’m sorry, I am just-”

“I know”

Daemon brought his wife closer by the waist to place a kiss on top of her covered hair, she was dressed in all black like everyone else but you could understand that this meant more to her than just a funeral, it was their first time back in Westeros, the Targaryens had never seen their children, her heart beat fast at the mere idea of her little ones getting insulted or ridiculed in any way.

All of them remained close to their mother and father, Daemon held Avyanna in his arms, and (y/n) frowned as she caressed her daughter's cheek, she wanted to hold her but she was still sore, the maester advised her to refrain from lifting anything.

Naturally, Daemon led (y/n) to their chamber the minute the eulogy ended, he did not care about mingling or anything that had to do with people that turned their noses up on (y/n) and their children.

“You must rest”

“I feel fine”

“And you will feel even better if you lay down”

(Y/n) knew better than to chastise her husband on this matter, Daemon was an overprotective man especially when it came to her and her health, they had already had a fright he was not willing to take any chances.

“The strangers visit is the one I fear the most amongst the Gods, he sparred me once, now twice”

“And thrice if needed, I will not let them take you”

“It is not up to us to decide”

“It is up to us to be careful, you gave our family 5 perfect children that need their mother, we are in no need of another”

“If the mother gave us 5 why did she take this one? And the one before that, mayhaps-”

“(Y/n)”

“It is not pleasant I know but I constantly feel cursed”

“You are not cursed nor our children, let us not speak on this again, please”

(Y/n) did not verbally respond, she chose the route of getting up from their bed and reaching for Daemon to hug him, Daemon trembled at the thought of losing her, seeing her in insufferable pain and grief while blood stained the sheets was horrid, he could not imagine what (y/n) went through, of course, he wanted a big family but it was not worth the price of (y/n)s life, none of it would be worth it without her.

The vulnerable scene between husband and wife was interrupted by a knock on the door, Elara was white as a ghost and her hands were shaking, (y/n) feared for the worst at the sight of their distraught daughter.

“What is it dear?”

“Aeron claimed a dragon but he got into a fight”

“Gods have mercy, show me”

(Y/n) prayed as she walked to wherever her eldest daughter led them, she spotted Aeron from a mile away, her son sat in a chair next to another young boy who was getting his wounds tended by a master.

“Oh, my love, my sweet little boy, what happened?”

“I am fine mother, I’m unharmed”

“Gods be good”

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around her son as tight as possible, Aeron was aware of his mother's fear of him and his siblings getting in harm's way, but he did not fuss over how tight she was hugging him quite the contrary after such an event he relished the familiar loving embrace of his mother.

“Yes the boy is safe but my son has lost an eye”

“I do not follow”

“Your son claimed a dragon while Aemond claimed Vhagar, your daughter and son were present when my son was attacked”

“Stole Vhagar”

“You cannot steal a dragon, little girl”

“Elara! Be respectful”

(Y/n) scolded her daughter who hunched over at her seat, (y/n) did not raise her voice often so when she did her children did not take it well.

“Queen Alicent, I trust my children allow me to ask them for the truth”

“Aemond, Elara, and I were wondering when we saw Vhagar, I pushed Elara to stay back and Aemond did not follow, he claimed Vhagar like Elara claimed Silverwing, when Aemond flew that’s when Vermithor came, I figured that if Silverwing came for Elara then Vermithor might be here for me, Elara and I flew with our dragons when we landed the only thing we saw was”

“Was what?”

“Prince Lucerys attacked Prince Aemond, he had a knife”

Elara finished her brothers' sentence, Elara was always brave and stoic, whilst Aeron was noble and level-headed.

(Y/n) hesitated, her children wouldn’t lie to her, if it happened as they say then it means her children could not have possibly interfered with the squabble nor saved Prince Aemond.

Daemon walked to his wife’s side and pancaked his arm around her shoulders for comfort, he could sense that (y/n) feared what to say, she did not want to upset nor make matters worst in front of the king and queen.

“My children are not responsible for the injury of Prince Aemond although it still is a grim affair”

“Grim affair? My son has been maimed”

“While Aeron was in the sky with his sister”

“They could have-“

“They could have what? My children are not fortune tellers nor do they have the eyes of a hawk to see what is happening on the ground”

Daemon defended his son and took a few steps towards Queen Alicent, (y/n) went back to her son to hold his hand in support of him, Elara got up from her seat to go over to the other side of her mother and hold her other hand.

Rhaenyra stood by her son's side as she watched Daemon defend his family, 10 years passed and he was a different person, now he had 5 children and a personality that Rhaenyra could not recognize, how he stood up for his son, how endearing he had been with his wife, how he completely ignored and avoided her, the Dragon had circled (y/n) and their two children, willing to do anything and go against anyone to keep them safe.

“This is a matter between you, my family had no part in this”

“They encouraged Aemond to go to Vhagar”

“They did no such thing, my children were playing and Aeron protected his sister, you can spew lies as much as you wish Alicent but I know the truth”

“Which is?”

“That my son claimed the dragon of a previous king and that is a matter for us to celebrate, you can kill each other for all I care, my wife and I will escort our children to their chambers and tomorrow my son will mount his dragon back home”

Alicent refrained from responding, even a Hightower knew that there was a line that she mustn’t cross when it came to Targaryens, Aeron had a dragon now, Vermithor flew just to find him, Daemon puffed out his chest before he also went back to join his family, with his one hand he guided his son to stand up on his feet and patted him on the shoulder.

“This is a blessing, my only son has a dragon like my eldest daughter, I will not let anyone taint this day for you”

“Thank you father”

“Queen Alicent, the Hightowers have always been a family that followed the guidance of the seven, the father is a just God, seek for his voice and find it in your heart to understand that our children are not responsible”

“Or don’t, the father will not be here to help you once you attempt to point your finger to my son”

Daemon hissed at Alicent, “how did these two even came together?” The queen thought, however it was as clear as day that she was stepping to dangerous territory, (y/n) was a pious person but even she could not save Alicent from Daemons aggressive nature, she could only offer a small way out before the inevitable happened.

Requests are open!

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Save a Horse, Ride a (Space) Cowboy

tom ryder x reader 2.2k words

summary: Tom in his space cowboy outfit really does something to you. Something that makes you forget about everything else.

tw! almost smut. really basically smut.

(THE PICTURE HAS BEEN UPGRADED YESSSS!!!!! thank you all for bearing with me <3)

masterlist

It's hot. It's unbearably fucking hot. You're sweaty, your shirt is sticking to your back, your sun hat seems to have no effect at all anymore and that Tom is running around right in front of your face in that gods damned space cowboy outfit is not helping at fucking all to cool you down.

Fucking hell.

It's genuinely not funny anymore.

Tom himself had you rubbing your thighs together more than often enough, but with that fucking cowboy hat on too now? Holy shit.

The only good thing about the desert heat is that you can blame the sweaty stickiness you're feeling on the temperature, the sun and the sand. Maybe not how you've soaked through your underwear, but... It's a start, at least. It's probably why Tom hasn't subjected you to one of his scrutinising stares yet - one of those with raised eyebrows and his whole attention focused on you.

You're restless because of the sand. Sweaty because of the sun. Avoiding his gaze because you're so uncomfortable in this blazing hot weather.

...Yeah.

"One more take and we're done", Jody shouts. You can hardly bite back a groan. Wonderful. One more time you'll have to watch Tom run around in that fucking outfit. At this point, it's close to torture. A part of you wants to just dash back to the trailer and take a very, very, very cold shower.

But you can't, this is your job, so you close your lips around the straw sticking out of your water bottle and watch. Watch Tom in that goddamn cowboy hat save his alien princess.

"You're drooling", Venti whispers, startling you so badly you flinch away from her. God, she has a fucking talent for appearing in places she shouldn't be.

"Fuck off", you mutter, your eyes clinging right back to Tom as he wraps his arms around his co-star. Oh, you'd very much like to switch places with her right now - even in this boiling desert hell.

"You know, technically, he's your boss", Venti goes on, entirely undeterred by your not-so workplace friendly language.

"Technically, he's my boyfriend", you bite right back at her, trying hard not to get weak in the knees as the camera zooms in closely on Tom's face, all big eyes and chiseled features appearing on the display next to you. He's fucking marvellous, goddamn him.

You still don't know just how he's your boyfriend. Venti's right - technically, he's your boss. You'd applied as his assistant one day and now here you are, dating the most famous action star of the moment. And he really does have it all: the face, the fame, the green. You're not quite sure he's even real, to be completely honest. A tiny part of you is constantly dreading that when you open your eyes in the morning, it'll turn out he's nothing but a fever dream after all. Or a hallucination. Maybe you're crazy.

"Alright, we got it!", Jody shouts, pulls you from your thoughts - from the way you'd been ogling him - and drags you back to reality. You hadn't even realised you'd started chewing on your lip. "Great shot, really, well done, we're gonna take a break before we shoot the next scene!"

The word break echoes in your mind like a fucking hallelujah. With a start, you rush towards Tom, almost stumbling over your own two feet as you grab his water bottle and hold it out for him.

"Here", you breathe, hoping, praying you don't look as debauched as you feel. Then again, you've sweated through the few layers you're wearing, so you probably do.

"Thanks, love", he smiles, reaches for the bottle and takes a sip. Then he looks you down. And up. And down. And up again. And your hoping, your praying crumbles right down to nothing, because he gives you that very stare you'd been dreading, the one that shoots like x-rays through your body and lays you bare for him. "You feeling good? You look hot."

Fuck, you are hot. Just not because of the blaring sun.

"I'm fine", you lie, even though you can feel your cheeks warm further. Just watching him close up on a screen is already enough to get you wet, but to have him this close up? That's even worse. "Just the temperature, I guess."

You shrug for good measure, but he still doesn't seem all that convinced. He eyes you once more, trailing his gaze down your body, then up again. It's hard to keep upright at this point. God, that outfit he's wearing really does something to you.

"Do you want to eat?", you blurt out, anything to get him to stop scrutinizing you. And to actually do your job. "I could get something from the buffet, take it to the trailer or-"

"I could eat", he interrupts, the corners of his lips tugging up. His sudden grin distracts you. Mindlessly, you nod along.

"Sure, I'll find something you like", you mutter, ready to turn and plunder the buffet table when his hand closes around your arm. Your heels all but dig into the sand below. He really has too much of an effect on you. You could easily slip out of his grip if you wanted, and yet you're frozen in place.

"You know what I'd like right now, baby?", he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he takes a step closer. Fuck, he's so handsome. "You."

Barely three minutes later, he's got you pressed against the inside of the trailer door, cold metal against scorching skin as you try to catch your breath. You're panting, cheeks surely flashing red, and you'd like to blame that on the sun, on the sand, on the desert - but it's him, it's him, only him. It's him and that goddamn space cowboy outfit they'd put him in.

"Tom", you breathe, your fingers cramped around the collar of his shirt, clenched so tightly that your knuckles have turned white. He's real, he must be. You just can't quite figure out how.

"You good?", he asks, his voice deeper and a little breathy around the edges.

"No", you chuckle truthfully, your fingertips dipping beneath his collar and brushing over his skin instead. Your eyes drag right after them, drinking in the bit of bare chest his costume exposes. And that fucking golden necklace, just dangling from his neck like it's not driving you fucking insane.

"Still because of the heat, baby?", he asks, grinning widely when your eyes flicker back up at his face. His tone borders on mocking. Goddamn.

You should have known.

You should have known that he knows.

Because of course he knows. Of course he'd realised that you'd been fidgety and hot and bothered for entirely different reasons than the rest of the crew. Not because of the sun and sand and desert, but because of him. Because of him and that outfit.

"No", you admit quietly, your eyes dropping back down to his necklace as your fingers work open the first buckle of his vest. There's no way you could possibly lie to him when he's got you this close. "Not because of the heat."

It's honestly a miracle that you can even talk while you're undoing his clothes.

"Oh?", he asks, his hands tightening on your waist as you open his vest and rest your palms against his button-up for just a moment. "Because of what, then?"

You bite down on your lip to keep your grin at bay, even as his thumbs sneak below the hem of your shirt. His fingers graze your skin and, as if he hadn't already done enough to you, shoot sparks right down to your core.

"You", you mutter truthfully, drag your palms up to his collar again and begin loosening the buttons of his shirt. You want your hands on him. You want to finally touch him. You're basically melting for him, melting into him, and you want to get that shirt open now. "And this fucking costume. Space cowboy, who had that idea, anyway?"

Tom chuckles at your sudden honesty.

"Jody", he says, all matter-of-factly as you scoff at him and pop open one button after the other. By now, you can feel yourself dripping down your thighs. You're not sure whether it's sweat or not - you're just sure that you need to touch him and him to touch you. Now. Or you'll end up a puddle on the floor.

"Fucking cheers to Jody", you mutter, tearing his shirt open, steadying your palms against his bare, so very, very bare skin and taking a deep, deep breath in. Fuck. He's gorgeous. Drop-dead fucking gorgeous. All abs and hard muscles, warm and sweaty against your fingertips, so enticing, so inviting. You run your hands up, then down his torso, slowly enough to take in every inch you can touch. You could do this for the rest of your life.

"Didn't think you'd be so into it, baby", he murmurs, his fingers dragging fully beneath your shirt now and trailing over your stomach. Usually, he's got you naked and begging within seconds - but he always does like it just a little too much when you marvel at him this openly. It's an ego boost he doesn't need.

"Fuck, I'm into you", you whisper, your eyes catching on his necklace again. O-fucking-kay. So it's definitely not just him. As if in reflex, your finger hooks into the chain dangling from his neck. God, you've been waiting to do that ever since you'd seen him in this damned outfit for the first time. "But the cowboy hat has its effect."

Tom grins and grabs at your waist, pushes you firmly against the door and fuck, he's hard, he's-

"Just the hat?", he asks as your finger tightens around his necklace, as you tug. Tug him right into you, tug him so close that you can feel his breath on your lips.

"No", you smile, your eyes fluttering shut. "Not just the hat."

And then you pull him in and kiss him.

He's pressed against you, his shirt open, his hands on your waist, and he's all but crowding you against the door. His beard scratches against your skin in such a heavenly way you can hardly keep from pushing back against him. He really shouldn't be such a good kisser, not when he's also that good-looking, that talented, that famous, and that rich. He's truly got it all. And you can't do anything but melt into his arms, melt against his body, melt... quite literally.

"Tom", you moan, barely above a breath as you pull at his necklace and drag your free hand down, down, down to his waistband. Your fingertips catch on the button of his pants. "Fuck me."

He's just pulling his arms away from your waist and grabbing for your thighs, grabbing to wrap your legs around him when there's a sharp knock at the trailer door. You startle so badly you flinch and so does he, stumbling further into the trailer, knocking against each other, tripping over each other, steadying yourselves in just the right moment before the door opens.

Gail.

Standing in the bright light of the sun, her sunglasses high on her nose, her expression nothing short of frantic, one hand on the doorknob and the other curled like she's trying to strangle the fucking air.

"Ryder", she seethes, then pauses and takes a deep breath. You're so shocked you can't do anything but stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. "Take off your fucking mic before you hook up with your girlfriend."

Tom scrambles to pull out the tiny, fuzzy microphone stuck to his vest. He holds it in his hands for one, two seconds, his eyes wide as he stares at it - then he chucks it at Gail, who doesn't even make a move to catch it before it lands on the ground.

Embarassment shoots through your veins, glues you into spot and if you hadn't been flushed, sweaty and trembling already, you surely would be now.

Holy fucking shit.

Tom had been wearing his mic.

He'd been wearing his fucking mic during all of this.

The entire fucking crew had listened in on you and him making out.

Gail turns around and lets the door fall shut, one deafening thump of metal against metal that tears you from your spiralling mind and hurls you straight back to reality.

"Tom", you gasp, balling your hand into a fist and hitting him right in the chest with it. "You didn't take off your fucking mic?"

He doesn't even have the decency to look apologetic as he shrugs. No, there's already a grin licking at his lips again, a grin that tells you he's neither embarrassed nor going to remember taking his mic off the next time.

"I had so much more important things to think about", he chuckles, wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close again.

He's still half-naked.

You feel your breath hitch.

"Tom", you mutter, your fist resting against his chest. He can't be fucking serious. He cannot be fucking serious. You're burning with embarrassment, petrified with shock - and he's already pulling you in again, his palms rubbing into your back. "You horny bastard."

He's already pressed his lips to yours before you can finish, and despite yourself, you have to grin.

"Promise you'll take your mic off next time", you mumble into him, then you're throwing your arms around his neck and pushing into him.

He's a lost cause. You know that. But it never hurts to try.

[domjaehyun]

KISS U RIGHT NOW (L.MK)

pairing. mark lee x fem!reader genre. some fluff, smut word count. 6.9k contents. kissing, breast play, fingering (receiving), oral (giving), unprotected sex

summary. in which mark just really wants to kiss you. alternative summary. five times mark wanted to kiss you and one time he actually does.

notes. happy (belated) birthday @najaemarkl !! this fic is based off the song ‘kiss u right now’ by duckwrth 🥰

saturday.

Mark thinks he might be going insane.

Mark is standing in the middle of this party on a Saturday night, red Solo cup in his hand, surrounded by dancing bodies, among which there are undoubtedly several girls who would go for him.

Mark is standing in the middle of this party, and all he can think about is how badly he wants to kiss you, his best friend. 

monday.

It started as an inkling these past couple of weeks, but it got a little stronger on Monday, a persistent nagging feeling as he watched you in the back of your shared Linguistics class. You’d knocked your dangly earring out in your hurry to raise your hand and answer a question your professor had asked, and were currently preoccupied with lightly dragging the point of the earring hook against your lobe in an attempt to find the piercing hole.

There’s something about the soft tilt of your head, the focused look on your face as you devote your attention to putting your earring back in, and the way the tip of your tongue peeks out in concentration that has Mark seeing you in a light getting further and further from platonic by the day. 

He wants to feel your tongue against his lips, wants to caress that space of your neck you’re thoughtlessly exposing to him with his hand, feel the soft skin under his fingertips, tilt your chin towards him and lean forward to connect your lips. You’re nibbling at your bottom lip now as you write something down in your notes, and Mark bets you wore that lip balm he’s always loved the smell of, unbeknownst to you due to his never mentioning it, and he wishes he could just lean over and see how it tastes—

“Mark!” You whisper, placing your hand on his thigh just a centimeter above his knee, and Mark jolts out of his stupor, meeting your gaze with a sheepish tint to his cheeks and ears that he prays you don’t notice or ignore. “I asked if you have correction tape? I made a mistake.” You frown and Mark almost spirals all over again at the sight of your bottom lip jutting out in a pout that he just wants to kiss over and over until it goes away in favor of a smile. 

“Uh, yeah—I definitely do,” He stumbles over his words as he roots through his pencil case and finds it, passing it to you. Your hands touch, fingers brushing the other’s palm, as you take it from him with a grateful smile, and Mark knows you definitely don’t think much of it, but he’s thinking about how soft your hand is, how warm, how he wishes he could just reach over and hold it for no reason other than the fact that he wants to.

Mark’s not sure if this wave of wanting to kiss you is going away anytime soon, but he hopes it does—for his sake.

tuesday.

Mark’s inkling, his persistent nagging feeling, turns into a whisper on Tuesday, accompanied with a phantom tugging sensation that he fears might literally pull him towards you for more than comfort when he comes over to your dorm, as requested, to see a very sad and teary-eyed you sitting on your rug dejectedly. He almost drops the takeout bag he carefully carried from your favorite Chinese food restaurant to your dorm, and he cannot afford such a financial loss, so he clutches onto it protectively.

The glossy look in your eyes, lashes, now wet with tears, clumping together, your pouty bottom lip—that damn lip—trembling slightly with the weight of unshed tears, and the occasional sniffles you let out almost make Mark drop the damn takeout bag, the male floored by how pretty someone can look when they cry. He approaches you carefully, settling down on the rug beside you and folding his limbs in somewhat clumsily. When you look over at his struggle, a small chuckle escapes you, and Mark’s heart clenches at the sound, eyes sweeping over your frame to assess any physical injuries you might have. Finding none, Mark sighs in relief and slumps back, his head resting against the side of your covered mattress.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Mark asks softly. You hadn’t specified what was wrong in your distress signal text; you only sent “SOS,” your and Mark’s Best Friend Code for “come over and bring comfort food,” and Mark readily complied as soon as he caught sight of the notification banner; he’s not sure if this is a symptom of being hopelessly whipped for you or just a testament to the strength of your friendship.

He’s pretty sure it’s the former, as another glance at your tear-streaked cheeks sends his poor heart lurching again, but Mark really hopes for his sake that it’s the latter.

“No,” You mumble, sniffling twice before meeting his gaze with wide, shining eyes that, to Mark, are just screaming for him to lean forward and capture your lips with his. “Just need you here.”

“I’m here,” Mark promises, and sets about opening the takeout containers and laying everything out as nicely as he can, even using some textbooks from his backpack and your desk as a makeshift table. “I got your favorite.” He says hopefully, spearing a piece of chicken and bringing it to your lips expectantly. You laugh softly, the sound fond, your cheeks lifting into a smile as you lean forward, accept the forkful, and chew, relief taking over your body as Mark watches you visibly relax.

You slump against Mark’s arm, resting your head against his shoulder, and Mark prays you can’t hear the pounding of his heartbeat which sounds out loud and clear in his own ears. Mark drapes an arm around your shoulders and tries not to stiffen when you turn yourself inwards, tucking yourself into his side and humming softly, tries not to let his desires take over and give in to the tugging feeling that urges him to nudge your head up with his own and slot your lips together.

Mark really isn’t sure if he can hold out much longer.

wednesday.

Wednesday almost has Mark caving when you two lie on his bed, watching movies on his laptop. You’re so close, the side of your thigh pressed up against his, hips brushing, shoulders touching, and Mark knows it’d be so easy to turn and press his lips to yours. 

To make matters worse, Mark’s eyes keep trailing down to your chest, which moves every time you laugh, and by the time you’re engrossed in the film, Mark’s lost interest entirely, instead opting to study your features and reactions. Try as he might, Mark’s eyes continue to wander down to your breasts, shamefully gazing as if looking hard enough would grant him the feeling of what it’d be like to touch you.

Mark’s finally coming to accept that he wants to do more than kiss you; far more, actually. He wants to touch you, hold you, be intimately familiar with the taste and feel of you—

More than anything, though, Mark wants to love you. If you’d let him. He wants to make you smile, laugh, understand the meaning of love songs—he wants to spin you around in the rain and leave kiss after kiss against your lips and trailing down your neck to your collarbones. He wants to buy you thoughtful gifts and watch your eyes light up; he wants to be the one to wipe your tears and kiss everything all better.

He wants, firstly, however, to know if you even want that from him. He hopes you do. Overwhelmed by his thoughts and unshakable desires, Mark reaches up and fitfully runs his fingers through his hair, no doubt messing it up. He mumbles a quick apology when his sudden movement causes you to jolt in surprise, looking over at him. To his confusion, you don’t look away yet, observing him for another moment before leaning towards him.

Is this it? Is this the moment Mark’s been dreaming about for ages? He can barely contain his excitement, reflexively nibbling his bottom lip out of nervous habit, and he tries to remember to breathe, to relax, there’s no good in kissing someone who’s stiff as a board—

“You messed your hair up,” You murmur distractedly, reaching up and ruffling his hair, adjusting it until he looks presentable. “All better,” You say sweetly with a soft smile, and Mark wants nothing more than to cup your face and kiss you over and over and over until your smile is so wide he can’t kiss you anymore.

Do you have any idea what you’re doing to him? Mark hopes you don’t, because that would be uncharacteristically cruel of you.

“Thanks,” He forces out a small chuckle, and your brows furrow instantly, of course they do, you know each other like the back of your hand.

“You okay?” You ask curiously, a tinge of worry in your voice, and Mark nods reassuringly. “You sure? You can talk to me about anything, you know.”

As Mark successfully de-escalates the situation and redirects your attention to the movie, he can’t help but think that there are, unfortunately, some things he might be better off keeping to himself.

thursday.

By Thursday, Mark doesn’t know how much longer he can hold his feelings in. He’s driving down the road, endlessly pursuing the night if it means staying by your side, and you’re sitting right next to him, content as can be.

“Were we supposed to be turning soon?” Mark asks, and you look over at him, shrugging.

“I dunno.” 

“You’re riding shotgun,” Mark chuckles, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel and looking over at you. “You’re in charge of directions.”

“Nuh-uh,” You counter, furrowing your brows—very cutely, Mark thinks to himself—and turning slightly to face him better. “I’m a passenger princess.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mark snickers, and you nod firmly, settling back into your seat.

“Yep,” You reply, popping your lips on the “p.” “I’m in charge of looking pretty and maintaining the good vibes.”

“Well, in that case, you’re doing an excellent job,” Mark replies with a laugh, barely registering his words until they’ve settled in the now thick air between you two.

“…Did you just call me pretty, Mark?” You tease, reaching over and tugging at his pinking ear.

“Don’t distract the driver!”

“Answer my question!”

“Maybe I did.” He admits, and you smile widely, flipping down the mirror and checking your reflection. Mark steals a glance while you do, studying the slope of your nose, the curl of your lashes, and the faint pucker of your lips as you reapply your lip balm, the faint but pleasant scent of cherry Chapstick wafting past Mark’s nose.

He’s never been one for cherries, but he can honestly say he’s never wanted to taste them so badly in his life.

“Why, thank you, Mark.” You don’t yet look at him, fixing your hair in the mirror before flipping it back up, and Mark’s eyes rove over your face with an almost hunger, drinking in your beauty as you sit beside him, entirely unaware. When you turn to look at him, he shifts his gaze back to the road as if he’d never been looking, and you hum thoughtfully, picking up your phone and connecting it to the Bluetooth speakers in his car. “Any requests?”

“Nah, play what you want,” Mark offers. “I trust your taste in music.”

“Mark, you’re just killing it with the compliments tonight.” You say gleefully, stretching your legs out before you cross one leg over the other. Mark can see the faint line of muscle in the side of your thigh, and he wants so desperately to run his fingers along it, press his lips to the indentation, leave kisses lower and lower and back up until his mouth grazes your inner thighs— “Who are you practicing on me for?”

“I’d never use you as practice,” Mark replies indignantly, offended that you’d even suggest such a thing. 

“Sorry,” You stress the word with a playful lilt as you raise your hands defensively. “Was just asking.” The car falls into a comfortable silence between you two as the song you picked plays in the car speakers. ‘Crush’ by DUCKWRTH sounds throughout the car, and Mark can barely hold back his chuckle at just how apt your song choice is. 

He’s crushing, and he’s crushing bad. 

He can’t help but steal glances at your bare legs as he drives, eyes gravitating towards that damn muscle, and he’s moving before he knows it, reaching over to you with his closest hand. He wants to stop, pretend it never happened, but he’s more than halfway to you and to stop now would mean an awkward retreat of his hand back to his lap, and he doesn’t think his pride could handle that.

He swallows hard and pushes past his worries—literally—and pats your knee comfortingly, his hand almost trembling under the feeling of your warm, soft skin under his palm.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Mark echoes his sentiment from earlier. “Use you as, like, flirting target practice or something.” He hopes he sounds sincere because he means every word. 

You have no idea that you’re the main event to Mark. 

You smile at him, eyes bright, and place one hand on top of his, patting it gently and leaving it there. Mark’s over the moon, floating on cloud nine, and it’s a miracle he can stay focused on the road and not swerve off from how frazzled his thoughts have become. 

“Passenger princess?” He calls to you, and you hum in acknowledgement, half-turning to look at him. “Can you go above and beyond your job description and look up the directions, please?” 

“Mm,” You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin with your index finger of the hand holding your phone. “I guess I can do that.” You answer finally, shooting him a teasing grin before unlocking your phone and devoting your attention to it.

To be honest, Mark could drive for hours aimlessly if it meant getting to keep his hand on your leg and you by his side.

friday.

By the time you two get your food, eat it in Mark’s car, and drive somewhere to relax, it’s well past midnight and officially Friday, the night enveloping you two in its cool embrace. As soon as he puts the car in park, you’re leaping out of the passenger side door and making your way to the front of the vehicle.

Mark can’t help but chuckle as he gets out of the car and heads over to where you’re standing at the precipice of the overlook, all the city lights twinkling in the night.

“It’s so pretty,” You sigh dreamily, the lights reflecting in your eyes, and Mark can’t help but agree, his gaze only on you. You’re practically bouncing on your heels with excitement, bounding back over to his car and carefully sitting on the hood, crossing your legs at the ankles.

“It really is,” Mark echoes, but he’s still watching you, mentally hyping himself up for his next move. Swallowing thickly, he throws caution to the wind and walks over to where you sit, standing so your knees push against his hips. 

Mark’s not sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t for you to uncross your ankles and hook them behind his legs to pull him closer to you. You release him almost immediately, the moment fleeting, but the mischievous grin on your face sends Mark’s heart lurching as he wants nothing more than to cup your face and press his lips to yours. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask curiously, and Mark blinks out of his daze.

“Nothing?” He winces inwardly at how defensive he sounds, and by the unconvinced look on your face, you’ve picked up on it too.

“You’re biting your lip like you do when you get all…in your head.” You point out, tapping his chin lightly, and he swallows before releasing his poor bottom lip. “Let me in there, Mark.” You say softly, reaching up to trace light circles on his forehead. “What are you thinking?”

I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you so bad that it hurts, Mark groans internally, but says nothing yet. In an act of boldness he’ll surely regret later, he loops his fingers around your wrist and brings your hand down to your lap, slowly slipping his digits between yours. You smile down at your linked hands fondly, squeezing his hand comfortingly, and Mark thinks for one hopeful moment that you want him too. 

Mark looks up from your hands, pushing away the thoughts of how nicely they fit together, to see that you two are much closer than he thought; your eyelashes are close enough to count, and he can smell that fucking lip balm that drives him insane. A shaky breath leaves him before he can stop it, a breath of anticipation, of hope, of—

“Mark!” You laugh incredulously, and he jolts, sheepishly refocusing his gaze on you. “You disappeared again.” You murmur fondly, releasing his hand and trailing your fingers up his arm to tickle the back of his neck lightly. 

“Sorry,” Mark mumbles, nerves sitting tight in his throat, a lump he can’t seem to swallow, and you shake your head dismissively, smiling up at him.

“Will you take me with you next time?” You joke softly, and he nods before he knows he’s doing it, his body so tuned into you that he’d give you anything you want without a second thought. “Good.” You sigh, content, and Mark makes another bold move, acting on his desires for the second time tonight—third if you count his touching your leg in the car—and stepping closer until his knees hit the bumper, placing his hands on the car on either side of your body to tentatively trap you in. 

Your bright eyes look up at him curiously and, if he’s allowing himself to indulge in his thoughts, challengingly, as if daring him to take the step he so desperately wants to. His chest swells with anticipation, his eyes slowly dropping down to your lips, and he thinks for a moment about leaning in and biting the bullet. 

But flashes of your panicked, nervous, even disgusted possible reaction to him have Mark popping the balloon of hope suddenly, an awkward laugh forcing itself out instead as he leans back from you slightly, freeing you from his embrace.

“You’re welcome anywhere I go,” Mark assures you. 

Your responding smile almost soothes the ghostly chill of rejection Mark imagined.

Almost.

saturday. (again.)

A cracking noise startles Mark out of his thoughts, with him quickly coming to realize that his grip on his cup has tightened considerably, denting the cup. He’s about to go and toss the cup, having lost his taste for the drink inside, when he hears his name being called from behind him.

“Hey, you.” Your voice cuts through the sounds of the party with ease, and Mark turns his head as your arms wrap around him in a tight backhug. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothin’, really.” Mark answers, shrugging casually.

“I ask because you love this song, and yet you were just standing in the middle of the floor like a statue.” You snicker, and he balks, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. 

“Oh, nothing, for real; just thinking about school.”

“Thinking about school on a Saturday night? Don’t we come here to do the exact opposite of that?” You tease, and he chuckles, nodding in agreement. “Come with me to the bathroom? I need you to stand guard.” You grin widely in an attempt to convince him, and Mark fights back the urge to chuckle. 

You have no idea that he’d do damn near anything for you.

“C’mon.” He murmurs, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs, and you follow just a step behind him, Mark’s hand ghosting along the small of your back as he guides you through the many bodies. For a brief second, Mark loses you, the feel of your back slipping away startling him into turning around to see you a couple of feet back stuck behind a kissing couple. 

He moves back towards you, hand returning to your back as you graciously lean into him, and continues making his way through the crowd, keeping you closer to him than before. Your hand grips the hem of his shirt—Mark guesses it’s so you two don’t get separated again—and Mark’s hand accidentally dips under the hem of your shirt, fingertips briefly grazing the bare skin of your waist. His mind reeling, Mark moves his fingers and, if you notice, you say nothing, readily following him upstairs to the bathroom.

When you two reach the door, the last thing Mark expects is for you to pull him into the bathroom with you, the sound of the door clicking shut finally letting the situation sink in. 

“Are you sure you want me in here—”

“I’m not actually using the bathroom, Mark.” You laugh, leaning up against the sink and inspecting your reflection. Mark watches as you pull your lip balm from your pocket and apply it to your lips, and he can’t help but wonder if you’re doing this on purpose. “I missed you, y’know.” You hum thoughtfully, and Mark makes a surprised sort of sound.

“Yeah?” He asks, trying and failing to hide his incredulity. 

“Yep,” You confirm. You turn to face him with a (very cute) frown. “Did you not miss me?”

“No—I mean yes, of course I did—”

“Then why wouldn’t I miss you?” You counter, and he presses a hand over his face, laughing despite his building nerves.

“You just love messing with me, don’t you?” He chuckles, and you shrug, lips curling into a beguiling smile.

“I like pulling you out of your head, Mark.” You say. “I like knowing what you’re thinking.”

Mark thinks that it’s basically now or never; when else is he going to get the opportunity to tell you how he feels?

“You know, lately, I’ve been thinking about—” Mark starts off boldly, but he cuts himself off at the last minute, still unsure if he wants to take that forward step and possibly ruin your relationship.

“Mark, you’re always so in your head.” You chuckle fondly, leaning in towards him. “Thinking about what?”

“Thinking about…kissing you.” Mark finishes slowly, and the look in his eyes when he looks up from his shoes to meet your gaze is a look you’ve never seen from him before. He steps towards you, your feet inch back reflexively, and this continues as he slowly backs you up against the countertop, his hands coming to rest by your hips on the sink, carefully closing you in.

“Oh, yeah?” You hum, blinking slowly at him, and your lips curl into a small grin.

“Yeah.” Mark’s serious—more serious than you’ve seen him in a while—and the intensity in his gaze has arousal stirring in your lower abdomen as you watch him intently.

“And how long have you been thinking about this?” You ask softly, voice low and curious. Mark chuckles finally, looking away from you for a moment before answering you.

“A while.”

“How long is a while?” You press.

“Couple weeks.” He answers, knowing he’s severely lowballing it, and you roll your eyes, nudging his thigh with your knee.

“And you never thought to tell me this because…?” You question, and he shrugs dismissively.

“Didn’t think you were interested.” He replies, and you nod thoughtfully.

“Ah.” You say. “That’s stupid.” 

Mark lets out a small chuckle as he leans even closer to you, his face closer to yours than it’s ever been. “Don’t make me laugh right now.”

“Why not?” You tease, gently poking his stomach and trying to mask your surprise when you feel firm muscle as opposed to the squishiness you expected. “You can kiss me, you know.”

“Stop talking,” Mark groans, his brows furrowing, and you grin at him mischievously.

“Or what?” You’re lifting up onto your tiptoes, leaning in closer to him and stopping just before your lips connect. “What if I don’t?”

“I’ll make you.” His words thrill your mind and the warmth of his breath fanning over your lips thrills your body, your blood starting to buzz in anticipation.

“Mm, is that a threat or a promise?” You know Mark well enough to know he needs to be goaded into boldness, and you’re just the right person for the job.

“Whichever you want.” His voice is throatier, huskier, and almost unbearably attractive.

“I want you to shut up and kiss me already.” You lightly bump the tip of your nose against his, a wide, excited smile growing on your lips.

“I can do that.” He breathes, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you in and finally connects your lips. The kiss isn’t an explosive fire right away, but a slow, warm one that builds steadily to an inferno as you two get used to the feeling and taste of each other. 

Mark’s mind is reeling, finally getting to taste your lip balm, which is almost as delicious as the unique taste that’s just you, and he thinks for a moment that he could probably stay there forever with you.

Before you can even process it, Mark’s kissing has morphed from cautious and hesitant to heated and passionate, and his hips press against you, pushing you against the countertop of the sink more insistently. His fingers on the back of your neck slip into the hair on your nape, tugging not-so-gently at the locks. When you softly gasp in surprise, he pulls back as if you’d shocked him, eyes wide and apologetic.

“Is this okay?” He asks worriedly, and you scoff, leaning into his embrace.

“Yes, Mark. Didn’t I say something along the lines of ‘less talking, more kissing?’” You huff, and he grins, pulling you back against him to slot your lips together once more. “You don’t have to be gentle, Mark—I can take it.”

“God, you’re gonna drive me insane.” He groans under his breath, sounding strained as he obliges and presses you against the countertop roughly, hands flying to your hips to lift you, guiding you on top of the sink. His lips detach from yours and start descending down your neck, sucking and licking, his fingers digging into your hips as he moans against your skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He grunts, nuzzling into your neck and breathing in your sweet scent as he presses his lips to your skin over and over. 

“That feels so good, Mark,” You hum, content with the feeling of Mark’s mouth working away at your neck.

“Can I—?” He starts, but you cut him off.

“You don’t need to ask about everything, Mark,” You chuckle fondly, pulling your neck away from his lips in favor of running your fingers through his hair and tugging gently. “If I don’t like it, I’ll tell you.” 

“Promise?” Mark mumbles worriedly.

You nod. “When have I ever missed out on an opportunity to complain about something?” You say playfully, and Mark relaxes visibly as he laughs and nods in agreement.

“Good point.” He murmurs, and you smile sweetly as you pull him in for another kiss. “In that case,” Mark says in a low tone, lips pressed to yours, “I’m gonna indulge for a bit.”

Before you can ask what he means by that, he’s yanking your shirt up and over your head and discarding it thoughtlessly on the floor, his hands finding your waist and slowly gliding up to your chest, where he cups your breasts and squeezes, kneading them and tugging gently at your nipples through your bra.

Without his having to ask, you reach back and unclip your bra, shrugging the straps off and letting the garment fall off of you. It lands between you and Mark on the floor and Mark looks down at it, up at you, down at your bare breasts with wide eyes, then back up at you in awe.

“Damn, you’re incredible,” He groans, his hands eagerly massaging and caressing your breasts as you arch your back in pleasure, pushing your chest towards him. His lips attach to your neck, kissing and nipping his way down to your chest, where he takes a nipple into his mouth. You moan lowly and tip your head back, hissing when his teeth catch your sensitive bud, tugging and releasing before swirling the tip of his tongue around it and sucking. He cups both of your breasts in his hands, pressing them together, before rolling his tongue over your nipples, moving from one to the other eagerly and punctuating his surprisingly skillful swirls with gentle nips. 

“Feels good, Mark,” You sigh dazedly, a lazy but content smile curling your lips, and he groans, the sound low in his throat, in response, sucking at your nipples with more fervor. He bathes your chest in wet kisses, groaning louder when you whine plaintively. 

His hand leaves your breast to snake between your bodies and unbutton your jeans, pushing into your underwear and stroking along your folds, parting them until he reaches the fleshy pearl of your clit. Your hips jolt at the touch, Mark releasing your nipple from the warmth of his mouth and moving up to kiss you as you rock down on his fingers.

His fingers, thicker than you expected, push past your entrance, two digits curling inside of you and eliciting a pleased hum from you. He slowly fucks his fingers into you, your walls slick and tight around them, and he can’t help but think about how tight you’re going to feel when he’s finally inside of you.

“Right there—” You whimper when he hits a spot that has your toes curling, and he chuckles, diligently thrusting his fingers into you repeatedly as your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and making him hiss. “Sorry,” You pant and he kisses the corner of your mouth sweetly, an unspoken acceptance of your apology. You turn his face to yours and kiss him full on, Mark moaning against your lips as your core flexes around him. 

You’re practically riding his fingers at this point, breathy whimpers escaping you as he strokes along your inner walls, your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

“Mark, ‘m gonna—” You moan, and he nods, flicking his tongue into your mouth and kissing you through your climax, the liplock turning sloppy and clumsy as your lips part to moan his name and a string of swears. 

As soon as the aftershock trembles disappear, you’re pushing him back gently, creating enough space between you two for you to slip off the sink and sink to your knees.

Mark thinks he could faint at the sight of you looking up at him, opening his pants with one hand. His cock aches at the prospect of your mouth wrapped around it, and he tilts your chin up to look at you better.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Mark assures you, and you roll your eyes.

“I know that, Mark.” Your hand wraps around the base of his cock and he hisses. “I want to.” Your mouth is around the head of his cock without a moment to prepare himself, and Mark swears—loudly—his head tipping back and thumping against the wall behind him. Mark whimpers, both in pain and from pleasure, and your giggle tickles his ears as you pull off of him and pump his length up and down, positioning yourself above his length to drip a trail of spit down onto his tip, working your fist over it to lubricate your movements. 

Mark blinks down at you in awe, shuddering when you take his length as far into your mouth as it’ll go, the tip of your nose pressed against his stomach as you swallow around him.

He whimpers when you start bobbing your head slowly, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock with every movement. His breaths are ragged, chest heaving, blunt nails scratching uselessly at the wall behind him, and he curses when his hips buck up of their own accord, sending his length further into your mouth. There’s a moment of bliss when he’s smoothly sliding into your mouth only to be topped by a second of ecstasy when he hits the back of your throat, which flexes around him and drags out a groan of delight from deep in his chest.

“Sorry—” Mark whispers, poorly restraining the urge to thrust into your mouth. You pull off slowly, swiping your tongue over your lips to break the string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his tip, and when you speak, your voice has a slight rasp to it that has Mark’s eyes practically rolling back into his head.

“Do you wanna fuck my mouth, Mark?” You ask with a beguiling smile, your hand slowly stroking his length, and it’s all he can do to stop his knees from buckling right now. 

“I’m not gonna last if I do,” He warns you in a choked voice, and you frown.

“But I want you to finish inside of me.” You huff petulantly, and he groans, gripping your wrist to stop your movements.

“You can’t say that or I’ll cum right now.” He complains, and you roll your eyes. 

“Then I’ll finish that later.” You decide, and Mark successfully contains his surprise at the prospect of doing this again with you. You stand back up and Mark’s hands move to your hips, the gesture almost second nature, before he’s gently pushing you back so you’re pressed up against the sink countertop. He nudges himself between your legs and brings the thick head of his cock to your entrance, gliding it up and down through your slick folds to collect your arousal. “Mark, we don’t exactly have the luxury of time.” You chuckle, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Well, sorry for wanting to take my time with you.” He mumbles, and a fondness spreads through your body, your lips curling up into a sweet smile. He pushes into you slowly, and you hiss at the stretch, your best friend being more well-endowed than you expected. “Told you I should slow down.” Mark wants to gloat, but his heart seizes with concern at the look of discomfort on your face.

“I’m fine,” You answer stubbornly. “Just—give me a minute.” Mark nods and rubs comforting circles into your hips, bringing his lips to your neck to press sweet kisses from your ear to your shoulder and back up again. 

“Tell me what you want me to do.” Mark urges against your skin, brushing his parted lips along the spot behind your ear, and you sigh blissfully.

“You can move,” You murmur, and he thanks the powers that be as he pushes forward into you, bottoming out and feeling the tight wet warmth of your walls wrapped around him. Both of you let out a moan, your head falling forward to rest on his shoulder, and he pulls out before starting to thrust into you, deep strokes reaching every spot inside of you that makes your mind go blank. “Shit, Mark,” You cry out as he fucks into you with all the desperation and desire he’s been restraining for the past weeks.

“You like that?” He chuckles breathlessly, pulling back slightly to reach between you two and massage your clit, and you nod with a whimper, rolling your hips against his. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Me too,” You breathe, and he’s so surprised he almost fucks up his rhythm, sending you shifting back on the sink with a particularly powerful thrust. “Fuck—”

“Sorry, I’m—I can’t,” He moans, pressing his fingers against your clit harder and angling his hips so he can drive his cock into the spot that makes you roll your eyes into the back of your head.

“Mark, please, I’m gonna—” You gasp, and he nods, kissing you again to silence your moans as you both climax, your walls tightening around his length almost painfully as he pumps spurt after spurt of cum into you. He presses kiss after kiss to your lips, the corners of your mouth, your cheeks—anywhere he can reasonably reach.

He pulls out of you carefully, his chest heaving as he catches his breath and tucks himself back into his clothing. The air is thick and silent as Mark starts to spiral; are you coming to your senses? Experiencing some sort of post-nut clarity? Are you about to tell him you two can never be together and that he’s ruined everything—

“Wanna get food and watch a movie at my place?” You ask, turning around to face him. You’ve adjusted your top back into place and are in the process of zipping and buttoning your jeans.

“Y-Yeah.” Mark mumbles, half-dazed, half-relieved.

“Great! C’mon.” You say with a smile, washing your hands and leaning against the door as he does the same. When he’s finished, you take his hand and open the bathroom door, ignoring the stares you two garner as you leave. As you lead Mark through the party, he can’t help but hope things stay this comfortable even in the morning. 

sunday.

When Mark wakes up on Sunday, his mouth is drier than he ever remembers it being, his head feels like someone’s drumming on his temples, and he can barely get his wits about him quickly enough to take in his surroundings. All Mark knows right now is that there’s sunlight streaming in from the window beside the bed he’s lying in, he is not in his bed, and the person lying beside him is still asleep—

Hold on.

Mark turns his head carefully, lifting off of the pillow to look beside him so he doesn’t make any noise at all, and—it’s you.

At the sight of your sleeping frame, your back to him, Mark feels himself go limp with relief—well—almost everything on him goes limp, but one thing remains very, very…stiff.

Mark is now trying to piece together everything that happened last night, and the realization of what exactly went down hits him like a freight train, damn near knocking the wind out of his lungs in an involuntarily sucked-in breath.

Flashes of the night before start to run through his mind; his hands on your cheeks, your waist, your breasts, grabbing at your hips, his lips following the trail blazed by his lustful fingertips, the way your mouth felt wrapped around him—his cock—nestled deep in your folds—how tight you were, the pretty sounds you made—

Mark remembers damn near everything, but he can’t remember how it ended. Did you hate him for taking that forward step? Did he fuck up the relationship between you two? Did his lust get the best of him and potentially cost him his best friend?

“You really are so in your head, Mark.” Your sleepy voice remarks softly, fondness and amusement audible even past your just-woken croakiness, and hope fills Mark’s chest as he turns his head towards you. You’re now facing him—Mark wonders when you did that without him hearing, but figures he was so distracted by his thoughts that he must not have noticed—and smiling sweetly, tired eyes twinkling nevertheless, and Mark thinks it’s insane that you’re every bit as lovely when you’ve just woken up as you always are—maybe even more so. “Good morning,” You greet with a small chuckle.

“Morning,” Mark mumbles, his thoughts still racing. “Did—last night, did I—was that a bad idea—?”

“I’m happy,” You cut him off pointedly with a wider smile than before as you stretch your limbs, a small groan escaping you as you relax again. You look over at Mark and raise your eyebrows in question. “Are you happy?”

“I’m fuckin’ thrilled.” Mark rushes to get the words out, feeling like he can’t reassure you quickly enough, and your eyes scan his face before you laugh, and the sound is so free, so void of worry, stress, concern—

You’re not stressed in the slightest, so maybe Mark doesn’t have anything to worry about.

“I like you here with me like this,” You muse lightly, looking over at Mark with warm eyes. He’s about to speak, but you continue, “in my bed.”

“Yeah?” Mark can barely get the word out alongside his exhale of immense relief, but you hear it, as you always do.

“Mm, yeah,” You hum, and he nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know what else?”

“What else?” Mark’s relaxed considerably, smile morphing to a small smirk as he parrots your cadence back at you playfully. You don’t say anything for a moment, and he looks over at you curiously to see that you’ve propped your head up on your hand, elbow resting on the mattress. There’s a playful glint in your eyes, mischievous, even, and Mark’s a little bit lost, but your happiness is infectious.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

It’s Sunday morning—or afternoon…Mark hasn’t figured that part out—and Mark feels like something’s clicked into place, and, when he looks at you, he knows you feel the same way.

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[roguehongsami]

Virtue in Aberrance.

—★ pairing/s: ex-con!seonghwa x fem!preacher's kid

—★ genre/s: religious, smut, fluff, angst, au

—★ motif: corruption

—★ theme/s: lust, temptation

—★ synopsis: seonghwa is finally released from prison & attends church for the first time since. during a sermon about the seven deadly sins, you realise that 1 of those 7 are gonna be an issue. in spite of your inherent fear of eternal damnation, you eventually welcome him with open arms. not only do you become seonghwa's saving grace, but he becomes your "saviour".

—★ content: toxic parenting, violence, alcohol consumption, mutual obsession, messiah complex undertones, unprotected sex (condomize), corruption kink, fingering, body worship, praise, idolatrizing, blood. reader is inexperienced.

—★ word count: 5.6k

* DISCLAIMER: THIS IS FICTIONAL. IT IS NOT A REPRESENTATION OF PARK SEONGHWA'S CHARACTER, PERSONALITY OR BEHAVIOUR. THIS IS SOLELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. *

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ethel cain // ptolemaea; beyoncé // daughter; rammstein // sonne

Hands laid on her thighs, seated between the armrest of the bench and her mother, she awaited the week's service to begin. A routine that had been cemented as a part of her livelihood since birth. Never having been led astray, her faith was unwavering and her resolve even stronger, but even the mighty must fall.

As the hall gradually filled up, attendees took their usual seats. Murmurs and chatter amongst the folk to keep busy until the service begun. One particular family came in and seated themselves in the row on the other side of the aisle. The elder son sat on the outermost side of the bench, right next to her. His very presence sent shivers down every congregant's spine, whispers being shared. He donned a black suit, dress shirt unbuttoned down to his chest with a few gold chains, neck tattoo on full display.

She leaned into her mother’s ear. "Mom, who is he?" she whispered.

Her mother looked to the other side of the aisle, "Great, Satan's spawn is back from the pen." grimacing at the sight. "Ignore him."

Facing forward, Seonghwa smirked to himself having heard the exchange between the pair. For much of the service, her attention was strictly focused on Father Hubert and all he had to say. She sang with grace, clapped in agreement, but she could not help the uncomfortable sensation on the side of her face, skin prickling. His gaze seared into her skin, cutting through her virgin exterior. Gulping to ease the slow-building constriction in her throat. She closed her eyes and prayed desperately, but as she opened them and looked to her side, his eyes were still fixed on her.

They held each other's gaze for a few moments before Father Hubert said, "Lust" breaking their silent exchange, "isolates the soul from the body, leaving it a vessel free for the devil to take over."

She dropped her head shamefully, wiping her hands on her dress as they sweated profusely. Had her lifelong pledge become a sham because of a mere wordless exchange? The service concluded. She waited in the vestibule while her parents spoke with the other congregants. The man from earlier approached her, flashing his pearly-whites.

He extended his hand out, "I'm Seonghwa. I don't think we've met." he introduced himself.

Hesitantly, she welcomed his invitation with her head bowed. "I-I'm Y/N."

Still holding her hand, refusing to let go. "I only came to church because my parents forced me to, I'm glad they did. You are nothing short of beautiful."

Heat arose in her cheeks as she processed his words. The low decibels of his voice rung like a gong in her head. She began questioning herself, what she stood for and if it was worth it. His index finger scratched the inside of her palm over and over. She looked up and was met with a grin. His eyes cold as a mackerel. The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention with yet another tremble travelling through her nervous system, as she challenged his gaze.

Her mother stepped in and pulled her away, "We're going home." a self-satisfied smile materialising on Seonghwa's face. She took one last look at him before getting into the car.

Around the dinner table, her parents and older sister spoke amongst themselves as she sat silently, forking her broccoli and cauliflower. She still felt the scratches in her palm as they travelled up her arm, and into her head. Her brain squirmed. When dinner concluded, she went to her room. All she thought about was the conversation at dinner: how Seonghwa was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon in high school, so he went to a juvenile detention centre and served the rest of his sentence in prison after turning 18. She was a prepubescent child when everything had happened, the vague memories of him and his friends in their cul-de-sac barely clung on to her conscience. The ceiling was not enough to distract her, not this time. She knocked on her sister's door and was welcomed in.

"Ophelia, what does it mean when someone scratches the inside of your palm while shaking your hand?" she asked.

Ophelia was never as much of a devout Christian as her younger sister. Attend church and pray she would, but that was the farthest her esoteric devotion would go. As soon as she was off to university, her faith slowly chipped away with time but she kept up appearances whenever she'd come home to visit. She knew how to navigate the world of the non-devout. On the other hand, Y/N's immense fear of immersing herself into a world with no relations to her faith made her oblivious to certain social cues, and interactions. Her parents did one hell of a job instilling the fear of eternal damnation into her subconscious.

She sat up from her bed, eyes studying her sister. "Why, did someone do that to you?" the girl nodded. "It's a dirty signal, that person wants to sleep with you." As she turned on her heel to return to her room, Ophelia called out to her. "Y/N, stay away from Seonghwa. I'm serious, he'll get you in so much trouble then leave you high-and-dry after."

[ . . . ]

Habitually, she went to church every Wednesday afternoon to pray. A ritual established by kneeling at the altar then sitting in the far back in silence, alone. The hall was empty as usual. It was just her and the Holy Spirit as always. She could not shake that bothersome feeling in her chest, she felt challenged. Conflicted. The guilt within, she loathed the slight effect that Seonghwa had on her. Admittedly, he had taken up residence in her mind as of late. The church bell tolled 3 times from outside, breaking her train of thought and reeling her back into the physical world. She slung her bag over her shoulder, leaving the Holy House. Down the street she walked with her head hung low, absorbed into her own thoughts. Her surroundings of no importance. As she passed a dark alleyway, Seonghwa saw her walk by. Promptly dropping his cigarette and putting it out with his foot, he abandoned his friends and called out to her as he approached. Visibly afeared the moment she stopped in her tracks and met his eyes. He slung his arm over her shoulders, her body reactively tensed up. As she was about to continue her journey, his grip on her shoulders tightened.

"Look, Hwa got himself a neat little stiff." one of the boys taunted, causing the others to snicker and chuckle. "You play with her yet, what she feel like?"

He told her to wait in her spot as he walked back to the group. Locating the owner of said words, he grabbed the side of his head, facilitating a meet-and-greet between his cranium and the brick wall he leaned on. The others stood idly by and watched in horror; they knew better than to go against Seonghwa. The boy grunted in pain, palming the point of impact as he tried to stop the blood. Some of it dripping out of his hand. He warned that any sentiments they held in regard to her, were strictly to be kept to themselves, and that he would not be so kind next time.

She stood silently, watching the scene before her eyes unfolded. With every molecule in her body screaming at her, saying she should go, her instincts told her to remain. To not test his patience, she heeded his instructions and remained cemented to the paving. The fear in her eyes was evident, unmissable. He placed his arm back on her shoulders, making her pull away a bit.

"Relax ave, I'd never hurt you." he brushed her cheek. "Maybe everyone else in this podunk town, not you."

"I shouldn't be seen with you." she whispered, unable to mask the fear in her voice.

"I take it they told you what I did..." he sucked his teeth. "Are you scared of me?" Taking their path down the street, she froze and refused to answer his question, afraid how he may react. "I think we should hang out some time, get to know each other."

There was little to no protest from her end, her resolve coming undone. His hand brushed the side of her face. Try as hard as she may to muster up the strength to ward him off, she could not help but lean into his touch. There was a sort of safety that lingered in the air with his presence. As parlous as he may have seemed, there was a reassuring nature to him she could not deny. He was dependable. Her intuition had never once deceived her but why was she struggling to accept its signals? The contrast between his behaviour and how she felt was dizzying, if anything.

"Why don't you ever look me in the eye?" with his hand, he cocked her head to the side, making her face him.

Her voice caught in her throat. His eyes staring so deeply into her soul, undressing her bit by bit. She could not admit but he knew why. He just wanted to hear her say it. He loved watching his effect on her, how she'd squirm, get shy, feel fearful but still long to know him. The whole way to her house, he exerted a great deal of effort to draw out a meagre 5 words out of her. Despite the lack of conversation on her end, he was intrigued still. Everything about her was unsullied, like a white dove. He saw her conservative nature as an invitation, a challenge, and boy did Seonghwa love proving himself. Regardless of the time it would take him, he assured himself that he'd be the one to pluck the feathers of her purity.

Little by little.

[ . . . ]

In the weeks that followed, she warmed up to him. She blossomed. She spoke more, could hold a conversation for as long as he listened. They'd established a routine for themselves; Wednesdays he'd walk her home from church and Fridays they sat at a bench in the park as they talked for hours or took walks to stretch their legs. Those were his favourite days of the week. How his heart fluttered at the sight of her face. She inspired him to better himself, but only for her. He took a silent vow to always protect her. The idea of another man being near her, touching her, talking to her, caused quite the disturbance in his head.

When she bagged the last of the groceries, she sent off the customer with a goodbye and a smile. Every weekday, aside from Wednesday, she worked afternoon shifts at the local grocery store to earn some extra money. She looked up only to be met with the sight of a visibly fatigued Seonghwa, as he put down a 6-pack of fruit-infused beers. He leaned over the till, giving her his signature grin. The same one that would have her changing into a hue brighter than vermilion.

"Hey, baby girl." he lauded.

Embarrassment washed over her as she put her hand over her face, "Hwa..." she complained.

"What, are you not my baby girl?"

"Hwa!" she warned.

"Fine, I'll stop." he rolled his eyes as he pointed to the shelf behind her. "Give me a pack of Stuyvesant blue there." As she turned to grab the packet of cigarettes, he said, "I love those pictures you sent me last night."

Ringing up both his items and putting them in a bag, she responded with a smile. "You did? I thought the shirt was kinda weird, it's very old."

"You looked adorable, don't sweat it." He paid the total, then brought out his phone to show her his phone. "Made one of them my lockscreen."

She grimaced. "Hwa, that's just weird because we're not dating."

"Yet." his last words before leaving the store. "See you after your shift, okay?"

She waved him off as she fell back into her duties, ringing up customers and sending them off. It was only an hour until she could clock off at 15:00. The time went by a lot faster than she had anticipated. When the arms of the clock were positioned as desired, she went into the staff room and took her bag. Leaving the premises, not far from the entrance, she located Seonghwa's car. She went into the passenger seat. He drove off to the town lake, parking the car under a tree. They moved to the backseat, as Seonghwa proceeded to lock the doors.

Offering her a can of beer, she hesitated. Not a day in her life had she ever tasted alcohol. All she knew was that it was sinful to consume. Her faith was being tested. The longer she kept him in her company, she begun questioning her beliefs, what she had been taught. She could always repent, right? She swiped the beverage from his hold and opened it, dumping a bit of its contents into her mouth. Her body shuddered, face contorting. The bitterness on her tastebuds. A slight smirk danced on Seonghwa's face.

"Hwa, this is nasty." she cried as she handed over the beverage, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

He chuckled. "Can't be that bad? I got the fruity flavours."

"Tastes like acid reflux." she mumbled under her breath.

As soon as he did away with his, he crushed the can, throwing it to the floor. He took her can, slinging his arm over her shoulder as he scooted closer. "Come on, open up."

"But Hwa–" she contested.

"Just trust me." she did as instructed, her jaw going slack as her mouth fell ajar. "First sip is always gross," a stream fell into her mouth. "but the rest goes down like silk."

And he was right. With every sip, the liquid went down with ease. The fizz merely burned her tongue, but drink sashayed down her throat effortlessly. She finished her share, and he threw the empty container to the floor. He caressed her cheek, his thumb brushing on her lower lip. His gaze was intensely focussed on her plump lips. Her heart raced, beating mercilessly insider her chest cavity. They had never been this close before. A mere inch apart. A whiff of his cologne mixed with the scent of tobacco. Whether it was the alcohol's side effects introducing itself or it was a newfound sense of confidence, she took his thumb into her mouth. Softly biting down, her tongue lubricating, she held his gaze. A groan escaped his mouth, bouncing on the walls of the vehicle. An impressed and approving look plastered across his face.

"Didn't know you got down like that." he joked.

Pulling away with a string of saliva lingering, she retorted, "You're teasing." with a pout.

"Just jokes, princess." He craned forward, lips grazing hers. "I wasn't teasing."

He slotted his lips into hers. Heart thumping irrhythmically, all she could hear was their isochronous breaths. He caught her bottom lip, that first taste sending him into a whirlwind of emotions. To her, he tasted like the very thing that was meant to lead her astray, and she was trailing behind with little to no shame hanging over her head. Yet she wanted to best her urges. She was clueless, never having been kissed before. He took note of her apprehension. Guiding her movements, he grabbed the back of her head and buried himself further into her face. The moment was consuming, passionate. They met one another with equal enthusiasm.

As he absorbed her virtue, she accepted his aberrance.

The rubbing of her thighs caught his attention. He knew what that meant. His hand discreetly travelled down her back, gliding down her thigh, and begun pulling on her skirt. Not discreet enough as it seems, as she grabbed his hand, and broke their kiss. Her eyes begging him to not go further, the panic was setting in.

"Don't worry, baby. We won't do anything you're not ready for. Let me help you out, okay?" With an approving nod, she unhanded him, then he proceeded to the top button of her shirt. "You're gonna let me see, right?"

She agreed, as his fingers popped each button, one by one. He went in for another kiss, a deep one. One that would leave her gasping for air. Revealing her breasts held up by a push-up bra. He unclasped it in the front. Bare for him to see it all. He cupped one, kneading, playing. He did the same with the other. He pushed up her skirt, his hand removing her underwear and pocketing them into his sweatpants. She was pooling. When his palm brushed her throbbing bud, she gasped. With his hand palming her, he slid in two fingers, slowing pumping into her. She squirmed in her seat, this sensation, it was foreign. New. No idea how to conduct herself.

"Let loose, princess." he whispered in her ear. "This is all about you. Don't worry about what I think."

And so she did. Every cry, her mewls, it fed his inflating ego. Exactly what he wanted, to be the first to touch her, have her fall apart by him. Her nails dug into the leather seats, head caught in a haze and no words to express her joy. She was teetering on pure bliss. Skin glimmering with sweat. Head thrown back, mouth open. She had never felt so good doing something that encroached on what she had been taught her whole life. Not a care in the world.

Trailing hickeys on her neck, he grunted, "You should see how beautiful you are right now. So... so... perfect for me."

As he delivered the final blow, with just a few more thrusts, she let herself go into his hand. He continued thrusting, assisting her in riding out her high until the very end. Leaving kisses all over her face, reassuring her what an immaculate job she did. Singing praises sweeter than any hymn in her ears. He grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and cleaned her up, also cleaning his hand.

"You did so well."

"You think so?" she blushed, buttoning up her shirt.

"Absolutely." he gave her one last kiss.

But she reached in for another, quite hungry in all honestly. With his arm over her shoulders, her hand glided down from his neck, past his chest and farther down until her fingers grazed the hem of his sweatpants. Promptly, his hand grabbed hers, and without missing a beat, his lips remained on hers. There was a bit of a power struggle ensuing. Every attempt to free her hand, his hold grew tighter.

As she broke their kiss, she looked up at him with doe eyes, pleading, "Hwa..." she complained.

"Sorry princess, we're not exchanging favours. I already told you, we're not doing anything you're not ready for." he pressed his lips on her forehead.

"But we're not, I..." she hung her head as her voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought I was your girl."

Defeatedly, he sighed as he said, "Fine, take it out. I'll guide you."

With a smile, she pecked him on the lips. Her hand slipped into his sweatpants. A tremor travelled up her spine and her eyes widened at its feel on her fingertips. Giving him a worried look, he merely shrugged. She sucked in a deep breath then allowed her hand to fully encapsulate him. Assisting her as she pulled it out, he lowered his pants down a bit. She had no clue what to do as he remained somewhat flaccid in her hand.

"Slowly stroke it, don't rush." he said.

With her eyes trained on his member, she admired its every detail. Unable to remove her eyes. Her hand moved with precision over his shaft, working him up the way she was instructed. He threw his head back, the act fully making him come undone.

"Now spit on it, okay baby?"

She dipped her head as her lips hovered over the tip, puckering, as a sliver of saliva left her mouth and landed on the shaft. Groans filled the silence as he savoured every moment of the intense pleasure. She traced wet kisses along his neck, covering every inch of his tattoo. Her lips eventually found his, his hand planted firmly on the back of her head. His tongue explored every inch of her mouth. As she picked up her speed, he grunted into their kiss.

"This is why you're my favourite girl." his voice carried so low, as he spoke against her lips.

Unhappy with his choice of words, she squeezed him as a warning, making him to jolt in his spot. "I'm your only girl." she said, a tuppence worth of jealousy laced in her tone.

Holding her gaze, "The only girl I'll ever want and need." he amended.

"Promise you'll never leave me?"

"Only if you promise to never leave me?"

As soon as she nodded, her focus was back on his throbbing member. The tip had been leaking profusely in the past couple of minutes, his cum covering her hand. His climax slowly encroached as he felt himself come loose. A spurt shot out and before a further mess could have been made, he grabbed the t-shirt and covered himself, the rest of the warm liquid spraying into the material. Once he'd completely ridden out his high and discarded the used shirt, she ascended to her knees and straddled him. His crotch rubbed against her bare core. Hands clung to his shoulders as he held her by her waist, guiding her. Her head spun as she revelled in the pleasure he provided. It wasn't long until she was doused in another orgasm. With her body shaking, he whispered affirmations into her ear. Rubbing her back as he kissed her neck.

"You're enjoying this a lot more than you're letting on." he coaxed with a grin spread across his face.

A wave of guilt set in once she gathered her composure, "Then why do I feel like I just did something wrong?" she whispered.

He grabbed both sides of her face and looked her in the eyes, "You could be wrong and I'd force everybody to say you're not." he reassured her. "There's nothing wrong with endulging in things that make you feel good, that's the human experience. When the time comes, I'll make you feel all kinds of good. You won't ever wanna feel anything else."

She loved how he made her feel. He loved watching her gradually slip out of her conservative bubble, embracing the truest of her desires. Watching her personality bloom like a sunflower. They were the objects of each other's affection. The extent to which their shared love stretched was like no other. She was his day as he was her night.

The true north to his south-pointing moral compass.

His words gave her the comfort she longed for as a smile danced on her lips, "I'm so happy you're all mine." she pecked him on the lips.

"I'm not going anywhere, pretty girl. We can fight or break up, come hell or high water, you'll never get rid of me." he cupped her chin. "Now, let's get you home."

The drive home was fairly normal. It was when she arrived when all descended to Hell. Her father caught wind of her ongoing association with the town delinquent. Congregants of the church had seen her gallivant about with the boy, bringing this supposed union to his attention. He was sick. Disgusted. When she walked through the door, her father trudged toward her, footsteps heavy.

He grabbed her arm, yelling in her face, "Where have you been?"

Stuttering, "I-I was at w-work." she said.

"Don't lie to me! You've been with that Park boy, haven't you?"

"Dad–" she begged, on the verge of tears.

"Keep quiet!" he snapped.

Her mother intercepted, "Michael, leave the girl alone. I'm sure she meant no harm." she reasoned on her daughter's behalf.

"No, Agnes! You've coddled her too damn long!" he unbuckled his belt and unlooped it from his waist. "He's poisoned her and she needs to be reminded how sinners are punished! She's embarrassing this family!"

The beating was unkind. Regardless of the never-ending pleading, the crying, the screaming, he never stopped until he felt it was enough. With every snap that crackled as the leather met her skin, the more her beliefs dissolved. Her body ached, everywhere. He landed a few hits across her face, the buckle had torn into her skin and left a cut along her jaw, bleeding. Her father confiscated her phone. She sat in front of the vanity mirror, sanitising the wound on her face. There were a few knocks on her door before her mother invited herself inside. She stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, watching her daughter in the mirror. She had spent so much of her life doing the "right thing", only for a lapse of judgement to deliver her the consequences of her ill-informed decisions in the form of a black leather belt.

"Your father does not hate you, sweetie." her mother opined. "He was merely reacting out of love. He wants to protect you from people like Seonghwa. He is not a good person, you understand that, right?"

She forced a half-hearted smile, whilst looking at her mother in the mirror. "I know. Misguidance must be rectified in the most extreme manner if you want immediate results."

"I knew you'd understand. Goodnight sweetie."

Sleep could not find her. She laid awake, staring at the ceiling. It was 01:00 in the morning. Only one thought raced through her mind. She had finally had enough. Constantly being pushed around, having her life path laid out for her by her parents, all in the name of a religion that allowed for far worse offenses to transpire. She put on her sweatpants and a warm hoodie, and boots. She leapt out of her bedroom window and trekked to Seonghwa's family home. She knocked on his window a couple of times before he awoke. He opened his window, welcoming her inside.

"It's 1 in the morning, what are you doing here?" he asked, a yawn breaking out.

She ignored his question, too upset to say a word. It was too dark for him to see anything, but as she stripped down to her shirt and shorts, a bit of her face was caught in the moonlight. The plaster on her jaw, the bruises all over her body, all evident. His eyes grew to the size of golf balls, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the window.

"What the hell happened to you?" he eyebrows furrowed, rage slowly ensuing. "You were perfectly fine when I dropped you off."

A self-amused chuckle escaped her mouth as she winced from the pain. "My dad decided to teach me the lesson of a lifetime." she brushed his bare torso, then grabbed the hem of his loose-fitting pants, looking him in the eye. "I don't wanna talk about it, Hwa."

He caught on fast and he was not about to reason with her. What his angel wanted, she would receive at the snap of the finger. They laid down on the bed. Head rested on the pillows as he hovered over her. He undressed her until fully nude, discarding of her shirt and shorts. Lips peppering wet kisses across her collarbones and over her breasts. Her whimpering overwhelming his senses. The taste of her skin, the shape of her body, he was in awe. She successfully pushed his pants all the way down with her feet, until he kicked them off himself. He groaned as his hard-on rubbed against her drenched and aching core.

She wanted to feel him inside of her walls, grinding. "Seonghwa, please..." she whined.

Anytime there was distance, she'd inch closer to feel him rubbing against her. He ran his tip through her folds until he halted at her entrance. Slowly easing in, he could cum in that instant at the feel of her warmth. He pressed deeper inside as he felt her grow tighter. She bit down on her finger, trying to keep from moaning. The pain was uncomfortable with her legs quaking. He bucked her hips up and thrusted deeper until he reached his end. He slowly stroked her until she grew accustomed to the rhythm, with no pain. Her body was heated, spiralling. Feeling him inside her made her forget all her worries. He balanced himself on his elbows. As his speed and impact picked up, the bed squeaked. They locked lips, desperate to devour each other. Just spit and teeth clashing. Legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Nails etching art into his back, drawing out just a bit of blood.

Pure delirium.

"Oh my god, oh my god..." she cried as he brushed past her sweet spot whenever he knocked her cervix.

Forehead pressed against hers, he said. "You're right, I am your god."

He held her hands above her head, pinning them down into the pillow. Hand on her neck, he muted out her soft mewls with a kiss. With their impending releases, his hips moved sporadically. Grinding harder with every thrust. En masse, they orgasmed as he thrusted the cum back inside of her. He laid on top of her as they made out for a few moments. Never pulling out, they laid on their sides facing one another. Her hands roaming all over her chest, fingers tracing his neck tattoo. His arm over her waist as he rubbed her back, studying the bruises on her face. It was only then she truly understood the hold she had on Seonghwa, it was never the other way around. And she was going to use her influence to her advantage.

"Hwa, I really don't like my dad..." fingers still tracing his tattoo, her eyes trained on his.

He nodded, well aware of her growing frustration. "I was gonna tell you on Friday but I think now would be perfect." he brushed her hair. "My old man got me a job with a friend in Old Western. I'll be moving there. No point in asking, I'll just take you with instead."

[ . . . ]

It had been 3 weeks since the incident at home, since everything that night transpired. Her bruises had healed but the scar on her jaw was far from. Her father still had her phone. The lack of contact with Seonghwa made him grow increasingly ired to worrying degrees. She did not interact with her family either, only leaving her room to use the bathroom. The night before, Seonghwa paid her a visit, sneaking into her room through the window. He told her what to do and what time he would be collecting her. She packed her belongings into a duffel bag. Sneaking out through the window, she got into Seonghwa's car.

He parked the car far from prying eyes and left her inside. In a dark passage, Seonghwa and his friends stood there, whilst he smoked his cigarette. The doorbell of the store sounded and seconds later, Y/N's father walked by. Seonghwa appeared before him. Eyes cold, face stern and impossible to read. Her father stopped in his tracks. As he took a few steps back, Seonghwa's friends appeared from behind.

"Hey Father Hubert," he blew out smoke. "this won't take long."

His friends dragged Father Hubert into the passageway and pinned him up against the wall, his mouth covered. Seonghwa took his cigarette, still alight, and pressed the butt into his cheek. The burn seared into him as his skin changed colour. His pained screams were muffled. Squirming in their hold but he just couldn't get out. Seonghwa drew on the cigarette one last time to get the butt to light up again. He forced the lit cigarette into Father Hubert's mouth and clamped his mouth shut.

"I don't like you interfering in my relationship," Seonghwa seethed. "and I sure as hell don't appreciate you beating on my girl either. I'm leaving town and I'm taking her with me. If you or your bitch wife try to find her, I'll do more than just feed you a lit cigarette."

Seonghwa dropped his hand from Father Hubert's mouth, letting the shrilled cries escape. He choked on his breath as the damp cigarette fell out of his mouth. His friends begun pounding away, fists meeting his face, his body. Kicks here and there. He could not fend for himself, only holding up his arms to shield his face.

"Not too much on him," Seonghwa reprimanded his friends. "Y/N's gonna hate me if you actually killed him."

They left Father Hubert in the passageway, crouched on the floor, bruised and mildly bloodied. Seonghwa went into the store and bought a few snacks and solid foods for her to eat, before returning to his car. He handed the bag over to her, as she rummaged, then bringing out a veggie wrap. He turned on the engine and headed for the nearest exit, leading them onto a freeway.

"You found what you we're looking for?" she asked.

"No, I'll get it elsewhere." he responded. He briefly looked at her as she enjoyed her first meal in weeks. "You're gonna love the loft I got us. It's above a coffee shop, opposite a library. There's also a duck pond a few blocks away."

She swallowed her food, looking at him with much adoration. "Hwa?" he turned to her. "I love you."

His smile slowly materialised, he knew exactly where he stood with his feelings. He never thought their relationship would go that far. So far removed from how everything first begun.

"I love you too."

.

.

.

taglist:

@aurora-tiny @fireseo

[princessbrunette]

Something deranged happened within me after watching Rafe tie up the guard in season three and said "don’t make a sound, alright"😵‍💫

༘⋆🩶⸝⸝🐰⊹。°˖➴

right because it makes me think of having a quickie in a bathroom cubicle at the country club. he’s got a hand around your jaw, and an arm around your waist as he ruts into you from behind, blowing quiet moans out his nose as he focuses on gliding in and out your pretty hole. he’s in a very serious and focused mood, whilst you maybe have had a glass of wine at the club bar, giggly and flirty enough for you to have wound up in this position in the first place.

you’re whimpering, a pleased little smile on your face — and when the bathroom doors swing open, rafe freezes with his dick pushed in to the hilt, hand that was around your jaw slamming over your mouth.

“don’t make a sound, alright?” he warns, a whisper in your ear and you nod. he listens for the person rustling about for a few more seconds before he slowly draws back out and starts grinding his dick inside you again. your eyes flutter shut, the pace making it ten times harder to stay quiet. when he snakes a hand between your legs and starts to stroke your clit, you can’t help but release a quiet pained whine.

“you okay in there sweetheart?” a woman’s voice from the next stall calls out, making rafe freeze again. you draw in a shaky breath, and he gives your thigh a light tap to silently command that you answer her.

“uh, yeah. all good, just… these terrible cramps.” you excuse, and she hums out a noise of pity.

“oh well i’ve been there, you need anything? a tampon? pain killer?”

“no no, i’m okay— thank you.” you squeak when rafe rewards your quick thinking by rubbing your clit once more.

the woman goes on her merry way, washing her hands and soon exiting as the two of you stay very still — praying she doesn’t see the extra pair of feet beneath the gap in the cubicle door. as soon as she’s gone, he starts his wrath on your cunt once more — moving quicker and more brutal than before.

“fuck, what’d i tell you huh?”

༘⋆🩶⸝⸝🐰⊹。°˖➴

[mackjlee9]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Male!Reader [Smut]

What happens when Ghost hears (M/n) singing 'Simon Says'? Well, he's gonna play with him.

Warning; blowjob, cum eating, overstimulation, fwb au, sub!top!reader, dom!bottom!ghost.

Masterlist.

It was sort of a day off for the Task Force 141 team, they didn't have any missions or jobs they had to do, so they were just chillin' around the base, training or just relaxing and having fun, the new recruits playing outside and being normal kids instead of military cadets.

(M/n) had gotten up a little later than usual, and he was ready to start his day, unaware of what would happen hours later.

//////

It was kind of a boring day, too calm and quiet, nothing much occurred and by the end of the day, (M/n) walked into the kitchen after showering, his stomach growling for some food, making himself a sandwich, and drinking some water. His earphones playing music and he unconsciously started singing to himself the song that was currently playing.

Well, that's what he thought.

Outside the kitchen door, was a tall, masked man about to walk in when he heard a voice he knew very well.

"Let's play a game called Simon Says," he stopped and looked at the unaware male, noticing the cable around his neck and dangling in front of his chest, following it down to his phone in his pocket, "Simon Says, spread open your legs and put your hands behind your head~"

It was clear to Ghost now that (M/n) had no idea that he was standing behind, staring at him so intensely.

"Simon Says, take a deep breath 'cause tonight we're gonna make a mess~," he turned around with his sandwich in his hand, about to take a bite out of it when he saw Ghost standing by the kitchen door, "Oh, Lieutenant! Didn't see you there," internally, (M/n) was freaking out, almost praying his superior didn't hear him singing, but at that moment, embarrassment filled his body, realizing what song he was listening to and who the man in front of him was.

Simon Riley... Damn, (M/n) had never felt his face heating up so much.

Reaching his free hand, he pressed the button on the cable of his earphones, and the music came to a stop as he stared at his Lieutenant. His... fuck buddy as well.

"Do you need anything, sir?" He asked trying not to stutter, preventing his voice from trembling or cracking.

He watched as Ghost walked up to him and pinned him to the counter behind him, leaning dangerously close to his face, whispering over his lips, his warm breath getting through his balaclava.

"Let's go to my room, Sergeant."

//////

Pinned to the bed, (M/n) holds onto Ghost's hands holding his head in place, his bigger body on top of his, straddling his hips, grinding their erections on each other, causing (M/n) to whine and Ghost to groan.

Breaking their kiss, Ghost leaned back, his hand reaching his balaclava, (M/n) thought he was gonna take it off, but he only fixed it slightly higher up his nose before leaning down again, his lips gracing (M/n)'s.

"Spread open your legs, (M/n)," a shiver ran down his spine at Ghost's deep, rumbly voice, but as he watched him get off the bed, he did as told, albeit a little embarrassed to do so.

Without a word uttered, Ghost hooked his fingers on the waistband of (M/n)'s pants, pulling them down and letting them fall somewhere near their discarded boots, and slowly he knelt between his spread legs, pulling his underwear enough to free his cock.

He licked it slowly for a short while, focusing on his tip and the underside of it, making (M/n)'s hands pull on his own shirt, his hips squirming a bit in place, but soon, his lips were wrapped around the glistening head, hearing (M/n)'s whine and feeling him thrust his hips up into his mouth.

Ghost took that as a 'keep going', his hands sliding under (M/n)'s thighs to grip his hips, pulling him as close as he could to him, gagging around his cock as he took every inch in his mouth and down his throat.

(M/n)'s hands had gone up to press against his mouth to try and muffle his moans, but as he was about to reach his climax, his hands went down to hold onto Ghost's head, wanting to use his mouth like a toy, but he didn't let him.

Ghost pried (M/n)'s hands away from his head, releasing his cock from his mouth, "Hands behind your head."

Holding in a whine, (M/n) obeyed yet again, and soon Ghost resumed the stimulation on his cock, sucking on the dripping tip and dragging his tongue along the prominent veins on (M/n)'s cock. Occasionally, his eyes would avert upward, taking in (M/n)'s pleasured expression as he bit his lip and gripped the pillow under his head.

Ghost felt his cock twitch in the confinement of his clothes, and he couldn't stop himself from grinding on the bed as he hears (M/n) struggling to keep himself quiet, his hips lifting off the bed as Ghost lets him fuck his mouth, the feeling making (M/n) roll his eyes into be back of his head.

He can't take it, can't hold it anymore, Ghost's mouth feels so good~

He lets out a choked moan, cumming in Ghost's mouth. But that doesn't stop the Lieutenant, he keeps eagerly sucking and licking every inch of his twitching cock until he comes again, every drop of cum filling his mouth. Ghost himself whines as his hips stutter, his cum wetting his underwear like a horny teen, and he doesn't care about that, after all, he's not done with (M/n) yet.

Taking (M/n)'s cock out of his mouth, the (h/c) haired male watches with hazy eyes, observing how some of his cum dripped down the corners of his mouth, and damn, he has never seen something so hot and lewd in his life. He drags his fingers around his lips and picks up the warm cum back in his mouth.

Kneeling back on the bed he takes his shirt off and hurries to do the same with his pants, soon straddling (M/n)'s and slowly grinding back on his hardening cock.

He can't hold back the smirk on his face as he looked down at (M/n), feeling the Sergeant's hands on his hips to stop him from stimulating his sensitive cock. Ghost observes (M/n) disheveled form and releases a low, rumbly chuckle that resonates in his chest.

"Take a deep breath, 'cause..." He leaned down and kissed (M/n), the taste of his own cum making the (h/c) haired male whimper in Ghost's mouth, "Tonight we're gonna make a mess, I feel like playing..." His hand gripped (M/n)'s hair, making the male groan at his rough handling, "A game called, Simon Says."

(M/n) stares at him with wide eyes, his cock twitching as he realized Simon indeed heard him singing earlier, and he seemed to have liked the song.

Perhaps a little too much.

[matchavellichor]

Just This Once Pt. 3

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW - 3.1k words - ao3

A/N: final part!! left it a bit vague/open-ended but i hope the sneaky mc is implied enough 🫣

Tags: Pining, Requited Love, Obsession, Slight Somnophilia, Thigh Riding

Part 1, Part 2

Ominis stirs to a warm body curled against his, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, soft breathing sending little shivers of pleasure where it puffs against his skin. Maybe he’s died and gone to heaven. Considering everything he’s done, he quickly dismisses the possibility.

Realization steadily dawns on him on who exactly he’s holding and his arms tighten instinctively around her waist, as if he can somehow defy the laws of physics and mold her figure with his own. Her smell is all over him, a dizzying and intoxicating aroma, and he buries his nose in the crown of her head, inhaling deeply and praying her scent will forever be impregnated on his sheets.

He hopes it’ll be a while before she wakes. 

He contemplates the longevity of the dose he’d given her last night as his hand trails up her arm, tracing smooth planes he’s far too familiar with by now. That usual pounding in his chest awakens with the contact, almost like clockwork, sounding deafeningly in his ears as he takes his time exploring. His heart is in his throat by the time he dips his finger under silk ever so slightly, slips the thin little strap of her negligee down her shoulder. Something inside him tells him he shouldn’t, but his brain hasn’t woken up enough to pay any heed to its warnings. 

His fingers dust over exposed, sleep-warm skin and he revels in its softness, a sensation that fills him with the strange desire to ruin. To bite, and mark, and take, to make his. These urges don’t faze him anymore at this point, and he’s long accepted his own fallibility by the first time he’d had his hands all over her. Denying it any longer would be absurd, even for someone as delusional as him. 

Before he can consider it properly, he tilts his chin down and presses his lips to the sensitive juncture of her neck and shoulder, imagining this is something he has some sort of right to wake up to every day, some right to wake her up to. She’s so devastatingly warm, and he earns a surge of adrenaline from the feeling of her pulse pressed right against his mouth, almost beating in synchrony with his own.

She doesn’t stir as he trails up her neck with feather-light kisses, but something else does, a far too recognizable sensation. That familiar aching fire he feels in his gut, that seeps down lower and lower towards his groin, sears his very nerves and courses red-hot heat through his blood. He used to feel some level of revulsion, self-reproach, shame. Now all he can feel is how perfect she is pressed so tightly against him, too overwhelming to preoccupy himself with any other thoughts.

His tongue dips out to lick a stripe under her jaw, but he only tastes her briefly before he stops himself. He’s so achingly hard in his trousers already. He should be embarrassed—he would if he had even the slightest sense of shame. He doesn’t. 

The only thing stopping him from unsheathing himself, indulging, slick and warm in his own fist, is the thought that she could wake at any time. Even then, it’s only faulty hesitations that stop him, waning and flimsy in the face of his overwhelming desire. 

He lets his cheek press to the top of her head and closes his eyes, focusing on her soft breathing against the underside of his jaw, trying to gain some level of self-restraint. It’s like she was made to exhaust every last shred of it.

Some sick part of him is tempted to dose her with more of the potion lying on his bedside table. Pry her mouth open and keep her pliant for him for a few more hours. He could have his way with her again, stretch this blissful moment out as long as possible.

Rationally, he knows he can’t. Reason steadily seeps into his infatuated brain and dismisses any fantasies he has of holding her all day, touching and caressing, and taking advantage, to the fullest, sickest extent of the word. He knows that their friendship dangles over a precipice by a thread at the moment, that any moment she’ll wake and realize where she is and what he’s done to her, and she’ll be repulsed by him.

The thought makes his chest tighten, douses him in a bucket of cold water and finally pushes him to carefully, reluctantly, disentangle his body from hers and pull away. The loss of her warmth is like a knife being driven into his chest, but almost immediately after he unwraps his arms from her waist, she wakes, blinking drowsily at him in the dimly-lit room.

“Ominis?” His name on her tongue is quiet and sleep-rough, and the sound only serves to worsen the tender wound in his heart, making the urge to pull her back into his arms almost unbearable.

He clears his throat, his chest pounding as he scrambles for an excuse after clearly having been so close to her. “Sorry, I’m–I’m sorry, I was just—”

“Will you come back to bed?”

He stills. He has half a mind to imagine he’s misheard her, or that she’s still under the influence to request such a thing. When she doesn’t get a response she sinks back against the pillows, shifting towards the edge of the bed and patting the open space beside her. 

“Please?”

His body moves of its own accord before he can properly rationalize any part of this. She’s obviously not in any right state of mind—she can’t be. She’ll be disgusted with him as soon as she comes to her senses. He can’t fathom being wanted, not like this, much less by her. Despite these thoughts, he climbs under the covers beside her, his heart stuttering in his chest when she immediately tucks herself into his side, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

He goes rigid as a board. The notion that he’s died and gone to heaven suddenly seems more plausible again, even if all parts of him imagine the notion absurd. There’s no part of him that doubts that the figure snuggled around him is anything less than an angel, however. 

He hesitantly pulls one of his arms over her body, holding her, but not in the way he truly wants to. He restrains himself, even if his willpower feels bent to the brink of snapping with how warm and soft she feels. 

“Is–Is this alright?” He asks, something he’s admittedly unaccustomed to doing. The words sound foreign in his mouth. 

She nods against his skin, soft hair tickling the underside of his jaw. “You can touch me,” she murmurs, voice small as if she’s admitting to a secret. “I like it when you do.”

She sounds so sincere. It rips Ominis apart. 

Those simple little words are enough to knock all the air out of his lungs, devastating —in all the good ways the word can be. He presses his nose to her temple so his next inhale will be nothing but her, wanting his lungs filled, hoping she’ll occupy every single cavity. He doesn’t know what to do with so much unrestrained permission to touch. Hesitantly, inevitably, he indulges.

Her skin feels novel under his fingertips as he ponders the incredulous reality that the reason he’s holding her is because she asked him to, and not because he’s forced his will again. Any exhilaration he’s felt exploring her before is incomparable to the sensation he feels with the simple brush of his thumb over her collarbone knowing she actually welcomes his eager hands.

He isn’t sure what he’s ever done to deserve this. 

He’s absolutely certain of all the things he’s done to never be even the smallest fraction worthy, however, and the sudden feeling of guilt begins to encroach on the bliss he should feel in the moment. Her chest pressed against his, her breathing ghosting his cheek, it slips him back to all the ways he’s violated her trust. Taken from her what she now gives him so willingly. 

He should confess. He should be honest with her about everything, if he wants even the slightest chance at redeeming himself. He should—

His brain whites out when she shifts to hitch a leg over his waist, and he suddenly becomes acutely aware of just how bare she is underneath her chemise, pressed right against his thigh. What was it he should be doing again?

His heart skips a few beats, and then a couple more, and then his hands are flying to meet her waist, to stop her from doing any more adjusting and sending him to a much-too-early grave via cardiac arrest.

Did he not put her knickers back on her last night? How could he be such a fool? Does she realize? She must, he posits. Yet, miraculously, she hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t made a single comment about her bareness. In fact, she seems perfectly content, blissfully comfortable as she stretches her body out over his, infuriatingly unaware of how terribly she’s ruining him.

Ominis’ thoughts of doing the right thing, of redemption and conciliation, of treating the precious thing in his arms the way she deserves to be treated, disintegrates along with the last vestiges of his self-restraint. He trails a hand over the thigh bracketed over his hips, and rests it there, still and neutral, and very much not taking advantage, he tells himself.

But then she sighs, a gratified little sound, and he shatters.  

He lets his palm drag over her skin, lower and lower towards her knee before making its journey back up, stroking tenderly, tracing every contour with his thumb. He lets his other hand rub comforting circles on her back, basking in the warmth that seeps through the silk of her gown. A smile tugs at his lips at the quiet hum of approval she gives him, making him feel all more justified in his decision to touch. 

“Feels nice,” she murmurs, voice still drowsy, just the way he likes her.

“You feel nice,” he confesses. 

He doesn’t ask for permission when he drags his hands higher up her thigh, thumb brushing over the dip of her hipbone, peeking under satiny silk. She doesn’t protest, almost as if she’s used to him not asking by now. 

“Always feel so nice,” he murmurs aimlessly before he can stop himself, words drenched in admiration. “So soft. Never felt anything so soft”

He lets his hands drag higher, under, her breath hitching from the contact, a little gasp let out where she tries to hide her face against his neck. So shy. He wonders if she’d be so demure if she knew how eagerly he’d already explored all those intimate parts of her, both with his lips and with his fingers.

His palms find purchase on either side of her hips and he barely has to apply any pressure before she’s shifting on her own accord, pressing herself against his thigh, her body seeking him out even if her brain hasn’t caught up to the notion yet. He intakes a sharp breath and exhales a curse against her shoulder.

She stills, as if she isn’t currently straddling his leg, as if her nails aren’t leaving little red crescents on his forearm, and her traitorous breathing isn’t revealing everything she feels at the moment.

He knows what she needs, and gets a strange thrill out of being able to give it to her, even if she doesn’t know how to ask quite yet. Lucky for her, he’s very good at taking without asking. 

He only needs to apply a little pressure for her hips to move. Just a tiny push, a barely-there nudge for her perfect body to grind right up against him, bare mound rubbing against the soft cotton of his trousers. Her cheek is searing where it’s pressed against his shoulder, chin tucked at his collarbones, shame painting her face a pretty red.

“It’s alright,” he reassures, voice low and tender as if he’s soothing a startled animal. As if he might break her out of the spell he finds her in. “You’re okay. Just let me take care of you. You don’t have to do a thing, angel.”

She doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need her to. He plants a kiss to the top of her head and slowly guides her movements, little stuttered rolls of her hips against his, an excruciatingly languid pace, but he’s never had more patience in the world. She rocks herself against his thigh until there’s a wet spot on his pants, the realization making his entire world tilt left and his head spin.

He has her. Actually has her. Grinding on his lap, muffling pleas against his skin, soaking through the material of his trousers. There’s a surreality to the entire thing that guides all of his actions, makes him more unabashed, his fingers digging into her hips and paying no mind to any marks he might leave.

He seeks his own pleasure as he helps her seek hers, fixates on all the ways he can make her toes curl against his calves, where that sensitive little part of her catches on something punishing and she keens. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, voice hoarse, a burning that only comes from true, unashamed passion. The slightest hint of mirth bleeds through his tone, depravely satisfied. “You like this, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, still playing coy. He finds he likes it when she pretends.

“You do,” he whispers, lips pressed to the shell of her ear. “You think I can’t feel how much of a mess you’re making on my trousers, hm?”

Her response is a stifled cry, body shuddering under his compelling hands, clinging to every praise he whispers in her ear. He’s never felt so unashamed before, so disgustingly bold, drunk on the arousal he feels from her lithe body humping his.

“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?” He asks, teeth scraping at the sensitive lobe of her ear, dragging down her skin until she whines. “My sweet, sweet girl. I’ve wanted you, too. Wanted you for so long.”

She unburies her face from his neck, cheeks flushed a crimson hue, stray hairs sticking to her temples. He can’t see her, but her stuttered breathing against his lips is all he needs to know she’s a mess.  

He wants to reach out, cup her face, stroke her skin, but she doesn’t grant him the opportunity. In the very next moment, she’s surging forward to capture his lips in hers, desperate and urgent and wholly unashamed. He groans into her mouth, an almost tortured sound that her lips rip easily from the back of his throat. 

This kiss is different. 

Far better than anything he could ever have experienced before, any reciprocation that the Imperius could hope to replicate, any softness he could strive to receive from her sleeping form. 

This kiss is enough to destroy him, leave him gutted and flayed open, and evidently it’s enough to do the same to her, as she’s pushed almost immediately over the edge of ecstasy. 

Her whole body tenses, perfect and rigid yet somehow still so unbelievably malleable against his, a delicious contradiction. He swallows every last moan she lets out against his lips, every hitching gasp and strangled whimper. Her fingers curl into the front of his shirt for support, and his hands never leave her hips as he guides her through her high, in the same fashion his mouth never disconnects from hers.

Only when she manages to grow even pinker in the face, lungs burning and chest heaving against his, do they finally break, hot and heavy pants puffing against swollen, kiss-bruised lips. Ominis feels he might faint.

Miraculously, he only lets his head fall back against the pillow as he tries to gain some level of motor coordination. She huffs a soft, pleasure-drunk laugh against his cheek, mumbles something he can’t quite hear over the ringing in his ears.

Only when she finally moves, shifting over his body to a more comfortable position, does awareness flood back into him. Slowly, she pulls herself from his limp-muscled body, unslots herself from his now cum-slick leg. Ominis mourns the loss of the wet-hot heat of her, but she quickly rectifies it with a kiss against his cheek and her arms clinging tight around his waist.

“You’re perfect,” she whispers, voice quiet but far from meek when she says it. It sounds almost like forgiveness, but he can’t begin to fathom the meaning behind it in the state he’s in.

He feels too drunk on sheer euphoria, an involuntary smile pulling at his lips. He’s shared something beautiful with her, something good for once. Something he thought he was incapable of for the longest time. Overwhelmed by the feeling that all he can do is destroy, hurt, ruin. 

There’s still that contrite voice in his head, but it's soothed now, a mere whisper, acquiesced by some strange sense of absolution he’s received from her. The itch to say something, to confess, to ask for forgiveness is there, but it’s faint. Bearable. 

“I’ll never hurt you,” he says in place of an admission, a promise more to himself than to her. He leaves out the again even though the word rings slightly in his ears. Guilt is an easy thing to ignore when you have the object of all of your desires swaddled in your arms. “I swear it to you.”

She pulls back to study him for a beat, the slightest hint of knowing behind her eyes, before she smiles and presses her forehead against his own. “I know that, silly. I’ve always trusted you,” she noses at his cheek, lips tilting down to press against the corner of his mouth, brief and reassuring. “Always.”

The smile he returns her is rueful, forced. He feels the words catch on his tongue again, a heavy knot that he tries to force down, but every swallow sticks to his throat. He kisses her before she can decipher the remorse behind it. 

Her kiss melts his worries away like sugar cubes in hot tea, dissolving into insignificant little particles. Before, he wasn’t sure if he’d be okay with her never knowing, but now he thinks he can manage keeping a secret if it means he can keep her. Forever, indefinitely, as long as time will permit it.

He presses his lips to the top of her head and lets his eyes flutter closed, in a state of genuine peace for the first time in months, years. Somewhere beneath the tranquility, possession broils quietly in his blood, a litany of mine, mine, mine—a sense of blissful conquest. She seems to sense it, somehow, welcomes it.

There’s the slightest quirk of her lips at the corner, a soft smile. One he wouldn’t be able to see anyway, even if she weren’t hiding it against the crook of his neck. Quiet, cunning, yet intrinsically content. Like the cat that caught the canary, or even, a particularly sly snake that had found its way inside her garden.