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purple-obsidian · 1 year ago

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appearances (18+, dick grayson x fem reader) wc 6.7k

⭓ this post contains sexual content and is not suitable for minors. special shoutout to @janybabyy for helping me edit this monstrosity. reader is a member of the titans, afab, uses she/her pronouns, and has an established friendship with dick.

Dick's arm is draped around your waist, holding your body close while his enchanting laughter rings in your ear, reacting to a story being told by the other couple sharing the elevator.

"I'm telling the truth! Swear on my life, he actually said that!" The man across from you says, grinning and chuckling. A soft ding grabs your attention, and you clear your throat, looking up at Dick with a soft smile.

"Well, this is our floor. We'll see you in the morning!" You promise, letting Dick pick up your suitcase for you and lead the way. You make your way down the hallway, reading the room numbers as you get closer to the one the receptionist scribbled on your key card. You feel exhausted, and after a long day of pretending to be a happy couple with your teammate, you're happy that it's finally time to rest. You retrieve the room key from your pocket when you finally reach your door, and open it wide for Dick so he can carry your bags in.

You flick the light switch on, taking in the cheap carpeting, generic artwork, and a single queen bed centered on the far wall. "Um... Dick?"

"Hm?" He turns to you, looking just as tired as you feel, no longer fronting as an excited newly-wed. "What is it?"

"Didn't you request a room with two beds?"

His bright blue eyes dart to the singular bed, shoulders slumping in defeat when he realizes there was a mix up in your reservation. "Shit. Lemme call the front desk."

"They're probably full," you comment, letting yourself fall into one of the chairs by the window, sinking down with a tired sigh and kicking off your heels, "Between the convention and the concert this weekend, I'll be shocked if they have any other rooms free."

Dick ignores you, setting down your luggage and walking over to the corded phone on the bedside table. He picks up the receiver, punches the button for guest services, and waits patiently for them to answer. You take a deep breath, relaxing and letting your mind wander as he speaks with the operator, who confirms that there are no more rooms available.

Dick hangs up the phone with a grumble, glancing behind him to look at you.

"Told you so." You chide, a playful grin on your lips.

"I'm sorry," Dick plops himself down on the side of the bed and groans. "There isn't even a pull-out couch."

"We'll be fine," You tell him dismissively, yawning and stretching your hands over your head, "It's only a few nights."

"I can sleep on the floor if you'd be more comfortable that way," He offers, rubbing his eyes.

"As long as you keep your hands to yourself, we'll be fine."

The first night you share a bed, Dick does keep his hands to himself. You're both so exhausted that you fall into a deep sleep almost immediately, making your proximity less awkward. You toss and turn here and there, but otherwise, the night goes on without issue.

The second night is another story.

After another long day of working undercover as newlyweds attending a couples conference, you and Dick are at each other's throats over a disagreement regarding the innocence of the man leading it. You both act your part all day. You kiss his cheek when others are looking. Dick makes an pointed effort to be handsy, ensuring he's touching you in some way whenever appropriate. But once you're in the privacy of the hotel room, the masks come down, and you are at each other's throats, arguing in hushed tones and bickering over what you observed today.

"Why the fuck did you invite me along on this mission if you didn't want my opinion?" You ask harshly, fumbling with the clasp of your necklace as you stand in front of the bathroom mirror, attempting to remove it so you can shower.

"I couldn't have come alone! It would have been suspicious, and Donna was busy, so you were my only option!"

"Gee, thanks Dick. That makes me feel real good about myself." You hiss, fumbling again with the tiny clasp, "Why couldn't you bring Wally?"

"You know our suspect is homophobic, if I showed up with a man as my partner there's no way I'd be able to get close enough to him!" Dick notices you struggling with your necklace. He sighs, and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, "Need some help with that?"

"Fuck off," You mumble dismissively, giving up your efforts, "Screw it, I'll just leave it on."

You reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, throwing it angrily to the ground. Dick watches, eyes widening a little, unable to stop himself from checking you out and admiring the lacy bra you're wearing, his anger diffusing.

"You mind? I need to shower, give me some privacy," You snap, waving your hand at him dismissively.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” Dick growls, coming up behind you, sandwiching your body between him and the vanity, “Hold still.”

You huff, but relax and accept his help remove the chain. His hands are warm against your neck, quickly unclasping the lock and setting the necklace down next to you. You choose to ignore the way his eyes wander, admiring your reflection in the mirror.

“Thanks,” You grumble, your annoyance quickly subsiding, but you keep your eyes narrowed at him.

Maybe you are a bit stubborn.

“Yeah, yeah. Just hurry up, okay? I gotta shower too,” He reminds you before leaving the bathrrom, stealing one last glance at your half naked body and closing the door behind him.

Feeling bitter, you take your time with an extra long, extra hot shower, shaving your legs, exfoliating, deep conditioning your hair, not caring if you’re being petty. You linger, too, lotioning your whole body and applying your hair products, not missing a single step in your routine.

When you finally exit the steamy bathroom, Dick is sitting at the small desk in your room, doing something on his laptop. You walk out in your robe, smoothing your freshly washed hair and making your way over to your suitcase.

“Took you long enough,” Dick comments, giving you a pointed side-eye.

“Sorry,” You mumble, rummaging around for your sleep clothes, “All yours now.”

Waiting until he finishes up and locks himself in the bathroom, you quickly change and crawl into your side of the bed, cozying up to the pillow that smells faintly of bleach. You relax, listening to the muffled sound of running water coming from the bathroom. He's quick enough that you're still awake when he's done. Dick exits the bathroom, hair dripping wet, wearing nothing but his boxers.

"You used all the hot water."

You peek an eye open to glare at him, resenting his accusation, "It's a hotel, Dick. It's going to take a lot more than my twenty minute shower to make the whole building run out of hot water. Maybe you just don't know how to work the faucet."

You notice him shivering, and a pang of guilt eats away at you. But you stand by what you said.

"You took at least 30 minutes. And are you kidding me? You think I'm the type of guy that can't figure out a faucet?"

"Well, no, before this little trip of ours, I didn't think that. But seeing as you can't figure out our guy is guilty when the evidence is laid out in front of you like Thanksgiving dinner, my opinion on your intelligence might be changing."

He grinds his teeth, popping his jaw and clenching his fists at his side until his knuckles crack, "Shoulda brought Wally."

You lift your head so you can glare at him with both eyes, but Dick is already grabbing the comforter and sheet to yank them off the bed, leaving you shivering and exposed.

"Whatthefuck?!" You shriek, pulling your knees to your chest reflexively at the rush of cold air.

Dick jumps onto the bed, pulling the blankets over both of you, and with little effort he pulls your body against his, "I'm fucking freezing." He hisses through gritted teeth, "And I'm about to make it your problem.”

The chill radiating off of his stone-cold chest and body quickly seeps through the thin cotton of your t-shirt and sleep shorts. Flinching, you shiver and claw at the edge of the bed to pull yourself away from him. "Dick! G-Get off of me! This isn't f-funny!" You stammer in desperation.

"No, it isn't."

You long for the satisfaction of smacking the smirk off of him. You can't even see his face since your back is to him, but when you hear his taunting, you just know the cocky bastard is smiling. His strong, cold arms force your back to go flush with his chest again as he wrestles with you, utilizing his jiu-jitsu skills to pin you under him and prevent you from escaping his grasp.

"GET. OFF!!" You yell again.

Dick promptly slaps his right hand over your mouth, bringing his lips to your ear and shushing you. "Remember, we're in a hotel. People could hear you if you screamed. Last thing we need to do is blow our cover."

You groan and struggle to shake your head free of his hand, which is fruitless, but Dick takes pity on you and removes his hand after watching you struggle for a moment.

"This is assault, you know," You growl at him angrily, "You're h-holding me against my will."

"Oh please, I've done worse to you during training. You're fine. Just let me hold you for a minute until I can warm up. You owe me that much," Dick holds you closer to him, and he isn't lying, He really is as cold as an ice cube. Keeping you pinned against the bed, he holds you, fearful that you'll shy away and refuse to share your body heat. But you know when you're beat. The soft spot you have for him trumps your annoyance, and you accept your fate.

You really didn't mean to make him suffer, you just took a tad longer washing yourself than normal. Could it really be your fault that there was no hot water? You take these next few minutes of discomfort to ponder the specifics of hotel plumbing, doing anything to distract yourself from the chill.

Dick notices the subtle shift as you try to relax your body and regulate your breathing. There's something in the way you feel, your body going from tense and combative to calm and still under him, that makes his heartbeat stay elevated, even after he finally starts to warm up.

'She trusts me.' He thinks to himself, 'Or at least, she knows when to give up.'

Several minutes pass by, neither of you asleep, but not speaking. Only the sounds of your breathing are audible in the stillness of the hotel room. Dick starts to feel guilty, now that his body temperature is back to normal, and lifts himself off of you to lay on his back.

"I'm sorry," He says quietly, brows furrowed in thought, "I shouldn't have done that."

Now it's your turn to seek body heat. You let out an involuntary whimper, so soft that you're hoping Dick didn't hear it. "Wait," Your hand finds his chest in the dark, and you pull yourself up so your head is laying directly over his heart, "You might be all warmed up, but I'm still cold."

Your feet, which weren't touching him before, are particularly chilly, so you take this opportunity to press them against his bare leg. Dick tenses in response, but he doesn't push you off of him.

"I deserve this," He whispers in a tone of defeat.

"You're so dramatic," You whisper back.

"And you're more stubborn than the Bat."

"Ouch."

"Am I wrong?"

"I'm not answering that."

"Exactly," He says with a hint of pride.

"Just shut up and warm up, I'm tired," You try to sound firm, but despite your best efforts, your voice sounds sleepy and content.

"You know, maybe I should keep a hold of you all night, to stop you from tossing and turning."

"M'not that bad," You grumble, "You'll survive."

But you soon fall asleep on his chest. Your breathing gets slower and deeper, and you finally relax into a pleasant slumber. Dick isn't far behind you. He is scared to admit to himself how good it feels to have you in his arms. He chalks it up to the fact that he's been pretending to be your husband since you got here, denying anything deeper, and lets his mind shut down and rest, falling asleep to the soft sound of your breathing.

Several hours later, you wake with a start, eyes popping open as you suck in a deep breath. You were having a bizarre dream, but thankfully your less-than-graceful awakening hasn’t seemed to of bothered your teammate, who you realize has shifted in the night. He’s now spooning you, his arm around your waist and his face nuzzled against your neck.

A heat creeps into your cheeks as you hazily register the intimacy of the position you’re in. You carefully attempt to untangle yourself from him, but you quickly realize your arm is asleep, and you curse to yourself as the uncomfortable pins-and-needles sensation prickle your nerves.

You wiggle your arm, the blood flow slowly returning, not noticing how your movement is making your ass bump against the man behind you.

Dick’s eyes flutter open, awakened by the soft swaying of your body as you struggle to get your arm functioning like normal. He mutters your name groggily, and you curse yourself for waking him.

"Sorry, Dick. I'm warm now, you can let go of me," You say softly.

In his half-asleep state, Dick exhales an audible groan, moving his arm so he can stretch out. You think you're free, but he quickly replaces it back over your waist before he pulls you snug against his body. "Could we stay like this? Feels nice." His voice is hoarse and gravely from sleep, which triggers a dangerous shift in your thoughts. His strong arms feel good wrapped around you. He smells good. You're comfortable, now that your arm is awake, and you notice something poking at your lower back when he pulls you even closer to him.

The heat you felt in your cheeks travels down to pool in your belly, and you resist the urge to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the ache you feel.

'Stop it. This won't end well. He's hot, but he's your friend. Just your friend...'

You capture your lip between your bottom teeth and close your eyes, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, we can stay like this," You finally say, "But you need to tell your little friend to calm down."

"Hm?" Dick perks up at your comment, trying to make sense of what you said while his brain is still not fully awake.

"You're hard. It's distracting."

"Woah, hey. Who are you calling little? That's a low blow, you wouldn't even have any way of knowing that."

"I can feel you right now Dick. S'gross. We can cuddle if you want but I don't want your hard-on stabbing me while-"

"This feel little to you?" He interrupts, shifting you higher so he can grind his boner against your ass, with only his boxers and your silky sleep shorts separating you.

It doesn't. Now that he's doing it intentionally, you realize how much he's packing down there, which makes you stammer a little as you squirm against him, trying to quell the arousal building in your abdomen. "Jeez- okay, point taken. Now quit it," You chide, hoping you sound firm.

"Sure you want me to quit?" He's fully awake now. You can tell by the confidence in his tone when he taunts you, "Something tells me you're enjoying this. I've seen the way you've been looking at me."

His lips are merely an inch from your ear as he whispers to you, making your heart beat faster in your chest and your brain starts to panic. "Of course I've been looking at you differently. We're pretending to be a couple. We're undercover. It's called acting."

"Can I tell you a secret?" His hand starts to play with the hem of your shirt, rough hands barely brushing the small bit of exposed skin as the fabric bunches up on your waist.

"W-what?" You ask, briefly wondering if you're dreaming.

"Donna wasn't busy," He murmurs, running the tip of his nose up and down your neck slowly as he tries to entice you. "I wanted you here with me."

"That's a lie," You chide back without much thought. You know Dick and Donna are best friends, there's no way he would choose you over her for a mission like this, right?

Right?

He ignores your accusation like he didn't hear it. "You really want me to stop?" Dick presses his hand against your stomach, caressing your soft skin and nudging his nose against the shell of your ear, his breath fanning over your neck and making you shiver. "Tell me to fuck off and I'll let you have the bed to yourself."

"I... I mean...y-you don't need to, I don't want... don't sleep on the floor, please."

"Because you like this? Don't you?" His hand sneaks further up your torso, until his fingertips brush against the underside of your breast. "Don't tell me these past few days haven't felt right to you. I barely feel like I've had to act."

"Are you kidding? We've been bickering every moment we're alone!" You argue back. You're grateful for the dark, which hides how wide your eyes are from how he's touching you.

"Don't mean about the mission. I meant you and me. Having you on my arm. Calling you mine. The way you kiss me- I wish you'd kiss me like that when we're alone, instead of fighting," He admits, tentatively grinding his hips into your ass as he speaks. "You looked so pretty in that dress, earlier. That color looks amazing on you."

This is a lot for you to process. Sure, Dick is attractive. You'd be stupid to deny it. But he's your friend, has been for a while. You work together, and you've tried to not let your mind go down that path, not wanting to mess up the opportunity of a lifetime, to be a hero and work alongside him and the other Titans. But when he talks about how right these past couple days have felt, you have a hard time denying it. Yeah, you were acting, but it did come easy. His smile is heart-warming. His touch feels safe. And having him wait on you hand and foot has made you feel pretty special, even if you were under the impression that it was all performative.

Dick pauses his movements when you take a while to respond to him, second-guessing himself. He says your name softly, before asking, "Am I making you uncomfortable? Do you want me to stop?"

The answer is no.

So why is it so hard to say out loud?

Nervous, Dick shifts away from you and retracts his hand, guiding you onto your back so he can see you properly. The look of uncertainty on him is rare. The man's confidence is nearly impenetrable, but now he's got a sinking feeling in his stomach, worried that he just crossed a line that you didn't want him to cross.

"Dick..." You mutter, shifting around to help him so you're face-to-face. His features are barely visible, illuminated only by the soft red glow of the digital clock on the bedside table. But you don't need the light to see him. His face is permanently etched into your mind, handsome and chiseled, your brain filling in the gaps left by the darkness.

You're running out of time. You can make out his expression fall, sense the change in energy each moment you leave him hanging. Deciding to take the future implications out of the picture, like how it will affect your dynamic on the team, how awkward this might make things in the future- you ignore all of that, and ask yourself, 'Do I want to sleep with him? Right Now? In this moment?'

The vigilante's confidence returns when you finally lean in to capture his mouth in a kiss. You bump your nose against his, and he chuckles, relieved as his hand finds your cheek to guide your mouth to his again.

The feeling is surreal, kissing him. You feel like you knew him pretty well before this trip. You know how he likes his tea. You know his favorite places, and understand his subtle, snarky humor. You're even familiar with his scent, after many missions and even more training sessions, physical contact is not anything new between the two of you.

His taste is new. His lips are foreign, but gentle, skilled, like he knows exactly what he's doing when his kisses you, relishing in the feeling, slow and sensual as his tongue slides across your bottom lip, teasing you until your part your lips and allow him deeper. Dick pulls you on top of him, relaxing on his back, his hands holding you by the waist, itching to trail lower and grip your plush ass that's been teasing him all night.

The needy almost-moan that escapes his throat as he exhales is new, too. You've heard him express pain and discomfort, you know what sounds he makes when he's hurt, recognize his brash grunts while fighting, able to judge how badly he's hurt by the sounds he makes. But the noises he's making now aren't like those. They seem more raw, more intense, and he's doing a good job of making you swoon.

His taste, his noises, being the object of his desire, this is all new territory. The surreal feeling doesn't go away, even as his kisses get more intense and his hands start to wander. You're straddling him, forearms resting against his chest while you two make out. He laps at your mouth, tongue against yours, encouraged by every little sigh and broken whimper that you make.

You're grateful for the darkness. It helps quell your insecurities, and you push the doubts about your decision far away. With your hands against his bare chest, you're able to feel his heart beat, strong and even, solidifying the feeling of closeness between you.

"You're so soft," He whispers between greedy kisses. His fingertips caress the exposed skin of your lower back, becoming increasingly more annoyed by the clothing that's keeping your skin from him.

A brief feeling of guilt plagues your mind, knowing your skin is extra soft because of the long shower you took earlier, with the goal of annoying him. Who knew that taking the time to exfoliate and use lotion would end up doing the opposite, spurring him on, making your skin that much more enticing.

You sink your hips down, rubbing yourself against the tent in his boxers. "You're so hard." You say back to him. You meant to sound teasing, but his all-encompassing kisses have you breathless and panting.

Dick chuckles at you, also breathless, finally letting his hands grip the silky material of your sleep shorts, squeezing and massaging your ass. You push yourself up a bit to look down at him. The red numbers of the alarm clock cast an eerie glow over the side of his face, the other half dark in shadow. But you still detect the obvious lust in his gaze. He squeezes you, grabby hands slipping under your shorts to feel you better and force your clothed cunt to grind against his throbbing erection.

"You have no idea how hot you are," He blurts out, bucking his hips up to drive the point home. "You in that dress this morning, fuck, if you were mine for real... I wouldn't have let you leave this room before fucking you senseless in it."

His low, urgent tone, gravely and strained, sends a jolt of heat to your cunt, your arousal soaking through your underwear. Hearing him, Dick Grayson, NIghtwing, say such things about you? And you can tell he means it. He's a good liar, but you know him well enough by know to tell he's being sincere. You open your mouth, unsure what to say, but he's already rambling on, hands traveling from your ass back up to your waist, easing your shirt up and over your head, careful not to mess up your hair.

"The neckline is what did it, I think," he continues. His pupils dilate when he drinks you in, straining to see as much of you as possible. You're sitting up now, shuddering when his warm hands cup your breasts, handling them like you're made of glass. "I couldn't stop staring. I wasn't the only one, either."

"Dick-"

"I've been thinking about this ever since. All evening. Been going crazy." His thumbs brush over your nipples, which are already hard from the arousal you feel building inside. "Got me all worked up. Like a teenager with a crush."

You bring your hands to his, resting over them as he fondles your chest. The gentle squeeze you offer encourages him to keep going, moving your hips to rub against him, searching for some friction to satisfy your need.

"I doubt the dress did all that," You challenge.

"Yet here we are."

"You pleased with yourself?" You yelp as soon as the question leaves your mouth. Dick chose that moment to pinch your hardened buds between his thumb and pointer fingers, squeezing and toying with them, moving his hips against you when your grinding falters.

"Yeah, I am."

Dick removes his hands from your chest to pull you flush against him, grabbing your left leg to help flip you over so you're on your back, settling on his knees between your legs. This shift in control has your mind racing, still wondering if this is all just a dream. If it is, you aren't ready to wake up.

Dick's sitting straight up, smirking down at you, reaching for your ankle. He guides your leg up so your foot is next to his head, and places a slow, wet kiss against your ankle bone.

"Let's get these off of you." He takes your other leg, lifting it in the same manner, so he's able to remove your shorts. You raise your hips to help, allowing him to take your remaining clothes off and toss them to the other end of the bed. He kisses the same spot on your other ankle and rests your legs on either side of his head while his strong hands caress your calves. It almost feels like he's showing you a new martial arts technique, the way he moves and is so at ease manipulating your body. You're used to it, to humbling yourself around him and letting him share his skills, never too proud to learn from a friend and mentor. You swear you've actually been in a very similar position with him before, too, just with more clothing. And also, several spectators.

His warm, fervent kisses continue down towards your knee, slowly savoring every inch of skin he can reach, and adjusting his position once he cannot. Your chest rises and falls quickly in anticipation, nervous but excited to see this new side of him.

This isn't something you were expecting to happen this trip.

You stifle a needy moan when he reaches your inner thighs. Muscular body now flush against the bed, he licks at the sensitive skin there, just inches from your pussy that's dripping for him, aching for attention.

"H-Holy shit..." You curse, moving your hips to try and get his mouth closer to where you need him most. If him kissing your leg feels this sensuous, you're weak over the idea of having his mouth on your core.

Dick hums in satisfaction at how worked up you're getting. Peeling his lips away from the soft skin of your thigh, he purses his lips into a small 'o' to blow a breath over your slick, feverish skin.

You're mortified at the loud whine that departs your lips, shivering in both chill and embarrassment. Your legs tense, squeezing together reflexively around his head.

Dick mutters your name, cursing under his breath at your reaction. He carefully pries your legs apart again, holding them in place, kissing your inner thigh again.

"Huh. You liked that?"

"Please, Dick, you're teasing me."

You feel his lips curve into a smile against you, leaving your thigh and licking a slow, long stripe along your pussy, catching some of your slick on his tongue. Your breathing hitches, eyes closing again, moaning his name with your hands on either side of your head gripping the pillow.

The tip of his nose nudges against your clit before he kisses you there, the same way he was kissing your mouth a minute earlier. Slow at first, building up to using more tongue, testing different movements until he feels your legs quiver. The heat you felt before has grown to a roaring fire, your lower body sensitized from his attention and aching for more.

His tongue flicks over your sensitive nub over and over in a steady rhythm. It becomes harder and harder not to wiggle against him. He's still keeping you in place, but his grip isn't harsh, at least not until he finds just the right angle. Your hips jerk almost violently when he presses his skilled tongue harder against your core, your hands flying to his head to grip his hair. "Oh fuck... please... shit shit sh....." You tremble, words fading away to nothing while your teammate keeps eating your cunt like its his favorite dessert.

Muffled hums and moans are mingled with your sighs and gasps. His tongue dips down to lap languidly at your entrance. You feel painfully empty at this point, ignoring the bewilderment you feel deep down about how easily Dick has reduced you to a whining mess. Fingernails scratching his scalp, your inner muscles convulse and tense, nerves alive with every touch and heated kiss.

Dick is a curious guy. He always has been. It's what makes him such a good detective, and an even better hero. And right now? He's curious about you, making a mental note of what noises and gasps he can coax from you when he moves his tongue faster or slower. He experiments with quick, feather light licks to tease you, then uses more pressure, rubbing his tongue flat against your soft skin and moving in circles, noting your reactions to each technique. His saliva drips from his mouth to mix with your slick, which he greedily licks back up, no shame in his enthusiasm.

After several torturous minutes of him working you, he's got your legs quivering and your mind fuzzy, your pride long forgotten, unable to resist the urge to plead for more.

"Please?" You beg him, "I just want... fuck, please, Dick, I need it."

His hands grip you tight for a beat before he releases you. "I need you too, baby, fuck, feel how wet you are." You offer no resistance when his hand takes yours and places it between your legs. "Touch yourself, yeah... there you go... play with that pretty pussy for me, hm?" His deep voice vibrates in your head, sending a fresh rush of lust through your veins.

Pushing himself up, Dick reaches over you towards the bedside table to retrieve the goodie bag that the front desk was handing out for the couples retreat.

"Glad we can actually put this stuff to use," He mumbles, face better illuminated now that he's next to the alarm clock. He retrieves a condom and a single-use lube sample from the deep red gift bag, and you groan in embarrassment again.

"Shhh, hey, just keep touching yourself. It's fine, unless you brought other condoms?" He asks, already guessing your answer.

"Why would I bring condoms? I wasn't expecting this to happen," You reply, watching him rip the foil wrapper.

"Huh. Me either." He slips his boxers down his thighs, letting his cock spring free. You squint, trying to see the outline of his junk in the dark. He looks big. Big enough that when he slides the rubber over his shaft, it only makes it about 3/4th of the way down.

"It's kind of tight," He informs you, now opening up the lube sample and working the viscous liquid over himself. "But I'm pretty good about making big things fit in tight spaces."

The grin on your face is instant, cringing at his joke and shaking your head. "Would you shut up and fuck me, already?"

"Gods, yes."

His reply sounds pained, filled with longing, enough that you briefly question how long he's wanted this. You want to ask, but Dick is a man of his word, and before you can utter your question out loud, his hands are pressing your legs against your chest, knees over his shoulders, positioning you so he can slap his heavy cock against your clit.

Rubbing his tip against your wet folds of skin, you angle your hips a little better and guide him inside. Your slick heat swallows him up greedily, his cock bottoming out in one swift thrust.

You cry out at the sudden sting of him stretching your aching cunt. Hands gripping the sheets to ground yourself, your eyes water and your mouth hangs open, the feeling enough to wipe your mind clear of anything other than him and how he's making you feel.

He offers a brief kiss to your whimpering lips, "Shhhh, I know, babe, I know, feels good... fuck... feels too good.”

Nestling closer to you, Dick settles so he has access to your neck. His hips are still, giving your body time to adjust from the abrupt intrusion. His warm breath tickles your ear between the sweet love pecks he presses into your skin. “You know, if we really wanna sell ourselves as a couple, maybe I should give you some hickies, mark up that pretty neck of yours.”

The muscles in the back of your legs burn from the stretch. The position you’re in doesn’t accommodate deep breathing, so your voice is weak when you warn him, “Can we not talk about work right now?”

“Right. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, when you’re pissed at me again.” He latches his lips onto your neck, withdrawing himself from you halfway before easing back in, slower this time, pausing again once he's fully buried.

"H-h-how... mm...d-dude, you're huge," You gasp, feeling his tip kiss your cervix, pushing your body to its limit.

Dick tenses, his solid body going rigid. His next statement seem imbued with an undertone of challenge, "Don't call me dude while I'm inside of you."

"Sorry I- shiiiit...." you lose your words when he starts moving again, pumping into you slowly, rolling his hips into yours while he sucks on your neck, leaving your skin damp with his saliva. Finding them again takes a minute. "M'sorry I didn't c-come up with a list... I mean, why would I be prompted...to... write out the things that are... are off limits when we're fucking?"

The words are forgotten as soon as you say it. His memorizing pace has you feeling alive with warm tingles, concentrated most where your bodies meet. You clench down on his thick cock, more arousal dripping out around him. You can feel your body release more wetness again, doing its best to accept what's being given as his soft raven hair tickles your cheek.

"We can make that list together, babe." His promise is murmured against your throat, "Maybe during our one-on-one counseling session tomorrow with the alleged con artist himself."

"W-wh...huh? What, oh... mmmm.... fuck, Dick.... what list?" You flex your feet and curl your toes, babbling and whimpering at him. You can't move much with how he's pinning you, completely at his mercy. Even though you've never slept together before now, you have complete trust in him, having put your life in his hands more times than you can count. Nightwing has never failed you as a teammate. And Dick certainly has never failed you as a friend. So even now, as he ruts himself into you with purpose, pushing your body to its brink, leaving dark bruises over your neck, you know he doesn't plan to fail you as a lover. If only for one night.

The speculation on whether this heated exchange will be a one-time thing or the start of something more is a worry for later on, not for right now. Right now, this god-like man is fucking himself into you harder and deeper, being much less gentle than how he handled you earlier.

"Feels s'good, tight little pussy is squeezing me, bet you haven't been fucked this good before," He rasps, giving your tender neck a break and resting his forehead against yours while he flexes and undulates, putting his abs, back, entire body into it, hitting spots deep inside of you that you didn't think were even there.

Your cries of pleasure get louder as the minutes pass. Keeping his pace steady, Dick moves his hand over your mouth for the second time this evening to muffle your desperate please for release.. "Shhhh... remember what I said," He taunts, "We can't blow our cover. People come to retreats like this because their marriage is failing. No one here is having sex as good as this."

If you were more aware, you'd point out to him that he just went against his whole justification for giving you love marks. But he might as well be speaking an alien language. The deep timbre of his words do, however, send a chill down your spine, pushing you over the precipice, your orgasm crashing over you hard.

Your eyes water even more and blur your already limited vision. Convulsing under the weight of him, you gasp against his palm, tasting yourself, eyes wide in the glow of the dim red light.

"That's it.... shii-iii-iit..." His body stills, and he closes his eyes, struggling desperately to stay off his own orgasm. You welcome the break, pleasure still pulsing in your core, flexing and wiggling your legs to alleviate the stiffness from the prolonged time in such an intense position you aren't used to.

Dick moans your name and shudders, "I need more."

"M-more?" You stutter, intoxicated from the post-orgasm haze.

Pushing himself up and off of you, he sits back on his knees again, cock slipping from your swollen cunt. Dick graciously lowers your legs, guiding them around his waist before leaning over you again, carefully slipping his arms under yours against your back to cradle you closer to him. You cling to him with trembling limbs, letting him move you how he sees fit.

"What, you think I was going to stop at one?" He whispers to you, low and eager. He slips his length back inside of you, the lewd squelching noise sounding absolutely filthy, your thighs damp from his sweat and your fluids. "I'm not wasting this opportunity to show you a good time.'"

Your pussy is so sensitive now, every thrust of his hips earning a small pant from you, feeling him fill you up, over and over, making room for himself inside your body with each tantalizing rut of his hips.

You mumble something incoherent, and Dick chuckles, proud to have you in such a state. "What's that, babe? I'm the best you've ever had?" He kisses your forehead, fucking you a little faster, his heavy balls smacking against your ass with each rut.

"This is... just to keep up appearances, right?" You ask, unsure if you want him to agree or not.

Probably not.

Definitely not.

"Of course." Dick promises, knowing full well that he will not be satisfied until he has you creaming around his cock like this every night. Not now. Not after tonight. Being here with you has opened his eyes, and helped him reflect on why he got so intensely jealous when you were turning heads earlier. "It's all for appearances, babe."

if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

please don’t steal my work. don't upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

⭓ masterlist ⭓

#[purple-obsidian]#smut #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #dick grayson x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut #nightwing x you #dc smut #one bed trope #and they were teammates

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puppybei · 3 months ago

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Unsaid Dreams

Chapter 4 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Past pov, in depth description of anxiety, reader and Sukunas first meeting explained, this entire chapter focuses on their past, reader is called a charity case by Sukuna, Sukuna threatens reader, lwk stubborn reader, Highschool au!, Their first kiss!!

Word count: 2.7k

The first time you met Sukuna was in High School, you had managed to get a scholarship into one of the more prestigious schools in your district. The sun glared above you, the straps of your bag suddenly feeling light compared to the weight of the swirling anxiety in your stomach.

The school was huge, no amount of adjectives you used would truly be able to capture the magnificent and almost fantasy-like essence. The bare bricked walls freckled with the overgrown foliage that was just a bit too messy to be considered purposeful. A georgian style building with gabled roofs, large windows that let sunshine peak into the corridors and classrooms with silk furnished curtains. The whole campus just screamed old money.

It just made you feel more out of place if anything, sticking out like a sore thumb against similar sixteen year olds. The white uniform shirt felt too scratchy against your skin, your tights sticking to you like second skin, heart heavy like something was weighing down every step you took forward.

But you couldn’t let a few stray butterflies in your stomach stop you from going into the school your fifteen year old self worked her ass off for. You had gotten into the culinary department, mixed with a few other classes that were compulsory to all students.

The Home Ec lab from this school was praised even in professional settings and you were buzzing at the thought of finally seeing it, state of the art equipment along with teachers that personally taught you. Graduating from their course would basically give you a head start into the culinary world, well at least that’s what you learned from reading comments on reddit and the official school website.

Your feet basically carried you to the lab on instinct and that's when you saw him for the first time, sitting on the marble countertop next to the electric stove top. His blazer strewn across the stove, tie haphazardly done, sleeves folded upwards to show the tattoos that corded against his muscle. Head turned away from the door, a cigarette placed in between his index and forefinger, smoke clouding the room in a haze. The silk curtains were pulled halfway open, letting the smoke filter out.

The window was propped open, an unfinished garden with multiple cigarette butts on the garden bed found underneath it. Sunlight poured through the window, casting half his face in a shadow as he blew smoke outside, your breath stilled for a moment and for a second all your worries had vanished, that was until he turned his head around and scowled at you, eyeing your very obvious second hand clothes with a condescending look.

“The fuck you looking at newbie?”

He got off of the countertop, throwing the cigarette butt out of the window and switching off the exhauster. The pink haired male pulled the blazer over his broad shoulders, uniform shirt straining from where it was tucked into his pants. Shoving your shoulder aside as he left the lab murmuring under his breath about some kind of charity case.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you fortunately fought the urge to curse at him. You quickly learned that the boy you saw was Sukuna Ryomen, the heir of the corporation that basically funded the school as well as the Student Council President. He was feared by the student and staff bodies, no one dared to go against him except his group of friends, and it was apparent to everyone else to not go near the Home Ec lab before the morning assembly and after the last bell. Well at the very least you didn’t seem to piss him off too much.

Contrary to overexaggerated teen shows about scholarship kids, most of the student body were from upper middle class families, and just 10% of the school were heirs of some kind of corporation. You made friends with the kids in the Home Ec and they filled you in on all the people to avoid at every cost, as well as the people you should get close to.

Unfortunately for Sukuna, you were someone who used the facilities given to you as much as you could, this was also backed up by the fact that unlike the other kids that went to the same course, you were not provided with a fully furnished kitchen and high end ovens. So if you wanted a fair chance at competing with the other kids you were going to have to use the facilities, Sukuna or not.

The next time you met Sukuna was in the compulsory English Literature classes. Surprisingly enough, to squash any rumours of the heir being favoured over other students, and to avoid any bribery scandals he was placed in the same class as the ‘scholarship student’. He was sitting a few rows behind you, looking way more like a President than when you first saw him, his gaze bore into the textbook in front of him, spinning a pen around his finger lazily. He didn’t notice you stealing glances at him.

The minute you got permission from the Home Ec teacher to use the lab after school, you immediately made your way to the culinary labs, spinning your keychain around your finger, humming a happy tune as you basically skipped to the lab.

Though you did expect to see Sukuna, it still stirred a feeling of irritation in your chest to see him walk around like he owned the school- granted he kind of basically did, but that’s an abuse of power.

Only this time Sukuna was completely lying down on one of the plain countertops, set there so that students could present their dishes in bulk. His eyes were shut in slumber, chest rising up and down in slow breaths. Pink hair fell against his forehead, a rare display of when he didn't have it gelled upwards, mouth set into a loose scowl, which came as a shock to you because you were sure he was born with that permanent frown stuck on his face.

You moved to the other side of the lab, pulling the curtains open to let as little of light in without waking up the heir. Cooking came easy to you- or atleast baking did, the quiet repetitive movements, the sweetness of the pastry, the swirl of the whipped cream. Your dream was to hopefully become a baker, or a patissiere- you hadn't yet decided. Being a patissiere meant you got to work directly with just pastries and sweets, while being a baker meant you got to work with broader horizons.

By the time you were done thinking to yourself the oven beeped and you almost fell out of the high stool chair, scrambling to shut it down and pull mittens over your hands.You had made madeleines, a comfort bake of yours.The madeleines came out near perfect if you had to say so yourself, smooth crispy outer layer with a contrasting softness when you bit into it. A giddy smile danced across your features, happy that the first thing you made in the lab came out so well even if you baked them on stealth mode to not awaken the short tempered President.

What you failed to notice when you were too busy stuffing your face with madeleines was the dark figure that loomed behind you, snatching one from your hand,

“So you’re the little rat that decided to disturb me,”

His voice came out in a low growl, threatening almost, and you stiffened up at the heat that seeped through your clothes even though he held an appropriate amount of distance between you both,

“Is this some kind of new tactic? Playing housewife to garner for my attention?,”

As you turned around he popped the baked good into his mouth, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth,

“At least it doesn’t taste like ass, should’ve expected that from the charity case,”

He wiped the crumbs off his fingers on your apron, gripping your shoulder tightly, bending down to meet you at eye level,

“The next time you pull this shit again I’m going to fucking kill you. Capisce?”

You felt your eyebrows tug upwards in shock, shaking your head no while you muttered something about facilities. You remember his face twisting into something dark before he pushed you, the back of your hip hitting the counter,

“Get the fuck out of my way pest,”

The six foot man snarled, pushing past you once again as he left the lab, the scent of his cologne still lingering in the air long after he left.

No way in hell were you going to let a man boss you around after how hard you worked to get into this school- especially if he was some kind of stuck up spoiled brat.

The next day you went to the lab again, this time baking a rose tea pound cake. Sukuna sat on a stool opposite to the oven, glaring at you- basically seething as he grumbled curses every time you moved past him to peek at your creation. You ignored every word he said though, mind steeled down, no matter what offensive insult he spewed out. By the end of the day he even stole a slice of the pound cake and a small part of you was smug, there was no one who could fight the goodness of your pastries, you didn’t get into this school without a reason after all.

This cat and mouse game continued for the next few weeks, at one point the insults had boiled down to mere grunts when Sukuna would spot you. Most afternoons he spent lying across a cushioned bench underneath the huge windows, letting the sunlight dance across his features as he dozed off. He would always grab a slice of what you made though, you figured he was taking it as some kind of compensation for letting you bake in peace.

Some days his friends would come over, barging into the room and interrupting the comfortable silence you and Sukuna had formed. A loud group consisting of Gojo, Geto, and Toji who got in with Sukuna’s help, though he excelled in sports and could've gotten a sports scholarship if he wanted. Sukuna would always leave immediately when they came, casting you a glance backwards. You always left behind a little of what you made on those days, finding them gone when you checked the next morning, though you said nothing to him.

The quiet sort-of-friendship you had formed changed completely when the English Literature teacher paired you up for a project, forcing you both to talk to each other and be in slightly uncomfortable proximity. Your irritation had long disappeared for the KOC heir, now replaced with something akin to fondness.

“You smell sweet,”

Your head jerked up from where you were bent over trying to make sense of the poem you were assigned to analyse,

“Sweet?”

You questioned, quirking a brow upwards.

“Like that brown thing you use when making your shit,”

You pondered for a second, Sukuna’s sharp eyes gaze resting on your features,

“...you mean vanilla essence?”

A giggle erupted from you and Sukuna looked like you had personally offended his entire family, his ears heating up as he rested his face on his palm, elbow propped up on the table,

“Whatever. Finish your work pest,”

You smiled in return, watching Sukuna turn his concentration back to researching more about the poet’s life,

“You smell good too,”

You hummed, turning your attention back to your own work, sneaking glances at Sukuna in between. Unbeknownst to you both, Sukuna had fallen for you- hook, line and sinker. He felt his heart stutter in his chest when you giggled, nothing had sounded more soothing to him and he had already staked his claim on you long before you were even his.

You on the other hand, had started to regret your notions about the heir, unknown to the general student population, Sukuna was quite the hard worker. He would never skip a Student Council meeting, coming to the lab afterwards with a heavier gait, exhaustion weighing down on his shoulders. Other days he would bring his work into the lab, face scrunched up as he worked through the papers. He always stayed at the top of the grade, Gojo and Geto falling right behind him.

The English project lasted a week exactly, though the after effects lasted far longer. Sukuna had now deemed it okay to constantly be in your vicinity, brushing his arm or thigh against you whenever he moved closer. Even after you had moved back to your old place, Sukuna shot one look at the guy sitting next to you who scrambled away without a peep, giving the heir his seat.

The pink haired man had even started asking about your day and unfortunately your heart was betraying your brain with every month that passed by. The small physical contact you and Sukuna shared sent electric shots down your spine. Heat creeping up your neck once he moved from vaguely admitting your skills were up to standard to complimenting them. You had also started to talk more with him, he was a quiet man at heart and you were more than glad to fill the silence with your chatter.

Quiet evenings in the lab turned to him following you around or sitting right opposite to you as you baked, following your every movement with a softer gaze. He would still fall asleep occasionally but it was always after acknowledging your presence and making small talk with you. When he worked on his documents he sat right opposite to your workstation, taking breaks where he would just bore holes into your cheek as you talked.

On colder days he would drop his blazer over your shoulders, complaining about hearing your teeth chatter with a blush across his face. You accepted, perhaps even more flushed. The goods you baked were now put in a little plastic bag with ribbons, ones he pocketed and never returned.

One day he had fully switched to calling you by your first name, stopping you in your tracks as your heart thumped so hard against your chest you were sure he could hear it too. In response you started to call him by his first name too and when you accidentally called him ‘Ryo’ and he didn't seem murderous, you let it continue.

Sukuna did not allow anyone else the privilege of that and your feelings for him grew stronger by the start of the third year. When Sukuna caught you getting confessed to by one of the underclassmen in your program, he merely whisked you away with a grip on your arm, crowding you against a wall in the Home Ec lab, lifting your chin up using his hand to cup your cheek as he silently motioned for consent. You nodded and Sukuna pressed his lips against yours, it was an inexperienced naive kiss but within a few months he had mastered the art- as expected of Sukuna, even with something so intimate he would not fall second place.

Sukuna’s favorite part of the day was when he got you all to himself after school, nuzzling his head into your shoulder like some kind of overgrown bear while he had you seated on his lap, petting his hair as he grumbled about the rest of the incompetent members of the Student Council. Freshly baked goods sat on the countertop and he forced you to feed them to him while you giggled, fuck he could just die there and be at peace.

You never asked Sukuna about the nature of your relationship, not when he cornered you almost daily in the lab, not when he had you seated on his lap whenever he was in need of a little more comfort, not when he had his head on your lap while he dozed off, not when he forbade Gojo from touching your pastries, not when he glared at any guy who approached you and not when he allowed only you to see him vulnerable.

This unlabeled relationship continued well into college, where you both denied having a significant other but neither of you touched another human being on campus, he was yours and you were his and that was all that mattered back then.

Previous Current Next

A/n: Omg this was so much longer than my last one!! I put my blood sweat and tears into it haha. I hope yall enjoyed!! Feeling a bit evil as the confrontation doesn’t happen yet.. hehe.. I was so tempted to split this into two chapters but I really just wanted one chapter for the flashback. Likes, reblogs and Comments appreciated!!!

Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @nina-from-317 @katsukiseyebrows

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cakypa120 · 4 months ago

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They know absolutely nothing about Shazam. Children understand this and use it perfectly.

Lightning (Darla): I'll tell Mom everything!!

Switch (Eugene): Which one? They're all dead!

Flash: *chokes on air*

Ms. Marvel: You tried to kill me in the womb!

Captain Marvel: Don't be dramatic, I helped you come into existence earlier.

Ms. Marvel: You wrapped your umbilical cord around my neck!

Captain: Until it's proven, don't care what they say!

Nightwing: I have so many questions right now.

Red Hood: I would have done the same to you if we were in the same womb.

Voltage (Freddy): They kept bringing me down to the ground even though they knew it would kill me.

Superman: What do you mean?

Voltage: Why do you think I keep flying? It's my curse. Whenever I touch the ground, I die. My dad wasn't very fond of me when I was a kid.

Superman: That's terrible.

Thunder (Pedro): *appears behind Voltage and pulls him to the ground*

Voltage: *his feet touch the floor and he falls to the floor*

Superman: *grabs his head and can't hear his heartbeat* OH MY RAO! WHY DID YOU DO THIS?!?!

Thunder: *raises Voltage* That's hilarious.

Voltage: *looks up with huge eyes*

Voltage: See what I meant?! They hate me!

Thunder: You threw Captain Marvel into a volcano the day before yesterday.

Voltage: Little things, little things.

Lightning: *sits on unicorn* It's time to pay for all your sins!

Captain Marvel: I didn't eat your fairies!

Hal: WHAT THE HELL IS A FUCKING UNICORN IN THE WATCHTOWER!!

Thunder: *calmly eats raw entrails*

All Around: *sounds of disgust and nausea*

Switch: ...and that way we can take over the villain's lair.

Batman: Are you really planning on going into a highly guarded lair in an iron horse?

Switch: It worked in Troy. Besides, it wasn't God who threw that apple, it was Ms. Marvel.

Batman: What?

Switch: *shrugs* She was very self-conscious about her acne.

Captain Marvel: *holding a long iron spear* Have you seen Voltage?

Superman: Why do you need him?

Captain: He killed my favorite sheep. And I'll make a kebab out of him.

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ambitiousmars · 7 months ago

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.☘︎ ݁˖ GENTLE precision

.☘︎ ݁˖ summary: viktor works in his own way. on the floor, in the dark, sometimes even in his sleep. but no matter the circumstances you'd hate for him to miss his morning coffee.

.☘︎ ݁˖ pairing: viktor x gn!reader

.☘︎ ݁˖ genre: fluff

.☘︎ ݁˖ warnings: no use of y/n, pure fluff, not proof read, based on season 1

I'll gently graze you, so you'll remember my touch. I'll softly speak to you, so you'll remember my voice while it's coaxing you rather than haunting you. And I'll remember you, so when you remember me, we'll remember us.

"Morning, Viktor." You greeted yourself as the door of the darkened lab clicked behind you, hand grazing against the wall to find the light switch.

"Keep them off," Viktor would urge, "Please." He'd mumble politely as a blue light sparked from the floor beside his chair.

"What are you working on?" You'd ask, making coordinated steps with coffee in each hand towards the sparking light.

You didn't know it could be so dark in a light room. The window looked as if it was the dead off night, and you clearly wouldn't know any better if he told you it was, in fact. Even if you were outside ten minutes prior.

One step: lies a cord notorious for being tripped on.

Picking your foot to place three more steps.

Where a table clock laid, broken glass facing down that no one bothered to pick up.

Picking up your foot, you took a few more steps before standing beside the busy man.

"I hope that's coffee I smell." Viktor whispered, not because he didn't want you to hear but because of how gentle he took your care. Whispering was a sign of vulnerability, not even he noticed about himself.

"Well, you always did get what you hoped for." You responded in the same tone, a smile evident in your voice as you lowered yourself to sit beside him.

He pulled away from whatever he was working on and removed the goggles he placed on his eyes to the floor beside him.

He reached a hand out to you, noticing you couldn't see him in the dark and you weren't even looking at him. He located your wrist to grasp lightly and slide the coffee from your hand before letting go.

"What are you working on?" You asked, moving your eyes back to him. As your eyes found his, you noticed the glisten in his eyes that still glowed through darkness, something you'd hate to miss.

He hummed through his sip off the hot beverage, letting you know he acknowledged your curiosity.

"Same thing I was working on yesterday, and the day before..." He spoke, although not great with humor, you could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. As if he wanted you to laugh at the thing he found frustrating, maybe to make it less frustrating for him.

"And why are we on the floor?"

'we.'

A simple word, a simple pronoun aimed at the two, now sat on the floor together.

"You can sit on a chair if you'd like." Viktor suggested.

'we.'

No one told you to sit on the floor.

"Then you'd be the only one sitting," You shook your head even when you knew he couldn't see it.

"And you'd be the only one standing." He whispered, more to himself than anything.

"Presicely."

Being alone was what he wanted, but being with you is what he craved. He didn't mind being accompanied on the floor by someone who doesn't mind accompanying him.

But it was far more than his presence, you'd hate to remember him by the man who was all alone unless you asked. You shouldn't have to ask, and he shouldn't have to answer.

Your hand found the air, with what you could see you brought it towards where you thought the shoulder of the man was. You were a bit far off until it landed on the fabric of his vest.

He didn't say anything, although he was curious he knew once you'd find what you were looking for, he'd know. Like now, when your hand glided across his chest to his right shoulder--letting your face follow where your hand went, you rested your cheek on his empty shoulder.

Which he allowed, as he sipped his coffee and thought about the question told once today.

"And why are you on the floor?"

#ambitiousmars #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor fanfiction #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane fanfiction #fanfic #viktor fluff #fluff

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notarmedandnotdangerous · 11 days ago

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there's nothing chill about this stream trust me. also HI boss anon ure cool man

+18 mdni! faceless desire; a fic where bucky finds out about reader's little secret

cw: camboy!switch!m!reader, switch!bucky, use of toys (double ended dildo. wtf.), multiple orgasms (like three), slight voyeurism (cuz they're on stream)

word count: >3.5k

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

!! @swiftie-fault

-------------------------------------------------------

the stream opens with warm lighting. bucky was curled up beside you on the bed, and his hair’s loose tonight. the camera was tilted just enough to not film your faces.

“okay. fan mail time!” you said, holding up the first box.

bucky grins, tucking one leg under himself as he eyes the pile.

“you really weren’t kidding about the mail.” he says, nudging your side. “you really let this build up.”

“thought it’d be fun to celebrate on stream. you guys sent way more than i expected.” you laugh, grabbing the first box.

“i’m scared.” bucky laughs.

you pulled out a handmade sweater in deep navy, simple, and soft-looking, with a little red star stitched on the cuff of the sleeve.

“no way.” he freezes, staring at it.

user1:

‘THAT’S MINE OMG I MADE THAT i’m so nervous omg i hope it fits’

“wait they’re here? you made this?”

bucky slowly reaches out, and ran a hand over the crochet.

“give it here.”

you handed it over, without any fuss, and he pulls his t-shirt off right there on stream, while the viewers go feral, he just tugs the sweater on.

user2:

‘HELLO??? there will be more people sending in clothes if THIS is the reward they get.’

user3:

‘i’m convinced i just saw god himself’

“you really just took your shirt off.”

“they’ve literally seen my cock, are we really pretending a shirt matters right now?” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

you just gawk at him, because what the actual fuck?

user4:

‘HE’S SO..’

user5:

‘I’M GOING TO VOMIT’

“next time, i’m putting you in a robe before we go live.”

“next time i’ll start naked to save time.”

you sigh, giving him a playful nudge.

the both of you continued going through the gifts, until you spot it.

there was a box, bigger than the rest. there were hearts printed on the tape, and no return address.

you tug it into your lap slowly, and bucky immediately stiffens.

“that’s a murder box.” he crosses his arms over his chest.

“or an extremely thoughtful gift.”

“or a murder box.”

you sighed, before popping it open, and the both of you freeze.

inside, there was a carefully organised nest of toys, made of all different materials. leather, metal, rubber, glass. some of them were familiar, while some were worryingly complex to say the least.

“oh.” you said blankly, pulling out a steel hook with a curved end. “what the fuck.”

user6:

‘WHY IS IT SHAPED LIKE THAT???’

“this is bigger than my forearm-”

“nope. nope.” bucky’s face was bright red. “put that down. right fucking now.”

you’re already digging deeper.

“oh my god, this one locks. wait why does it lock?” you started laughing at the sheer disbelief.

user7:

‘to whoever sent that: you scare me, and i want your number.’

you held another toy up, turning it in the light.

“what.. even is this?”

bucky’s mouth twitches.

“that’s got to be at least third-degree felony shaped.”

you were about to respond when you pull out the next item.

it’s somehow worse. sleek, black, with a cord, and a remote.

user8:

‘THERE’S AN APP BYEEE’

user9:

‘BANDAGE GUY PLS THROW THAT INTO THE OCEAN’

bucky immediately shifts.

“that has bluetooth, i’m not fighting that. i’m begging you to not give them that kind of power.”

you’re crying with laughter now.

“oh my god- there’s more. there’s a manual.”

“there’s diagrams for fuck’s sake!” he spoke, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically.

you pulled out a dark collar, with silver studs.

the both of you make intense eye contact.

“i’m not putting it on.” he says, instantly defensive.

“i didn’t say anything?”

“you looked at me!”

you smirked, then continued to dig around, before finding something weirdly long.

“oh.”

“is that-?”

you lift it out, holding it with both hands like it was a sacred relic. it was a clear, slightly flexible double-ended dildo.

user10:

‘oh finally something i don’t need holy water for! ..sort of.’

user11:

‘somehow this is the tamest thing in the whole box??’

bucky leans in.

“that’s actually kind of..”

“wholesome?”

“i was about to say low-effort, but sure, that works too.”

“no batteries, no remote, just hopes, and prayers.”

“sounds like most of our early hookups.”

and you fucking wheeze at it.

“okay, okay. it’s actually kind of nice. could do a lot with this, hands-free, face-to-face.”

“at least it’s not as psychotic as the vibrating one with like thirteen settings.”

you winked at him.

“no. absolutely not.”

“you sure? the viewers seem excited.” you grin at him.

user12:

‘PLEASE.’

user13:

‘ITS FOR SCIENTIFIC PURPOSES TRUST’

user14:

‘he’s pretending he hates it’

bucky takes a glance at the screen, reading the comments.

“i do hate it.” he insists. “look at it! looks like it’s made to ruin someone’s life!”

you wave the toy at him.

“so dramatic.”

“i’m not using it. i’m not-”

—

fifteen minutes later.

the camera’s angled low. now bucky’s on his back, legs loose around your waist, mouth slack, and already flushed, all because you took your sweet time with the lube, with kissing down his stomach.

the dildo’s buried beneath the both of you, one end nestled inside you, while the other pushed deep into him.

his fingers twitched against the sheets, and he’s still trying to lie about it.

“this is- fucking dumb.” he mutters, but his voice cracks halfway through, and when you roll your hips just a little, pushing in, he whines. “oh, oh fuck.. so big.”

user15:

‘fucking dumb.. sure..’

user16:

‘he’s so bitchy it’s perfect.’

“still hate it?” you murmur, leaning forward to mouth at his throat.

bucky scoffs, tries to at least.

“mmh, yeah. hate this. hate your stupid- ugh.. stupid idea.” he chokes on his own words when your hips press forward again, the toy shifting inside the both of you slow.

you hum like you didn’t notice the way his toes curled.

“uh huh, i’ll make a note. you definitely don’t like being full at the same time as me. not at all.”

his head tips back slightly, mouth open.

user17:

‘SLUT’

user18:

‘he says he hates it WHILE BREATHING THROUGH HIS MOUTH’

user19:

‘he’s whining every time it pushes in.. liar’

“i don’t-” he breathes. “i don’t like this-”

you grind down again, and this time he clutches onto your hips, nails digging into your soft skin. the dildo slides just a little deeper into the both of you, and his hips stutter helplessly.

“you are so bad at lying.”

bucky bites his bottom lip. his eyes were glassy, and half-lidded already. the way his cock was pressed in between the both of you tells the truth even louder than his mouth ever will.

still, he hisses.

“too deep- i don’t like.. mmh.. stop doing that-”

you rock your hips again, and he gasps, throwing his head back, even as he denies it.

“fuck, no-”

“sure.” you murmur. “you hate it, that’s why you’re dripping all over yourself.”

user20:

‘THE WET SPOT FUCK’

user21:

‘he’s so hot i hate him so much’

you adjust, just a little, and he gasps loud enough to startle the both of you. his hand flies to your back, grounding himself.

“fuck fuck fuck- i can’t.. too much..” he breathes, but keeps moving. his hips chased the drag of fullness, the pressure that makes his thighs quake, and his voice go high.

“you’re taking it so well, and you hate it, right?”

bucky nods quickly, but the motion stutters when you roll your hips again, and he almost wails, clamping down around the toy, and whimpering like he had been split open.

“tell them how much you hate it then.”

“i- i hate-”

you kiss his flushed cheek.

“not going to- fuck, not going to cum from this.”

“of course not.” you move again, slow, and deep.

he chokes, voice cracking, body jerking as his cock pulses, thick spurts spilling across his stomach. he sobs through it, still rocking on the toy.

“came without being touched, huh?”

user22:

‘he says he hates it then cums untouched.. all men do is lie’

user23:

‘he’s going to ask for it next stream.’

you don’t stop.

bucky whimpers.

“no-no wait, i can’t!” he’s panting against your neck. the toy was stayed deep inside the both of you, and he’s still trying to collect himself.

“you’re still hard, you sure you hate it?”

his entire body shudders, and his cock twitches. he doesn’t answer you.

you glance down, his chest is heaving. his mouth keeps twitching like he wants to say something but can’t get it past the breathless little gasps he keeps choking on.

“you good..?” you murmur. “came pretty hard for someone who hates this.”

bucky groans, low.

“i’m fine.” he mumbles.

user24:

‘HE’S NOT FINE’

“yeah?” you shift your hips just slightly, just enough to make the toy nude deeper into him, pressing firmly into that spot he’s so sensitive from already.

his entire body jerks.

he tries to swallow the sound, but it still comes out. it sounded like it was punched out of his chest. his hands scramble up to yours now, grabbing tightly like he needs something to hold on to.

“fu- f-fuck.”

you blink down at him sweetly.

“what’s wrong?”

bucky glares at you. tries to, at least.

“nothing, it’s just.. so deep. not- i’m not used to-”

you hum, and settle back over him again, the both of you still joined. you don’t even move, just let the toy stay in place, solid, and firm, right up against that perfect bundle of nerves inside him.

and he just melts. he tries to stay still, but his hips keep twitching. his thighs squeeze around yours. his voice was almost confused as he whispers.

“you’re not moving- it’s not-”

“i know.”

“then why- why’s it still..”

user25:

‘ohh he’s GONE alright’

user26:

‘he can’t even finish sentences’

you kiss under his jaw, slowly.

“pressing right there, huh?”

bucky lets out a wrecked moan, and his head tips back once more.

despite everything, he’s still trying.

“it’s not- fuck, it’s not that good..” he mumbles, even as his cock kicks up again, and leaks against his stomach.

you reach down between the both of you, and brush your knuckles against it.

his hips buck.

“oh yeah, you hate this.”

“i do.”

you rock your hips, not even moving, just letting the toy shift slightly deeper, and he cries out. his voice cracked as he clamps down around it, head slamming back down into the pillow.

“fuh- fuck fuck fuck-”

now he’s babbling as real tears prick his lashes. his hands are in your hair, on your back, everywhere, like he doesn’t know what to hold onto.

“you don’t have to cum again, just let it stay there. let it press right there, nice, and deep, yeah?” you whisper right in his ear, and he shivers.

bucky nods, then shakes his head. he doesn’t know anymore.

he does cum again though, minutes later, just from the pressure, as he whines into your mouth, and you hold him down, and kiss him through it.

user27:

‘HE CAME FROM THE PRESSURE ALONE’

user28:

‘wrap it up boys he’s done’

you’re both still connected. he’s laid out under you, wrecked, and flushed. his legs were shaking, every muscle trembling. you haven’t moved in minutes.

because bucky’s just laying there, whining into your neck. his cock was still hard, still twitching between the both of you, and your hand’s just resting loosely over his stomach, feeling every tremble, every aftershock.

you kissed his cheek.

“you came again.”

he whines, softly.

“you said you hated it?”

he nods, then immediately contradicts himself.

“didn’t mean to..”

“didn’t mean to cum from pressure alone?”

bucky breathes through his teeth, still flushed bright red.

you blinked down at him.

“it’s not that good. it’s too big, too deep. i hate- hate this.”

“..you came twice.”

user29:

‘he says he hates this WHILE HE’S CUMMING??’

user30:

‘he’s fucking delusional’

bucky groans, pressing his face into your shoulder again, as if he could hide from the reality that his thighs were still twitching, and the way he’s still fluttering around the toy.

you sit up just slightly, sliding your hand in between your stomachs, and wrapping it around his cock. you don’t even stroke, just held it.

he moans, quiet, and broken.

“i-i’m not going to cum again.” he says, instantly unconvincing as his cock twitches in your grip. “i’m not- i’m not going to- fuck-”

you tighten your grip, just barely.

his cock leaks, thick drops running down your knuckles.

“so soaked. can’t even think straight.”

bucky’s thighs twitch, his breathing quickens, and still he tries to deny it.

“i h-hate it. not even- ngh.. not even that good..”

you push your hips forward just slightly, letting the dildo shift inside the both of you, and he fucking screams.

“no- n-no, stop, i- fuck!“

you pull his head up to look at you.

his eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, and his lips trembled. but still, he tries to lie.

bucky opens his mouth, then clamps it shut again as a full-body shudder rolls through him. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was having a seizure.

“don’t- don’t want to- i hate this fucking thing.”

“really now?”

user31:

‘JUST ADMIT IT??’

user32:

‘WHY ARE U CRYING IF YOU DONT WANT IT???’

he whines, trying to hide his face.

“i-i do! i swear. i’m not- fuck, i’m not-”

“not what? not a receiver? not a pretty little mess sitting on a toy he clearly loves?”

bucky moans, loud, and broken.

“since he definitely hates this, i think it’s only fair if he gets a chance to explain himself.” you turned your head towards the camera.

his eyes widened.

“come on, tell them. convince them.”

user33:

‘SURE..’

user34:

‘can’t wait for this oscar-worthy performance.’

you angled your hips again, slow, and he jerks.

he’s gasping when he tries to speak.

“i don’t- i don’t like this, okay? i’m not into- fuck, not into being used l-like this-”

you hum, rolling your hips slightly, just enough to drag the dildo across that aching spot inside him, and tears spilled down his cheeks.

“i hate it, i hate how it feels, i hate- nngh.. how big it is, how f-full i- mmh..”

“keep going, tell them more.”

“i’m not supposed to take things- fuck! i’m.. i give, i don’t get used like t-this.”

you rock forward again, shifting the toy once more, and he sobs this time. an honest to god, wet, needy sound that leaves his mouth without permission, and then you feel it.

bucky’s cock jerks in your hand once, twice, then he’s cumming again.

there was no stroking, just your hand on him, the toy in him, and the relentless pressure pressing right where he can’t resist it anymore.

you held him through it when he broke, writhing under you, nails raking down your back as he whimpers.

“no- not again, n-not again-”

the viewers lost their shit, obviously. who wouldn’t?

user35:

‘THREE TIMES. THREEEEE’

user36:

‘HE SAYS HE HATES IT BUT CUMS THREE TIMES. THE FUCK??’

when it finally ends, bucky slumps beneath you, completely boneless. his whole body’s twitching like he had just been exorcised.

you slid your hand up to cup his cheeks.

“does that sound like someone who ‘hates it’ to you?”

bucky groans, and hides his face in your neck. he’s barely conscious anymore, twitching, and slick with sweat beneath you.

“you did so good, so so good.”

his eyes flutter half-open, and the corners of his lips twitch like he’s trying to smile.

“mmh, th-thank you..”

“you okay?”

he nods, weakly.

“want to tell everyone how much you hated it?”

bucky opens his mouth, but all that left it was a broken noise, as the dildo shifts slightly inside him again.

“still want to pretend?”

he’s still whining into your neck.

“please, i can’t- it’s too much.. feels too good, i don’t want it- anymore, i swear i don’t, i can’t take it-”

you smile, because he doesn’t even realise what he had just admitted.

user36:

‘HE JUST CONFESSED’

user37:

‘SCROLLING BACK RN TIME STAMP 2:02:53 I HAVE PROOF.’

you figured it’d be a shame to waste how soft, and pliant bucky was. he’s too dumb to stop you anyway.

“mm, say that again?”

he barely lifts his head, just shudders.

“i can’t.” he spoke, voice cracking halfway through. “it’s too much- i can’t.. breathe. can’t think- just keeps pressing, and- and feels so good..”

user38:

‘he really said it like we wouldn’t notice.’

user39:

‘bro confessed then gaslit himself LMFAO’

you hum again, a little louder this time.

he nods blindly, eyes still squeezed shut.

you nudge your hips just a little, just enough to shift the thick toy inside the both of you, and his entire body locks up.

“aah- f-fuck!”

“still too much? still.. uh, what was it you said? still ‘feels too good?’ is that it?”

bucky tenses, and you could practically feel him sober up.

“what? wait i didn’t mean-” his voice cracks again. “i didn’t mean it like that- i didn’t say that out loud.. did i..?”

you tilt your head, feigning innocence.

“you.. didn’t know?”

“i was- i was saying i hate it!”

“that’s not what it sounded like.”

bucky stares at you, horrified, as your fingers slip lower to his inner thighs. you dragged a finger over the mess and he keens.

“so wet, you’re dripping.”

“i didn’t mean to-”

“to cum three times?”

“i don’t like it, for fuck’s sake.”

you lean in, and sigh.

“you’ve been leaking around this toy for an hour. now you’ve said it felt good. do you want to lie to them again?”

bucky stares, wide-eyed.

“do it, come on. look towards the camera, and tell them this doesn’t feel good.”

the thick silicone slides free from his aching hole with a slick, wet sound.

“such a mess.”

“not fair- you’ve had.. more practice..”

you cup his jaw, and tilt his face up.

“you’re not done yet.”

“w-what?”

“you’re going to use it on me.”

bucky stares at you like you’ve asked him to lift a car.

user40:

‘HOLD ON???’

user41:

‘THE WHIMPER??’

“i can’t- i don’t even know how-”

you sit back, spreading your thighs slowly.

“put it in.”

he shivers, but he listens, he always does.

bucky’s uncoordinated at first, fingers a little shaky as he works the toy against you, but it doesn’t take long for him to get lost in it. he loved watching your breath hitch, watching your hips rock into every thrust he gives you.

user42:

‘this is like handing a caveman fire, and telling him to go nuts.’

user43:

‘why is bro blushing more than the person getting fucked??’

“that’s so hot- no, i’m still mad. could’ve been my cock instead of this stupid toy.” he’s biting his lips, eyes locked on where the dildo was pressing into you.

you grab the back of his hair, and pull his head down until his face was buried into your neck.

“you want to make it up to me? then make me cum. you know how.”

he chokes.

“you’re impossible-”

“get on with it.”

and he does.

bucky pushes the toy in deeper, and starts moving it, trying to find the rhythm, trying to not collapse as you gripped his wrist, and guided him through it.

you’re moaning now, low, and filthy, letting him know how good it felt.

“fuck, you’re so- god, i get why you lasted-”

“faster.” you growl.

he obeys.

user44:

‘he’s fucking WHINING every time you maon.’

user45:

‘if he starts rutting into the bed I SWEAR’

the worst part was that bucky was actually rutting into the sheets without realising. his eyes were locked onto the way the dildo entered you. every sound you made makes him twitch.

your back arches when he pushes the toy in deeper, and you grip his wrist tighter. your hips lift, chasing the motion as he fucks the toy into you harder.

“going to cum?” he whispers, clearly starstruck.

“yes- fuck, keep going.”

he does, silently.

then your whole body arches, and tenses. your cock pulses untouched as you came hard, all over your stomach, loud, and finally satisfied.

and bucky? he just stares.

you grab his jaw, and pull him in for a kiss, your tongue down his throat, and your cum in between your stomachs. when you break the kiss, you glance towards the camera.

“thanks for the toy, we’ll keep it in rotation. maybe.”

click. the stream ended.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x male reader #x male reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes #bottom bucky barnes #sub bucky barnes #top male reader #dom male reader #top bucky barnes #dom bucky barnes #bottom male reader #sub male reader #buckfics

217 notes · View notes

noorpersona · 30 days ago

Text

Jealousy: Yaku (NSFW)

You’re both lounging on the floor of his apartment, legs tangled together in that lazy, effortless way that only comes when you’re newly dating and stupidly into each other. The food container between you is nearly empty—rice sticking to the corners, sauce smeared up the sides—and Yaku is using his chopsticks to pick out the last sliver of ginger beef while you nurse the remnants of your drink.

It’s quiet. Comfortable. His living room smells like soy sauce and his cologne, all clean fabric and spice. There’s a warm hum of city noise beyond the windows—car tires on pavement, the distant clang of metal somewhere below. His lamp is casting a soft amber glow over the walls, low and intimate, and the playlist he'd queued hours ago hums quietly from a speaker in the corner. It’s all so easy—until it’s not.

You’re scrolling your phone with one hand, tucked against one of his thighs, thumb half-heartedly flicking through an article you’re not even reading. You’re full, a little sleepy, the kind of cozy that usually makes you chatty without thinking. So when the words leave your mouth, it’s not with any sense of gravity.

"It’s kinda funny," you say, voice casual. "I’ve never actually come from someone going down on me."

There’s a pause.

A long one.

You glance up.

Yaku’s chopsticks are frozen midair, beef strip halfway to his mouth. His whole body has gone still, like someone hit pause. The lean lines of his frame are sharper now than they were in high school—broad shoulders under a fitted tee, forearms corded with definition from years of pro training.

His jaw is a little more cut, mouth plush but tense, and his hair, once wild and youthful, is cropped shorter now—cleaner, more intentional, but still unmistakably him. His brows pull together slowly, eyes narrowing beneath the soft gold of the apartment light, gaze locked on you like you just flipped a switch he didn’t know he had.

"...What?"

You blink. "What?"

He sets the food down like it’s suddenly unimportant. "Say that again."

You let out a short laugh, a little embarrassed now. "Relax. I just said no one’s ever made me cum from, like… oral. It’s not a big deal."

He blinks once. Then again. Like the words haven’t quite landed yet.

"That’s a huge deal."

You shrug, awkward. "It’s not like I haven’t tried. It’s just… I don’t know. Doesn’t really do it for me, I guess."

His gaze sharpens. He leans forward slightly, chopsticks forgotten. "Not even close?"

You squint, thinking. "...There was one time. An ex got me pretty close."

And you don’t think much of it—until your voice trails off and your body betrays you. You shiver.

Just a small one. Barely noticeable. But Yaku sees it.

Something shifts behind his eyes. The teasing falls away in an instant, replaced by something cooler. Focused.

He tilts his head, voice dropping. "You shivered."

Your stomach flips. "Did I?"

"Yeah." His tone is unreadable. Then, after a pause: "So he got close."

You hesitate. "I mean, yeah, I guess—?"

His jaw ticks. His eyes drag down to your thighs and linger. There’s a long moment where nothing moves—where you feel pinned, almost hunted.

Then:

"Okay," he says, voice low and flat. "Lie back."

You blink. "I—what?"

He’s already shifting onto his knees.

"You’re gonna lie back, and you’re gonna tell me exactly what he did. And I’m gonna do it better."

The air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. "Morisuke—are you serious—?"

"Dead serious." His hands land on your thighs. His thumbs draw slow, deliberate circles just below the hem of your shorts. "You said it’s specific, right? So tell me."

You try to form a sentence. Fail.

"Right here?" you say, dumbly, gesturing to the floor.

"Do you see me moving?"

Your mouth opens again, but nothing comes out except a strangled sound halfway between protest and disbelief. You hadn’t expected this to flip so quickly. He’d been teasing you about soy sauce stains a second ago.

"You’re insane," you whisper.

He smirks. "You’ve got no idea."

Your heart’s beating hard enough now that you can feel it in your teeth. And maybe you should say no. Maybe you should tell him this is insane and that you were not planning to get eaten out on a hardwood floor before dessert.

But the way he’s looking at you—focused, calm, possessive—it burns.

You exhale slowly.

"...You’re not gonna let this go, are you."

"Nope."

You glance toward the couch. Then back to him. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t blink.

Fine.

You lie back.

The floor is cool under your shoulders. Your head rests near the base of his couch. You feel vulnerable as hell—and stupidly turned on.

Yaku leans over you, arms on either side of your legs, and asks with quiet finality:

"What did he do that almost worked?"

Your pulse stutters.

You want to tease. Make a joke. Brush it off with a flippant "wouldn’t you like to know." But something in Yaku’s gaze pins you down more than his hands ever could.

So you answer.

"He, um. He didn’t use rhythm. Just… kept changing it up. Not too much suction. More tongue. Real light pressure."

Your voice is breathier than you meant it to be. He notices.

"Anything else?"

You shake your head. "That’s all I remember. It felt good. Just… not enough."

He nods once. Eyes half-lidded now. One hand slides down your thigh to the waistband of your shorts.

"Let’s fix that."

You’re not sure when exactly your mouth went dry. Somewhere between the sound of your shorts unzipping and the heat of Yaku’s palms spreading you open, your brain just stopped firing in full sentences.

He works you out of your bottoms like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal to undress someone on a hardwood floor after a casual dinner. Your panties come off with them in one smooth drag, and for a second, he just… pauses.

Like he’s taking you in.

It’s not lewd. Not cartoonish. He’s quiet, measured, but there’s something unmistakably hungry in his eyes. His gaze roves across your thighs, up to where your legs part, then back to your face.

"Still okay?" he asks, voice low.

You nod. Your heart is pounding.

"Good," he says, and sinks lower.

His hands push your thighs apart, thumbs brushing the inside. He’s not even touching you where it counts yet, but your body is already reacting—heat pooling fast and low, anticipation coiling tight behind your ribs.

He leans in close, breath warm, but pauses again.

"Tell me what not to do," he murmurs against your skin. "What didn’t work?"

You exhale shakily. "Too much suction. Too fast. Like they were trying to get it over with."

That makes him huff a laugh against your thigh. "Idiots."

Then, softly—almost under his breath:

"I’m not rushing a fucking thing."

You jolt.

He starts slow, the backs of his knuckles brushing up the crease of your thigh like a warning. And it’s insane, how much your body tenses just from that. You’re hyperaware of everything: the soft scrape of his nails, the heat of his breath, the faint creak of the floor under his knees.

He kisses the inside of your leg. Then higher. Then higher.

And then finally—

His mouth meets your cunt.

You gasp, hips jolting at the first wet stripe of his tongue. It’s not rushed. Not experimental. It’s intentional—slow and flat, a teasing lick that ends with his lips barely brushing your clit.

He pulls back slightly and tilts his head, watching you.

"That?"

You swallow hard. "Y-yeah. That’s good."

He goes again, and this time he lingers—tongue circling, just shy of pressure, flicking the way you described, not sticking to any pattern. You feel his grip tighten on your thighs when your hips twitch.

"There she is," he mutters.

He doesn’t tease verbally. He doesn’t need to. Every movement says it for him. Every drag of his tongue across your folds is a deliberate challenge.

This is what almost did it? Then this should be easy.

He adjusts his angle, tilts your hips up slightly to get a better hold, and it knocks your breath clean out of your lungs.

"Fuck—Mori—"

His response is a groan against you that vibrates straight into your clit. Your legs twitch, reflexively trying to close, but his hands are already braced firmly on your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles like he wants you to stay open for him.

You bite your lip. Hard. The pleasure is building faster than you’re used to—coiling and hot, making your thighs tremble and your voice catch in your throat.

"Doing okay?" he murmurs again, voice rough.

You manage a breathless nod. "S-so good—"

He doesn’t slow. Just lets out another quiet hum of approval before returning his mouth to you with renewed focus. He alternates between flicking and flattening, licking you open, then pulling back to suck just lightly, barely enough to make you squirm.

You’re already panting.

Already embarrassingly close.

And he knows it.

"You’re sensitive," he mutters into you. "Cute."

You squirm, biting back a whimper.

"Shut up."

He just laughs—the kind of low, smug sound that says you’re mine now.

Then he brings one hand up, slick fingers parting your folds to expose your clit more fully. And the second his tongue presses flat there and stays, you see stars.

Your hips jump. Your hand shoots to his hair on instinct, gripping tight.

"There," you gasp. "Right there—don’t—don’t stop—"

But he doesn’t. Not even close.

His rhythm changes again, tongue rolling just right, and your vision blurs. You feel it building too fast—your breath coming in short gasps, hips rocking against his face like your body’s chasing that final step on its own.

"Mori—oh fuck—please—"

He groans into you. It’s desperate. Unhinged. Like he’s been waiting for this reaction since the second you first opened your mouth. And you can feel it—his pride, his need to be the one who wrecks you like this.

Your thighs start to close again, but his hands hold you open, grip bruising now, locking you down like you’re not going anywhere.

"Come on," he growls. "Give it to me."

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train.

It steals your breath, punches a moan out of your chest, and makes your hips jolt up off the floor. You can’t even think—you just feel, helpless and shaking, back arching while your fingers yank at his hair and your legs tremble under his grip.

He keeps going. Gentle, coaxing licks as you ride it out, until you gasp out a strangled:

"Stop—too much—!"

And only then does he finally pull back.

You’re boneless. Blinking at the ceiling like you’ve been electrocuted. Your chest is heaving. Your thighs are still twitching.

Yaku leans back on his knees, face flushed, lips slick, chest rising and falling.

He looks like he just won a championship.

You don’t realize your eyes are glassy until you blink.

Everything feels smeared—like you’re seeing through heat. Your chest rises and falls in jagged pulls of air, your lips parted, your entire body loose and shaky like your bones dissolved somewhere mid-orgasm.

You can still feel his mouth on you. Not literally—but in the way your skin remembers.

Yaku stays between your thighs for a second longer, breathing hard, watching the way you’re laid out across the floor. You’re glowing with sweat, hair mussed across your cheek, and he looks… possessed.

But not wild. Not messy. Proud.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes flicking up to your face. Then he leans in again—not to keep going, but just to kiss the inside of your thigh, slow and reverent, like you’re a holy site he just conquered.

You can’t even find the words yet.

He crawls up your body, carefully avoiding the most sensitive parts, and lies down beside you, one elbow propped up so he can rest his cheek in his hand.

"So," he murmurs. "That was ‘specific,’ huh?"

You groan and throw an arm over your face. "Don’t."

He grins. "What? I’m just asking."

Your voice comes out hoarse. "You are so smug right now."

"I think I earned it."

You peek at him through your fingers. His hair’s a mess. His lips are swollen. His voice is a little rougher than usual. But he looks satisfied in a way you’ve never seen on him before.

And god, you want to deny it. You want to tell him it was a fluke, that the stars just aligned, that you were due. But the way your body is still buzzing with aftershocks?

You’re not that good a liar.

You let your arm fall to your side and stare up at the ceiling.

"...I didn’t think I could cum like that," you say quietly.

He hums. "Guess you just needed the right mouth."

You snort and smack his arm.

But there’s something under the humor—an ache in your chest, soft and weirdly tender. Because this wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t. He listened. He asked. And then he learned you in real time, with the kind of careful intensity that no one’s ever taken the time to offer you.

You turn your head to face him.

He’s already watching you. His eyes are dark, unreadable. Then he says, softly:

"I want you to forget what almost worked."

Your breath catches.

"You don’t need to remember anyone else," he adds, voice low. "You’ll think of me. From now on, it’s me."

There’s no question in his tone. No performance. Just quiet, matter-of-fact ownership.

And you don’t respond. You can’t. Not with words. Not when your body is still shuddering from the truth of it.

So instead, you shift. Still dazed, still heavy-limbed, you push yourself up with trembling arms and swing one leg over his hips to straddle him. He looks surprised at first, but his hands fly to your thighs immediately.

You lean down, kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.

"Your turn," you murmur.

He exhales a laugh. "That eager, huh?"

You flush. "Don’t push it."

But your hands are already tugging at the waistband of his sweats, and he’s already lifting his hips to help. You pause long enough to kiss the underside of his jaw, then mouth along his throat, just to feel his pulse spike.

His cock springs free, flushed and hard and already leaking.

You blink down at it and mutter:

"...Okay. Yeah. That tracks."

He smirks, half-lidded, dragging his hands up your sides. "Didn’t exactly hold back."

You look back up at him, heartbeat rising again. He looks wrecked. Not just aroused—wrecked. Red-faced, chest heaving, mouth parted.

"I need you to ride me," he says, voice low and sharp with need. "Need to feel you still shaking."

You nearly combust on the spot.

You reach between you and grip him, lining him up. His head falls back against the floor, jaw clenched as you slowly sink down, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside you. The stretch burns in the best way—hot, deep, intense. You gasp.

He groans. Loudly.

"Fucking hell—look at you—"

But you can’t. Your head’s thrown back, hands splayed on his chest for balance, thighs still twitching from what he just did to you. He grabs your hips, grounding you, and murmurs:

"Go slow. Just let me feel you."

So you do.

You rock against him, slow and deep, every motion making his breath hitch. He watches your body like it’s the most important thing he’s ever seen. His grip never falters. He doesn’t thrust—just lets you use him, takes it, groaning and whispering praise between clenched teeth.

"Still wet for me. Look at you." "Didn’t know you could come that hard." "Gonna be in your head for days."

And he’s right.

You already know you’ll feel this for the rest of the week. Every step. Every thought. You’ll remember the way he looked at you—serious, starved—and the way he said "Forget them. Think of me."

You’re not thinking of anything else now.

You don’t know how long you stay like that—sore, stretched, and still joined at the hips. Neither of you moves. It’s not laziness. It’s something heavier. A stillness that feels earned.

Yaku’s hands stroke slowly up and down your sides, not because he’s trying to seduce you again, but because he can’t stop touching you. Like he needs to remind himself he did that. That he got to see you like this—raw, wrecked, glowing.

Eventually, you shift off him with a low hiss. He lets you go with a breath, one hand catching your thigh as if reluctant to lose contact. You settle beside him on the floor, curling into his side, head tucked under his chin.

He kisses your hair.

"You okay?"

You nod, still a little dazed. "I think you broke my soul."

He snorts. "You’ll live."

You lift your head slightly, eyes narrowing at him. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," he says, brushing his thumb over your jaw, "you’re snuggled right up next to me like I’m your favorite blanket."

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He has a point.

"I hate you," you mumble.

"You’re welcome."

There’s a stretch of quiet then, just the sound of your breathing and the thrum of your pulse trying to regulate again. Your muscles are loose, body limp. Every part of you is still echoing with the ghost of his mouth and the way he held you down like it was a personal mission.

He shifts onto his side to face you.

"So. Now that I’ve ruined you for everyone else, what do we do next?"

You glare at him. "You’re lucky I’m too exhausted to punch you."

"That’s not a no."

You roll your eyes, then bury your face into his chest, groaning. He laughs and pulls you in tighter.

You lay there for a while, silent.

Eventually, you murmur, "You really meant it, didn’t you?"

He brushes a kiss against your temple. "Every word."

"You want me to forget everyone else."

"Not want. Expect."

You tilt your head to look at him. He’s not smirking now. He’s serious. Calm. Like he’s not just talking about sex.

And you believe him.

"Okay," you whisper.

He smiles. Not smug. Not cocky. Just… content.

Like he already knew that would be your answer.

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jayparked · 8 months ago

Note

congrats on 1k !! 🥳🎂🤍

could you do 67 + 113 with jungwon <3

warnings: established relationship, first time together, fingering, switch!won x switch!reader, nipple play

wc: 576

"fuck- are we really about to do this?"

"yes, won, now can you please stick something inside me? i don't care if it's your tongue, fingers, or dick. i need you."

you and jungwon have been dating for a couple weeks now and it's been nothing but blissful. except for...one thing; the fact that you two haven't had sex yet. the sexual tension has been driving you absolutely crazy; the way his hand lingers on his arm when he's near you, seeing a glimpse of his abs whenever his shirt rides up a little, or the way your kisses have turned into more heated exchanges.

the fact is you just cannot wait any longer.

you push jungwon onto your bed, straddling him as you move to take off his shirt. his breathing has quickened already, hands trembling slightly as he gets bolder with his movements. they move from your hips up over your ribcage until his fingertips are ghosting over the mounds of your breasts. you give him a chance to move on his own, but when you realize his hesitation and the way he nervously licked at his lips all you can do is sigh and grab his hands in your own and move them until they're firmly gripping your chest.

"touch me before i lose my mind," you moan out to him.

like a flipped switch, jungwon takes action and squeezes your chest firmly before rocking his hips to the side. now on your back, it's jungwon that hovers over you, his hands leaving your breasts to undo your jeans.

and finally, finally, with your jeans long discarded, you feel his fingers ghosting over your clothed clit. jungwon hisses at the wet spot and hastily pushes your panties aside and plunges a finger deep into your hole.

"do i really turn you on this much?" he's completely amazed, eyes glossed over as he adds a second digit, languidly pumping into you until your back is arching.

"you- you have no idea. please don't stop," you sigh and grip his shoulders, lowering him down into a searing kiss.

with three fingers in you now and the way you're moaning his name into his ear, jungwon is feeling more confident than ever, pressing his thumb against your clit and nipping at the side of your neck. he's never been so turned on by the way someone has said his name before. but the way you sting out the syllables of his identity has his mind going hazy. he quickens his pace and moves his hand to push your shirt and bra to the side, his mouth latching onto your nipple hungrily. he swirls his tongue around and blows cold air against it to see just how perky they can really get. it isn't until you feel him pull at your nipple with your teeth at the exact time his fingers beckon inside you that you feel that tight cord in your pelvis tighten, threatening to snap.

"j-jungwon. i'm gonna come. oh my god. please let me come." you're grasping at him for dear life, never expecting to come undone this quickly.

"then come for me," he whispers into your ear, his warm breath tickling you just right.

he continues to coax you towards your orgasm, more sweet words leaving his mumbling lips as he continues to rapidly thrust his digits in and out of you, not planning on stopping until he has you screaming beneath him.

for part of my 1k follower celebration send me a member and a number from this list and i'll write a short drabble about it ♡masterlists

#tysm pooks :(#jayparked 1k drabble event #jungwon smut #jungwon hard hours #jungwon hard thoughts #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #jungwon x you #jungwon x reader #jungwon x y/n #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #snail mail

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astrstqr · 1 year ago

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☆˙˖ DESIRED REALITY !

things i script for my modern dr. lmk if you want more

⬭ racism, homophobia, ableism, transphobia, islamophobia, anti semitism, misogyny, global warming, climate change, overconsumption, overpopulation, deforestation, habitat destruction etc., used to exist, however they currently do not and will never suffer from them again.

⬭ everyone is treated equal

⬭ no “pro-life”

⬭ people are allowed to have abortions no matter what age they are

⬭ women products are free such as pads/tampons and birth control

⬭ everyone is educated on problems happening around the world

⬭ health care is free

⬭ natives are seen as the founders of America

⬭ south, west, southeast, & central Asians are seen too + people know Asia is not just the east

⬭ having guns are illegal unless your job requires you to have one and there is no other way to get a gun

⬭ periods last a day and are very light

⬭ covid-19 doesn’t exist

⬭ plastic surgery is normalized , isnt look down on but people rarely gets it unless necessary

⬭ children of any age are not sexualized in any form or shape

⬭ in public bathrooms the toilet is always clean, people don't knock on the stall you are in, there is always toilet paper, always soap and a hand dryer

⬭ the Chinese government isn't so harsh & gives the citizens freedom

⬭ people of color’s cultures are RESPECTED, & not appropriated

⬭ foster care takes treats kids nicely

⬭ nobody harms animals and kill shelters are not a thing

⬭ all country leaders are good and honest people

⬭ human trafficking does not exist

⬭ the government never watches you through your phone

⬭ trump never ran for president

⬭ no world hungers

⬭ no one is homeless, and everyone has a home

⬭ world peace

⬭ women and men are equal

⬭ it’s easy for people to make money

⬭ all sickness has a cure

⬭ bullying does not exist

⬭ black history and pride month still exist

⬭ the government isn't greedy and take care of their people

⬭ every country has money, food, isnt poor, etc. etc.

⬭ no toxic parenting

⬭ the Sewol ferry never had an accident

⬭ school shooting doesn’t exist

⬭ minimum wage is $15-$20 an hour

⬭ crimes are punished with justice in mind

⬭ history is recorded correctly

⬭ people can start driving at 15

⬭ Korea is not conservative

⬭ Korea doesn’t have an unrealistic beauty standard

⬭ Korea never divided, it is united and free. But south of korea is like the city part and the north is like rural part

⬭ pollution does not exist

⬭ earth air is clean and easy to breathe no matter where you are

⬭ no acid rain, urban sprawl, ozone layer depletion

⬭ allergies do not exist

⬭ the world is more colorful and not dull looking

⬭ coral reef still has it color

⬭ no water in unwanted places

⬭ grass is always green

⬭ if the population increases the planet gets bigger to produce resources to accommodate the growing population. it doesnt effect the mass of the earth or the gravitational pull

⬭ global warming doesn't exist

⬭ humidity doesn't ruin hair

⬭ the library of alexandria was never destroyed

⬭ apple pencils work on iPhone

⬭ everything is wireless, and nothing needs a cord

⬭ line is always short in stores and restaurants

⬭ buildings and renovating don’t take longer than a wee

⬭ you can book a hotel with being 18 or older

⬭ traffic is always fine

⬭ netflix have more of a large selection of things and dont remove shows/add shows no one wants

⬭ spotify is free

⬭ the switch have a web browser

⬭ tv companies still make tv shows similar to the 2000s and early 2010s , just updated to keep up with the times

⬭ the sims franchise lore is linear throughout the series

the open world features from sims 3 is still present in sims 4

sims 4 is like an updated and better version of sims 3 keeping all the features from the sims 3 (still including everything that is already in sims 4)

non of the games have bugs

every expansion pack etc is just added to the game as an update and no one has to pay for it

⬭ cheap jewelry doesnt tarnish

⬭ washer/dryer cycles are 15 mins

⬭ in the show dancing dolls everyone was treated equally and was never fake to each other.

⬭ people actually do the theme for the met gala and it’s always unique

୨୧⠀˙⠀⠀˖⠀ world aesthetic & vibe

#𓏸𓈒 — YANA #★ DA BRAT DRS #scripting ideas #script #reality shifting #shifting #desired reality #manifesation #things to script #shifting script #shifting community #shiftblr #shifters #shifting motivation #shifting realities

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caelivir · 6 months ago

Note

Um um.....Miya atsumu Long way 2 go -- Casie

And and trope- enemies to lovers??

Also I love your writing👾👾

now playing: long way 2 go by casie

atsumu? this song? enemies to lovers? i think you just sent me to heaven. i don't think you understand how hard i'm geeking right now. i keep whisper screaming "YOU'RE A GENIUS". and thank you!

content. rich boy!miya atsumu x fem!reader, atsumu’s lowkey a downbad loser, tension (at least i hope it is) | wc. 905

atsumu thinks he's hot shit. you know of plenty of guys his type. how could you not? your school is full of them. they think their good looks and endless pockets let them get away with anything. there’s so many of them, but out of all of them, the one you despise the most is atsumu.

you’ve never met someone with an ego so inflated that it rivaled the size of earth. there’s no one who makes you want to tear out your own nerves out more than him.

atsumu is well-aware that you loathe him. he hates you just as much, but instead of ignoring you like a normal person does, he discovers new ways to tick you off. he's like a bacteria who's always finding a way to invade your system.

and now you’re stuck with this damn vermin in a tight, janitorial closet, and it’s his fault.

“be honest. are you an imbecile? like were you dropped as a baby? how do you miss the sign that said, ‘lock broken. leave door open if inside.’?” you fume in the dark.

“do ya ever shut yer mouth?” you don’t need to see atsumu to visualize the harsh glare he has. you can hear his hands fumbling around, searching for any kind of light switch.

you scoff. “oh that’s loaded coming for you. thanks to you, we’re missing class right now!”

at that moment, you hear a click, and a warm light fills the room. you never realized how close atsumu actually was. his body is nearly pressed against yours, his arm hanging above from when he pulled the cord of the light bulb down.

atsumu’s eyes are just as wide as yours, and he backs up, even if it’s only a mere step before his back crashes into a shelf of cleaning supplies that clatter upon contact.

you wince. “do i repulse you that much?”

atsumu doesn’t give you the grace of responding, narrowing his eyes at you as straightens his back, rolling back his shoulders in the limited space he has. when he loosens the tie of his school uniform, you stare at the hand tugging it down, veins prominent on his skin.

the action was… hot… to say the least. your hand twitches like it wants to slap you for ever thinking that.

“you don’t.”

“what?”

atsumu looks annoyed at the fact that he has to repeat himself but he does anyway. “you don’t… repulse me.”

“not true. you actively try to make my life hell every single day. no sane person does that unless they absolutely despise someone.” you correct, chuckling without humor.

“i…” the sentence crumbles in his throat. you see a blush creep up on his neck. the rosy pink reaches the tips of his ears. he turns his head away as if he were ashamed.

you laugh. now this is a sight, miya atsumu actually being embarrassed. you want to push this, see how far you can go.

“what is it, miya?” you tease, taking a step closer to invade his space. “cat got your tongue?”

atsumu backs up even further into the shelves. you��re sure it’s digging into his back. he gulps at the sight of you.

“do i make you nervous?” you trail your finger on his tie. atsumu follows the motion until it leads his back up to your eyes.

he burns a brighter red. “like hell i do.”

it hits you then.

oh.

“you hate me.” you breathe out in a whisper. “and you like me.”

atsumu tenses like you just caught him in an act, like you just announced it to the entire freaking world. you wrap your hand around his loose tie. once. twice.

“you’re so pathetic.”

it’s the last thing you utter before you’re tugging him by his tie, pressing your lips to his. atsumu’s reaction is immediate, resting his hands on your hips, bunching up the skirt of your uniform.

he wants more. you can sense it by the way his hands are slipping down to your thighs, and because of it, you pull away. atsumu chases after your lips, but you slightly pull your head back. you see the annoyance in his eyes.

you pull him again by his tie again, this time bringing his ear by your mouth. “don’t get it twisted, miya. you still piss me off, but i’m a firm believer of thinking that things can change. you want me? work for it. earn it. ‘cause the way you are now you’re still a long way from having me.”

the door to the closet swings open suddenly, flooding the room with a light brighter than the one shining over your heads.

“damn kids,” the janitor grumbles. “what the hell are you doing in here? you’re here at best school in the country and don’t know how to read, even skipping class. unbelievable.”

you smile, unraveling your hand from atsumu’s tie. “sorry for the inconvenience, sir. my friend here will pay you for the trouble we caused. consider it a token of appreciation for keeping our prestigious school so clean and beautiful, if you know what i mean.”

the janitor is practically bubbling with joy the moment he comprehends the meaning behind your words. atsumu glares at you like you’re unbelievable. you only wink, waving goodbye and blowing a kiss as you saunter down the hall, the fire of atsumu’s lips still lingering on yours.

#♪ ݂۫ kory’s aux event ♪ ݂۫#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #atsumu miya #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #⭑ — fics ⭑.ᐟ♡#♡ — hq #♡ — tsumu

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midseo · 1 year ago

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velvetvisionsaurora · 4 months ago

Text

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

Want to be notified when a chapter is updated? Join the Taglist!

‼️if you have read chapter 7 already please go back and make sure you have read the reunion part with Ella/Yeosang! It’s after the flash back scene! Something happened with posting and it got removed‼️

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Intersections

In their shared cabin on the ATEEZ's port side, Yunho sat cross-legged on his bunk, carefully fixing a torn sail section while Mingi cleaned his special tools at the small workbench beneath their single porthole. Neither spoke for several comfortable minutes, the silence between them built on years of shared understanding rather than awkward emptiness.

Finally, Yunho looked up from his stitching. "She knew the stars in Orion's belt before I even pointed them out."

Mingi nodded, continuing his careful work on the firing mechanism laid out in perfect order on his workbench. Unlike the nearly silent way he acted in group settings, here in their private room, his shoulders looked more relaxed, his movements less stiff, more natural.

"And she knew exactly where to find Canis Major," Yunho continued, his normally gentle voice showing a hint of doubt. "The same stars I taught y/n to spot during night watches on The Crimson Serpent."

"Important," Mingi replied, his voice fuller and more flowing than the short phrases others heard. With Yunho, words came more easily, the safe space of their shared cabin allowing him to express himself in ways he rarely showed elsewhere.

"But not proof," Yunho countered, setting aside his sail repair. "Seonghwa pointed out that anyone with basic star knowledge would recognize major constellations."

Mingi turned from his workbench, giving Yunho his full attention—something he did almost only for his roommate and oldest friend. "You doubt now?"

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of real frustration. "I don't know what to believe. Yesterday I was certain. Today..." He trailed off, the conflict clear in his usually calm expression.

"Seonghwa's reasons," Mingi observed, not a question but understanding.

"He makes good points," Yunho admitted. "Everything we see as her recognizing things could be explained other ways. Common behaviors, basic knowledge, chance preferences."

Mingi rose from his workbench and moved to sit beside Yunho on the bunk—a closeness that would have surprised anyone else aboard the ATEEZ. While the quiet gunner typically kept careful distance from others, with Yunho he allowed closeness built through years of shared hardship and looking out for each other.

"Found my maker's mark," Mingi said, his tone showing unusual certainty. "On the gun port housing. Hidden on purpose. She knew exactly where to look."

Yunho's expression brightened slightly. "You didn't mention that in the officers' meeting."

Mingi shrugged one shoulder, a small gesture carrying complex meaning. "Seonghwa would find an explanation. Coincidence. Good observation skills."

"And you don't believe that?" Yunho asked, watching his friend carefully.

"No." The single word carried absolute certainty, rare from the careful gunner who typically added qualifiers to his statements with careful precision.

Mingi reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a simple leather cord from which hung a small wooden compass rose, its five points carefully carved despite its tiny size. The navigation symbol that had become his maker's mark—appearing on every weapon he designed, every mechanism he created, every carving he left behind—was an exact copy of this original pendant.

"The compass I made for Mr. Hugs," he explained, holding the pendant where Yunho could see it. "Fell off during struggle at auction house. I kept the original design. Put it on everything since."

Yunho studied the wooden compass with new understanding. For fifteen years, he had seen this symbol on Mingi's creations without fully understanding its importance—not simply a maker's mark but a deliberate connection to the teddy bear's lost navigation guide, to the little girl who had called Mingi "Puppy" with innocent affection rather than mockery.

"I forgot you kept the original," Yunho said softly.

Mingi tucked the pendant back beneath his shirt, the private gesture showing how he carried both keepsake and mission against his heart. "Reminder of promise," he said simply.

He returned to his workbench, but instead of going back to tool cleaning, he opened a small drawer built into its side. From within, he took out a rolled piece of fabric, carefully unfolding it on the workspace to reveal dozens of tiny wooden animals, each small enough to fit in a child's palm, each bearing the special compass mark on its underside.

"Make one every port," Mingi explained, his voice softening with rare emotion. "Leave them where children might find. Markets. Docks. Public squares."

Yunho stared at the collection with growing realization. For fifteen years, he had sometimes noticed Mingi carving small animals during quiet moments, had sometimes seen him lagging behind when they left port cities, but had never connected these observations to their shared mission.

"You leave them as messages," Yunho realized. "In case y/n might find one and recognize your work."

Mingi nodded, his finger gently touching a small wooden rabbit, perfect despite its tiny size. "Fifteen years. Hundreds of carvings. Every port we've visited."

The revelation—delivered in Mingi's private voice rather than his public way of few words—carried emotional weight beyond its factual meaning. While the others had searched through official channels, tracking auction records and slave lists, Mingi had kept up his own parallel effort: creating tiny wooden messengers that might somehow find their way to a lost girl who had once treasured his carvings.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Yunho asked, moving to stand beside his friend at the workbench.

Mingi's expression shifted slightly, showing rare vulnerability. "Might seem foolish. Not practical."

"It's not foolish," Yunho countered immediately, his hand settling gently on Mingi's shoulder—one of the few touches the gunner accepted without tension. "It's... hopeful. Faith that connection might last through separation."

Mingi's posture relaxed slightly under Yunho's reassurance, the acceptance flowing between them without need for more validation. Unlike others who might have dismissed his silent fifteen-year ritual as superstition, Yunho understood the deeper idea: that connection sometimes followed paths logic couldn't predict, that effort kept up without guaranteed result still had value.

"You really believe Ella is y/n," Yunho observed, the statement carrying no judgment or pressure.

Mingi nodded once, certainty clear despite his usually careful expression. "Too many matches for coincidence. The way she moves. Watches. Protects herself. Knows things without saying she knows them."

"Seonghwa suggests those behaviors might come from fifteen years of captivity rather than specific connection to us," Yunho countered, though his tone suggested he welcomed Mingi's counterargument.

"True," Mingi acknowledged, his response more detailed in Yunho's presence than others ever witnessed. "But combined with specific knowledge—star patterns, maker's marks, food preferences—pattern becomes clear."

He selected a small wooden dolphin from his collection, its details remarkably precise despite its tiny size, and placed it in Yunho's palm. "Made this last night. For her."

Yunho examined the tiny carving, noting the compass rose carefully embedded in its underside. "You want me to give it to her?"

Mingi shook his head slightly. "Leave where she'll find it. Without obvious placement. Test whether she recognizes what it means."

The suggestion—smart yet respectful of Ella's choice—reflected Mingi's careful approach to all challenges. Unlike Wooyoung's desire for immediate confirmation or Seonghwa's careful skepticism, Mingi proposed subtle opportunity for recognition without pressure or manipulation.

"Her bedside table?" Yunho suggested. "When she's with the captain for afternoon briefing?"

Mingi nodded approval. "Natural discovery. Her choice to acknowledge or ignore."

The plan settled between them without need for further explanation, their years together creating shorthand communication that others aboard the ATEEZ marveled at but couldn't copy. Even Hongjoong, with his smart planning and leadership instinct, sometimes found himself excluded from the silent understanding that flowed between the ship's tallest officer and its most reserved.

"If she is y/n," Yunho said after a moment, his voice carrying the uncertainty Mingi's lacked, "why wouldn't she simply tell us? We've given her no reason to fear us."

Mingi considered this carefully, his expression thoughtful in ways he rarely showed outside their private quarters. "Fifteen years captive," he replied finally. "Trust becomes a tactic, not instinct. She weighs benefit against risk before sharing."

"And the risk of revealing herself to us?" Yunho prompted.

"Expectation," Mingi answered immediately, the insight flowing more freely in Yunho's presence. "We might expect y/n unchanged. The child we knew, not the woman survival created."

The observation showed emotional intelligence that would have surprised those who knew only Mingi's public persona—the silent gunner whose rare words addressed practical matters rather than people's feelings. Yet with Yunho, he revealed the depth of understanding that made him not just the ATEEZ's weapons specialist but one of its most insightful observers.

"You think she fears disappointing us," Yunho realized. "That we might reject who she's become in favor of who we remember."

"Possible," Mingi acknowledged. "Survival changes people. Needed adaptations might not match childhood memories."

He carefully rolled up the fabric containing his collection of carved animals, securing it with careful precision before returning it to its drawer. "We remember five-year-old child. She brings twenty-year-old survivor shaped by captivity."

"And if she's not y/n?" Yunho asked quietly, the question reflecting his lingering doubt despite Mingi's conviction.

Mingi paused in his careful organization, considering this possibility with typical thoroughness. "Then she remains valuable ally against Blackwell. Worthy of protection regardless of identity."

The simple statement reflected core principles that had guided their mission through fifteen years of increasingly dangerous operations: that their campaign against the slave trade went beyond personal revenge, that protection extended beyond specific connection to broader purpose.

"You're right," Yunho acknowledged, his expression clearing somewhat. "Whether she's y/n or not, she deserves freedom and safety after fifteen years of captivity."

"Exactly," Mingi confirmed, returning to his workbench with renewed focus. He resumed cleaning his special tools, each movement precise yet flowing with natural grace rather than forced control. In Yunho's presence, he kept to careful standards without the rigid tension that marked his public performance, the safety of their shared space allowing expression that others never witnessed.

Yunho watched his friend work for several quiet moments, appreciating Mingi's confident movements and focused attention—qualities that had saved their lives countless times during fifteen years of increasingly dangerous missions. Though Mingi spoke rarely in public and avoided casual contact, in their private sanctuary he revealed the person beneath carefully built protection—thoughtful, perceptive, and far more talkative than anyone beyond Yunho ever experienced.

"Thank you," Yunho said simply, the gratitude covering their current conversation and fifteen years of unwavering loyalty.

Mingi looked up briefly, a small but genuine smile softening his usually blank features—an expression reserved exclusively for Yunho. No verbal response followed, none being necessary between two who had survived childhood captivity, teenage rebellion, and adult warfare side by side.

Outside their cabin, the ATEEZ continued its steady progress through morning waters, feared throughout the maritime world as the Black Ship, the Compass Crew, the vessel whose appearance meant precise revenge rather than random destruction. Few who encountered its distinctive silhouette understood the vessel's true purpose—that its feared reputation came not from bloodthirst but from blood oath, from promise made by children and fulfilled by the men they became.

And within that black-sailed ship, the quietest officer continued creating tiny wooden messengers marked with five-pointed compass rose, carrying fifteen years' hope that connection might somehow last through separation, that paths cut by violence might eventually come together through persistence and determination.

*Blackwell's Estate - Seven Years Earlier*

Twelve-year-old y/n stood stiffly in Blackwell's formal study, her expression carefully blank despite her inner panic. The summons had come without explanation—guards appearing at her work station in the laundry, taking her directly to the master's private domain where staff entered only when specifically ordered.

Victor Blackwell sat behind his massive desk, fingers joined beneath his chin as he studied her with the same clinical detachment that had marked his ownership for seven years. Unlike most slave owners who barely told apart individual pieces of property, Blackwell kept detailed knowledge of each person he owned—their abilities, their connections, their vulnerabilities. This personal attention made him more dangerous rather than more humane, his understanding used for maximum control rather than compassion.

"Do you know why you're here, girl?" he asked, his cultured voice showing no particular emotion.

"No, sir," y/n replied, the response automatic after years of conditioning. Show no curiosity, no initiative, no independent thought—only prompt obedience and proper respect.

"Valuable property requires proper maintenance," Blackwell continued, as if explaining a basic concept to a slow student. "This includes not merely physical health but appropriate mental conditioning. Assets that form incorrect attachments develop divided loyalties, lowering their functional value."

Cold dread settled in y/n’s stomach as his meaning became clearer. Blackwell rarely spoke directly about specific wrongdoings; his preferred method involved philosophical explanations that forced the listener to recognize their own mistakes, confessing through realization rather than questioning.

"Individuals within my household serve specific functions according to their abilities," he continued, rising from his desk to pace with careful steps. "The doctor's assistant provides medical support to maintain collective health. You girl, are to become the perfect slave. Educated, hard working and pretty enough to fulfill any requirements a buyer might need. Neither role includes unauthorized socialization beyond what's needed."

Y/n kept her carefully blank expression despite the growing certainty that her friendship with Yeosang had been discovered—the shared moments of connection they had believed properly hidden, the small kindnesses exchanged out of sight of watchful eyes, the wooden carvings passed between them as comfort during hard times.

For seven years, they had kept their alliance through increasingly careful precautions, knowing that their growing connection was a vulnerability that Blackwell would exploit if discovered. Yet somehow, despite their precautions, their secret communication had been exposed—perhaps through carelessness, perhaps through deliberate betrayal by another household member seeking good treatment.

"I have invested considerable resources in medical training for the boy," Blackwell remarked, his tone suggesting discussion of weather rather than human lives. "Skills development represents significant value improvement for specialized property. Such investment should not be harmed through inappropriate distractions."

He turned to face her directly, his expression showing neither anger nor cruelty but merely calculated business assessment. "Correction is therefore needed to maintain optimal asset functionality."

Before y/n could interpret this clinical declaration, the study door opened to admit two guards escorting a third figure between them. Yeosang's usual composed expression had broken into barely contained fear, his fifteen-year-old frame appearing suddenly younger and more vulnerable between the towering guards.

"Ah, excellent timing," Blackwell noted with the same detachment he might use when discussing furniture delivery.

He gestured for the guards to position Yeosang before his desk, then resumed his seat with the casual confidence of absolute authority. From a drawer, he took out a leather portfolio containing documents arranged with characteristic precision.

"Medical training increases property value considerably," he observed, reviewing the contents with practiced efficiency. "Several captains have expressed interest in acquiring specialized personnel for extended voyages. Captain Severino has offered particularly favorable terms for a ship's doctor with your specific qualifications."

The meaning became terribly clear: Yeosang was being sold. Their punishment for unauthorized friendship wasn't merely separation within the household but permanent division through transfer of ownership. The realization hit y/n with physical force, her carefully maintained composure threatening to break despite years of practiced control.

"The transaction will be completed today," Blackwell continued, directing his comments to Yeosang now. "Captain Severino's ship leaves with evening tide. Your medical supplies have been packed according to inventory requirements, with appropriate checking of controlled substances."

Throughout this clinical explanation, he maintained the same detached tone he might use when discussing crop rotation or equipment maintenance—human life reduced to asset management and inventory control. Only the slight tension in Yeosang's shoulders showed his internal response, years of conditioning preventing visible reaction despite devastating impact.

"The girl will observe transfer of ownership," Blackwell added, his gaze shifting to y/n with sudden sharpness. "Visual demonstration provides more effective behavioral change than theoretical explanation."

The deliberate cruelty of this decision—forcing her to witness Yeosang's removal—revealed the careful calculation behind Blackwell's seemingly dispassionate management. He understood precisely how to maximize psychological impact while maintaining appearance of reasonable business operations.

"You are prohibited from direct communication before departure," he instructed, rising to indicate the meeting's conclusion. "Guards will escort the boy to preparing quarters and the girl to observation position at front entrance. Asset transfer will proceed at four o'clock precisely."

As the guards moved to separate them, y/n’s efforts to fight and maintain her neutral expression crumbled, she turned and with tears hugged Yeosang tightly. "Please don't!" She said.

Yeosang, although grateful for one last interaction, closed his eyes in sadness. That moment of weakness would transform already devastating punishment into something far worse—Blackwell's method always escalated when emotional vulnerability was displayed.

Blackwell's cold and dismissive behavior morphed into an almost delightful smirk at the girl's behavior.

"See to it she is punished for this outburst." Blackwell commanded the guard. "It seems more training is necessary to her daily lessons." He commented to no one in particular.

Yeosang stiffened, and before he could open his mouth to speak as the guards roughly dragged y/n out of the room, Blackwell interrupted him.

"I cannot punish your words or actions any longer, however," He looked at the boy smirking. "Since you and the girl are so close, I'm sure she wouldn't mind taking the punishment of your disobedience in your place."

Yeosang's eyes widened slightly and quickly closed his mouth obeying Blackwell. Years of treating y/n’s wounds, with or without permission, taught him how cruel and gruesome they were with punishing her.

Three hours later, positioned on the mansion's front steps where her supposed "observation" doubled as humiliation before the entire household staff, y/n watched stone-faced as Yeosang was escorted to the waiting carriage. His few possessions—medical reference texts and carefully maintained instruments—had been packed in a single trunk that represented seven years of dedicated study and practice.

Captain Severino, a weathered man with calculating eyes similar to Blackwell's, inspected his new acquisition with the same clinical assessment used for livestock or equipment. His cursory examination included checking Yeosang's teeth and reflexes, testing basic medical knowledge through rapid-fire questions, and verifying physical condition through demonstration of movement and strength.

Throughout this degrading process, Yeosang kept the careful composure that had protected him through years in Blackwell's household—present yet somehow removed, cooperating physically while preserving essential selfhood behind strong walls. Only y/n, who knew him better than anyone else in the world, could read the subtle signs of his internal devastation: the slight tremor in his left hand, the carefully controlled breathing pattern, the small delay before each response.

As final transaction details were completed between Blackwell and Severino, Yeosang was permitted to gather his trunk under guard supervision. In that brief moment, as he knelt to secure the latches, his hand moved with practiced sleight developed through years of passing secret messages within the household. Something small dropped into the ornamental grass bordering the front path—a movement so subtle that even watchful guards failed to notice.

Y/n noted the deliberate placement, memorizing its exact location without shifting her gaze directly toward it. Whatever Yeosang had left behind, he had risked severe punishment to ensure she would find it after his departure—a final communication despite Blackwell's explicit prohibition.

The actual moment of separation passed with anticlimactic efficiency—Yeosang boarding the carriage, Severino completing final documentation, the vehicle departing down the long drive toward Halazia's harbor where ship awaited. No opportunity for goodbye, no acknowledgment of connection being severed, no recognition of human cost behind business transaction.

Only after night fell and household activities quieted did y/n risk retrieving Yeosang's final message. With careful movements honed through years of navigating Blackwell's household undetected, she slipped from her dormitory to the front gardens, locating the exact position where Yeosang had knelt hours earlier.

Buried in the ornamental grass, her searching fingers found familiar shape—a wooden wolf with its distinctive compass marking, not the same shared treasure passed between them for six years whenever one needed comfort or strength, a different one. Perhaps Yeosang made another one? A replica? Or he found another one hidden. This final gift represented both farewell and promise: that connection lasted beyond physical separation, that memory remained despite deliberate division, that hope survived even systematic attempts to destroy it.

Clutched tightly in her twelve-year-old hand, the small carving represented Yeosang's final resistance against Blackwell's calculated control—solid proof that something belonging uniquely to them had survived despite their owner's deliberate intervention. Neither understood its deeper significance: that the compass marking connected them to five boys searching throughout maritime world for a lost girl, that the wooden animal was created by a quiet child named Mingi who continued carving similar messengers during fifteen years of searching.

For y/n, it simply represented proof that genuine connection had existed despite Blackwell's systematic isolation—tangible evidence of the one friendship that had sustained her through seven years of captivity. For three more years, she would keep it carefully hidden within Blackwell's household, until her transfer to his business associate necessitated new hiding strategies.

For eight years, Yeosang would carry the original wolf, a memory through multiple transfers between captains who valued his medical skills without recognizing his humanity, until fate and a black-sailed pirate vessel named ATEEZ stepped in to offer unexpected freedom.

Neither could have imagined that 7 years after their forced separation, they would reunite aboard that same pirate ship—or that its feared officers were the very boys who had once protected a small girl aboard The Crimson Serpent, their fearsome reputation built upon the foundation of childhood oath to find someone both they and Yeosang had deeply loved in different ways.

The ship's bell had just rung midnight watch when Ella jolted awake. The nightmare of one of the three worst days of her life jolting her awake. Ella slipped silently from her cabin. Years of moving through hostile environments after dark had honed her ability to move without sound—a skill developed initially for survival, now used for deliberate purpose rather than desperate necessity.

The ATEEZ ran with skeleton crew during night hours, most sailors sleeping in shifts while essential positions maintained minimal vigilance. Her exploration earlier that day had yielded thorough knowledge of watch patterns and patrol routes—information gathered out of habit despite her apparent freedom aboard ship.

She moved through the darkened hallways with practiced efficiency, avoiding the occasional crewman on night duty through timing rather than hiding. No one had forbidden her movement throughout the vessel; nevertheless, caution remained ingrained after fifteen years of restrictions.

The medical bay's location on the lower deck provided ideal seclusion—positioned away from sleeping quarters and primary operational areas, its specialized ventilation creating sound barriers that would contain conversation. As she approached the partially open door, soft light spilled into the corridor, suggesting Yeosang remained awake despite the late hour.

For a brief moment, Ella hesitated outside the threshold, an unexpected wave of uncertainty washing over her. The boy she had known—gentle hands treating injuries, whispered encouragement during dark moments, the quiet strength that had kept her going through seven years in Blackwell's household—had become a man she recognized yet didn't truly know. How much had fifteen years changed him? How much suffering had he endured after Blackwell separated them?

Taking a steadying breath, she pushed such questions aside and entered the medical bay without announcing herself, slipping through the doorway with the silent movement that had become second nature during captivity.

Yeosang sat at his small desk, back to the door, apparently absorbed in writing notes in a leather-bound journal. The small wooden trinket box she remembered from childhood sat open beside his inkwell, medical supplies arranged with the same careful precision she remembered from their shared past.

He spoke without turning, his keen awareness of surroundings showing training beyond medical practice. "I wondered when you would come."

The voice—deeper than the boy she remembered yet carrying the same measured pace—confirmed what his posture already suggested: he had been waiting for her, perhaps since the moment she had left his medical bay hours earlier.

"You knew I would," she replied, closing the door silently behind her.

At this, he finally turned to face her, the careful composure of their earlier meeting giving way to more genuine expression. The distinctive birthmark near his left eye crinkled slightly as emotion transformed his features from professional detachment to painful recognition.

"Y/n." He spoke her true name as if testing its reality on his tongue. "It really is you."

The sound of her name—her actual name, not the shortened "Ella" she had offered the ATEEZ officers—created strange feeling after years of deliberate anonymity. She found herself momentarily speechless, the planned greeting dissolving under the weight of genuine connection.

Yeosang rose slowly from his desk, keeping careful distance as if uncertain of appropriate boundaries after fifteen years' separation. His movements held the same deliberate grace she remembered, though his frame had matured from teenage slenderness to adult strength. A thin scar traced his jawline—evidence of violence experienced since their forced separation—while his eyes carried shadows of witnessed suffering that hadn't existed in the fifteen-year-old boy she had known.

"Angel," she whispered, the childhood nickname coming unbidden. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Something in his expression cracked at the sound of her private name for him—the one she had given when they'd first connected in Blackwell's household. His careful composure faltered momentarily before he regained control, professional discipline evidently ingrained through years of necessary survival.

"I looked for you," he said quietly. "After I gained my freedom. But Blackwell's records were deliberately hidden, and his associate who purchased you had disappeared from known trading routes."

The admission created conflicting emotion—gratitude that he had tried to find her, pain that neither of them had succeeded in finding the other until now. Ella found herself moving forward almost unconsciously, closing the physical distance that symbolized their years of separation.

"How did you end up here?" she asked, genuine curiosity momentarily overriding the flood of other questions demanding attention. "On this specific ship?"

"The ATEEZ raided the vessel where I was being transferred between captains," he explained, his voice steady despite the difficult subject. "Unlike other pirates who typically claim medical personnel as valuable assets, Hongjoong recognized I was captive rather than crew. He offered freedom without obligation, though I chose to stay as ship's doctor."

He gestured vaguely toward the well-equipped medical bay. "This is the first place I've practiced medicine by choice rather than being forced. The first place my skills have served healing rather than maintaining property value."

The bitterness in his final words revealed wounds that professional composure couldn't fully hide—scars from years serving masters who viewed his healing abilities as tools for profit rather than compassion. Ella recognized the underlying anger; it mirrored her own carefully contained rage at fifteen years of being treated as an object.

"They don't know," she realized suddenly, studying his expression. "The officers—they don't know about our connection."

Yeosang shook his head slightly. "I never speak of my years under Blackwell. The specifics of my captivity remain my own."

His gaze sharpened with sudden intensity. "But they know you. Somehow, they know you—or believe they do. The way Yunho was watching you, the way Wooyoung's mouth moves at a faster rate when he speaks about 'Ella'." Yeosang rolls his eyes with a smirk.

"I was disgusted and surprised at first when I learned the captain had purchased a slave, even more surprised when heard the amount he paid just to turn around and free you." He raised an eyebrow. "I can see there's more to it than that."

"The Crimson Serpent," Ella confirmed, the explanation forming connection between separate pieces. "Before Blackwell bought me at auction, I spent three months aboard that ship with five cabin boys who tried to protect me. They tried to rescue me during stop in Halazia but failed. I was sold while they were recaptured."

Understanding dawned in Yeosang's expression. "The blood oath," he murmured, almost to himself. "The reason they target Blackwell's operations with such specific focus."

He looked at her with renewed intensity. "Y/n, they've been searching for you for fifteen years. It's the foundation of everything they've built—the ATEEZ, their campaign against slave traders, their reputation for precise revenge. All of it began with a promise to find one little girl sold at auction."

The confirmation of Wooyoung's earlier claim—delivered now by someone who had no reason to manipulate her trust—created momentary confusion. The implications seemed too vast, too significant to fully understand immediately.

"You knew they were searching for someone," she realized, studying his expression. "But you didn't know it was me."

Yeosang nodded, his face reflecting the complexity of this revelation. "They speak occasionally of a girl they lost, a promise that drives their mission. But never specific details—not her name, not her connection to Blackwell. I assumed she was someone they met after building their reputation, not its very foundation."

He moved to a cabinet secured with small lock. With practiced motion, he retrieved a key from within his medical bag, opening the cabinet to reveal shelves of specialized equipment. From the bottom drawer, he took out a small wooden box similar to the one on his desk but larger, its surface distinguished by detailed carvings rather than simple utility.

"After joining the ATEEZ," he explained, placing the box on his examination table, "I noticed Mingi's habit of carving small wooden animals—leaving them in ports we visited, sometimes asking me to place them in specific locations when I went ashore for medical supplies."

He opened the box carefully, revealing interior compartments organized with careful precision. "I helped without understanding why—assumed it was some personal ritual or superstition. He never explained, and I never asked."

From a hidden compartment within the box's lid, he withdrew a small object wrapped in protective cloth. With gentle movements that spoke of treasured significance, he unwrapped the bundle to reveal the wooden wolf they had shared during their childhood—worn from years of handling but still recognizable, its compass marking visible on the underside.

"I kept it," he said softly. "Through eight years, four different captains, countless ports. The only thing I managed to take from Blackwell's household that day."

Ella stared at the carving, emotion welling despite her determined control. "I lost the one you left for me that night. When I was transferred to Blackwell's associate. The guards found it during the transfer, destroyed it along with everything else I'd managed to hide."

Yeosang shook his head slightly.

Understanding dawned as she connected memories previously separated. "A second wolf. You carved it for me? The one you left the night Blackwell sold you?"

"No," Yeosang corrected gently. "I never had the skill for such detailed work." He turned the wolf over, indicating the compass mark. "This is Mingi's craftsmanship. All those animals he leaves in ports—they all bear this same mark. He's been creating them for fifteen years, leaving them throughout the maritime world."

The revelation hit with unexpected force—that Mingi, the quietest of the five boys who had protected her aboard The Crimson Serpent, had continued creating tangible connection despite their separation. That the wooden wolf she and Yeosang had treasured during their years in Blackwell's household had been Mingi's creation all along, its compass mark his signature rather than mere decoration.

"He leaves them hoping you might find one and recognize his work," Yeosang continued, his voice softening with newfound understanding. "For two years, I've been helping him distribute these messages without realizing they were meant for you—that you were the lost girl they've searched for all this time."

Ella reached into her pocket and withdrew the small leather pouch she kept hidden on her person at all times. From within, she removed a tiny wooden figure—not a wolf but a sparrow with folded wings, small enough to hide completely within her closed fist.

"I found this in the garden after a storm knocked down part of the wall," she explained, holding it where Yeosang could see. "Two years after you were sold. I didn't realize it was connected to the wolf—thought it was just similar craftsmanship."

Yeosang studied the sparrow, recognition dawning in his expression. "Mingi's work again. The compass mark is identical." He looked up, newfound understanding in his eyes. "They've been closer than we realized all these years—their search and our survival running parallel without crossing until now."

The meeting of these separate paths—five boys who became feared pirates searching for a lost girl, two children who survived Blackwell's household supporting each other through secret connection—created meaning beyond chance. It seemed like more than chance that these paths crossed—five boys turned pirates looking for a lost girl, and two children who had helped each other survive Blackwell's house.

"Do you trust them?" she asked, the question showing vulnerability she rarely displayed.

Yeosang considered this carefully, his natural caution evident in measured response. "I trust their intentions," he said finally. "Their protection of the vulnerable is genuine rather than strategic. Their opposition to the slave trade comes from personal conviction rather than mere profit opportunity."

He studied her thoughtfully. "Seonghwa reminds me of you," she observed suddenly. "The way he organizes everything, his careful movements, how he keeps emotion behind careful thinking."

"He's nothing like me," Yeosang replied, an unusual edge entering his voice. "His control comes from natural preference for order. Mine was beaten into me through eight years serving masters who viewed showing emotion as a fault needing correction."

The raw honesty—expressing personal history he clearly revealed to few—created momentary silence between them. Ella recognized the pain beneath his words; it echoed her own experience of enforced compliance through systematic punishment.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean—"

"No," he interrupted, regret immediately replacing defensiveness. "You couldn't have known. I've never spoken of those years to anyone aboard the ATEEZ. Not even the captain knows the specifics of my captivity after Blackwell."

The admission—that he had shared his full history with no one else aboard ship—emphasized the importance of their reconnection. Like her, Yeosang had survived through careful compartmentalization, revealing only what circumstances required rather than complete truth.

"Will you tell them?" he asked after a moment, echoing the question from earlier with new context. "That you're y/n? That you remember them from The Crimson Serpent?"

She considered this carefully, weighing factors with careful assessment built through years of calculated survival. "Not yet," she decided. "I need to understand their expectations first. What they believe 'y/n' should be after fifteen years. What they want from her—from me—beyond keeping a childhood promise."

Yeosang nodded acceptance without judgment, his respect for her choice as clear now as it had been during their shared captivity. "Your identity remains yours to reveal or withhold," he affirmed. "I won't betray your trust."

The promise carried weight beyond its simple words—alliance without demand, support without expectation. Unlike potential pressure from others who might discover her secret, Yeosang offered protection for her choice rather than pushing for a particular outcome.

Ella placed the wooden sparrow beside the wolf on the examination table, the two carvings creating tangible evidence of connection kept despite fifteen years' separation. "Everything connects," she said softly. "Paths I thought completely cut somehow coming together against impossible odds."

"Not impossible," Yeosang corrected gently. "Unlikely, certainly. But we always knew connection lasted beyond separation. That's why we passed the wolf between us—solid proof that bonds survive despite deliberate division."

His words echoed their childhood understanding, the philosophy that had kept them going through Blackwell's systematic attempts to isolate and control. Even as children, they had recognized that genuine connection represented resistance against calculated dehumanization—that sharing the wooden wolf created meaning beyond mere comfort.

"I've missed you," Ella admitted, the simple truth emerging without tactical consideration. "Every day since Blackwell sold you. Even after I buried the memory to survive, something remained missing."

The unguarded confession—so different from her carefully measured responses since boarding the ATEEZ—reflected the unique safety Yeosang represented. With him alone, she could express vulnerability without fear of exploitation, reveal emotion without risk of manipulation.

"I searched for you," he responded, matching her honesty with his own. "After the ATEEZ freed me. When Hongjoong offered free movement at port calls, I used that freedom to track Blackwell's operations, hoping to find some record of where he had sent you."

The revelation—that his first use of newfound liberty had been searching for her—created unexpected emotion. After fifteen years believing herself forgotten or abandoned by everyone who had ever shown her kindness, discovering that both Yeosang and the ATEEZ officers had actively sought her challenged core assumptions that had guided her survival.

"But Blackwell erased the trail deliberately," Yeosang continued, frustration evident despite his controlled expression. "His records showed only that you had been transferred to a business associate, with no documentation of identity or location. By then, eight years had passed since our separation—the trail had grown cold before I even began searching."

"He sold me to a man named Calloway," Ella explained, the name still bitter on her tongue despite the years. "A trading partner who specialized in 'premium domestic personnel' for wealthy households. The transfer was deliberately kept from official records—private arrangement between business associates rather than formal sale."

Something darkened in Yeosang's expression at this information—recognition of deliberate concealment designed to prevent exactly the kind of search he had attempted. "Blackwell understood the value of strategic concealment even then," he observed, professional analysis masking deeper emotion. "His operation has only grown more sophisticated in recent years."

"The ATEEZ's campaign has forced adaptation," Ella noted, her own tactical assessment engaging with his. "Their systematic targeting of his ships created operational challenges that required improved security protocols. Blackwell speaks of them with genuine fear disguised as contempt—'The Compass Crew' who appear without warning and disappear before naval response can gather."

Yeosang's expression shifted slightly at this information—pride briefly visible beneath professional composure. "They've earned their reputation through careful precision rather than random violence," he acknowledged. "Each raid specifically designed to disrupt slave trading operations with minimal civilian damage."

"You admire them," Ella observed, studying his reaction carefully.

"I respect what they've built," he corrected, though the distinction seemed mostly semantic. "Their opposition to the slave trade goes beyond mere piracy—they target specific operations with tactical intelligence that military vessels lack. And they treat freed captives with dignity rather than simply alternative utility."

The assessment aligned with her own observations of the ATEEZ's unusual culture, yet hearing it from Yeosang—who had witnessed their operations from within for two years—carried additional weight. Unlike her necessarily limited perspective as recent arrival, his evaluation incorporated extended observation across multiple campaigns.

"And personally?" she prompted, seeking understanding beyond professional assessment. "Beyond their tactical approach and ethical stance?"

Yeosang considered this more carefully, weighing personal opinion against professional evaluation. "They're good men operating within a brutal world," he said finally. "Their methods reflect necessity rather than natural inclination. In another life, they might have been scholars, artists, builders—their intelligence and skills directed toward creation rather than strategic destruction."

The insight revealed deeper understanding than mere tactical alliance—genuine appreciation for the complexity underlying the ATEEZ officers' fearsome reputation. Unlike outsiders who saw only calculated violence, Yeosang recognized the fundamental principles guiding their operations.

"Hongjoong carries the heaviest burden," he continued, his voice softening slightly. "Each decision, each casualty, each compromise weighs on him even when necessity leaves no alternative. Yet he never passes that weight to others—maintains responsibility without giving up despite personal cost."

"And Seonghwa?" Ella asked, curious about his perception of the quartermaster whose controlled precision had reminded her of Yeosang himself.

"The foundation that enables Hongjoong's leadership," he replied without hesitation. "His careful analysis balances the captain's intuitive strategy, creating operational effectiveness that neither could achieve alone." He paused thoughtfully before adding, "Their partnership represents complementary strengths rather than competition—rare in any context, nearly unique among pirates."

"Wooyoung?" she prompted, continuing her exploration of his perspectives on the officers.

A small but genuine smile touched Yeosang's features—rare expression she remembered from their childhood, reserved for moments of authentic pleasure rather than strategic presentation. "Exactly as he appears," he said. "His theatrical energy isn't performance but genuine nature. Yet beneath the constant movement lies remarkable intelligence—he gathers information through casual conversation that formal questioning could never extract."

"Yunho, the heart of their operation," Yeosang answered immediately. "His natural kindness could be mistaken for weakness by those who don't understand its function. But his compassion creates bonds throughout the crew that tactical authority alone could never establish. The men follow Hongjoong's orders out of respect, but they'd die for Yunho out of genuine loyalty."

"And Mingi—" Yeosang stated finally.

Ella leaned forward particularly interested in his assessment of the quiet gunner whose wooden carvings had unknowingly connected all three of them across fifteen years.

Yeosang's expression grew more thoughtful, suggesting deeper consideration than previous responses required. "The most complex despite appearing simplest," he said carefully. "His quiet exterior hides remarkable perception and emotional intelligence. He observes relationships and interactions that others miss entirely, understands motivations beyond surface behavior."

This assessment aligned with Ella's own observations of Mingi's watchful presence, his rare words carrying weight out of proportion to their economy. Yet Yeosang's insight suggested deeper understanding than mere tactical evaluation—genuine appreciation for complexities others might overlook.

"Why did you stay with them?" she asked, the question addressing fundamental choice rather than mere circumstance. "When Hongjoong offered freedom without obligation, why remain aboard a pirate vessel rather than establishing independent practice?"

The question clearly struck deeper territory than previous exchange, Yeosang's expression shifting toward greater reserve before deliberately relaxing into unusual openness. "Because they offered genuine choice rather than merely alternative obligation," he said finally. "And because their mission against slave traders represented purpose beyond mere survival—opportunity to transform personal suffering into constructive resistance."

The explanation revealed philosophical alignment rather than merely practical arrangement—shared principles rather than simple convenience. Unlike her carefully calculated assessment of potential alliance aboard the ATEEZ, Yeosang had found authentic purpose that went beyond tactical advantage.

"And now?" she asked softly. "Knowing who I am—that I'm the girl they've searched for all these years?"

"The choice remains yours," he assured her immediately. "Whether you reveal your identity or maintain your current presentation, my loyalty extends to you directly rather than merely their mission. Whatever you decide, I'll support without qualification or condition."

The promise—alliance without demand, protection without expectation—created emotion beyond tactical assessment. For fifteen years, Ella had navigated captivity through careful calculation of advantage against vulnerability, protection against exploitation. Yeosang's unconditional support represented freedom beyond mere physical liberation—choice without strategic consequence.

"Thank you," she whispered, the simple gratitude encompassing far more than his current assurance.

Without conscious decision, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that went beyond tactical consideration. The contact—initiated without calculation or strategic purpose—represented emotional truth rather than rational assessment, genuine connection rather than deliberate action.

For a moment, Yeosang remained perfectly still, his body tense with surprise at this unexpected physical closeness. Then, with careful movements that suggested both unfamiliarity and genuine desire, his arms encircled her in returned embrace—tentative at first, then firmer as emotional response overcame habitual caution.

It was the first genuine human contact either had experienced in fifteen years without tactical purpose or enforced compliance—chosen connection rather than calculated advantage or unwanted imposition. The simple act of embracing contained healing beyond words, tangible proof that something fundamental had survived fifteen years of deliberate dehumanization.

"We made it," she whispered against his shoulder, the words emerging from deep recognition rather than conscious thought. "Despite everything, we survived to find each other again."

His arms tightened briefly, the gesture conveying agreement beyond verbal confirmation. For several moments, they remained in this unexpected connection, neither willing to break physical proof of reunion after fifteen years believing the other forever lost. When they finally separated, Yeosang's carefully controlled expression had softened into genuine emotion—vulnerability he clearly revealed to no one else aboard the ATEEZ.

"I should return to my cabin," Ella said eventually, practical consideration overriding emotional need. "Extended absence might draw unwanted attention."

Yeosang nodded, understanding flowing between them without extensive explanation. "Dawn watch is quietest," he replied, the practical information conveyed in neutral tone that would appear unremarkable to potential observers. "Medical bay remains unoccupied until morning rounds begin."

The invitation for further private conversation registered clearly despite its indirect delivery—evidence that some habits formed under surveillance remained useful aboard pirate vessel despite apparent freedom. Ella nodded understanding, grateful for his continued respect for strategic communication.

"Rest well, Angel," she said softly, the childhood nickname carrying new meaning after fifteen years' separation. "Thank you for keeping our wolf safe all these years."

As she prepared to leave, Yeosang carefully rewrapped the wooden wolf and pressed it into her hands. "Take it," he said quietly. "It's always been meant for moments when either of us needed strength. Tonight, that's you."

The gesture—returning their shared treasure without qualification or condition—echoed their childhood exchanges, when the carved animal had passed between them during difficult periods. Unlike those earlier transfers, conducted through careful concealment to avoid Blackwell's notice, this exchange occurred through deliberate choice rather than desperate necessity.

"Until tomorrow," she promised, securing the wolf within her clothing with practiced movement that spoke of years hiding treasured possessions from hostile discovery.

As she slipped silently from the medical bay, moving through darkened corridors with habitual caution, Ella felt subtle shift in her carefully maintained reality. For fifteen years, survival had required calculated solitude—alliance temporary and limited, connection dangerous beyond immediate advantage. Now, against all probability, genuine recognition had appeared in the most unlikely location: aboard notorious pirate vessel, among men feared throughout maritime world for ruthless efficiency and precise vengeance.

The officers of the ATEEZ had built their fearsome reputation on the foundation of childhood oath to find one lost girl. And now that very girl moved through their ship's passages, carrying knowledge that could fulfill fifteen years' search or shatter carefully maintained alliance. The power of that knowledge—the choice to acknowledge or deny her true identity—represented freedom unlike any she had experienced since childhood.

For the first time in fifteen years, y/n held genuine choice rather than merely strategic options. The realization carried both excitement and terror as she returned to her cabin in the heart of the most feared pirate vessel on the seven seas, its black sails cutting through darkness like shadow given form, its reputation for merciless precision earned through years of calculated violence against slave traders who never understood the personal vendetta driving their destruction.

Clutching the wooden wolf Mingi had carved fifteen years earlier—the tangible connection that had unknowingly linked her to both her past aboard The Crimson Serpent and her seven years with Yeosang under Blackwell's control—she whispered her nightly ritual, the familiar names grounding her amid turbulent revelation: "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy."

But tonight, she added the sixth name without hesitation, acknowledgment rather than discovery: "Angel."

Tomorrow would bring further navigation of this complex situation—continued assessment of the officers' expectations, strategic planning for potential outcomes, careful balancing of vulnerability against advantage. But tonight, for the first time since childhood, she allowed herself to think about possibility beyond mere survival—connection beyond calculated alliance, protection beyond temporary advantage.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland

#ateez fanfic #ateez pirate au #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #mingi x reader #seonghwa x reader #wooyoung x reader #ateez smut #hongjoong #jeong yunho #song mingi #jung wooyoung #park seonghwa #ateez angst

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georgiapeach30513 · 1 year ago

Text

Let Your Daddy See

Summary: Your boyfriend, Ransom knew you had a crush on the owner of the local bakery. He sees you practically drooling as you watch his hands kneading dough. Always making excuses to go to Andy’s work during his demos. Getting all flustered when he smiles at you, even offering a private lesson…if you want Andy, you can have him. For one night. But it’s Ransom’s choice. Enjoy.

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Reader X Andy Barber

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, dumb sex jokes, “surprises”, threesome, unprotected sex, PIV sex, anal sex, dumbification, degradation, double penetration, creampie, cameras, surprise! 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.7K

Moodboard Event

Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

Andy Barber Masterlist

You take a quick peek up, and are met with his beautiful blue eyes. Close enough to see the speckling of different hues of blue. His mouth turns up into a smile, and you quickly look back down at his hands. Pushing forward, and pulling back. His veins pop up on his arms and hands with the motion. Cords of his muscles ripple on his forearms. The man did more than bake pastries. He had to have a clear an amazing workout routine that you would love to sit and watch.

Since Andy had opened Butter & Buns you found every excuse to come here on a regular basis. It had nothing to do with Andy, but his goods, at least that’s what you told yourself. He honestly does make the most spectacular delicacies. And the way he runs his patisserie is so inviting. He had demos where he made the fresh breads right in front of you.

And he is even going to be starting classes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about how he would teach. Would he be the type of man that stands behind you, hands on yours as he shows you how to properly make bread? Or would he be the teacher that stands in front of you while his eyes pay more attention to the curves of your body instead, and you learn nothing at all?

He told you about the classes first of course, letting you know you are his favorite customer. You gaze over his arms again as he pushes and pulls the dough. Developing the glutens, and mixing in the butter. It is heavenly to watch. A bit distracting, but only due to how effortlessly he did that. Like a skilled ballerina up on stage. It flows and has an odd beauty to it.

“Are you getting your usual, Sweet Buns?” a girlish giggle brushes past your lips, and the quick glance up at him sends heat to your cheeks. Andy has this way of making you feel like a schoolgirl. Even your hands are clammy, and your throat dries up. “Or can I suggest something different that I know you’re going to love?” You have to look at him, but this time he catches your eyes, and you linger the hold. You couldn’t look away.

“Yeah, of course,” your voice is a whisper as you nod your head, and switch the weight on your feet.

“Oh, give me a break,” Ransom rolls his eyes beside you, and you give him a little nudge with your shoulder. He is ruining this for you.

“Why don’t you grab our coffees, and I’ll get the treats?” He smirks, rolling his eyes again. It’s one of his favorite things to do, but he does walk away to go to the front of the counter, leaving you and Andy alone. “I’m sorry about him.”

“You’d think your husband wouldn’t come in with you if he’s so easily annoyed,” there’s a slight twinkle in Andy’s eye, but you can’t quite figure it out.

“We’re not married,” you answer quickly, showing him your bare finger. “Not even engaged. He’s…” Ransom peeks over towards you, pursing his lips, and narrowing his eyes before ordering the coffee. “What are you wanting to suggest to me?” Changing the subject off your relationship is the best course of action.

“I was playing around with croissant ideas. It’s not traditional, but it’s lemon meringue.”

“It sounds perfect,” almost as perfect as his ass walking to the sink to wash his hands. He meets you down at the register, handing over Ransom’s usual mini scones before giving you his newest creation. It looks amazing, and perfect. Just like him.

“I made this specifically with you in mind, Sweet Buns,” another giggle. You love that he remembers your first encounter with him, and it has since become your nickname. Your hand brushes against his as he hands you the receipt, and his eyes linger on you as you make way to Ransom.

“I made this specifically with you in mind, Sweet Buns,” he mocks what Andy says as you sit down across from him. “Why don’t you admit you got a crush on the baker.”

“I don’t, and he’s a pastry chef,” Ransom blinks at you a few times before taking a bite of your croissant. He doesn’t want to react, but he does. A soft little moan travels up his throat, and you shimmy your shoulders. “See.”

“You completely ignored what I just said,” of course you did. It’s a silly conversation that wasn’t going to get either of you anywhere.

“I ignored you because I don’t have a crush on Andy.”

“Ahh, you just want him to fuck your sweet buns, huh?” You give him a little kick under the table, smiling at him. It is fascinating to see him get a bit jealous. He knows who you go home to, and who you want to spend the rest of your life with. “If he gets your sweet buns, what do I get?”

“You can have the warm muffin.”

“I love it when you talk dirty. So I can have the warm muffin, he gets the sweet buns, what are we going to do with your mouth?” He raises his eyebrows in a suggestive way, and now it’s you that’s rolling your eyes.

“Shut up!” You playfully say, nudging your foot at him. “You know I love you, right?” Smiling, he nods his head, taking another bite of your pastry. Rude. “But I do quite enjoy your wheels turning. Are you seriously dreaming about him with us?” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Stop eating my food. That was made just for me.”

“Unless he’s got another sweet buns that he’s not telling you about,” you are his only Sweet Buns. Andy didn’t have others that he is like this with. You’ve watched him. “If we do this can I frost your muffin and turn it into a cupcake?” You burst out laughing, throwing your head back dramatically. He is silly, even if you love his play on words.

“What is wrong with you?” Or better yet, why did he have to wait to frost your cupcake?

“Or I can always call it a pie shell. Won’t you let me make a cream pie,” he’s saying words, and you’re not sure how serious he is. You’d let him if he’d ask.

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s go home.”

“Maybe he can butter your buns,” he’s so obnoxious sometimes. “Knead your dough. Oh oh! Maybe frost your cake,” you give a quick little wave to Andy, trying to shoo Ransom out of the shop before Andy hears what he is saying. How embarrassing. Or maybe not.

——

“Ransom! Baby, I’m home,” throwing your keys into the bowl, you remove your shoes. Slowly undressing now because it is Friday, and you are tired of this bra. “Ransom?” You couldn’t smell any cooking, so you figured he must want to go out tonight, you’ll have to persuade him to order in. You just want him, the couch, and reruns.

“Ransom?” You say his name one more time as you pull your shirt over your head, and take off your bra. He’ll be happy to see your titties free. That’s how you make sure he just orders in, and you can stay with and watch television.

“Ransom? Oh my god!” Your arms fly over your chest as Andy smiles at you devilishly. “Why are you in my house, and in my fucking room?”

“It does look like a nice fucking…room,” creep. He was attractive in his place. Being alone in your house with you. And… “Ransom, she did make a great entrance,” your boyfriend steps out of the en-suite, and you look between the two of them. The little slut!

They are up to something, and you just want to rest. In between them. “What is this?”

“Angel,” uh uh. Anytime Ransom starts a sentence with that, he’s up to something. Needing you to forgive him immediately. And of course that makes sense since Andy Barber is in your bedroom with you and your boyfriend all while your arms are over your chest, covering yourself.

Rolling your eyes, you happen to catch a peek, and Andy is a full mast. Pants are completely tented, and you feel a rush of heat pool at your core. He’s as big as you imagined, bigger even. This is about that conversation you had Butter & Buns! Ransom brought this man here for a threesome, and both men are ready to go.

“I had some thoughts about our conversation the other day…”

“And I overheard everything,” oh my god! Andy overheard every stupid joking detail. This is too much. “And I approached Ransom.”

“No, you didn’t. I went back to the buttery buns, and approached you.”

“You stuttered, and couldn’t get the question out, so I proposed a deal. I get your ass, if you agree.”

“But I’m in control,” it is like watching a ping pong match as the two of them go back and forth. Each making sure you know that they’re more manly than the other with no regard of what you want. You didn’t ask for this. Ransom and Andy just assumed. They didn’t exactly assume wrong.

You have dreamed of this very moment. You didn’t want Andy in your life, you just wanted him in your body. Have a little fun with your boyfriend. He did say his fantasy was to watch you be destroyed before he joins in. Watch as your cunt is being refused stimulation, and he waits for you to beg before joining in. You just don’t beg. You never beg.

Okay, maybe you have dreamed about the man destroying you being Andy once or twice. But the principle of the matter is they didn’t ask. “Angel, if you didn’t want me to know that you have fantasized about this, maybe you shouldn’t leave your fucking journal open on the bed. With a very detailed explanation of what you want Mr. Butters and me to do to you.”

“You caught that, huh?” Ransom is far from being dumb, but sometimes he just needs a little nudging, especially since you found out that he wanted Andy to be the man that joined you. You gave him a little hint by leaving your journal on his side of the bed.

“You made it obvious. So quit playing coy. On your knees. I can literally smell your arousal. You know I know your cunt better than you do. On your knees, and let Andy fuck your ass. I won’t ask again. And be a good girl, and drop your arms. Go on. Let me see.”

He’s such an ass when he’s right. You let your arms fall, and you glance towards Andy. His eyes coast down your body as you start to pull your pants down. Andy licks his lips as he stares at your pebbled peaks. He’s ready to devour you. Ready to turn you into the mush, and become completely pliable like his doughs.

You came home tired, but a new sense of invigoration courses through your body as the bed dips down with your weight. Leaning forward you let your head rest completely on the mattress, and your ass full on in the air. Both men walk behind you, their eyes taking in your sex before Ransom’s lithe fingers move through your folds.

“She’s soaked,” he moans before slapping at Andy’s hand. “Nope, you can’t touch her until I say so. You must inspect the goods. She expects this from me. See,” he pulls you apart at the seam. Spreading you out fully for Andy’s hungry eyes. “The tightest pussy I’ve ever felt. But this…this pretty little hole,” Ransom spits down at your puckered entrance before rubbing it around your muscle.

“This is going to be all yours. You can’t have her needy little cunt. But her ass is just as greedy, watch,” you whimper as he presses a finger past the tight rim. Pushing yourself back into him. “Go on, I’ll warm her up, but you get nice and lubed. She has a bit of an attitude problem, but you fill her up, and she’s the most obedient little sex doll, aren’t ya? Such a little slut drunk on cock.”

Your brain goes fuzzy as you anticipate two cocks at once. Overwhelmed is a perfect word for it. Feeling all the feels, while Ransom pumps his finger in and out of you, and his sinful mouth never shuts up. “You can come in her or on her, but you can’t have that tight little pussy, okay?” Andy groans, coating his cock in lube.

He fists his thick veiny member a few times, starting to move closer. Ransom’s need for mirrors in the bedroom is paying off. You’re able to see Andy’s wide body and thick hands take in your holes. He looks massive behind you. “She’s so pretty when she gets stuffed, too. Look at her, ass in the air, and ready to be fucked so hard. In and out. Filled fully. Every little hole.”

Andy clears his throat, and Ransom reluctantly pulls his finger out of your ass. Smiling when you whine at the loss of him. Starting to rock on your knees because you need a replacement. “Easy, Sweet Buns,” his thick hands grab tight to your hips, digging into your skin with so much force you hope it bruises. Andy teases your tight hole with his cock. “You going to be a cockslut for us?”

“Mhmm,” mewling as his blunt mushroom tip breaches your entrance. Your fingers grip tight to the bed, and your eyes shoot open, trying to find your boyfriend’s handsome face. Staring at him with so much need as Andy slowly sinks into you. Doesn’t stop until he’s balls deep in your ass, and you're ready for Ransom to fill you up, too. You need him. It isn’t fair you can’t have him, too.

“Shh,” he sighs, petting your face. “Let big daddy Andy have some fun, okay?” You nod your head, but reach towards Ransom. Holding onto his hand as Andy slowly pulls out of you, and crashes back into your warmth. Yipping when he does it again quickly.

You never look anywhere, but Ransom’s handsome face. The way he’s adoring you even more for allowing your crush to own your ass. Rutting into you at such a steady pace, and yet you still feel empty. Ransom belongs in you as well. “You’re doing such a good job.”

“Sweet buns, you should really get on top of me. Let your boyfriend watch that neglected cunt as I fill every inch of your ass. He can see that pretty pussy weeping with need for him. Crying out for him because you need him so much. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Yes! Yes!” Shouting because you need Ransom to see how empty you are without him. How much you need him inside of you more than some fantasy. “Please!” He nods his head, and Andy pulls out of you, and crawls on the bed. Letting you turn your back to him as you settle over top.

Able to watch every part of Ransom as you slowly sink over him. Moaning as your body swallows him whole, and Ransom’s eyes go to your core. Staring so hard at where he is supposed to be. You’ve already told him too many times that your body was made for him. “Do you like it, Ran?”

“Yes, very much so, kitty cat,” placing your hands behind you, and on either side of Andy, you start bouncing over top of him. Letting Ransom see a part of you not filled with him letting her beg him, because you won’t with words. Your body cries for him to enter you as your arousal leaks onto Andy. “You’re so perfect,” he moans, and you go harder.

Bucking on top of Andy, and ready to whine out Ransom’s name. “Make yourself come first. You needy little brat. If you want two cocks, come. Go on. You can do it,” you slam yourself over him harder. Enjoying the view even if it's torturous. “You’re almost there. You’ve got this. Keep going. Don’t stop. That pretty pussy needs my pretty cock inside of her, huh?”

“Yeah. Please. Ransom, I’m…” heat and pleasure rush to your core. It’s almost cruel to come like this. A big part of you is being ignored, and no matter what you do, Ransom isn’t budging. “Ransom, I’m…”

“Then do it, you filthy little slut,” that does it. Pleasure shoots into every part of your limbs as your eyes roll into the back of your head. Slowing down your movements, but Andy picks up where you leave off. “Clenching around nothing, and I got the front row seat to heaven,” his voice is so deep as he stares at your empty cunt.

Getting onto the bed before his lips meet yours. He tastes like sin and dessert as he swallows your moans, “You needed this,” he says before crashing into you. Both men pause as sounds you’ve never made before scream out of your lungs.

Giving you a grace period for you to adjust to just how incredibly full you feel. Stretched out in the most perfect way, and getting to have and feel Ransom finally. He fits so perfectly inside you. You’ve never doubted how he is made for you. He even feels just as much pleasure as you, just feeling how different this is. It’s overwhelming. Blinding. Makes you feel as if you’ve ascended to heaven.

Everything in your body ceases to stop functioning. You’re just there. Existing for nothing but pleasure. Obviously for them, but what you feel is like a religious experience. Floating in the air with the most beautiful high encasing your body.

“There she is,” Ransom coos down to you. “I thought I’d lost you to the pleasure,” what is he talking about? You’re just feeling. “I think you blacked out for a minute. Just kept saying my name, but barely.”

“Mmm.”

“Cockdrunk,” Andy is just a vessel. A tool to add to the fun. If it wasn’t for the severe amount of fullness you feel, you wouldn't know he is even there. All you care about is Ransom. Head rolling around on your shoulders. “Alright, let’s flip. You just lay there, and take care of your girl, while I fuck her.”

“You want that, baby? You want Andy to fuck you.”

“You.”

“You’re too far gone, baby. Yeah, we’ll switch,” you want to cry as Ransom pulls out of you. Already reaching out to him as he lays down on the bed. “Come on. C’mere,” it’s Andy that helps you move over to him. Guiding you to sink over Ransom, and you start kissing on his beautiful face. “I know. I know.”

The last words you remember as Andy slams into you, and you scream. Fuck it feels so good. So full. So very full. If you could float out of your body, and watch this experience you would. The world doesn’t exist. It’s just nirvana. You try and ground yourself with the touch of Ransom, because he is perfect. Rubbing over your face. Whispering your name because you forgot.

Andy’s movements are harsh and about him getting off; Ransom is about you and him. So sweet. So perfect. So in love with him. You didn’t think you could love him more, but a man willing to have another man in your bed because you’ve fantasized about it is the perfect man. “Ransom!”

“I know, just let go. Come on two cocks,” his hips drive up into you, and you collapse on his chest. Incoherently saying his name. “Come,” he whispers into your ears, and rockets go off in your body. Shooting endorphins and pleasure to every nerve ending as your body seizes up. This is it, the true escape of the world, and absolute bliss.

“She’s. So. Fucking. Tight,” Andy grunts, thrusting into you so hard your body lurches forward. “So. Fucking. Good. Ugh!” Growling behind you as his movements become irregular. “Right. There!” It’s like everybody’s body is synchronized. Your walls flutter around their cocks, and they each shoot warm ropes of thick cum into your body, and you’re buzzing. A high like no other.

Long weeks are meant for going dumb, and what better way to escape than this. Andy pants behind you, while Ransom’s fingers softly caress your body. His lips ghost over your skin, and you feel yourself start to drift. Feeling so comfortable and exhausted from the week.

“I thought I was supposed to come in,” you relax on top of Ransom’s body, soaking up the afterglow of his release. He feels so warm inside of you. His cum right where it belongs. He wasn’t ever going to waste a drop again.

“Shh,” Ransom says softly as Andy pulls out of your body.

“No, you said if I set up the cameras, that I could fuck her mouth,” Andy rolls his eyes, grabbing a camera off the tripod and points it at your used holes. “Oh, yeah, don’t forget the money shot. But you wanted all her holes to be dripping in cum. It was a gift before you propos…”

“Jake! Shut up!” Jake Jensen mumbles something under his breath. You nuzzle into Ransom more before you drift off to sleep. You’ve never felt more satisfied. “Yes, next time I’ll make sure she’s airtight, but we got to ease her into it. And besides…”

“We know, Drysdale,” Andy hands Jake the camera before going to his clothes, “You’re marrying the girl, but she is okay with being used from time to time. Did you even know she was interested in Jake before her journal?”

“Nope. Why would she be into him?”

“I’m right here, and I am lovable!”

“Alright, go on. Next time I’ll| make her watch herself being used first. Maybe over some sweet buns,” Ransom gives a little chuckle to Andy. “There there, sweetheart, these men are going to leave, and I’m going to give us a bath. The rest of the weekend is about you. You’ve had such a hard night.”

No. It was almost perfect. Almost.

Masterlist

@tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @rogersbarber

@harrysthiccthighss @distractingbeth @musingsfromthemitten

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x fem!reader #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale x you #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x fem!reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x you #ransom drysdale smut #andy barber smut #chris evans #chris evans characters

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