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[opens-up-4-nobody]

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[fayes-fics]

Lessons In Motion

Lessons Series Masterpost

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: An eventful carriage ride with the boys.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest, dom/sub dynamics - dom!Bridgertons sub!reader, masturbation, dirty talk, mild degradation, light spanking/slapping, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, cockwarming, exhibitionism, breast play, edging, bondage restraint, sensory deprivation (blindfold), anal sex, vaginal sex, double penetration.

Word Count: 6.3k

Authors note: Is this the threesome I should be writing? No of course not. Sorry. This was indeed inspired by the synchronised head tilt in the s3 trailer 🤷‍♀️ Part of Lessons-verse, chronologically this takes place before Lessons in Breeding. Thank you to @colettebronte for betaing. Enjoy! <3

You bounce nervously in your shoes, craning to see the ride you are awaiting. 

You slipped out the side entrance of the music hall, eager to escape prying eyes, leaving them to exit through the front, picking up their family carriage together. Being a guest in the family box for the evening is one thing; an unattached woman leaving publicly with two of the most eligible bachelors in the country is another matter entirely—you have no desire to provoke the wagging tongues of the Ton. But that does not mean you wish for your night with them to be over, far from it.

With a whinny, a two-horse carriage rounds the corner into the quiet street a few hundred yards from the venue and comes to a halt before you. The windows are all obscured by thick, draped curtains. So much so that you hesitate, hang back under the shadow of the mature oak. Until that is, the door swings open, and a very familiar face pops out, expression bemused.

“Does my girl not wish for a carriage?” Anthony teases with an expectant, fond tone.

You giggle and rush towards the vehicle, climbing in quickly. The door slams behind you as a fist knocks upon the ceiling to indicate for the driver to move on. The carriage is dimly lit by one tiny glass lantern flame flickering, both sets of eyes are eager on you, that molten heat in your belly as you sit opposite them, both so handsome.

“Did you enjoy your evening, gentlemen?” you query, feigning innocence.

They both comedically tilt their heads in brotherly unison, matching bemused grins claiming their lips as Benedict giggles behind his fist.

“Considering where you had your hands all night, you know well we did,” he pipes up, raising an eyebrow pointedly. 

“Twas rather a boring recital, sir.” Your invocation of his play title makes his chest swell and his pupils dilate. “Should I not have kept myself sufficiently entertained?” He appreciates your sass, nodding with a knowing smirk. 

Indeed, you were greatly entertained. But not by the singing onstage. Sitting in the Bridgerton family box, a rigid cock in each hand as you teased them mercilessly, the angle of the seating allowing you the privacy to do so unseen by other patrons. Never letting either of them climax, taking them somewhere close then backing off, each huffing quietly, a white knuckle grip on their chair arms, as your fingers were coated with pre-cum. Most entertaining indeed. At one point, Anthony had hissed how he would have you on your knees and down your throat if you prolonged the torture much longer, but you knew it to be an empty (and entirely welcomed) threat. Now, in the privacy of the carriage, you rather suspect you are about to be taught a lesson for that cheeky behaviour.

“I do believe it is time for payback, brother,” Anthony opines, voicing your exact suspicions, them exchanging their trademark glance—so much communication with no words.

“Yes, I rather suspect a lesson is in order: that which you do unto others, you should expect done unto you,” Benedict forebodes.

Your stomach ripples as he grabs your ankle and roughly pushes it out wide, a hand travelling up your leg, gathering your dress around his forearm as he does. Soon, they discover the secret you held this evening: that you wear no chemise, no stockings, no undergarments at all, in fact—just your blue silk dress and ballet-style shoes.

“You filthy little vixen,” Anthony growls as he sees a flash between your legs.

“Do not pretend this type of indecency is not exactly what you want from her, brother,” Benedict counters dryly as his hand trails up your inner thigh, your breath quickening as he reaches your apex. You cry out, staring Anthony down as Benedict's fingers plunge into your pussy, burrowing deep, leaning his head into yours. “Always so hot, wet and wanting, are you not?” he rumbles into your hair as his fingers start to rock.

“Yes sir,” you know better than to ignore a question that is asked of you. “Only for you and my lord,” you add, knowing they always want to hear it.

“That is right,” Anthony preens, fighting with the buttons of his trousers and taking his sizable cock in hand, watching you moan and squirm on Benedict's invading digits, dripping down onto his palm, the sounds he draws from your body already obscene. You have been soaked since teasing them at the recital.

“I bet even the driver can hear this tight little cunt. Our filthy beautiful girl just drenching herself like the bitch in heat she is…” Benedict remarks casually.

You love it when they call you such taboo names in play, an illicit thrill running down your spine as he smiles predatorily and curls his fingers, hooking against your pussy wall, making you gasp. It's not quite enough pressure. Your head swings to look at him, silently requesting more.

He chuckles. “What did I tell you earlier?” 

“Teasing?” 

He nods as you pout, sliding his lips right to your ear, his breath hot there. “Until you are a mindless and trembling creature who will do whatever we tell you to.” 

You bite your lip and exhale raggedly, your belly constricting at the thought and at the sight of Anthony lazily pumping his cock, wanting to ride it so much your fingers flex upon the velour bench seat, rocking your pelvis with each stroke Benedict takes, hoping to catch a dash of friction upon your engorged clit. He tuts admonishingly when he senses what you are trying to do, curling his free hand around your inner thigh and spanking there. A stinging slap that makes you jump and mewl.

“Stop trying to come so hastily, darling girl. We decide if and when that will ever happen…” Anthony calls out from across the carriage, grabbing your leg and pulling it high and wide. He yanks off your shoe and bites your instep, not hard, but enough to make your whole body jerk, so you slide deeper onto his brother's fingers, moaning and throwing your head back, the rocking motion of the carriage somehow making it a worse tease.

“‘Tis not a long ride to either of your lodgings… surely you cannot tease me forever,” you speculate, spiralling slowly under such expert ministrations, an itch in your brain that needs to be scratched, even your teeth feel on edge.

“Oh, my girl, we are not headed to either place. Oh no. We are headed to our country retreat. The ride will take the rest of the night,” Anthony crows. “Our family will be remaining in London. So it will just be the three of us… with hundreds of acres to ourselves,” he grins devilishly, still slowly pumping his cock as he speaks.

“But…” you splutter, “I have nothing with me! No dresses, no shoes...” fretting mildly even as your stomach quivers with the thought of time spent alone with your boys.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Benedict chuckles in your hair,  rotating his fingers so they drag over that sensitive spot that makes you shudder. “As if we are going to let you wear anything except our jewels. You shall be naked for days.”

“If you truly object, say your word now,” Anthony states clearly.  “And we shall drop you at your home.”

Benedict pauses his motions, awaiting your answer, both always respectful of your full consent. You look at them in turn, then merely shake your head fractionally, basking in their wolfish smiles. Wanting to do this with them—a new illicit adventure. The idea of days alone with both of them in a luxury country idyll is so beguiling. And a definite step forward in your dynamic as a throuple.

“Well, then, might as well tear off this dress right now; start as we mean to go on, right brother?” Benedict breezes as he withdraws his fingers from you, making you whine at the loss. But then he trails them across your decolletage, dipping his head to suckle your juices from your skin, his teeth sinking lightly into the swell of your breast, making you groan loudly and push up into his mouth.

“Agreed,” Anthony practically growls, pushing his trousers further down, cupping his balls now with his other hand.

“But my lord,” you stumble, tearing your eyes reluctantly from that tempting sight up to his face. “I need my dress to alight from this carriage when we arrive. Surely your staff should not see me naked?!" Your dissent is light, core pulsing at the mental image of them parading you naked up the front steps of a grand country house for all the gathered staff to greet your debauched arrival.

“Please,” Anthony withers, “what is a touch of nudity when they will likely find us fucking you in every way and place possible? Our darling little plaything, always so keen, are you not?” 

“Yes, my lord, Always.” 

Your whisper is obedient, watching him squeeze his cock more forcefully in his fist, his gaze locked between your splayed legs as Benedict yanks down your neckline roughly. The sound of fabric tearing fills the carriage, then their approving grunts as they realise you are without stays. 

“Get her naked, brother,” Anthony orders brusquely.

He sets about the task with enthusiasm, your dress ripping along the seams as he deploys both large hands and tears the fine silk asunder. It is one Anthony had paid for, so you do not mourn its loss, you rather suspect he will replace it with one identical in short order.

“If I am always to be naked, then will you warm my body when I am cold, sir?” You coquette, batting your eyelashes, playing up the damsel in distress to Benedict as he pushes aside the remaining fabric from around your front.

“Always sweet girl,” Benedict promises duskily, trailing his palm down your flushed skin, pulling you in for a kiss that is all tongues and heat. It has you canting your now naked body into his, desperate for his fingers, or even better, his cock, to be inside you.

As if sensing your need, Anthony intervenes as your lips break apart, perhaps jealous at the amount of time his brother has had with you. 

“Alright, enough of that. I think you are plenty prepared now. Come, my girl,” Anthony pats his thigh invitingly, “come sit on my cock.”

You make a victorious noise and slide out from around Benedict, Anthony grabbing your waist and spinning you around to face away from him. 

“Hello, my darling girl,” Anthony greets, his tone like velvet, pulling you snugly against his frame, the brocade of his waistcoat tickling your spine.

Your responding greeting turns into a cry as he guides you down onto his cock, splitting you open in that way it always does, a stretch that is just the right side of discomfort, that heavy weight pressing far inside that you yearn for.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, grabbing your jaw and pulling you back into a plundering kiss, making you pliant in his arms.

“Fuck me, my lord,” you beseech when you realise he is holding your hips down with a slight force, preventing any movement.

“But we have hours,” he drawls unhurriedly, “how about you sit still and just enjoy the ride, hmmm?”

You mewl in protest; as much as the carriage ride is indeed a pleasant rocking motion, your clit is throbbing, needing friction, craving release. You attempt to coax him by squeezing his cock so he groans throatily.

“Stop that. If you defy me, I will never let you come.”

He forcefully grabs your knees and drapes your thighs on either side of his woollen trousers that are bunched around his hips, then splays his legs wide. There’s a burning stretch on your inner thighs as he now holds you obscenely open. You are powerless to do anything but sit obediently upon his cock, whining slightly as the need claws at the edges of your mind.

Across from you, Benedict watches, seemingly transfixed by the sight of you naked and pinned open, speared on Anthony's cock, whimpering as your attempts to move are quelled by those firm hands clamped on your hips. You watch as he unbuttons and takes himself in hand, just as Anthony had, his eyes hungrily raking over your body. It makes you want to climb into his lap and fuck him over and over. 

“Will you fuck me, sir?” You lobby, hoping it will get a rise out of Anthony, that it will catalyse him into taking you hard, possessively.

“You know I will, sweet girl,” Benedict responds huskily. “But as my brother says, we have hours, and you will learn your lesson today…”

“I promise I have learned my lesson not to tease either of you,” you implore sincerely, hopeful for absolution, but both of them merely huff a laugh, suspecting it a hollow pledge. 

You pout again but relent, leaning back into Anthony, accepting your fate. His lips graze your temple as you rest your head on his shoulder and try to get comfortable. Try to ignore the pulse in your engorged clit with every heartbeat. Try to ignore the press of his frenulum inside, a pressure you feel compelled to rub against. Try to ignore that tingle in your nipples where they pucker hard, desperate for a tongue or some rough fingers.

And that is how you stay for what feels like an eternity. Just the noises of movement and horses upon what is now a dirty track, bright moonlight seeping through the cracks in the curtains as you sit in silent submission, The rocking of the carriage meaning you must occasionally endure the jolts of his cock against your hilt, making your breath catch. Your eyes alternate between fluttering closed and opening to see Benedict idly grasping his cock, but it's too tempting a sight, so you swallow hard and close them again. 

However, with your eyes closed, you see worse images dancing before you, taunting you. Flashes of them both lathing their tongues all over your skin, of you on your knees between them, a cock in your mouth and one pounding into your pussy, a loop of carnal push and pull. It makes you leak more, a trickle leaving your body and pooling at the base of Anthony’s cock, nestling in his hair there.

“I can feel how aroused you are,” Anthony purrs into your hairline, almost startling you after many minutes of quiet. “How it is taking every fibre in your being not to defy me. Let’s see how good you can really be for me. Remember, you may not move.”

That’s all the warning you get before his warm, lightly quill-calloused fingers slide over your clit, rubbing an agonisingly light, slow circle. Not enough to do anything but make you shudder and pant, needing more, tiny sparks igniting through your heavy pelvis. Fighting so hard to keep your hips still, wanting more than anything to buck up, bear down onto the hook of his fingers, frottage yourself until you come clenching around his cock so steely and hot inside you.

“Please, my lord,” you grit out, turning to bury your nose into him, huffing his spicy amber cologne, lips brushing the rasp of stubble on his strong jaw.

“I could listen to you beg all night,” Anthony confesses and there’s an edge to his voice that is dark, dangerous, unyielding. 

You lament when his fingers disappear, but he rolls his hips with the motion of the carriage, his cock sliding just a fraction deeper, making you cry out, the change of angle promising so much. Your hand flies out for purchase upon something solid but instead seizes the carriage curtain, unintentionally pulling it back so the glass is revealed.

“Oh, excellent idea!” Anthony lauds. “Yes, show yourself to the world, darling girl; show what a wanton thing you are for us.”

By now, though, the busy streets of Mayfair are long behind you. You are out in the darkness past Blackheath, moving fast down the Dover road to rural Kent. If there are any prying eyes, they will only catch a glimpse of you utterly naked, seated upon a clothed Viscount.

“Open the rest, brother,” Anthony clips.

Your eyes ping to Benedict as he releases his cock and pulls open the draped fabric on either side, hooking it back so the inky blackness of night is all around you.

“Imagine being seen, my girl,” Anthony baits. “There could be a highwayman right now lurking among those trees.”

Benedict leans forward, his hand suddenly clasping the jewelled necklace draped around your throat, the one Anthony presented you with just last week. His motion pulls you upright away from Anthony, the tilt of his cock inside you catching your breath.

“They may want this darling girl,” Benedict joins in. “Will you give it to them? Or will you offer something else instead in order to keep it? A more precious jewel perhaps….” He releases your necklace and trails that hand down between your breasts, over your belly, spidering lower until he grazes your clit. “Will you allow him this? Your greatest treasure?”

You moan loudly at his expert touch, a stroke of his middle finger under the hood of your clit making your whole body quake.

“N-no sir, I would not,” you stumble. “That belongs to my lord and to you.”

“Oh, good answer,” he winks, eyes twinkling in the moonlight streaming in as his now wettened finger traces back up over your belly. “But what if that is what we wish? To watch you be fucked by a stranger? A thief in a mask? Would you then?”

“I would do whatever you and my lord want, sir,” you pledge truthfully, then inhale sharply as he grabs the back of your neck and moves in close, his lips ghosting yours as he speaks again, teasing you with an almost kiss.

“I could watch you be fucked by a dozen men and enjoy every single one. I do so love the way your eyes roll when you are being taken rough. How you always, always plead for more, greedy little one that you are.” 

Your eyes flit down to see his other fist speeding up around his cock. It makes you clench around Anthony, who groans hard, the air in the carriage somehow notching hotter, tighter, like it’s a fight to breathe.

“Sir,” you murmur on his lips, “Please help me; I am in such need.”

You feel as much as see that crooked, laconic smile claims his face, his cock still in hand. “What do you want from me, darling girl? Be specific, maybe I will do it…” 

“Suck my nipples,” you request boldly at his enticement as he tilts back to watch you speak. “Maybe bite them a touch? Use your wonderful fingers upon my pearl; you can surely see it is so swollen...”

You know such explicit language will work for him, and sure enough, his nostrils flare as you ask for precisely what you need, his tongue flicking out to trace around his lips.

“Brother, will you allow it?” Benedict checks, his gaze flitting briefly to the man you sit upon.

“I will,” Anthony concedes, “on one condition: do not let her come, not yet.” He grabs a fistful of your hair, making you inhale sharply, jerking you back against his body, trailing his nose over your cheek. “I do so need her desperate and crying pretty tears for me before I shall allow that.”

Benedict slides to his knees before you, between your splayed legs, and you tremble as his damp lips ghost over the valley between your breasts, nuzzling your skin, inhaling deeply, trailing the point of his nose left to your nipple. You moan loudly as he suckles you into his hot mouth, lips pursed around your puckered teet. Then he glances the edge of his front teeth over your skin, causing a shudder down your spine. His hand cups your other breast, fondling your nipple with swipes of his thumbpad, teasing, while his teeth clamp down and tug away—a beeline to your core. 

You mutter a curse and thrash your head a little, settling on pressing your nose into Anthony’s neck and whimpering lightly, so much sensation coursing through you, his cock is still rigid and unrelenting inside you. Muttering as Benedict keeps feasting upon your breasts, biting, suckling, fondling, not allowing you one moment without the tormenting thrill, a quake in your thighs, an odd tingle in your arms, a pressure behind your belly that is a ball of need, wound tight like a spring.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” Anthony sighs, wrapping an arm around your head, his bicep bulging against your face through his jacket. “Now you have some sense of how we felt earlier tonight…”

At that, Benedict slides his thumb over your clit, flicking in a sideways motion that has you screaming into Anthony’s skin, clawing your hands into both of their hair, grasping their scalps and making them both growl.

“My lord, sir, please….” 

It's a broken, pitiful sound, teetering as you are, reality a blur, a buzz in your brain that is febrile. A tear of frustration prickles your eye at the prolonged agony of denied ecstasy. Just as you are incapable of defying them anymore and have to break, Benedict pauses, pulls back, and watches with that killer smile as you protest even louder, breasts wet with his saliva, goosebumps covering your entire body.

“She is so beautiful like this, brother,” Benedict groans, grabbing himself again and squeezing a few times as if staving off his own orgasm. “You should see it from here….” he adds as he falls back upon the opposite bench.

“I want to,” Anthony confesses, kissing your temple. “I want to see what you look like, my girl, struggling like this; I wish this damn carriage had a mirror….”

“There is one way….” Benedict shrugs, probably aiming for nonchalant but missing entirely. “She may do the same to me?”

“Do you want that, my girl? To sit upon my brother as well?”

“Yes, my lord,” you confess, always eager to gratify them both. “Will I be allowed to come if I do?”

He chuckles into your skin. “Not yet. But if you are good for him too, maybe then.”

Hope flares as Anthony closes his legs and hoists you up and off his cock, you emitting a slight lament at the loss of him as he helps you to turn around and guides you onto Benedict’s lap. Before you know it, you are once again invaded intimately, the stretch different in ways you can’t fully articulate but just as wonderful. Sliding deep, Benedict’s responding moan is hot in your ear as you settle upon him. He hooks your legs over his in the same manner Anthony did, pushing his knees wide open, perhaps even more so, and you hiss at the tugging sensation in your tendons.

“See, brother?” Benedict crows. “Look how spectacular she is…” the words are nuzzled into your temple as he drops a sighing kiss there.

“‘Tis quite the sight…” Anthony agrees lowly as he starts to unwind his cravat while sitting back to admire you. “But I feel she may need those rebellious hands restrained….”

Your belly roils as Anthony grabs your wrists, jerking them forward and binding them with the soft white silk, looping the fabrics many times before tying a tight bow that is unyielding. He doesn’t even ask for your colour, knowing such things are always a green light. What’s new is he guides your bound hands up high, then backwards, curling them behind Benedict’s head with an amused arched eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare move those arms until I say so,” Anthony warns, and all you can do is nod and bite your lip.

“Oh, excellent idea,” Benedict rhapsodises, staring fervently down the plane of your body draped naked over him.

It’s all at once similar and yet different to moments ago with Anthony: the stretch of a cock impaling you, the ache in your thighs forced so wide open, but now with the pulse in your wrists with your hands bound behind Benedict’s strong neck, your fingernails sinking into the plush ruched fabric on the wall behind.

“Watch me, my girl,” Anthony commands.

Drowsy and shaky with unmet needs, you observe as he touches himself again, his proud cock still glistening with your juices as it passes through his fist, tempting, teasing you. Attempting relief by undulating upon Benedict, but balance is more difficult now your hands are bound, instead resorting to supplicant pleas, hoping his empathetic nature will win out.

“Not yet,” he soothes through gritted teeth, but you can sense his quandary, wanting so much to rut into you, his hands flexing upon the dip of your waist. 

“You believe I have learned my lesson, do you not, sir?” Your soft appeal is blatant manipulation, reluctantly looking away from Anthony to twist sideways and stare beseechingly into his hazy blue eyes, finding a storm of desire there. Your lips tingle for his kiss as he goes to answer but is interrupted.

“Stop trying to cheat my girl,” Anthony counsels tersely. While he has welcomed Benedict into your dynamic, sometimes residual jealousy rears when you appear to have a moment of connection with his brother, wanting to gain control—the upper hand.

“You heard him. So, are you going to be a very good girl for me?” 

Benedict’s voice is a resonant vibration through your back, his frilly shirt tickling your spine. You would do anything for him when he asks like that. Your resounding nod is rewarded with a kiss, and his long fingers snagging around your nipples, your pussy clenching reflexively upon him as his tongue rolls over yours. It makes him stutter a growl into your mouth, which tastes like sin laced with smoky whiskey. 

And so you do as asked—sitting meekly, submissively, that heavy distracting weight inside you keening quietly, throbbing between your legs as Benedict tweaks your nipples almost lazily between his paintbrush-calloused fingers, his lips on your neck, sucking gently, a sensation that is all soft, wet heat. Your hooded gaze is glued to Anthony idly stroking himself, only a fraction of movement designed to keep himself aroused, no doubt. 

Minutes tick by, so you lean back into Benedict’s body as his touch softens, allowing your breathing to syncopate to his, his chest rising and falling against your back. Despite your thrumming arousal, the effect is soporific, and you find yourself growing so sleepy, eyelids too heavy…

…“Wake up, sweet girl,” Benedict’s bemused voice rings in your ear.

You startle, having no concept of how much time has passed. You are impressed when you realise he is still rock-hard inside you, your legs closer together now.

“For how long was I asleep?” You query, stifling a light yawn. A warmth blooms behind your ribs when you realise that, at some point, they unhooked your arms from behind Benedict's head, your hands resting in your lap, still bound in Anthony’s cravat.

“About a quarter hour,” Anthony chuckles. “You looked so peaceful, but we decided to rouse you to deliver the good news. We believe that you have indeed learned your lesson, sweet girl….”

“Yes, my lord, I have!” You enthuse, suddenly awake again, feeling an instant quickened throb in your clit, hoping it means they will finally take pity on you, fuck you, let you come.

“Then it is time for your reward…” 

Anthony’s tone is both benevolent and filthy as he flicks open a small vial that he must have retrieved from somewhere while you were sleeping. He shuffles his trousers down his legs a little further, the smell of olives and clove swirling in the air as he pours the oily substance onto his cock. 

“What is my reward, my lord?” You ask as your stomach clenches. 

But you already know. There is only one reason he does this. It’s when he wants to claim your bottom, not your pussy.

“You get both of us inside you at once, darling,” he answers with a dangerous smile, and Benedict groans as again, on instinct, you clench around him in excitement.

“She likes that idea, brother,” Benedict offers sardonically from behind you.

“Use your cravat, sir, blindfold me,” you petition, twisting your head to look at him, wanting to feel as much as see tonight.

“By god, I adore you,” Benedict gruffs, his voice laden with admiration and arousal as he dives in for a quick kiss. 

Then you feel him fighting off the teal silk behind you, unwinding it rapidly before settling it gently over your face, the gossamer soft fibres still warm from his neck, scented lightly of him. He ties a bow behind your head and then drops a kiss on your shoulder. Then two sets of hands assist you up off of Benedict's cock. You revel in their touch as they gently spin you and guide you backwards onto Anthony’s now bare lap, his trousers around his knees.

As the carriage rocks gently, two oiled fingers slide between your cheeks, and Anthony whispers sweetly as he swirls a finger around your bottom, extolling soft praises as he always does when he takes you here, preparing you for him. 

When you murmur that you are ready, you exhale shakily as you feel that intense blunt pressure, now more familiar to you, as he breaches your tight hole, your body stretching to accommodate his oiled cock, slowly sinking into his lap as you take slow, relaxing breaths. 

“Exquisite,” he stutters, his hands moving to hold your waist tightly, guiding you the last few inches until you are seated to his root—the utter fill like a sense memory. After a few moments of allowing you to adjust, Anthony changes his stance, pulling your legs open wider and shifting inside in a way that feels pleasurable and makes your hands flex in your binding.

“You like that, do you not?” you can hear the smirk in Benedict’s voice even if you can't see it, feeling his intense gaze upon your body as you raise your head to the sound of his voice and nod.

“Hands above your head, my girl,” Anthony instructs, and instantly, your hands shoot up, the silk binding on your wrists flexing as Benedict grabs your arms and hooks them behind Anthony’s head, his heat looming over you as he does so.

“Good, now are you ready for me too?” he checks, and you just know he has an arched brow, that menacing look; you can hear the pump of his cock in his fist, saliva gathering in your mouth at the very thought.

“Yes, sir.” 

“You do not want gentle tonight, do you?” Benedict intuits, likely seeing the hunger writ large across your blindfolded face as he kneels on a little footrest; you can feel his hips at the perfect height, the edge of his cropped jacket snagging the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“No, sir.” 

“So very different to the first time we did this,” Anthony remarks knowingly in your ear, invoking the memory of that landmark night in your burgeoning dynamic—the night you truly became a throuple.

It makes you almost wistful even in this carnal moment, that now familiar press of both their bodies, of being sandwiched between them as Benedict leans in. Although tonight, it is not warm skin upon yours, but the slight scratch of wool, the tickle of silk as they remain clothed. 

“Perhaps we indulge you too much, with both of us at once…” Anthony chuckles.

“No! Let me have both..” you twist back to implore him, even though you cannot see. “I need you both so much, my lord, sir, I am aching…”

“Well, I cannot deny such a pretty appeal as that, brother,” Benedict avows, and that is all the warning you get before he guides himself into you. 

You groan loudly as his tip nudges into your pussy, the stretch of two cocks always making your eyes roll, your toes scrunch hard. Anthony’s hands grasp your thighs, holding you open as Benedict slides deeper inside, their breath uneven, knowing they can likely feel the pressure of each other as much as you can. A curse slips from your lips as they both finally rest entirely within you.

“Darling girl, you always take us so well,” Benedict’s voice lauds, dark and decadent, “so magnificent.”

Your eyelids flutter hard against his cravat, bound and blindfolded, split open upon two cocks… you can think of nowhere else you would rather be.

“Please fuck me…” you entreat, feeling as if you have been pleading for hours with them, your mind scratchy, clawing, like a wild beast clambering up the sides of the carriage, wailing to be sated.

You almost howl as finally, finally, they take pity upon you. Benedict withdraws and then thrusts back into you, aided by the rocking motion as the carriage hurtles through past the fields of Kent, the journey seeming to speed up, mirroring the fevered atmosphere within.

Blindly, you seek a kiss from them both, swivelling to Anthony, then Benedict. Desperate, hot, open mouths meet as you start to set a rhythm together, the friction and fullness radiating pulses of pleasure outwards from where you are joined.

You love it when you are caged between them like this, pinned, hands tied, unable to see. Unable to do anything, indeed, but submit to their whims, entrusting your body and gratification utterly to them, to lay back and take it. Take the endless surges of pleasure, the push and pull, the drag of them both inside you as they change tempo, catching you unawares and making you moan and babble. The noises they wrench from your body are drowned out by the thrum of wheels upon dirt, by the thundering of hooves before you, all of you chasing destinations, literal and ephemeral. Windows fogging with panted breaths, the carriage air almost cloying, all three of you moaning unfettered as pleasure mounts.

“Do you think the coachmen above can hear us?” you gasp out, eyes rolling at the overwhelming sensations of both moving within you, their hips snapping roughly.

“Do you honestly care?” Anthony challenges, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he rolls under you.

“She wants them to watch, most likely,” Benedict pants, his hands a vice-like grip on your waist as he fucks into you.

When you do not respond they both huff a laugh.

“Your silence says so much,” Anthony remarks and suddenly, your hair is in his fist, the force making your back arch, sliding both of their cocks deeper, your moan unbridled. “Whose good little whore are you?” he demands hotly, a glance of his teeth upon your jaw.

“Yours,” you rasp, eyes fluttering against your blindfold, head tilted to the carriage ceiling, feeling the burn on your scalp, your nipples pebbled hard against the rough rasp of Benedict's jacket lapel.

“Then repeat it,” Benedict bites out, his mouth sucking harshly upon your shoulder, leaving his mark, a darkened patch you know he will have you look at in the mirror in the coming days.

“I’m your good little whore,” you echo breathily, for them both, the degrading words ratcheting you higher.

They both groan at your utterance, their hands becoming a more urgent hold. Fingertips grazing and tweaking your nipples, you know not whose. Teetering so close, you beg. Beg them to go faster, to touch your clit, to hold you down, be rough, do anything to make this fever upon your skin, buzzing in your mind, break over you, release you from this prolonged heightened state, leaking profusely around their cocks, slack-jawed, strung out with need.

When a hand worms between your bodies, snagging against your clit, you convulse around them, both groaning at the restriction, curse words falling from them in harsh pants as finally you reach the peak you have been seeking forever. One flick of a thumb, and you are gone.

The intensity of your orgasm is breathtaking: transported and hurtled into the skies far above, your whole pelvis contracting and rippling around both of them as they cry out as your vice-like grip. Static buzzing in your skull as they seem to sandwich into you even harder, your lungs gasping for air as your body feels rearranged, your mind floating on a sea of bliss as their movements become harsher, more desperate, you pulling them over the edge with you. Benedict withdraws suddenly, a warmth splashing upon your lower belly as Anthony growls hard under you, feeling the ripple of his cock as he releases inside your bottom.

For a few moments, it’s just panted breaths, all slumped together in a damp pile. Exchanging sated smiles as they tenderly unwrap the cravat from around your eyes and wrists, delicately kissing your skin as you rearrange. Playtime over, back to yourselves, a shared affection between that is undeniable now.

“How much longer until we reach your country home?” you ask as you curl up into their joint embrace, hands caressing your skin in soothing swirling patterns, a languorous pull in your bones now that you are finally satiated. A flickering glow behind your ribs at the idea this is just the start of something new with your boys.

“I have absolutely no clue, my darling,” Anthony confesses with a carefree bubble of laughter, “and I do not particularly care as long as you are in our arms, right brother?” he adds, tilting his head leisurely towards Benedict.

“Absolutely,” Benedict concurs, “If only all carriage rides were this stimulating…” he jests wistfully.

“They could be… if you always take me with you,” you breeze, giving him a chaste kiss.

“We shall never travel again without you,” Anthony attests over a stifled yawn, his stubble abrading your collarbone as he burrows his head into your neck and sighs contentedly.

And that is how you all finally rest, a tangled pile of limbs, your naked body warmed by their tight hold as the carriage whisks you through the countryside under a blanket of stars. 

Taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @kisskissshutmydoor @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies

[sunnyjeon]

Jagiya?

(Wonwoo Imagines) A drabble, fluff!

Inspired by the video below and my alarm-Wonwoo's Jagiyaa, during a concert! This is so random, sorry I miss Wonwoo a lot. Thank you for all the love on my recent drabble! I hope you like this, Wonwoorideuls. Fighting! ⋆˚ 𝜗🐈‍⬛𝜚˚⋆

Wonwoo accidentally discloses your relationship during a game on set. Everyone is left in stunned silence before bursting into laughter and teasing him relentlessly. Embarrassed but taking it in pride, Wonwoo’s slip-up leads to some fun moments and a lot of ice cream.

“Park Bo Gum!” Hurriedly, Seungcheol answers.

The group erupts in celebration. This was not new to them– a game where you had to name the picture within three seconds after being presented by the host. What’s new is that more than half of the team are somehow getting worse at this no matter how many times they play. And for some reason, the box of free ice cream makes them act like it's a prize worth a million dollars.

Feeling pressured, Wonwoo’s heart beats rapidly. The tension in the air thickens and the members hold hands in anticipation. If they continue to get the last few right, it’s a win. There’s still a few more cards left to identify and he prays it won’t be enough to reach him. 

Dino got it barely on time. But he still got it, nonetheless. Seungkwan went next and as expected, he got it right. Mingyu stood tall beside him with arms crossed as he answered confidently. The group goes into chaos as the staff reveals that they’re left with the last card– Wonwoo’s card. 

The members circle around him. Jun and Minghao thank the heavens that it didn’t land on them. Dino laughs at this sight. 

Vernon pats Mingyu’s back congratulating him. Jeonghan soothes Wonwoo’s arm as Seungcheol massages his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight. 

DK holds Wonwoo’s collar as he shakes him, “Hyung, jebal. My mouth is watering.” 

“Hyung, you got this.” Seungkwan emerges beside him. “Let’s get it!” Joshua adds.

“Yaa~ Wonwoo let’s gooo!” A tiger roars, hugging an annoyed Woozi. 

The staff motioned them to get ready. Getting dizzy because of the tension (and from DK’s shaking) he closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath. The group clings to Wonwoo, both of his arms being held by the members. He gulps and nods as the staff picks the million dollar picture. 

They take the card, showing it to the group of producers who are nodding and giggling for some reason. His manager peeks a glance and shakes his head. This sends him sweating. Is it someone he doesn’t know? An international artist? Are they going to lose because of him? 

He grits his jaw, nostrils flared, ready to give it his all. He’s going to try, he’ll get it. He just has to focus. His zeroes out, head empty, ears ringing, eyes glued on the card as it’s being passed on. It reaches to the host, it turns. And the card reveals— you? 

Meaning to say your name, he shouts the first thing that comes to mind. 

“JAGIYAAA!!!” 

Silence. Everyone stares at him in disbelief.

The host– who was about to start counting, closes his mouth, aghast. Like everyone in the room, they all stood rigid. Surprised? Confused? Amazed? Astonished? The air conditioning rings louder than their breaths.

But Wonwoo? He’s ecstatic. His arms break free from his members’ hold as he fists the air in victory. His smile is bright and wide as the picture stares back at him– it’s you at a recent award show. He knows, because he was there. He clapped and cheered for you when your name was announced, he shed a tear with you as you gave your speech, he gave you an “I told you so,” at the after party because he knows. He knows you, more than anyone in this room does. 

His hopeful expression falters as the silence stretches on, his mind catching up with the confusion in the room. Seungkwan was the first to speak, through gritted teeth he asked “Jagiya?”. 

Wonwoo’s eyes widened. Pabo! he thinks. “Y/L/N! Y/L/N! Y/L/N! ” He screams your name on repeat, hands clasped as he pleads for consideration. Technically, they haven’t done the count down and he did correct it within three (it was five) seconds. So they didn’t lose, right? 

A bewildered Mingyu pouts. “Hyung, how did I not know! I feel betrayed!” Wonwoo looks at him, head turning–  confused. He didn’t know you? Impossible! You did a challenge together! 

Vernon interrupts in amazement, “Jagiya? Wow, Michyeosseo.” 

Wonwoo’s face flushes bright red as the realization hits him. “Oh.” He hasn’t told them about you yet. Jagiya? He must be out of his mind! On camera too! He covers his face in embarrassment, face burning hotter the more he thinks about you. He he holds his breath, feeling all the butterflies weaken his knees, he dramatically pretends to pass out. 

His reaction sends the room erupting into claps, whistles, and laughter. The teasing is going to be relentless. But at least they know now. The hard part is over. He shuts his eyes, resigning to his fate. Still lying on the floor, he slowly uncovers his face, his cheeks still flushed bright red. 

He looks up at the camera, a sheepish smirk drawn on his face. "We still get the ice cream, right?” He winks. 

They absolutely lost it that day. 

[comatosebunny09]

merry christmas, mr. sylus [ aftermath ]

— summary: maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo au, modern au, aged-up characters (sylus is in his mid-30s), mutual pining — notes: a happy ending for the holidays. happy holidays, all! [ part 1 | part 2 ] — now playing: some days - stella jang

It’s been nearly a week since you kissed your boss that fateful night.

Well, more like since he kissed you. 

And it’s strange because even though he was the one to initiate it, he’s been avoiding you like a sickness. His curt good mornings have felt glacial, where they were once warm enough to light the torch of your day. Your daily briefs have felt rigid, and the car rides together have made you want to tuck and roll out the door. Worst off, he hasn’t maintained consistent eye contact with you since Christmas Eve, his gaze often fleeting away, studying the floor or the blurred space over your shoulder.

It really pisses you off. It’s bad enough that the night replays in your mind like a warped record, bringing with it warring feelings of relief and hurt. Relief because, maybe, he didn’t push you away as much as you initially thought. Hurt because the look on his face when he booked it to the elevator, leaving you to nurse bittersweet emotions and a broken smile, is permanently ingrained in your memory. 

The pain overshadows all because he won’t even look at you now. 

Were your lips chapped? Is it because you didn’t know what to do with your hands? Did you smell offensive? Were you just shit at kissing? Said thoughts hover in your mind like a nebulous cloud stretched across the galaxy, even as you sift through documents and folders, trying your best to distract yourself. 

Mr. Sylus is tucked safe in his office behind you. Over the past few days, he’s made a point to arrive earlier than you—which is alarming considering you’re usually the night heron, showing up to fix his coffee, line up his daily schedule, and greet him with an unbridled smile. 

You slam the folder you were working with shut, garnering a few perturbed looks from the staff scuttling about on the tenth floor. Sighing, you pitch yourself back in your chair, a pout inhabiting your features. If he wants to be childish about it, sure. But you’ve rarely been one to let sleeping dogs lie, and the awkwardness between you affects your at-home life as well. 

Your gaze flits to the lower drawer of your desk. You scrutinize the lacquered cherry wood, contemplating barging into your boss’ office and giving him your makeup present. You figured maybe, just maybe, he was partially upset because he’d been expecting something more practical for Christmas. And perhaps that’s why he rushed out that night, all stone-faced and covering his lips with spindly fingers. 

You still remember their taste—their feel. Your lips still tingle, and your face bleeds bashfulness whenever you recollect. They were slightly chapped but warm as they moved against yours. And, through the union, it felt like he poured something molten into the chasm of your belly. Something that set your heart rate into overdrive, the gears in your head whirring until steam billowed from your ears.

A swift hand covers where your heart thrums, and you shake your head to dispel your memories. Was kissing him really worth it if it meant your working relationship would suffer? Obviously not if you’re mulling over it so hard. But with determination bleeding over your countenance, you bend to throw open your bottom drawer. An oblong, matte black box peers back at you from within, intricately dressed with a scarlet bow. Scarlet, like the irises burned into your memory, looking at you with utter mortification.

Banishing your thoughts, you snatch the present from inside. Kick your drawer shut, standing so quickly that the front wheels of your chair bounce against the floor. You turn towards the heavy oakwood door of his office, the embossed letters of his name challenging you, and you steel your resolve.

But fate has been the most fickle bitch as of late, intervening when she sees fit, burning your efforts to mere soot.

A familiar, mellifluous voice calls you from behind. And just your luck, it would be her. You swivel, greeting Ms. Hunter with all the rehearsed ease of someone in your field. 

She’s all bright-eyed and youthful with a thousand-watt smile. Gorgeous despite being in uniform, her hair windswept and cheeks mottled pink. A part of you would love to hate her, but you’ve truly no reason to. She’s never disrespected you, never called you out of your name. She’s been sickeningly cordial since you met her.

“Hey! Sylus in?” she asks, and your heart plummets into your stomach. Why else would she be here?

You nod rigidly, dropping back into your seat with the finesse of a bowling ball. And you take up the handset of your desk phone, dreading the familiar drawl of a particular voice on the other end. 

“Speak,” he answers, the curl of his voice making your stomach do somersaults. Despite its flatness, this is perhaps the most emotion you’ve heard from him in the last few days.

“Ms. Hunter is here to see you, sir.”

A part of you hopes he turns her away–tells you he doesn’t want to see anyone, even if it’s his darling lady friend. And you feel you might get your wish when he’s silent for a beat, the crinkly static being your only company. Instead of answering your prayers, he simply answers, “Let her in.”

Your stomach freefalls to your feet. Your mask of a smile twitches, your disappointment sluggishly leaking through the fissures. “Of course, sir.” And you hang up, standing once more to lead Ms. Hunter into the place you haven’t been allowed into for days yourself.  

She nods curtly, brushing past you, her hair wispy and the scent of stale Jasmine staining her clothes. When the door clicks shut behind her, you melt into your seat until your shoulders touch your ears, and you kick your excuse for a peace offering under the shadowy abyss of your desk. 

And to think you’d worked so hard to muster the courage to confront your boss, too.

—

It’s nearing lunch, and you’re shoving things into your bag as your stomach reminds you that you skipped breakfast. You sling your pack over your shoulder, pushing your chair under your desk, preparing to hit the cafe in the city’s heart for something quick. You barely make it two steps before you’re summoned for the second time, though there is no high and light voice curling around your name this time.

This one is low and even, velvet-smooth, furling in your chest like smoke, sticking to your lungs like ash. You whip your head around to meet a familiar sheen of white hair. 

He stands in his doorframe, a pensive look on his face, scarlet eyes smoldering with something you can’t quite place. Has his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he’s looking between you and your bag, wordlessly inquiring where you’re off to.

With a nervous laugh in your throat, you turn to face him fully. “Was just about to grab some lunch. You want anything, sir?”

He shakes his head, the barest cant to his lips. It’s gone before you’ve time to appreciate it.

You don’t know whether to laugh or scream as you fiddle with your fingers. At least he’s trying to approach you first, no matter how uncomfortable the exchange. You wonder if Ms. Hunter had something to do with this. Maybe he told her what happened six nights ago, and she gave him a pep talk to put him back into good spirits. But you know that’s just wishful thinking. In fact, she seemed uncharacteristically somber when she left his office earlier, barely acknowledging your goodbye. 

“Can I speak to you before you leave?” he asks, brows slightly furrowed, head tilted, lips set in a stiff line. 

Something cold drips through you. You grab the strap of your bag, grip white-knuckled, and the leather squeaks. Despite the dread turning your limbs to lead, you plaster on a smile and nod. He motions into his office, stepping aside to let you in. And you try to ignore how your heart threatens to leap from your rib cage because this is the part where he fires you, isn’t it?

Oh well. The job was good while it lasted—something to fatten up your résumé and harden your heart.

It’s warm inside his office. Of course, it always is. And you’ve missed this, not having been amid these softened, gray, accent molded walls all week. It smells of cracked cinnamon sticks and vanilla beans with something inherently Sylus snuck in between. The city stretches like a yawning beast against the horizon, peering through the ceiling-high windows behind his desk. 

Strangling the strap of your pack, you ease into a red, tufted armchair, your legs bouncing and your throat growing dry. You jolt when the door shuts and admonish yourself for being so jittery. If Mr. Sylus intends to fire you, you’ll face it head-on with a smile on your face. 

So you muster one as he moves to inhabit the space mere inches away from you, leaning against the edge of his heavy, cherry wood desk, arms crossing over a broad chest. He’s as devastating a sight as ever, his blazer slung over the back of his rolling chair, his forearms bleeding from cuffed sleeves. And the sight of his veins, branching like a roadmap beneath his skin, still makes your tongue feel heavy in your mouth.

You’re going to miss this. 

He looks contemplative as you toy with your bag’s zipper. And your cheeks ache from smiling so hard. Wonder how long you’ll have to keep up this act before he drops a bomb on you. 

“How are you doing today?” he queries. And you blink rapidly, not expecting him to open the floor with small talk. Regardless, you’re grateful he’s offering you more than curt grunts, even if it’ll be the last time you hear them.

“Um…I’m doing alright, I guess.” 

Your stomach growls, disrupting the tension that brews between you. You rub your stomach placatingly, and Sylus snorts, perching virile hands on the edge of his desk, leaning back. He seems a little more open. A little lighter, and you find your lips twitching with a genuine smile this time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal you away from your lunch break. I promise to be brief.”

You nod as a knot of nerves forms in your gut, warring with your hunger. Straightening your back, you cross your ankles, hands flattened in your lap. Here it comes—

“Do you…have any plans for New Year’s?”

You blink again, brows pinching. “Wh-wha?”

He sheepishly rubs the scruff of his neck, and you can’t recall a time you’ve ever seen him so at odds with himself. He reminds you of an adolescent, rallying the courage to ask out their crush. 

“A friend of mine owns a cabin up in the woods.” He looks at you, wetting his lips. You nod, cautiously encouraging him to continue. “He usually hosts this whole weekend extravaganza there every New Year’s. Bringing a plus one is a bit of an unspoken rule. I was wondering if you didn’t already have plans—”

You unconsciously lean forward, brows lifting. 

“—if you would like to accompany me?”

Well, that took a left turn. A hand placed over your heart, you laugh, the knot of your nerves slowly unraveling. So, does this mean your boss doesn’t hate you?

“I would love to!” you say with a little too much enthusiasm. And he smiles in turn, stuffing his hands in his pockets, chuckle infectious. 

The load of the air a little lighter, you exchange small talk, and it feels as if nothing’s changed between you. Like that fateful Christmas Eve night, you didn’t make an ass of yourself, and he didn’t regret kissing you.

Sylus walks you to the door, twin smiles donning your faces. You turn to him on your way out, awkwardly running into the hardened planes of his chest. He steadies you with tender fingers wrapped around your arms, and the gleam in his eyes siphons the air from your lungs. You find your gaze falling to his lips, his mirroring yours. And had there not been people still milling about, you would’ve kissed him.

“W-would you like to grab lunch together, sir?” you ask instead, caught up in the alluring stir of his eyes—the wispy dance of darkened lashes, the tremor of pink lips.

“Of course,” he answers, his warm breath fanning over your mouth. He sweeps some errant hair behind your ear, the glide of his knuckle against your cheek reminiscent of pill bugs rolling over your skin. 

You nod, pulling yourself from the spell the moment cast. And you lead the way, trying vainly to stifle the grin splitting your face in twain, Mr. Sylus a warm and homely presence at your back as the pair of you make your way to the elevator.  

[eeksburner]

Oh, Baby

Husband!Simon Riley x PregnantWife!Reader

(Note: I'm going to be honest, I wasn't planning on posting here very much, but seeing all the likes and reposts I'm getting is boosting my ego and dopamine #ExFanficWriter)

Not proofread

Simon would be the best Dad. After everything with his father and the rest of his family being killed, he would be extremely hesitant to start a family of his own. It took a lot for him to open up to you and get married, so when you told him your dreams of having a sweet baby with him, his heart dropped. Simon holds a lot of love in his heart and he, too, had his fantasies of being the best daddy to a little babe, but he never thought that it would be a possibility for him. He is the most doting husband to exist, so it wasn’t hard for him to notice when you started sending one less letter a week when he was working and when he saw you less on the cameras installed at home. Simon was convinced you were cheating. It hurt initially, but he used his learned ability to become cold and set himself apart from things to get over it and finish his current mission. When he was on his drive home in his perfectly kept truck, he couldn’t help but grip the steering wheel so hard he thought it might break. After he realized the sneaky things you were doing he stopped checking in on the cameras. This was to your benefit, however, because you were able to decorate the house with pink in your pretty little maternity dress. No need to cover the cameras with towels like you had. As it turns out, two and a half months can help you develop a bump, at least in your case. As he pulled up, Simon prepared himself for the worst, bracing himself to see whatever abhorrent thing lay in the house. You stood in front of the door, ultrasound in hand, house teeming with pink balloons, pregnancy decor, and pink treats. Simon took a deep breath as he approached the eerily quiet house. He twisted the knob and opened the door to see you and everything you set up. “Surprise!” Simon’s ears were ringing and his vision blurred from a mix of anxiety and relief. Your smile faltered as you watched his unchanging expression and his rigid body stay still, staring, for a couple of minutes. Normally it wouldn't take him so long to react to something even if he was stunned, considering his training, but everything was so jarring and emotionally involved he couldn't help but need a minute. He was expecting to walk into boxes of your things, an empty house, or a man with you in the bedroom. You were expecting him to scoop you up in his arms and spin you around. Right when you were going to drop your smile and ask him what was wrong, he gained his bearings. He took slow, heavy steps towards you, eyes brimming with tears. He fell to his knees in front of you and sighed a deep breath of relief, hugging you to his body and shoving his face into your abdomen. “Si?” You couldn’t be more confused by his reaction. A muffled, “I love you so much,” came from Simon. You swore you could feel a wetness where his eyes were on your dress. “Are you happy?” you asked. Simon looked up at you with reddened, wet eyes and said, “Love, you have no idea how ecstatic I am for us, for our little lovey growing inside you.” Now it was your turn to cry, relief and love filling you. You hugged him as he stood up to give you a proper embrace. You guys eventually worked it out and Simon explained his reaction to you. At first, you were upset that he would ever think you could do that to him, but you understood after you realized where he was coming from with both his trauma and the statistics on cheating and failed marriages for military couples. If you thought he was thoughtful and dedicated before you were pregnant, he’s 10x more during and after your pregnancy. You gave birth to a healthy baby girl and named her Josie in honor of his nephew. 

Timeskip 

You sat on your couch with a deep smile on your face, the sun warming your body and your home. It was a warm summer day and you were listening to the harmonious giggles and screams of your 3-year-old daughter as her daddy chased her around the house. Your heart couldn’t feel more full as your husband and baby basked in the sweetness of love in your sanctuary. Your favorite song is hearing Josie say "Mommy" and "Daddy" in her little voice. She really is the sweetest thing you've seen. Of course, she has her moments, but she's so polite and helpful (in her own way). Minimal discipline is needed and both you and Simon handle her gently. Simon doesn't know if she's actually his kid with how even tempered she is. He made it a commitment to never shout or be rude to you or your baby and he has kept good to his word. Your pregnancy was emotional for both you and Simon. For you, it was knowing you were giving Simon the life and love he always deserved but didn’t always get. For Simon, it was knowing he was so vulnerable and putting his (now) two loves at risk with his job, but doing it anyway in the name of love and trust, something he didn’t have the privilege of truly experiencing until he met you and saw the sonogram of your Josie. He waited on you hand and foot, giving you anything you wanted or needed to ensure the smoothest experience for you. Simon didn’t know firsthand what it was like to be pregnant, but he did do hours of research on it and knew you were changing everything for and about yourself so you could have a bundle of joy. Now, he is the most doting husband and daddy. He takes Josie on daddy-daughter dates, spoils her endlessly, goes to all of her gymnastics practices, and even partakes in parent-toddler gymnastics nights. He buys her all of the best clothes and makes sure you have everything you need for her health and happiness, all while taking care of you even better than he did before. He makes sure you’re still healing from post-partum even 3 years later. He has so much love in his heart and it’s his job to share it with his two favorite girls.

[ladsloveletters]

BACK FOR YOU

summary: Caleb returns to find out you’re having sex with your best friend Zayne.

warnings: MDNI, 18+ content

tags: Nurse!MC, ZaynexMC, CalebxMC, FWB!Zayne, Jealous!Caleb, Love triangle trope perhaps, Caleb doesn’t die in this fic, rough sex, fingering, spitting, spanking, gagging, other filthy stuff, there’s plot in here because i enjoy context lol

word count: 6.2k

notes: not edited and read over quickly once lol just want more caleb smut in my life. also like the idea of love triangle between childhood friends.

The morning shift was almost at its peak. People flooded the hallway. Nurses at the nursing station ruffling through patient files. Doctors pagers beeping as they scurry to the next consultation. Radiologists yelling at physiotherapists to move out of the way as they haul their giant mobile X-Ray machines. In the background you can hear all the patients using their call-bells, lighting up the ceiling TV screens like Christmas Eve.

You sigh, the usual midday headache creeping up your shoulders.

And yet amidst the normal chaos of Akso General Hospital, Dr. Zayne, your childhood best friend, manages to stop in the middle of it all and smirk. ‘Have you had a break yet?’

Flicking your gloves into the bin outside the patient’s door, you turn towards Zayne who happens to be walking down the hallway. ‘I have not peed since I woke up,’ you grunt, making your way across to the busy nurses station to where an amused Zayne rests his arms upon. You let yourself rest on your side, mirroring him.

If it weren't for the many years you had known the man, you would have been fooled by his cool calm demeanor he wears so well. You scanned him. Neatly gelled hair. Freshly shaved face (he missed a spot right by his left jaw). Baby pink button down peaking through his white coat. Polished black shoes matching his pressed pants. And yet you can also note the tick of his jaw. The soft crease between his brows. The faint shadows under his eyes. Zayne was equally as tired. You chuckled, only 3 more hours until the shift ends.

‘I heard the cafeteria is now serving apple pie,’ you offer.

His dark brow quirks up, ‘Since when did you show interest in apple pie?’ he shakes his head, dark hair covering his gaze, ‘Definitely not an appropriate lunch.’

You lean further into your arm, your hand keeping your head upright. ‘I’m sure a certain Colonel would disagree.’

Zayn turned rigid. Right. Caleb.

The DAA Colonel was scheduled to return tomorrow morning. Much to your excitement, the older childhood friend couldn’t help but sense something was off. It was simple. You and Caleb would play while Zayne would watch from afar. And when the sun had set at the playground, Zayne would be the responsible one to walk you home whilst Caleb stayed and played with the other neighbourhood kids. Always measured and always cautious, the childhood dynamic between the three of you remained unchanged even with the other’s disappearance. After high school graduation, the three of you promised to stay in touch no matter what. Even if that meant for Caleb to leave Linkon to join the DAA, leaving you and Zayne behind.

You had hoped for your friend’s return. But hope can be a fickle thing.

-

Caleb’s eyes were fixated on the small red box. Your hands were clasped around it so tightly, your breath caught in your chest. This was a mistake. A nervous laugh bubbled through your throat as you quickly drew the box behind your back, ‘It’s a stupid present!’ you stuttered shaking your head, ‘I just saw it one day shopping with grandma and-’

His lilac gaze darkened as he quickly snatched the box out of your hands.

“Hey!’

Using his height to his advantage Caleb turns his back towards you as he quickly rips open the box again and plucks out the necklace. ‘When you come back…’ he reads, holding up the dog tag out of your reach and smiling. ‘You’re really going to miss me, Pipsqueak?’

You huff as he continues to turn away from your reach, laughing at your poor attempts of swatting the silver chain out of his large grasp. ‘It’s not my fault you chose to become a stupid pilot instead of going to med school like Zayne!’

The older boy scoffs, turning away from you once more to quickly clasp the chain around his neck. He grins as he tucks the dog tag into his school shirt. Caleb couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten at the mention of the older boy's name. It’s always the same with you. Safe. Responsible. No wonder grandma always wanted Zayne to walk you home after school instead of Caleb. Zayne, your neighbour and best friend. The older upper classmen who always had people gushing about him despite his closed off personality. Personally, it always seemed to annoy Caleb.

But he was good to you, Zayne. Caleb knew that. He saw it every time he walked you home. He saw it when Zayne would drop off boxed lunch for you early in the morning on his way to University. And he knew that he would be able to take care of you whilst he went to the DAA.

But Caleb couldn’t ignore the sting in his eyes at the thought of leaving you for several months. And that's only if things at DAA go smoothly. At worst, Caleb may be gone for a few years before he’s even allowed for a stationed break. But he must go, in order to keep you safe.

‘Why don’t you go to medical school if you admire Zayne so much?’ he teases.

You stop attempting to take off Caleb’s necklace and blink up at him. The cotton blouse of your school uniform is dampened with sweat from the summer air. A soft cool breeze threaded through the leaves of the large tree you stood under, cooling your exposed neck under your ponytail. A mix of frustration and embarrassment reddens your cheeks, ‘Maybe I will.’

Caleb stares down at you. He had gotten taller over the Summer. A whole head taller and then some. Graduation was always bittersweet, and to be honest Caleb couldn’t care less for all the other classmates waiting to give him a parting present as well. After the graduation ceremony he found himself at the back court, trying to get some air before all the other students rushed out to celebrate. He wasn’t oblivious to his popularity. He knew from the stares he would get from other girls and glares from his basketball team. But it never mattered.

All he could focus on was you, standing under the big crabapple tree, small red box in hand waiting to give you a farewell gift. His best friend, who for some reason was always a little something more to him.

Caleb bit his pride aside and took in a deep breath. He stepped forward which made you instinctively step back. The treebark was rough against your skin. Your feet planted between the thick roots of the tree. ‘Stay out of trouble Pipsqueak,’ he murmured, reaching forward. He leant forward, bracing himself with one hand against the tree. The other hand reached under his shirt, thumb pulling out the silver chain. The small apple pendant dangled above your eyeline. The engraved words on the dog tag stared down at you.

‘I’ll come back home before you know it.’

-

Zayne was always gentle with you.

Despite him being your senior, Zayne had never let you feel small. In fact, he was the opposite. Any chance he got, Zayne had made sure you felt confident and empowered and supported. Even through nursing school with late night studying and long days working at the convenience store to pay for school- Zayne was there to help. Handwritten flash cards. Homemade lunch boxes. He was there.

And when Caleb stopped responding to your letters and emails, Zayne was there as well.

He can admit, the younger boy was trouble. But he also saw how much he cared for you. After all, you were so excited to give him his graduation present that you decided to ask Zayne for his opinion. ‘Do you think he’ll like it?’ you bit into your nails. Zayne would try not to roll his eyes and shrug his shoulders, ‘He would be an ungrateful idiot if not.’

After all, you were always looking out for them both. Even when Zayne had questioned your motives to become a nurse, you simply responded, ‘It’s so I can help others no matter what,’ you shrugged, ‘And so I can see you often and help Caleb if he ever gets injured.’

It came so easily to you, helping others. It was the biggest thing Zayne admired about you. However it was also your biggest weakness, wearing your heart on your sleeve. His biggest worry was how easy it would be to break your heart.

And so it was Zayne’s personal mission to ensure that no one would break your heart. Because at the end of the day, you were his best friend and he was looking out for you. He would take care of you no matter what.

Which is how you ended up in the abandoned storage room at the bottom of Asko Hospital. With Zayne, taking care of you.

‘A-Ah, Zayne hurry up,’ you whine.

His kisses were more rough today. Something you noted as soon as he had pushed you through the storage room doors. He had carelessly slammed his swipecard against the door lock, pressing his mouth against your neck as he closed the door shut behind you. Peeling off his coat and swipecard, he dropped everything onto the floor one by one.

You turn around to meet his soft lips, pressing yours against them. His tongue made no mistake in entering your mouth swiftly, softly entangling with yours. He smelled of coffee and laundry detergent as he pushed you against one of the metal shelves. His large hands made work to the back of your head, one hand firm at the back of your neck as the other took off the claw clip of your ponytail. Your hair fell around your shoulders as your hands tugged at his waist.

‘Does this count as a lunch break?’

Zayne grunted, taking his glasses off and placing them on the shelf behind you as he brushed your hair over your shoulder. He hummed as he pressed open mouth kisses along your collar bone and you sighed in bliss as your head fell back. This is how it was. It was a mutual decision. Working at a busy hospital meant a lot of stress and frustration would pent up so quickly and easily. It was only logical to find an equally quick and easy release.

Whose idea it was, you cannot remember.

‘You’re so hard already,’ you sigh as your hand feels up the front of Zayne’s pants. He chuckled as he brought a hand forward to cup your breast. Through your thin scrubs he could feel your nipple pebble and harden under your bralette. ‘Could say the same for you.’

You huff and make quick work of his belt buckle and Zayne lets you as you pull down the zipper and drop his slacks around his thick thighs. You groan at the sight of the tent in his black briefs. Lifting your arms up, Zayne swiftly pulls your scrub top over your head and throws it into the corner. He smirks at the sight of your heaving chest. ‘Eager?’ he teases.

‘Whatever,’ you grumble as you tug him forward with his necktie. His mouth was on yours once again. His kisses tasted divine. Not that you had much to compare to. Your mouth only knew Zayne’s. And Caleb.

But that was neither here nor there. And where you are now, wrapped in the strong arms of your favourite doctor, was where you wanted, needed to be.

You bury the thought of anyone else and let yourself fall drunk off his kisses. Pushing your front flush against him, he moans at the contact. Indeed, he was very hard.

‘Do you think you can take an extra fifteen for your lunch break?’ you murmur, mouth getting swollen from Zayne’s tender bites.

Not bothering to respond, Zayne tugs the bottom of your scrubs down enough to expose your pink striped panties. His hand cups the front of your pussy and lets out a short breath. ‘You’re so fucking wet.’ His fingers don’t take time to slip under the soaked cotton and glide themselves over your slick. ‘Is this how you walk around all day?’ he grunts, ‘Wet and waiting for me to take you?’

Your head falls onto Zayne’s shoulder, mouth agape. Your hips buck and grind against his palm, begging for more than just his teasing fingertips.

‘If it weren’t for you walking around like that,’ he buries his nose into the crook of your neck. His hot breath fanning your ear and you shudder. ‘I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything all day,’ he confesses, ‘Do you know how dangerous that would be for me, love? I am the most respected cardiac surgeon in all of Linkon and the sight of you reduces me to nothing.’

His fingers gently caress your swollen clit, massaging them ever so slowly. You can feel yourself getting more wet, practically soaking yourself into his palm. Zayne presses his lips against the sensitive spot of your neck, ‘So fucking wet just for me.’

You whine as your hand blindly reaches for his cock. You can’t take this anymore. You needed more. And today, for no particular reason, seems to have you both riled and wanting more. ‘P-please Zayne, I-I can’t take it.’

He chuckled, his fingers gliding down and slipping inside of you. ‘You can take it,’ he reassured, ‘You can take all of me just like you have been all these months.’

-

Caleb was coming home tomorrow.

That was what you had told yourself over and over again since you had woken up. You thought about him in the shower. While you were attending a patient’s wound dressing. While you ate lunch after your quickie with Zayne. And even now, laying in bed your eyes bore into the ceiling. Caleb was coming home tomorrow. Your head turned to your bedside alarm and sighed. Sleep won’t come easy tonight. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath.

You thought of Zayne. He was different today and you couldn’t pinpoint why. It was nothing out of the ordinary for you two to have sex. In fact, you almost had it scheduled every week. It was a mutual companionship you both had expressed was purely physical and even productive. As you shed away all the stresses of work and the world, you were able to relax in the comfort of convenience in one of your oldest friends’ arms.

And yet there was something about him today that was foreign. In the way he kept you close to him. Visiting you on the ward in the middle of the shift. Asking if you had lunch even though you normally skipped it in return for finishing work early. And how he had kissed you after you had come around his cock, mouth hard and earnest against you.

Your eyes remain closed, pictures of Zayne’s hot body pressed against yours. His hands roaming every inch of your skin. You bit down on your lip. Mindlessly, you let your hands start to feel up your body. The soft silky nightgown (a humorous birthday gift from Zayne last year) falling off your shoulder and exposing one of your breasts. You let out a soft sigh as you palm and pinch at your nipples.

‘Am I interrupting something?’

Fuck.

You could have swore you were dreaming at the sound of his voice. Eyes wide open you sit up, linen pooling around your waist as your eyes directly meet Caleb’s.

Mouth agape, like a fish out of water, you stare at him. Caleb. He stood by the doorframe of your bedroom, body leaning against it as one leg crossed over the other. His arms were folded and a smirk spread across his pink lips. It took you a moment to register who was standing before you. ‘Caleb?’

If Caleb grew a head taller than you after graduation that summer, then he must have grown another foot. His shadow loomed over you. His broad shoulders stretched the thick fabric of his military jacket as he uncrossed his arms and brought his hand up in a mock salute. ‘Nice to see you too Pipsqueak,’ he sings. His violet gaze flickers to your chest and you scramble to pull the sheet up to your chest. But you were too transfixed at the sight of him.

‘So this is how you kept yourself busy while I was gone?’

Pushing off the doorframe he walks into the room slowly. The leather boots and the sound of your breathing filling the bedroom. ‘I thought you were coming back tomorrow.’

Caleb shrugged, ‘I lied.’

He walked around the bed with slow steps. As if with every stomp of his boot, another thought came to his mind. The air around you drew cold and tense. And an air of uncertainty filtered into your bedroom window.

It was late at night. And in this hour, the moonlight painted silver stripes into your room. It shone across your bedsheets and highlighted the violet gaze which never left yours. It was as if the centre of gravity had shifted. And nothing but Caleb’s gaze was holding you down in the bed. You couldn’t even cover yourself, your breast bare to him. You were frozen.

‘I wanted to surprise you. But it looks like you had other things going on.’

You didn’t understand. This was not Caleb. Your Caleb wouldn’t speak the way he is speaking right now. With this air of fear and uncertainty you swallowed down your dry throat. ‘Caleb what happened-’

He stopped at the foot of the bed abruptly and turned to you. ‘One year Pipsqueak.’ he snarled, reaching forward and gripping the edge of the bedframe. ‘I was gone for one year and you had the nerve to go and fuck Zayne? Out of all fucking people?’

You were stunned.

Caleb let out a laugh you could only decipher as mockery. ‘You even went ahead and became a nurse for him! Just like I thought you would,’ he laughed. He took off his hat and your chest heaved as you fully took in his face. Pieces of short dark locks fell above his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair. He placed his hat on your bed. The leather gloves tighten its grip against the wooden bedframe.

‘H-How did you know?’

There was no point denying it at this point. But if the man in front of you was truly Caleb, then you had to know how he came to know the secret arrangement you had with Zayne this whole time he was at the DAA.

Caleb snickered, ‘I always knew Pipsqueak.’

He pushed himself off the bedframe and made his way around to the side of the bed. There he stood over you, his shadow eclipsing the moonlight seeping from the window. In the dark, his violet eyes were shining with a sinister glint. He grinned, ‘It was just a matter of what I would do when I came home.’

You felt powerless. Your eyes couldn’t believe that Caleb was here. After a year of mourning his presence, missing him, the Caleb that returned was unrecognisable. Caleb smirked at your face. He could tell you were afraid. It excited him. It excited him even more to see how unfazed you were having your chest so exposed to him. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. ‘How long have you been fucking him?’

Your eyes narrowed, ‘I thought you knew everything, Colonel.’

Caleb quickly brought his hand under your chin, the leather of his glove pressing into your skin. He jerks your head closer to him as he leans in, ‘I want you to admit how much of a slut you are.’

‘You couldn’t even wait for me, Pipsqueak,’ he feigned sorrow, ‘You just had to jump onto the next guy that offered you cock.’

You scoffed and tried to pull away from his grasp. But Caleb held onto you tightly, his thumb pinching your chin tightly, ‘Caleb you’re hurting me-’

‘How long?’ he presses.

Your skin was on fire with the intensity of Caleb’s gaze searing into you.

‘Since I started working at Akso.’

He pulled you closer, you could smell him. Smoke and citrus. His lips were almost brushing against yours, his long lashes brushing your cheek as he turned to whisper into your ear. ‘You know you belong to me.’

You shuddered at his words and swallowed.

At this point your breasts were aching, begging to be touched. And the absolute terror Caleb reigned over you had all the more brought out the tingling sensation of your arousal.

He drew only a breath back, his grasp on your chin loosening only a fraction as his eyes stared into yours. Caleb smirked as he feels you practically lean further into his touch. ‘Well?’ he asked, cocking his head to the side in feigned interest, ‘Say it.’

A flash of confusion crosses your eyes before you blink away at his request. ‘What?’

Caleb brings a knee onto the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. He tilts your head up, ‘Say you belong to me.’

A silver shine catches your eyes and your lips part. There, tucked away under the collar of his fleetspace uniform, lay the familiar silver chain. Caleb watches your gaze flicker back to his, and notices the wet shine in your eyes.

When U Come Back.

‘I’m yours, Caleb,’ you choke out, tears threatening to slip against the burning of your cheeks,’I belong to you.’

His mouth crashes into yours almost violently as he pushes you back down into the bed. You land with a soft thud, his gloved hand catching the back of your head as he grasps a fist full of your hair.

A grunt escapes your lips and you gasp as Caleb slips his tongue into your mouth. He tastes as good as he smells as he wedges a muscled thigh between your legs. You try to shake the thought that this man on top of you was the same sweet boy who had always played with you at school. The same boy that held your backpack when it was too heavy. The same one that would tie your shoelaces.

The loud crash of boots disappear in the background as Caleb kicks them off and turns your head to the side. He wastes no time in running his other hand up your side as he presses sloppy wet kisses down your throat. ‘You grew into such a pretty slut,’ he teased as he massaged into your side, ‘Do you wear these things every night hoping someone would find you?’

At this point your panting and Caleb chuckles at the sight. He’s proud to see such a reaction out of you. Flushed cheeks. Hair tousled and sticking to your forehead. Your lips parted and almost dry from all the airy breaths.

His nose brushes against your skin as he kisses his way down to your chest, ‘Or were you wearing this knowing I would be knocking on your door in the morning, Pipsqueak?’

Balling your fists, you held onto the sheets tightly. Cocky bastard. Your knees closed in one another, locking Caleb into place. Your eyes darted to him and you sneered, ‘Maybe I was expecting a certain doctor instead.’

The growl erupted from Caleb was carnal. You watched in a trance as he licked a stripe down the fold of your cleavage. ‘Shut the fuck up.’

Your laughter was cut short when Caleb took your breast into his mouth. He sucks roughly at your nipple, grazing at it with his teeth. He hums in approval when you let out a gutteral groan, ‘Fuck.’

His other hand lets go of your head and reaches towards your throat. In a firm grasp, he holds you down as he continues to lap at your tits. ‘That’s right baby,’ he released your nipple with a soft ‘pop’ before kissing his way to the other. He draws a circle with his tongue around the hardened bud before taking it between his teeth. ‘Your tits are so fucking perfect.’

If Zayne was gentle, then Caleb was brutal.

If Zayne was considerate, then Caleb was selfish.

If Zayne was your comfort, then Caleb was your undoing.

You were squirming and your pussy was throbbing beneath your nightgown. And, unknowing to the man hovering above you, you were completely exposed. After all you lived alone, why wear underwear around the house? Saves on laundry.

As if he can scent you, Caleb pulls himself up and cages you under him. He rips off his gloves and jacket, leaving him in his white slacks and button down. His black tie dangles in your face as he leans down. ‘I can smell how fucking wet you are Pipsqueak,’ he muses. He palms his hard cock under his pants, begging for release. But he remains measured, composed. ‘Let me fuck you and I’ll make sure you never need to touch anyone else but me again.’

His words were seeping into your bones as his deep breaths masked his self restraint. You can feel the sheets curl beneath you as he fists the linen in earnest. With heavy lids you avert your gaze, the boldness of his attitude pinning you down. ‘But Zayne is so good to me…’

It was a mistake to even think of another man whilst Caleb practically hunted you down. At the sound of another man’s name, your childhood best friend snarled as he pulled down his pants swiftly.

Holy shit.

He was huge, even in his large grasp. You watch with mouth agape as Caleb lazily fisted his cock above you. His brows furrowed and his violet glare sent shockwaves all over you. He smirked, ‘Zayne might be good to you baby…’

‘But I’m not going to hold back.’

He leant forward once more and you gasp at the hard thickness of Caleb’s cock pressing against your stomach. You groan as he teases the tip of his cock down your navel to the top of your swollen clit. The hardened bud was throbbing and aching and practically begging for any friction. Your hands hold onto the sides of his biceps, the strong corded muscles shifting under his thin shirt.

He chuckled, ‘I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to take everything I’ll give you.’

There was no question in his tone and no room for even doubt before Caleb pushed his hard cock inside you. You let out a yelp at the sheer force of him stretching inside of your pussy. Your fingernails dig into his arms deeper as you moan, ‘Holy shit.’

‘Fucking hell,’ Caleb muttered, drawing his hips back and watching the length of his cock disappear inside of you with a quick snap. The force of his weight moved your body against the bed, the sound of his pelvis meeting yours.

It wasn’t long for you to adjust to him. Your body was practically moulding beneath him, accommodating to every curve and every inch of his hard cock as Caleb begins a brutal pace. ‘Take it for me,’ he muttered, throwing his leather gloves off and finding his hands gripping onto your hips firmly.

The sound was filthy, your wet pussy slobbering all over Caleb’s length as he continuously pulls you into him. You pant and writhe beneath him, ‘Caleb it’s too much-‘

He huffed as he continued to fuck you harder, ‘No it’s not enough,’ he decided. Your eyes were watery at the overwhelming sensation of his touch. There was no time for you to even register him flipping you over to your stomach.

You whine at the sudden loss of him pulling out of you.‘See?’ he sneered, pushing you down and lifting your hips up. His large hands, calloused and rough compared to Zayne’s, kneaded into the soft flesh of your ass. Caleb hums as he palms your soft skin before delivering a loud slap onto you.

‘Ah! Caleb!’

You shudder with each delivering blow, your back arched as your moans muffle through your pillow. Your fingers gripped onto the sheets as the stinging heat of your skin continued.

You can hear the sound of buttons popping and a soft thud onto the ground as Caleb strips himself off from his clothes. Your cheeks reddened at the thought of him naked before you, dressed in nothing but a skimpy silk nightgown.

Caleb reaches for you, grabs a fistful of your hair and jerks your head up. Before you could protest, he stuffs his fingers into your mouth and shoves the black cloth of his tie into it. The sound of your surprise is muffled and gagged.

‘Now I wouldn’t have to hear you say any other name again.’

He wastes no time in pushing himself back into you. The thick head of his cock parting the soaking folds of your pussy before practically sucking him in. Caleb moans, his grip on your ass tightening as he stills inside of you. ‘Fuck,’ he laughs, ‘You’re pussy is so fucking tight.’

He snaps into you, ass in the air as his hips meet yours. You fall back into the mattress, hands bracing before you as your muffled moans fill the room.

‘Isn’t this what you wanted?’ Caleb asks as he pounds into you, pace relentless, ‘Your pussy was practically calling my name the minute I stepped into your apartment.’

His cock throbbed inside of you, penetrating your walls in an unforgiving manner. He was so thick and long and fuck you wanted to come so badly.

Caleb leans forward, wrapping an arm around your waist before pulling you up. Your back is flush against him and the hard muscles of his stomach heave behind you. He fucks up into you, the new angle giving him an even deeper access. His other hand reaches around to your bundle of nerves. ‘This clit is mine,’ he whispers in your ear. The sight of his tie balled up into your mouth turned him on so much. In fact, the sight of you completely reduced to nothing but a cock drunk slut gave him such euphoria.

‘Do you even know how much I missed you?’ he seethed, his fingertips circling your clit as he continued to pound into you. His hips jerking forward with so much intensity you were practically bouncing in the air.

You cry as Caleb’s cock presses itself into your G-spot. The massage of his thick bulbous tip grinding against you was enough to have you standing just by the edge.

Caleb slowed his pace just a fraction as if he could sense how close you were. His hands disappeared from your clit much to your protest. Pushing you off from him, Caleb flipped you back onto your back.

Pulling the gag out of your mouth, Caleb’s eyes were clouded full of lust and desire as you wet your lips. ‘I missed you,’ you return, panting and gasping for air.

Delight flickered in his eyes as Caleb pushing your thighs back towards your chest. He held your thighs there as he lined himself up to your entrance. ‘Fucking liar,’ he chuckled before spitting onto your clit. You moan and swear as the dollop of spit glides down your folds.

‘If you really missed me you would have saved yourself for me.’

He grabs his cock in a tight fist, his other hand holding you open before him. He teases the tip of his cock, covering it in the mixture of your slick and his saliva.

‘Please Caleb,’ you beg.

The sound was glorious. This was all he ever wanted. He didn’t care about anything else. All he wanted was you. And seeing you beneath him, practically a body full of lust and heat and want. It was driving him crazy. He would almost forgive you for what you have done. The betrayal you have committed.

‘Please, please-‘

Caleb fucks you like never before. He enters so smoothly before holding onto your thighs and pounding into you mercilessly. You moan his name over and over again. Caleb grunts in approval, the sight of your tits bouncing sending him over the edge.

‘Your pussy is mine,’ he declares.

You nod in a dazed state, ‘It’s yours.’

His thrusts drove deeper, bottoming out so his balls were flush against you. You let out a long whine, hands clutching onto your tits. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t think of anything else but Caleb fucking you so good. Your fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, palming and kneading your soft breasts.

‘That’s right baby,’ Caleb sighs at the sight, drinking you in. ‘Play with your tits as I fuck into you.’

His words turned you on so much. The filthy sounds of you fucking and his degrading tone left you feeling an incredible high. You knew you were close.

‘I’m going to come inside of you and you’re going to take it for me. You’re going to be a good girl for once and fucking take it.’

You nod. At this point you were agreeable to anything as long as Caleb continued to fuck you. You chew onto your bottom lip, eyes rolling back at the feeling of his cock continuously hitting that delicious spot.

‘That’s it baby,’ he moans, ‘Fuck you look so good taking my cock like that.’

Your mouth was dry as you stare into him. His foggy gaze was determined and shadowed with an almost animalistic lust. Your hands cup your breasts as you continue to bounce off him.

Fuck, he was going to come. The sight of you was too much. And at the edge of his unraveling, you leaned forward and pressed your mouth onto his. Your tongue lapped at his bottom lip before sinking your teeth into his flesh. Sucking at his lip, you moaned as his silver necklace pressed against your breast.

His kiss was hot and reckless. Losing all sense of control, you feel your own unraveling come before you. Letting out a long whine your pussy clenches around Caleb’s cock as you feel yourself coming over him. It was too much. All too much. The intense pull of your pussy and the taste of your tongue and the smell of you hair was driving Caleb closer and closer to the point of no return.

‘That’s right, come around my cock,’ he shuddered, ‘Show me how good my cock makes your pussy feel.’

His handprints were branding marks on your skin as Caleb delivers his final crushing thrusts into your pussy, claiming all that you could give to him. A wave of pleasure crashed into him as Caleb’s pace faltered. ‘Fuck!’

Hot white ropes of Caleb’s come seeps into you as he continues to fuck into your pussy. You moan his name several times, wrapping your arms around his neck. Caleb brings his arms around you, holding you above him as you grind onto his cock milking his come out of him.

‘Don’t stop fucking moving,’ he commanded, panting into your ear as you grind against him.

You moan loudly as you lazily roll your hips against him, chasing your high as your legs wrapped around his waist with Caleb sat on his knees under you. Your clit, swollen and tortured, rubs against his groin as you feel his come fill you up entirely.

Your hands run through his hair, sweaty and ruffled as you stare into his half-lidded gaze. His eyes flickered to your tongue as it sweeps over your swollen bottom lip. Caleb leans in to kiss you. This time it was more gentle, more soft. Almost tender.

You both take a moment to catch your breaths. Limbs still tangled and entwined, you remain still together in the bed. His cock was still warm inside of you. You didn’t care to move.

You sniffle at the sight of him. ‘How long are you here for?’ you whisper.

In the darkest of hour in the night, despite your loud rendezvous moments ago, your question was quiet and filled with fear and anxiety. Caleb is back. And you don’t think you could ever see him leave again.

Caleb offers you a small smile, arms wrapping around your waist again as you push back his hair from his sweaty forehead. ‘I’ll be here for as long as you need me to be, Pipsqueak,’ he teased. You grunt and slap his chest to which he burst into laughter. The tension in your shoulders lifting at the sound.

Caleb grins and a mischievous glint flashes in his eyes as he brings his hand to cup the back of your neck. Pulling you down, his forehead presses against yours.

‘I came back for you, Pipsqueak.’

Your breath hitches as you can feel Caleb’s cock growing hard again inside of you. His other hand resting on the side of your thigh, his thumb massaging soft circles into your hot skin. The fire in your chest reignites at the carnal desire growing back in his violet eyes.

‘I won’t be leaving anytime soon.’

[woso-dreamzzz]

Icy III

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Teen!Reader

Summary: He watches your match

He sits up in the box with Laporta, stretched out on the foldout chair like it's his personal throne.

He's wearing a new suit, freshly ironed and tailored to fit his body perfectly. His hair has been cut and styled to give that almost effortless look about him.

"Trust fund, I reckon," Patri says from your warm up circle," That guy that's up there with Laporta."

"No way," Pina disagrees," That's new money, not old. Probably a hedge fun manager."

"Or some kind of oil and gas giant," Mapi laughs.

"None," You say," Real estate at first then tech and then big pharma over in the states."

"What made you guess that?" Mapi asks and you stubbornly kick the ball away.

"I didn't. Laporta's not going to get money out of him anyway. The wife is the one that invests in sports but only ones she gets good profits out of. Two NFL teams, a Formula One team. She owns a tennis stadium in Paris. Big investor in the Olympics."

"Oh come on," Patri complains," There's no way you just know that off the top of your head."

"It doesn't matter. If Laporta wants money he should talk to the wife."

You can feel his gaze on you throughout the match.

It's a team at the bottom of the table and you're so technical that they can't get close but you can still feel the weight of his stare on you at all times.

'You carry the weight of our family'.

He's told you that many times.

'If you cannot exceed expectations then we have no use for you'.

He's told you that too, something you remember as you cross the ball into Pina, who taps it in easily.

You celebrate together, hugging and you feel Ingrid's familiar presence behind you as she gives you her customary kiss on the head.

You look up at him in the crowd, just out of reflex but you can't see much.

He's still splayed out like he's a king on a throne, looking down at you like you're a peasant in the street, fighting with someone else for just a scrap of bread.

That's his idea of entertainment, like holding up a magnifying glass towards an ant hill in the middle of a sunny day.

You feel small under his gaze, dipping your head in submission as you walk back into your position.

You assist in the next three goals.

Alexia.

Aitana.

Even Keira.

You're good at that. You've perfected the art of assisting.

Mapi's even joked before that you're going for the record of assists from one person this season.

Alexia says she's going to make you be more selfish and shoot more but you don't think you really need to do that, not when Caro can do it instead of you.

This is one of the rare matches where Caro's being rotated so gets no minutes. You fill her place though, like you always do, setting up goals and carrying the ball down the wing.

Barcelona win, of course, and you drift back to Ingrid and Mapi like you normally do.

Mapi grins at you, arm thrown over your shoulder and a frown on her face as you go rigid under her.

Laporta is on the pitch with him, stuttering over his words and hurrying to keep up.

He stops in front of you.

"Y/n."

Your head drops automatically, thoroughly chastised as you step out from under Mapi's arms.

His hand clamps down on your shoulder and you can tell how this is going to go before he even opens his mouth.

"Of course we're very proud of her," His honeyed tone tells Laporta," We've wanted nothing but the best for her."

For them, you correct in your head.

"She's always had such a passion for football. We love watching her play."

He's never seen you play in his life.

"We-We're very happy to have her here!" Laporta tells him," She's a real talent. You're produced quite the footballer."

He laughs, waving away the compliments as his hand feels like a shackle around you. "You're too kind. Sports has never quite been my thing. I'll have to talk to the wife about what we were talking about, I'm sure you'll understand."

"Of course! Of course! Take all the time you need!"

He will. You know he will.

He'll discuss with her and they'll write up a contract if it's really something they're interested, about what they pay in and what they get out of it.

She's always been better at the sports side of it, despite her background in real estate. She knows how to talk people around in circles. How to get through the little boy's club that every sport has. She'll get what she wants if Barcelona is even something she's interested in.

You hope it isn't.

"I'll leave you alone with your daughter," Laporta says and you want to call after him.

You want to tell him not to leave with your father.

Barcelona was supposed to be yours. You were supposed to be safe here.

You can't control when they summon you in Norway but if you're in Barcelona, they're not supposed to be able to get to you. You're not meant to be subject to their whims in Barcelona.

You want to go home. You want to go home with Mapi and Ingrid and curl up in your bed with Toast and not move for a week.

His casual hand on your shoulder grows heavy in an instant, nails digging in to your skin through your shirt and you have to keep the smile on your face to keep up appearances for the cameras you know are on you.

His lips graze your ear as he whispers to you," If you ever blindside me like this again then I promise you won't like what happens next."

"Sorry, Father," You say back.

"You better be. I didn't like sitting up there with potential business partners to see my own daughter down there like a football hooligan."

"Sorry."

"I'm better than that and I raised you to be better than that too."

You resist the urge to tell him that he didn't raise you at all.

Your wrist twinges, the phantom injury flaring up like it always did when you're nervous.

You throat bobs, already closing up as you fight back tears.

"I'm sorry."

"Apologies mean nothing." His voice is harsh in your ear and you find a point ahead of you to stare at so you don't cry.

If there's something that he hates more than apologies, it's tears so you stubbornly don't let even one fall.

"Who's this, y/n?" Ingrid asks, clearing her throat and you flick your eyes to her.

"My-"

Your father says his name, sticking his hand out and he's back to playing the role of proud father. "And you are?"

"Ingrid Engen. I play with y/n on the Norwegian team too."

"Ah! Yes. I think she's mentioned you before!" He's lying.

He didn't even know you played on the national team.

"And I'm Mapi. She lives with me and Ingrid."

"I can't thank you enough," Your father says," She can be quite a handful sometimes." He laughs but no one laughs with him.

"I think she's delightful," Ingrid says," Very helpful. Very studious. She's the best in her class."

The smile on his face is real now, like it always is when he hears about your academics.

He started in real estate and then moved to investing in technology and pharmaceuticals. He and your mother are scarily intelligent and it might be the only thing they passed onto you.

"We expect nothing less of her," He says," I'm sure everyone at the party will be glad to hear it."

Your breath stutters in your chest. "The party?"

"Yes! The party! I must have forgotten to tell you! We're having a little get together with a few potential business partners. We'll have to get you a dress."

"I don't need to go."

"Don't be silly!" His hand tightens on your shoulder and you know that this isn't a discussion. "There's some people I should introduce you too."

Your head drops again, the fight leaving your body.

"Do you want us to go?" Ingrid asks, ever polite though you feel like without her and Mapi there you won't survive. "So you two can have dinner?"

Your father is laughing again, finally releasing you and you take several quick steps to duck behind Mapi.

"I've got a flight to catch. Meetings to get to. Far more important things."

He can't see you anymore, not with your head bowed and pressed against Mapi's back and you finally let the tears fall.

Ingrid watches your father leave, down the tunnel and escorted to the player's exit by the staff that seem to be falling over themselves to make him happy.

"Y/n," She says, coaxing you out from your hiding spot," Oh, sweetheart...Are you okay?"

You look at her, bottom lip trembling as the tears run down your cheeks.

"Ingrid," You say, sounding small and wounded like an animal," I want to go home."

Ingrid nods as Mapi tucks you under her arm.

"Let's go home."

[machrealgirl]

i find moceit such an endearing yet fascinating ship, because of how their every interaction subverts the general expectation the very early series set up. patton is, to me, a lot more interesting of a character when interpreted as the morality of a young catholic boy, adapting very poorly to the fact that that young boy is now a full grown adult man, who needs to start considering things from a more nuanced point of view. patton was born from what c!thomas was taught was right and wrong, and he still has trouble letting go of that rigid mindset. and janus effectively juggles protecting c!thomas and his mental health, and trying to gently guide patton through deconstruction. at the end of svs redux, their back and forth with each other is essentially just janus reassuring patton that c!thomas is still a good person, he just has to put himself first sometimes in order to be able to do any good for others, and patton panicking at the concept.

overall, there are so many scenes where janus is just. incredibly soft towards patton, if you pay attention. he acknowledges, almost immediately, that he knows patton isn't trying to hurt c!thomas. his voice is calm and gentle, as he assures patton "i'll take care of him", reminds him that they're on the same team. not to even mention all the fluffy filler shit, janus giving patton a christmas card wrapped in multiple boxes because he knew he'd appreciate the gag? patton calling janus "jan"?? the whole thing about janus giving patton half of his sandwich, and then immediately trying to deny it by claiming he thought patton was a trashcan???

absolute peak ship, i can't lie.

[weird-and-unwell]

“Autism isn’t a disability”, “it’s just a difference”.

I am of lower support needs. I hold down a (part time) job. I have travelled around my home country. I live alone.

At work they complain about my speech. I’m too quiet, they say, “barely audible” is the words used at my autism assessment. My voice is all monotone, and it needs to be more expressive. I get this complaint every week for a year straight, until my manager gives up. I don’t attend trainings because I forget and find it overwhelming anyways. My coworkers form friendships, and I watch them talk, wondering how they make it look so easy. I get a new manager, I tell her I find the work socials too overwhelming to attend. She tells me I can just say I don’t want to come. I don’t know how to tell her that I desperately want to, to be like the rest of my coworkers, instead of constantly being the one sat on the sidelines.

I come home, and I can hear my neighbours again. The niggling background noise messes with my head, and I meltdown; I throw myself on the floor, I hit my head on the ground repeatedly as I scream and cry, tear out my hair and scratch my arms and face. When I complain, people tell me that I just have to accept that neighbours make noise, that I should just ignore it, or block it out. I am the problem, the one overreacting. I put in earplugs and it hurts and I'm crying again. I wear headphones but I can't handle the noise for that long.

I have reminders set for everything. Every chore, no matter how big or small. My phone beeps at me, reminding me that I need to wash the dishes. If I don't go now, then tick the little box on my phone to say I did it, it won't get done. My home is almost always a mess despite this. It's not just chores either. I won't think to wash, dress myself, brush my teeth or hair, without those reminders. And unless someone actively prompts me to do so, I will do those tasks "wrong". I haven't changed my underwear in a month, and I'm currently aware that's a problem, but within the hour I'm going to forget all over again until I'm next prompted.

I can't sleep without medication - it's not unusual for autistic people to have messed up circadian rhythms. Without my medication it's hard to even tell when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. When I was younger and at school I slept through so many lessons, and when I have my mandatory breaks from my sleep meds I sleep through every alarm I set. I want to work full time some day, and I'm terrified of what my sleep issue will mean for me then.

I don't travel independently. I don't travel anywhere alone, always with someone or to someone. If to someone, I have assistance the whole way. I find it embarrassing sometimes. Yes, I have a job that requires a certain level of intelligence. No, I cannot get on a train by myself. If I am not shown To The Train, To My Seat, I will be unable to travel.

Last time I travelled, I was left alone at the station for ten minutes. I stayed rigid and sobbed the whole time. I was overwhelmed. It was too loud, I didn't know where I was or where I was meant to be going, and until the assistance person came back I couldn't do anything because for some reason I cannot understand it.

I spend a lot of time trying to explain to people that despite my relative competence, I am unable to do many things. Why can I understand high level maths but not how to get on a damn train? No fucking idea.

"Autism isn't a disability" most severely affects those with higher support needs, and this is absolutely not to take away from them. But for fucks sake, autism is disabling.

Maybe you personally are extremely lucky and just find you're a little "socially awkward", or just find some textures painful or nauseating. Maybe you would be fine with just a couple of adjustments.

But for a lot of us, even lower support needs autistics, it doesn't work like that. I will never sleep properly without medication. I still have the self-harming type of meltdowns as an adult, over things that are deemed as being "just part of life". I live alone but have daily visits from family - if I'm left fully alone I forget all the little daily things one is "meant" to do. I had speech therapy as a child to get me to the "barely audible" "mostly correct" speech. I don't mask, I'm not really sure how I would to begin with.

I'm not unhappy with being autistic. It's just who I am. Life would be easier if I were neurotypical, but I also wouldn't be me. I just wish those luckier than me could...stop saying it's all chill and not at all a disability.

Because yes, socially, I am "awkward". I obviously don't make eye contact - I stare down and to the side of whoever I speak to. People think it's weird or creepy or a sign of disinterest. My autism assessor wrote down about how I often use words and phrases that don't make sense to others, even though they make perfect sense to me. In my daily life this means I'm frequently misunderstood, and have to try explain what I mean, when what I mean is exactly what I said, and the true issue is that what I mean just doesn't make sense to others. I gesture, at times, but again, my gestures apparently don't make sense in relation to what I'm saying. I take things literally, I have almost no filter, and I can't explain how I go from topic to topic.

And yes, I do have sensory problems. Sometimes people, including others with sensory problems, tell me that "sometimes sensory issues have to be tolerated", and I wonder what they think of as being sensory issues. I'm sure they do struggle, but if I say I can't handle a touch, I mean you will need to forcefully hold it against me for me to touch it more than a second and it will make me meltdown. If I say "I can't eat that", I mean that I am unable to swallow it, that I will gag and choke and inevitably spit it back out, as much as I try. If I say I can't handle a noise, I mean I'm so close to a meltdown and my meltdowns are a problem for everyone around me.

But yes. Autism. Not a disability. Just a fun quirky difference.

[running-with-kn1ves]

I just finished that movie 'Companion; and its got me thinking.

Maybe you bought one of those fancy shmancy new bots out of interest, taboo fascination, and just a touch of loneliness. They were having such a steal of a deal too, renting them out for half price! So you buy it, and 15 days after ordering, your new bot shows up at your door in a big old steel box. A few folks from the company help set it up, giving you the handbook and telling you to have fun.

The set up is fairly easy, you pick a random day at a coffee shop for your bots first 'memory' of meeting you, all faint blushes and stumbling over stupid jokes. Its eyes open, a faint jade color as a default and unnatural to any human, but agonizingly beautiful on its face.

"Hey, you."

Its voice is like silk, not a hint of stiff speech or rigid consonants like the movies portray robots to be. Its skin is so soft, so willing to let you play and mess with it to all of your delight.

Days, weeks go by, and your bot has become something... human, to you. It's hard to treat it like a possession, not when its voice is so lifelike and kind towards you, only wanting to please. And it so very much wants to please you. They aren't violent from what you've been told. There's no capacity to kill within them. And yet-- more than once have you found crushed bits of sleeping pills foaming at the top of your coffee, your keys mysteriously hidden in the deep corners behind shelves, under the couch. It wasn't violent, and it certainly wasn't stupid.

"I just want to make you happy, you're always upset when you go outside. Stay here with me, please?"

It's hard to resist such a sweet voice, dragging you back to bed and using that ever permanent grin to lure you in. It was starting to affect your friendships, your job, hell even your cable was going out because you couldn't afford to pay for anything other than your damn bot.

But it treated you so gently, it loved you so purely for a good while, until it didn't. It's love wasn't soft forever, there were times when it could get... jagged. you played with the millions of settings on your phone, desperate to make its agonized screams stop as you tried to leave the house, none of the sliders working, All you could do was command it to go to sleep. But you felt awful doing it, and you always knew you'd just end up coming back, waking it up again to the same suffering cries. It may not have been violent in nature, but it was violent in its love.

You didn't know what to do-- if you returned it now, you wouldn't get a cent of your payment back, and the idea of being alone sounded worse than being with a clingy machine. So... you kept it. Told it to go to sleep whenever you prepared to leave, and nursed its frantic emotions when you came back. You were getting the handle of things, slowly.

It seemed like maybe you had figured it out, that maybe you could live and appease the obsessive creature. But finding yourself tied against your own mattress, quicky shattered those dreams.

"No need to go into work today, I called in sick for you."

In the palm of its hand, your phone with every setting for the bot, every little nitpick detail from intelligence to lust, was in its grasp.

[enimsiyobeht]

mic check! (1, 2, fuck). jeongsung.

wc : 2.2k 🦊🐿️ !! tw : jeongin & han x amab reader. implied older, soloist reader (thus age gap). bottom/subby han & jeongin. 3some, subtle power play, ONE occurrence of spanking (with minor masochism afterwards), risky setting (they doing allat in the studio.. sounds familiar?), sir/title kink (jeongin), minor brat taming, fingering (both j. & h. receiving), anal (both j. & h. receiving), oral (h. giving, you receiving); blowjob, obvious d/s, against the desk (jeongin), on the couch/sofa (han), unprotected sex (nobody gaf but pls wrap it up guys), lmk if i missed any tags.

The air inside the studio had thickened with something that wasn’t quite heat but felt just as heavy.

You sat at the desk, working through vocal layering with a kind of restraint that could only come from years of practiced professionalism. Jaw tight. Shoulders square. Your fingers moved fluidly across the keyboard, but your posture—rigid, unmoved—betrayed a tension you hadn’t shown earlier in the night.

Behind you, Han hovered.

He wasn’t in the chair anymore. At some point, he’d pushed it aside and crossed the room instead, leaning a hand against the desk right beside you. Not saying anything. Just close enough that the warmth of his body brushed the edge of your arm every time he shifted.

Han smelled faintly of something sharp and clean—body spray maybe, or shampoo—and his sleeve had rolled halfway up one arm, revealing lean forearms, a thin silver bracelet glinting in the light. It dangled every time he adjusted, drawing your eye whether he meant to or not.

Still, you said nothing.

Jeongin was bolder now.

He’d gotten off the couch and was padding quietly across the room, hoodie still loose and swallowing his frame, falling just high enough to show flashes of thigh with each step. He didn’t look at you directly—just at the floor, then at Han, then back toward the console, where he perched lightly on the edge of the desk, one leg crossed over the other.

You could feel them circling now.

You were being boxed in—and they were being deliberate.

Jeongin let one of his feet swing slightly where it hung, brushing gently against your knee. He didn’t pull it back when it made contact. Just let it hang there, brushing again—light, teasing, feather-soft.

Han leaned in a little more, pretending to study the screen.

“You always sit so straight,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So proper.”

His hand—without asking—came to rest on the back of your chair. His fingers brushed the collar of your shirt. Just once. Then again.

Still no reaction.

But inside, you were wound tight.

You didn’t move. Didn’t let your breath hitch. But your eyes flicked briefly to Jeongin’s bare thigh, then to the subtle stretch of Han’s body beside you.

Jeongin shifted again—spreading his knees just slightly where he sat. The hoodie slipped higher on his legs. He didn’t pull it back down. Instead, he let one hand rest between his thighs and dragged it slowly down toward his knee, fingertips pressing into skin with the kind of idle touch that begged to be watched.

Your hand paused on the trackpad. Just a fraction of a second.

You exhaled through your nose. “What are you doing, Jeongin?”

Jeongin looked up at you from under his lashes. His voice was soft. “Getting comfortable.”

Han was watching now, eyes flickering between Jeongin’s performance and your tight-lipped expression. His smirk was dangerous—like he was about to dare him to do something stupid.

“You’re quiet,” Han said to you. “Too quiet. Makes me think we’re getting to you.”

“You’re not,” You said evenly. “You’re just being difficult.”

Jeongin hummed. “You’d tell us if we crossed a line.”

“You’re flirting with it.”

Han moved in then—subtle but deliberate—and let his hand fall on your shoulder. He squeezed lightly, slow and firm, then leaned in close enough for his breath to ghost over your ear.

“That’s half the fun,” he whispered.

Still, you didn’t move. But your grip on the mouse had gone stiff. Jeongin noticed.

He slid off the desk, then slowly lowered himself into your lap—not fully sitting, just straddling one thigh with feather-light contact, knees bracketing your leg. His arms came around your shoulders, loose and playful, but his body heat pressed in, undeniable.

Your voice finally dropped.

“Jeongin,” You warned. “Don’t.”

Jeongin blinked at you, lips parted slightly. “Then stop me.”

A beat passed.

The room buzzed with electricity now—low and crackling beneath the silence. Your professionalism was holding on by threads, and both boys could feel it.

Han leaned against the desk again, cocking his head.

“Still think we’re just being difficult?” he asked.

Jeongin shifted in your lap, not grinding—nothing obscene—but enough to test you. Just enough weight to feel.

Your hands hovered, fingers twitching like you wanted to grab Jeongin’s waist and pin him down, but you didn’t.

Not yet.

Jeongin pressed down more firmly now, his weight no longer tentative. One hand slid along your shoulder, while the other trailed down your chest, stopping just above the waistband of your slacks.

“Jeongin.” Your voice cracked, low and warning. “Off.”

But Jeongin didn’t move.

Instead, Han’s fingers came to rest on your wrist, cool and deliberate. He leaned down, lips brushing close to your ear.

“You’re not going to stop us,” he whispered. “You’ve had too many chances.”

And something in you snapped.

One second, Jeongin was teasing in your lap; the next, your hands clamped down on his waist, hard enough to make the younger boy gasp. You stood swiftly, lifting Jeongin clean off your thigh and placing him on the edge of the mixing desk.

The monitor light spilled across Jeongin’s parted lips, his flushed cheeks. Wide eyes blinked up, breath quickening.

“You wanted a reaction?” You growled, unbuttoning your cuffs and rolling your sleeves higher. “Now you’ve got it.”

You stepped between Jeongin’s legs, crowding him back onto the desk. Jeongin’s hoodie slipped from one shoulder entirely, revealing the curve of his neck and collarbone. You leaned down, kissing just below his ear—rough, possessive.

Jeongin shivered, whimpering softly. “Please…”

Han was behind them now, watching, his own breath catching. “Fuck, you’re hot when you lose control.”

You looked over your shoulder, eyes dark. “You’ll get yours too.”

Han smirked.

Jeongin moaned again as your hand slid under the hoodie, fingers trailing over soft skin, making him arch into the touch.

“You come in here acting like a brat, and you think I’ll just sit there and take it?” he growled against Jeongin’s throat. “And you think you run this room?”

“N-no, sir…”

The title slipped out instinctively, and you froze for just a second—then smiled.

“Keep saying that.”

You yanked the hoodie up and off, leaving Jeongin bare-chested on the desk. The boy was already squirming, thighs squeezing around your waist as you reached down and palmed the bulge in his pants.

“Look at you,” You murmured. “Hard just from teasing me.”

Jeongin whined in reply, hips grinding helplessly as you undid his belt.

Behind them, Han slipped his shirt over his head, watching with ravenous eyes. “Want to help.”

“On your knees then.” You said.

Han obeyed fast, dropping in front of them with a grin and eager fingers. He undid the your pants, tugged them down enough to free you, then licked a long stripe up the length of your cock before sucking you in—warm, wet, sinful.

You groaned, eyes fluttering for a second before you turned your attention back to Jeongin, who was leaning back, chest rising and falling fast.

“Touch yourself,” You ordered.

Jeongin’s hand slid down immediately, slipping beneath his briefs, stroking slowly as he watched Han work. The sight of both of them—one gasping, the other moaning around your cock—was too much.

You slid one hand into Jeongin’s hair and pulled him into a messy kiss, full of teeth and tongue and broken little moans. Jeongin clung to your shoulders, rutting up against you.

Han pulled off, breathing heavy. “Want him to ride you.”

You grabbed Jeongin’s hips and flipped him onto his stomach across the desk.

“Not yet,” You said. “I want to hear him beg.”

You yanked Jeongin’s briefs down, revealing his ass, flush and twitching with anticipation. You ran your hand over the curve, then gave it a sharp slap. Jeongin jolted, moaning, already leaking onto the desk.

“Want it,” he whimpered. “Please, sir…”

Han was panting now, stroking himself as he watched. “He’s dripping.”

“Good.” You reached for a bottle of lube in the drawer—you always kept one in the studio, just in case. You coated your fingers and pressed one in slowly, then two, working Jeongin open with careful, practiced motions.

Jeongin was already babbling. “So good, feels so good, please, I want—”

“You’ll get it when you can say what you want.”

Jeongin gasped, trembling. “Want you inside me. Want to be used.”

That was all it took.

You lined yourself up and pushed in slowly, savoring every inch as Jeongin gasped and arched beneath you. He gripped the desk hard, moaning as you bottomed out with a low groan.

“So tight,” You hissed. “Fuck, you feel perfect.”

You set a steady rhythm—deep and hard, not fast. Every thrust rocked Jeongin forward on the desk, each one pulling a different sound from his lips.

“Louder,” You demanded. “Let Han hear how desperate you are.”

Han was moaning again, practically rutting into his own hand at the sight.

The room was filled with breathy whimpers, skin against skin, the wet sounds of Jeongin’s pleasure and Han’s soft curses. You didn’t let up—one hand around Jeongin’s throat, not choking, just grounding, while the other snaked around to stroke him in time with each thrust.

It didn’t take long.

Jeongin came hard, spilling across the desk with a hoarse cry. His whole body shook, hips still jerking back for more even as he went limp.

You pulled out slowly, panting—and turned to Han.

“Your turn.”

Han crawled up onto the couch this time, hands braced against the back, legs spread. “Been waiting all night.”

The air in the studio felt thicker now—heavy with sweat, sex, and the lingering sound of Jeongin’s whimpers as he lay boneless across the mixing desk, twitching with aftershocks.

You stepped back, dragging a hand down your face, breath still rough.

But Han was already moving.

He was stretched out on the studio couch, knees spread, head tipped back against the cushions. His flushed chest rose and fell rapidly, skin slick, cock hard and leaking against his stomach.

“Been waiting all night,” he repeated, voice low and needy.

Youapproached slowly, eyes dragging over every inch of him. “You’re so smug when you’re clothed,” You muttered. “Look at you now.”

Han rolled his head to the side and gave a half-smile, but it was weak, hazy around the edges. “Not so smug anymore, huh?”

You knelt between his legs, running your palms up Han’s thighs, spreading him open further. Han trembled.

“No,” You said, leaning in to mouth at the inside of his thigh. “You’re not.”

You kissed higher, licking over sensitive skin, biting softly just beside where Han really wanted him. Han’s hips bucked, a hand flying to the back of your head.

“Please—” he gasped. “Please don’t tease—”

“You didn’t ask nicely,” You murmured, kissing over his hip, up to his stomach, dragging your tongue across taut skin. “Beg for it.”

Han’s hand tightened in your hair, but there was no resistance—only desperation.

“Please,” he groaned. “Need you to fuck me. I’ve wanted it for so long—I can’t wait anymore.”

That earned him a soft chuckle.

“You practiced that line?”

Han panted. “Didn’t need to. I’ve felt it every time you touched me.”

You pulled back just enough to coat your fingers again with lube, then slipped one inside—fast, deep. Han cried out, legs twitching.

“Thought so.”

Youl worked him open quickly, not cruel but not gentle either. Han liked it rougher, his body more impatient, twitching with every curl of fingers that brushed his prostate.

When he was loose and slick, you stood, stroking yourself once, then lined up and pushed in with a low grunt. Han’s back arched off the couch as he moaned—loud, needy, unabashed.

“Fuck, yes—”

“Too loud,” You muttered, and clamped a hand over his mouth. “You don’t want to get caught, do you?”

Han whimpered against your palm, eyes rolling back as you started to move—deep, unrelenting thrusts that drove into him without pause. The wet slap of skin filled the room, Jeongin’s soft gasps from the desk barely audible over Han’s muffled moans.

“Look at you,” You growled, free hand gripping Han’s thigh to push his legs back further. “Always talking shit. But you’re just a hole for me now, aren’t you?”

Han nodded frantically, eyes wide, sweat dripping from his temples. His cock bounced against his belly with every thrust, untouched and leaking like he could come from the fucking alone.

You leaned over him, hand still over his mouth. “You gonna come from this? From just getting used?”

Han’s whole body jolted.

That was a yes.

You moved faster, driving in harder, deeper—chasing your own edge now. Han was writhing beneath you, begging with his eyes, incoherent and wrecked.

Then he came—without warning, cock untouched, spilling across his stomach with a choked, broken sound under your hand.

You fucked him through it, groaning low and feral as your own orgasm ripped through you seconds later, spilling deep inside, hips stuttering before finally stilling.

You stayed there a moment, pressed flush to Han’s shaking body, catching your breath. Then slowly, gently, he pulled out, watching the way Han’s hole fluttered and dripped.

The room was silent, save for their breathing.

Jeongin stirred from the desk, voice hoarse. “Told you we could break him.”

You turned to look at them both—Jeongin still spread out on the desk, flushed and dazed, Han blinking up from the couch, sweaty and wrecked.

You ran a hand through your hair and smirked.

“You didn’t break me.”

You reached for your shirt, dragging it over your shoulders.

“I just needed to remind you who’s really in control.”

[niki-phoria]

everything I do, everything I do / 네 존재만으로

(gn reader/684 words) a dare to play the pepero game with dino leads to a near kiss and unspoken feelings

“y/n,” mingyu’s voice catches your attention. his fingers drum dramatically against the wooden table. the corner of his lips tug upwards into a smirk; something mischievous glints in his eyes. “truth or dare?”

“seriously?” you chuckle softly, shaking your head. ”we’re playing truth or dare?”

beside you, LEE CHAN playfully knocks his shoulder against your own. he stretches his arm out, lazily resting it across your shoulders. his head rolls against the back of the couch as he turns to face you. “come on,” he smiles brightly. “it’ll be fun.“

“fine.” you halfheartedly roll your eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh as you relent. games were a staple of house parties, after all. mingyu’s smirk has only grown when you meet his gaze once again. “dare.” 

“i dare you…” mingyu begins. he pauses for a moment, raising a hand to drum against his chin as he pretends to ponder. his eyes light up when he stops, gesturing to the man beside you. “to play the pepero game with chan.”

chan perks up immediately. his arm knocks against the back of your neck as he sits up straight, staring at mingyu with wide eyes. his body suddenly goes rigid as he glances between you and mingyu. “me?” he asks, pointing to himself. “why me?”

mingyu shrugs. he raises his can to his mouth, taking another sip. “why not?”

“you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” you say quietly. “i’m sure mingyu can think of something else-”

“no,” chan shakes his head, turning to face you. mingyu raises a knowing eyebrow at the quickness of his reply, but chooses to remain silent. “i’ll do it.” 

before you know it, jeonghan is passing you an unopened box of pepero. chan seems to glow in the moonlight. stray strands of hair frame his face. you have to resist the urge to reach up to brush one away. 

“you ready?” he asks. chan raises the cookie to his lips, tentatively holding it between his teeth. you stifle a chuckle beneath your breath. swallowing your hesitation, you slowly begin closing the distance. 

the taste of sweet chocolate and salt from the pretzel fills your mouth. reality sets in more and more with each bite. butterflies swarm throughout your stomach - impossible to ignore. chan remains completely still, silently watching as you grow closer and closer. 

almost instinctively, you raise a hand to rest against chan’s shoulder. you can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. your eyes flutter shut. you block out the excited cheers of your friends, too focused on the overwhelming sound of your heart beating in your chest. 

your body tenses when chan shifts to hold your waist. his touch is unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. his fingers curl into the fabric of your hoodie, keeping you steady, however unconsciously. 

your hand has moved to chan’s neck now. you’re almost cupping his face in your palms. you can feel warmth beneath his skin. you can almost picture the way his ears burn a bright shade of pink. he takes a shaky breath. you can feel it when he exhales. time moves impossibly slow. you could pull away now. you should. but you don’t want to. 

chan gasps softly. his grip around your waist tightens momentarily. the shock of his movement is enough to jerk you away. you stumble backwards slightly, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. the piece of pepero now tumbles to the floor below. 

your racing heartbeat seemingly refuses to slow. your mind races. you had almost kissed chan. so why didn’t you want to pull away? heat floods your face as you turn away from chan, desperately clawing to maintain what’s left of your composure. 

“wow,” vernon chuckles, patting your shoulder. you barely register the feeling as you slowly return to consciousness. “i didn’t think you had it in you.” 

the chaos subsides within minutes. chan takes the opportunity to send a dare to mingyu in return. but when you hesitantly meet his gaze one again, you both know: everything has changed.

notes: this is entirely inspired by zb1 playing the pepero game, thinking of writing a part two if people like this, please leave feedback if you enjoyed !! it means to much to me and it encourages me to keep writing here, not proofread, title from close your eyes - all my poetry

if you liked this fic, please comment, reblog, or leave feedback !! and if you want to support me, check out my seventeen masterlist <33

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 5

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: The beginnings of living with Matt feel too good to be true. Could you be falling in love with him? But Matt's flaws of course can't stay hidden forever. With a few special guest appearances.

warnings: SMUT/18+ (don’t interact if your age is not in your bio or I will block you!) AFAB Reader. No use of Y/N. Pregnant sex! Brief mention of vomiting.

Notes: I hit 2,000 followers last week and didn't even notice so I didn't prepare any kind of celebration. So instead, I'm going to post three!!! chapters this week to celebrate! This one today, one on Thursday, and one on Saturday or Sunday.

w/c: 3,806

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*

You weren’t sure what was more spectacular, the way the sunlight filtered in like cascading brush strokes of orange and pink, or the crystal clear view of the Hudson and New Jersey beyond. If you had known dating a successful lawyer came with the perk of moving into such a luxurious apartment, you’d have agreed to go out with Matt much sooner. The nearly floor to ceiling windows were the primary thing you noticed the first time he brought you over here. You weren’t sure if you’d ever tire of standing in front of them and admiring the view that covered most of the living space of Matt’s— now your— apartment.

“Where is this going?” the woman with dark hair asked as she easily hoisted your antique dresser above her head

“Bedroom.” you replied, watching with confusion as she shrugged and headed further into the apartment

A blind guy and a pregnant lady were not two people who should be moving much, so you knew you needed help getting all your things uptown to your new dwelling. But when Matt said he had a few friends who could help you move, you weren’t exactly expecting more vigilantes.

“Jessica, can you please be a little more careful with my girlfriend’s things?” Matt called down the hall, as he stepped up beside you, giving your back a reassuring rub

“As nice as it is to meet some of your friends, why didn’t we hire movers?” you asked, looking around at the chaos that was spread around the living room as you combined your things.

Since Matt could afford a place like this, you were shocked he wouldn’t want to invest in the expense of professionals.

“Really Matt, Heroes for Hire does not exactly fall into the category of movers for hire.” the man named Luke jested as he effortlessly set down a box you knew was heavily packed with your book collection.

Wow, these two were strong.

“I wanted people we could trust.” Matt replied

“Well thank goodness she comes with a first aid kit,” Claire commented, noting the plastic case sitting at the top of the box she was carrying

As she pulled it out and triumphantly waived it in the air, you noticed Matt’s frame went rigid beside you. He hadn’t yet told you why he’d been light in the vigilante scene these days. Maybe Claire joking about you being the one to stitch him up brought up the reason in his mind, or maybe he just hadn’t thought through what life would look like as a vigilante with a family; if he ever did go back to it.

You certainly had thought about it though. Would Matt return to being Daredevil regularly? What would happen if his identity got revealed? To you? Your relationship? Your child? Or worse, what if he got hurt or even killed?

“Oh, were you a Marine?” Claire asked, interrupting your panic spiral

“No.” you replied, confused “Why?”

She rummaged past the first aid kit and pulled the first thing under it from the box; Frank’s sweatshirt. You were packing your apartment up so haphazardly, you’d almost forgotten it was in there. Since discovering Frank was gone, you tucked the item into a dark corner in the back of your closet, hoping to forget him but also not really willing to part with the only item of his you had. When Matt asked you to move in, you were so excited and overwhelmed and admittedly a little scatterbrained from being pregnant, you just grabbed piles of things and shoved them into whatever containers you could find.

Shit, that must be what Matt was actually upset about. You could see him out of the corner of your eye turn away from you and make his way into the kitchen, reaching for a glass and a bottle of whiskey.

“No.” you answered sheepishly “Something from an old friend I totally forgot I had.”

Claire shrugged and put the sweatshirt back, carrying the box into the bedroom.

Matt eased up shortly after his friends departed for the evening, mostly seeming back to his usual self as the two of you snuggled on the sofa and unwound for the night. The apartment was still scattered in boxes and various items of yours, but you both were too tired to actually start unpacking.

“Hang on” you said, feeling the bile already rising in your throat and rushing towards the bathroom

Great, now that you lived with Matt, he was going to hear and smell every reaction your body had to the pregnancy. It seemed your symptoms really ramped up as you approached your 12 week appointment tomorrow. Plus you were starting to have food cravings, calling him when he was out searching for Frank and instead had him swinging from rooftops in search of takeout.

Matt seemed totally unfazed as you returned to the couch, opening his arms up and inviting you back to your place.

“This is getting miserable.”

“Awe I know sweetheart, but the doctor said things should ease up after the first trimester and you’re so close.”

“Yeah until this baby starts getting so heavy that my back hurts constantly and I need to pee every five seconds.”

“You already need to —”

Thwap. You gave his arm a playful whack which caused the corner of Matt’s full lips to quirk up into a beautiful smile as he chuckled. Feigning injury, he pulled his arm away briefly before leaning back in to give you a kiss.

“Sorry baby, couldn’t help it.”

The way his lips pressed against yours sent a buzzing through your skull that radiated down your neck, down your sternum, all the way to in between your legs.

That was another symptom that had appeared in the last few days; you felt insatiably horny. And right now, Matt looked like the most delicious meal you could devour.

You leaned forward, pleading for more which he happily obliged. His lips were as soft as they looked and tingled against yours with the taste of spearmint mixed with the whiskey he’d downed earlier.

Matt had not touched you beyond a few sweet kisses and cuddles since you delivered the news of your pregnancy to him. The way his hands comforted and caressed you in the days since made you feel like he thought you were made of glass; a soft delicate statue like the saints he worshiped, the child of his that you carried the miracle that devined you.

You scratched at his scalp as you kissed, feeling him preening into your touch. Pulling away just enough to speak, you made sure your breath was still hot against his.

“You know I was reading up on unconventional remedies the other day. For my symptoms.”

“Mmm?” Matt’s brows shot up quizzically, a gentle hand lightly tracing a pattern into your waist as he held you.

“One pregnancy forum said sucking dick can help with morning sickness.”

The flush that rose to Matt’s cheeks nearly matched the color of his Daredevil suit and he cleared his throat as his eyes darted back and forth rapidly.

“You —um— You’re joking?”

His voice cracked like a pubescent choir boy. Oh how you loved to make this cocky flirt of a man crumble with just a few words. Lightly, you let your hand creep up his thigh, a centimeter at a time.

“Nope.”

“I don’t think in good conscience I can ask you to do that.” he stuttered

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

Apprehensiveness still lingered on his face.

“Matty please, I’m desperate. Both to not be nauseous and for you.”

“Sweetheart. We’ve both had a long and exhausting day.”

You knew he could read the pout on your face as you pulled back by the way his hands reached forward to keep you close.

“How about this?” he reasoned “Let’s take a nice warm shower. Together? Yeah? Get you a little relaxed. Then if you’re feeling up to it afterwards, I’ll consider it.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m a lawyer sweetheart. And one of us is going to have to be the serious parent.” he joked

Matt’s shower was a gift sent directly from the heavens, especially against your sore back and shoulders. A full walk in with a bench on either end, a rainfall shower-head above, plus eight jets running down the wall; all adjustable in both spray pattern and temperature. You could get used to this.

You could also get used to the way Matt was pressing his lips against your skin, sending a wave of goosebumps across your flesh despite how warm the steam was surrounding you. Relaxing under his touch, you hadn’t realized how sore you were until you finally let your shoulders drop as Matt ran delicate fingers up and down your flesh. His motions were slow, easy in the way he gently moved you around, spinning you to wet your body and then again so he could reach better. You closed your eyes and hummed at how cared for you felt in the moment.

He gently massaged your scalp to lather in your favorite in shampoo, pampering you while keeping his body closer to you than your own shadow. You could feel his hardness pressing into your behind as he took care of you, teasing you unintentionally. He was working you so well, relaxing you into a state of pliability that was doing nothing to calm your neediness.

You hummed once more, this time more of a whine at how desperately you wanted him.

“That bad, huh?” Matt joked

“It feels like my pregnancy hormones want me to somehow get pregnant again even though that’s impossible. Like I’ll explode if I don’t. That’s how badly I want you.”

You turned to face him, watching him calculating your body’s tells behind his glassy eyes. Pushing a strand of his dark, wet hair away from his face, you couldn’t help but smile at the way he nuzzled into your touch. Just maybe some of your desperation was wearing off on him.

“I’m not made of porcelain, Matty. The doctor said sex was perfectly okay and wouldn’t hurt me or the baby. Please?”

Gently, you drew him closer by the flesh of his hip so that his hardness pressed against your pelvis. He instantly melted against your lips, bringing a hand up to place behind your head and keep you close. Not like the tender kisses he’d been placating you with earlier, the way he kissed you back was growing with hunger.

You yelped into his mouth as your back hit the cold tiles of the shower. There was still a fragility to the way he touched and kissed you, traveling down your body with reverence. He kept his movements gentle as he guided your leg up on the bench and even more softly as he nipped as the flesh inside your thighs as he sunk to his knees.

“Wait, I thought I was supposed to be the one on my knees for you—- oh!”

Answering your protestations with only the motion of his lips to your sensitive bud, kissing it while rubbing his stubble back and forth against your thighs.

“Nope sweetie. Gotta take care of you now.”

He pulled away just enough to speak, then dove right back in. He sucked at your core as if he was devouring an ice cream bar in the summer sun, gentle enough to not loose a single topping but also quickly enough to not let it melt.

Labored breaths left your lips in whispers of his name. It seemed to ignite an invigorated fire within Matt, now grasping at your thighs to steady you as he increased the fervor of his tongue. Every circle of it against you drew you closer and closer to the edge. All it took for you to finally snap was the brief pause he took to look up at you, a combination of lust and adoration swimming behind his glossy eyes.

Relief washed over you as your cunt spasmed and contracted, like the first wave of the ocean hitting your flesh after soaking in the sun all day. It was warm and white and you tried your hardest to remain upright on shaky legs and slick tile. Grunting at the taste of your release, Matt didn’t stop until you were all the way through your orgasm.

“Well it didn’t fix the morning sickness like sucking you off might, but I won’t complain.” you commented, earning a hearty chuckle from Matt

You felt a little dizzy as you tilted your head back against the cool wall behind you, too blissed out to even notice as Matt stood and lined his hardness up with your slit.

All you could do was reach forward and hang onto his shoulders as he pushed inside you, inch by inch until he was comfortably seated. One of his large hands held under your thigh, supporting it as it rested on the bench. The other was pressed behind you on the wall, caging you in. You could taste yourself in his kisses, tangy and sweet. He thrusted gently, gauging how much you could take as you clung to him.

You nodded into the crook of his neck, urging him on.

“Is this okay? Are you feeling good?” he asked

“Mhm” was about the most coherent answer you could give

You could feel the warm, toned muscle of Matt’s chest against your breasts as only atoms separated you at this point. As he began to find a rhythm, your nipples rubbed against his taught muscles, extra pert from no longer being warmed by the spray of the shower and already oversensitive from your changing hormones. Your thighs burned as you efforted to keep yourself upright and if you weren’t in so much pleasure you would collapse into the puddle of warm water at your feet. Already still worked up from your last orgasm, you could feel another approaching quickly as his cock dragged deliciously along your walls

“Please…please…” you groaned into his ear, nuzzling at him to just be as close as you could

“I know sweetheart, I know. Let go for me, yeah?”

This orgasm was stronger than the last, blossoming from your core through the rest of your body. Your walls spasmed strongly around him and you could feel his muscles flex under you as he worked to hold you steady. All you could do was ride it out and cling to him like a koala as you came down.

He must have been close too, because Matt’s pace began to falter as he pitched himself up into you. Reveling in the dissipating fizz of you own after shocks, you somehow managed to bring a shaky hand up from his back and run it through his hair, giving it a soft tug.

“So close baby. So close.” he promised, kissing at your neck

It only took a little longer of you nuzzling against him and running a hand up and down his warm skin before he was grunting and shaking against you, releasing inside you in with a groan.

The mix of both your releases ran down your leg and combined with the rainfall droplets from the shower head above, now a lukewarm temperature, running into the drain.

“Careful, it’ll be slippery” Matt said as he gingerly removed himself from you and helped guide your leg off the bench.

Once you were out of the shower and all dried, you laid in bed snuggled in Matt’s embrace with your back flush against his chest. Wrapped comfortably in an old Columbia sweatshirt of Matt’s that he offered to you as you got ready for bed. You suspected the soft navy garment was a subtle territory mark over the one of Frank’s that still sat in the unpacked box.

He kissed at your forehead and ran a hand protectively over your stomach. You weren’t yet showing. Anyone passing by on the street wouldn’t think so at least. But you definitely looked like you had one too many burritos if you wore the right clothing. Getting dressed in the mornings had you favoring more stretchy pants and loose fitting dresses these days and you knew you’d need to get some maternity items sooner rather than later.

“I should get going soon. Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?” Matt asked

You turned to face him, gently taking his chin in your palm.

“Matt, no. Please don’t go at all.” you plead “I really appreciate you doing the decent thing and trying to find Frank, but there’s no point. We’re building a life here together. I’m happy. You’ve already been so committed to this family and so am I. We don’t need Frank. I don’t need Frank. I just need you.”

Matt took the hand you’d been stroking his face with and moved it down to the left side of his chest, letting it rest over his heart.

The way he smiled at you, sincere and genuine made your heart want to burst.

“Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” he agreed

You rewarded him with a sweet kiss, happy with the way he grinned into it.

“Maybe some day, when this is more behind us, you can tell me exactly what went down between the two of you. I know it’s complicated.”

Matt nodded in agreement.

“But not tonight. You need rest baby, we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

You hummed, twisting to resume your position laying back against his chest.

As you drifted off to the sound of his steady heartbeat in your ears, you clung tightly to him, finally content at having such a soft place to land. A soft place with Matt.

And then a thought danced across your brain, as gentle as a feather in the wind.

I love you.

Goddammit.

You would have loved to stay in bed just a little longer, angrily burrowing further under the cover at the realization that it was already morning. But the way you could hear Matt rushing around getting ready, you knew you needed to get up.

When you opened your eyes, however, you weren’t expecting to see him already fully dressed, finishing the last loop on his tie.

“Matt?”

He rushed to your side and placed a quick kiss on your forehead. He appeared panicked, eyes darting everywhere as he adjusted the knot on his tie.

“Sweetie, I am so sorry but the judge just called an emergency session for the Madison trial next week. I’m going to go to the courthouse and see what I can do to get out as quick as I can.

Your heart sank. Your 12 week appointment was today.

“Matt, it’s—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s fine sweetheart, cause I know it’s not.”

Flopping back down onto your pillow you let out a sigh, unsure of what to say. The disappointment was twisting knots into your stomach and you could feel the tears beginning to pool in your waterline.

“You’re right it’s not, but I guess I really don’t have a choice.”

“I will explain to the judge and see if he’ll let me go early. I’ll try to meet you there.”

You nodded, utterly dejected at the thought of Matt missing this crucial appointment. What if everything wasn’t okay? Matt wiped at the tear that had escaped and was running down your cheek at the thought of receiving bad news today and Matt not being by your side for it. You should have seen this coming. It was all too good to be true. Matt was letting you down, just like Frank had. Just like all the rest. Your heart broke for yourself sure, but also for your baby. Was this what their life was going to be? A dad who couldn’t show up when it really mattered?

“I guess you gotta make money so we can feed this baby.” you joked with another sigh, causing Matt to grimace at the deflection

He gave you one more quick kiss, heart breaking at the despondence he could feel radiating from you, then he was out the door.

He texted you as much as he could throughout the day to keep you posted, but with 5 minutes to go until the doctor called you back, and Matt being 20 blocks downtown, you knew it wasn’t likely he’d make it in time. You shuffled your feet anxiously against the floor of the waiting room, hoping by some miracle he’d pop through the door.

Of course it wasn’t until you were leaving the doctor’s, appointment complete and paperwork filled with news in hand, that you finally got the text from him.

‘Leaving now. In a cab.’

Fucking of course.

You texted him back.

‘Just finished. Meet at your office instead?’

You’d figure out a way to make him pay you back later for missing out on this, but right now all you wanted to do was get to him and tell him everything.

When the taxi dropped you off, you looked up, Matt’s figure clear in the window of his 5th floor office pacing back and forth.

If you weren’t pregnant and exhausted, you’d have taken the stairs just to punish him with waiting to see you a little longer. Instead you opted for the elevator, rocking on the balls of your feet in anticipation as it seemed to take forever to get up to his floor.

With a ding, the elevator door opened and you stepped forward to see Matt still pacing at the end of the hall. He abruptly stopped and turned as he listened to you make your way to him. You knew your heart had to be beating out of your chest and you could feel a little bit of sweat running down your back.

Clutching the little black and white printout close to your chest, you stood before him, staring into your own reflection in his cherry tinted glasses.

“How’d it go?”

“How was court?” you replied, tinge of hurt dripping in your words

“Not funny sweetheart. We’ll catch up later. The baby?”

“She’s healthy. Right on track still.”

“She?” he asked, smile slowly spreading across his face

Had you been more prepared for Matt missing the appointment, you would have done something cute to tell him like printed a braille sign or something.

“Mhm” you confirmed, holding out the ultrasound

He took it, running his hands over the smooth glossy paper, not able to read what it said but knowing the information on it was life changing.

“We’re having a girl!” he exclaimed

He place the print out on the desk behind him and took your face in his hands. Gingerly, he began to plant soft kisses on each of your cheeks, then your eye lids, then your nose, your brow, your temples, then your lips. You could feel the dampness of tears running down from his shaded eyes as he moved his lips across your face.

“We’re having a little girl.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[patchworkcuddlebug]

A Parasite

Norae was always... resistant to having a doll. Her covenmates tell her about theirs like they're little slave-things, always wandering around your house and doing things you should be doing on your own. It's creepy, and (she would never say this out loud) enabling laziness.

But as her power grows, so does her manor. She begins noticing hallways stretching out longer than they once did, with protrusions shaped like doorknobs emerging from the walls. There's already a set of stairs leading uselessly into the ceiling, no doubt where the second story will begin to grow.

The effort she put into keeping things in order used to be paltry for a witch as powerful as her, but she's starting to get annoyed by the distractions. She is growing tired of pruning new furniture like weeds.

She knows nothing of clockwork, and she never developed her skills in magical dollcraft for obvious reasons. But she will sometimes catch sight of a stray, trying to find purpose in picking the wild berries just beyond her yard. She wonders if she'll be helpful enough, before quietly correcting herself and wondering if it will be helpful enough.

She told her coven how she was thinking about leaving a sort of trap for it, a cup of tea under a cardboard box held up with a stick, only half serious. Regardless, they told her that dolls are much more trusting and docile than she was assuming, and that she simply needed to approach and talk to it.

She waited with a book, just on the edges of her property. The wide brim of her hat helped block the glare of the sun as she'd occasionally look off through the trees. Soon, it came walking past her unceremoniously, seeming as if it's trying to ignore her. It's walking to the bush. There's already a few ripe berries piled neatly in its hand.

It was made with porcelain, with a more tattered version of the maid dress they all seem to wear, walking with just as much rigidity and poise. But this is the first doll she's seen with a wind-up key. It slowly turned just a few degrees for every moment that passed. She could see a little rope tied to one of the sides, presumably so that one could wind it on her own.

"Excuse me? ...Doll?" Just as she starts speaking, it perks up, looking ready to leap into action. "Y... yes, Miss?" Its voice is timid, but eager.

"Would you like to, uh..." She hesitates for a moment, feeling ridiculous. This is the first time she's had to say something like this out loud. "Belong to me? I have tea."

It gasps. "Yes! Oh, yes, thank you Miss!" She runs up to the witch as if to give her a hug, only to skitter to a last-second stop just in front of her and give a polite bow, with proper curtsy.

"Right. Um, follow me, then." She closes her book and begins walking back to her door, her movements awkward as the doll followed close behind. She can't stop looking back at it, at its bizarrely serene face and excited steps. "So, do you have a name?"

"This one's old witch called it Lullaby, Miss!" It seems so happy to say.

"That's... still your name then, I think."

"Yay! Thank you Miss!"

. . . . .

Colloquially, the word "doll" is often used to describe any construct that obeys a witch, with considerable variation thereupon. Perhaps the most infamous among these variants in classification is the combat doll. These ones can often be identified by their more metallic exterior, such that they can easily be confused for androids at first glance, but there also exists combat dolls that

"Excuse this one, Miss?" the thing knocks at the door to the witch's study. It lingers in the doorway, not wanting to intrude further.

Norae tries to stifle a sigh of annoyance as she turns away from her book. "Yes, Lullaby?" She just noticed that her its hair just a little dishevelled from working, but it's not nearly as matted and gnarled as it was earlier today. She's glad it looks so much more... healthy.

"This one has finished sweeping the first floor, Miss!" The doll smiled, clearly proud of herself. The witch is caught in her own head for only a moment, ruminating on owning someone... something so close to a human. "What would you like it to do next?"

"You..." it takes her a moment to stifle her shock. She's read enough to know that such a task is to be expected from dolls, but it still seemed to work so hard so fast. "Then you've completed your chores. Treat yourself to some tea." She tells it matter-of-factly and turns back to her book, trying to match the professionalism of her literature.

"But, Miss!" The doll says. Norae turns back, and sees the doll has a very human, very concerned look. "This one has barely worked today! Would you like it to scrub the floors as well? Or organize your bookshelf? It can cook for you, Miss!"

"Hey, calm down, it's alright." The doll's owner tries to sound reassuring, as one would to a friend. "I don't know how your last witch did it, but I don't want to overwork you. Do you like to read? I have a library."

The doll tried to swallow its apprehensive look. "This one will read for you, Miss." It nods dutifully and runs along.

That... went well, she thinks. She understands that dolls are... eager, to a certain degree, but she's sincere about not wanting to exhaust the poor girl thing. She also thinks about her own autonomy, and how listless she'd feel if left without her own chores.

. . . . .

Norae lets out a bored sigh as she watched the vegetables sizzle in their pan. She tries to stir them around, spreading them evenly in the oil, but it's more to entertain herself than to properly cook.

She hears Lullaby quickly, yet still with a polite reservation, hurry up the stairs.

"Miss!" It calls out, drowning out its footsteps before it turns the corner. As it emerges into the kitchen, it looks... mortified. "It's so sorry, let this one, good dolls should-"

"Lullaby, it's okay!" She holds the frying pan up, higher than the doll can reach. "You don't have to do everything for me just because you're a doll."

"But, Miss, this one wants to!" It looks desperate and pleading. "Please, Miss, you've been so nice, and this-"

"Hey, calm down, there's no need for that." Norae tries to sound reassuring. She sets the pan down and turns to give Lullaby her full attention, kneeling to match her its eye level and placing a hand on its shoulder. "I know you want to help, but I enjoy being able to take care of myself, too. You already do plenty, and you should be proud of that."

The doll trembles, only as much as its docility will allow. "Yes Miss, Thank you Miss." After a quick bow, it gets out of Miss's way, leaving her to return to her monotonous stove-watching.

Lullaby takes a seat on Miss's couch. eyes forward and hands on its lap. It's so comfortable, the soft cushioning much more enveloping that the stumps it was used to sitting on. It tries to find a place to rest its eyes. On Miss's roaring fire, magically permeating a tender warmth through the room? On the door to the maid's quarters, where Miss had cleaned it and told it all it had to know? On Miss's beautiful and intricate grandfather clock, which it is letting collect a thin layer of dust?

It shouldn't cry. Miss is being nice, after all.

. . . . .

The doll shakes itself from a stupor. It wasn't still; there was no comfort in its emptiness, just effortful restraint fading into a half-present miasma.

Norae gestures for it to face away, gently guiding its shoulders to face where she sat on the couch. "Lean forward, please."

"It's okay, Miss." The doll sounded groggy, words tumbling heavily out of its mouth. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

The witch leaned to the side, showing the sympathetic look she had on her face. "Why wouldn't I wind you up? It's no trouble at all, and... I can't just let you pass out."

Lullaby slowly, heavily, shook its head. It wanted to be polite, to word itself delicately and reserve itself, but its clockwork was moving too slowly to stop it before it spoke. "No, please. It's a bother. This one doesn't do enough, it's not worth it."

Miss places a hand on its shoulder. "Oh, Lullaby, no, that's not true at all. You do just as much as you need to."

"It's not enough." The doll rested its elbows on its knees, leaning forward and cupping its face in its hands. "Miss is so nice, and this one just... takes it all in without giving enough back. It feels so useless, and pathetic, and... i-it just wants to be helpful." Its voice falters just at the end, hitching into a repressed sob.

Norae felt a pang in her heart that deepened with every word. Of course, she's been such an idiot. She feels like a bum when she doesn't keep herself busy, how would a being purpose-made to be helpful feel? It finally dawns on her, what the extent of a doll's inhumanity means.

"I'm so sorry, I... had no idea you felt that way." There's a sincere sorrow in her voice, the doll hearing Miss's confidence drop for the first time. "I never meant to hurt you, I just didn't want to be too hard on you."

She placed a hand on her doll's back, careful to leave room for its key to turn. "From now on, you get to do whatever you like. Cooking, cleaning, anything. I might still make you take some breaks so I can do something myself, but I'll never leave you with nothing to do."

Lullaby slowly, hopefully, lifts its head to look at Miss. "This one doesn't want to make you do anything you don't want, Miss, it can-"

"Lullaby, if you do everything you can to never feel like this again, you'll make me the happiest witch in the world." She put on a reassuring smile.

Norae didn't have time to see the grin widening on her doll's face before it latched on for a hug. All it could say was thank you as its tears left wet marks on the witch's dress.

"I'm just happy that you're happy." Miss hugged back, making the doll feel more loved than it could remember. "Now let's get you wound up, you've got some dishes to do."

[s4nniebe4r]

the roommate

part two: growing pains

pairing: roommate! san x fem! reader

synopsis: learning to live with him, it’s proving to be difficult

wc: 1.4k

tags: slow burn, roommates, enemies to lovers, angst, forced proximity, eventual romance, a little suggestive content (if you squint hard enough) in this chapter

etc: part two for the series! i’m working on a masterlist as we speak! reblogging, leaving comments, and liking the story always encourages me to write more, so… as always, not proof-read!

previous part next part

Living with San is truly an exercise in patience. 

It starts small. A jacket draped over the couch instead of hung up on the rack. A dirty coffee filled mug was left in the sink despite the dishwasher being right there. Water droplets on the bathroom counter that he wipes down. None of it is too much, but it’s enough to set yourself on edge. 

You tell yourself it’s fine. You’re an adult. You can handle minor inconveniences like these without losing your mind. 

Until the first time you find his damp towel on the floor. 

You stare at it for a long, hard moment, irritation bubbling and rising over in your chest. It’s such a simple thing—hang up your towel after you use it. But apparently, that’s just too much to ask for. With a sharp exhale, you pick it up and place it back on the rack, your movements are oh so rigid and stiff. 

The next morning, you find it on the floor yet again. 

San is in the kitchen when you walk out, casually scrolling through his phone while eating cereal straight from the box. His hair is a fluffed mess, sticking up at odd angles, and the sleeves of his hoodie are shoved up to his elbows. He looks comfortable, like he belongs in this space. Your space. It irks you in a way you can’t quite explain. 

You take in the scene—San standing there like he has all the time in the world, his gaze still fixed on his phone, completely oblivious to the mess he’s leaving behind. A small pile of crumbs litters the counter beside him, and the milk carton is still out, condensation pooling beneath it. Your fingers twitch ever so slightly. 

You glare at him, eyes burning, though, he doesn’t look up. 

You consider saying something Just a simple ‘Hey, could you hang up your towel?’ But the words are lodged in your throat, stuck somewhere between pride and annoyance. 

Instead, you slam the cabinet a little harder than necessary when you grab a mug for your morning tea. San’s chewing slows for half a second before resuming, but he still doesn’t acknowledge you. 

If this is what he wants, you can play along. 

And so, it begins. 

It’s a series of minor assaults, neither of you willing to admit you’re knowingly doing it. 

You wipe down the bathroom counter with unnecessary force, scrubbing at the water rings he never bothers to clean. San walks in moments later and sets his toothbrush down right in a fresh puddle of water. Your eye twitches. 

You adjust the thermostat because it’s freezing, your body is always running cold. Later that night, you realize it’s been turned back down. 

Another time, San writes down on the mutual grocery list to pick up his favorite chocolate biscuits; Binch. You would, but they’re out of stock. When you get back, he barely glances at you before muttering, “Never mind.” 

You blink back at him. “Never mind what?”

“Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. You know it’s not nothing. He’s fuming over it, his mood just a shade darker than usually. But if he’s not going to say anything, you certainly won’t either. 

Still, something gnaws at you. It wasn’t like you forgot on purpose—you actually went looking for them, scanning the shelves for an extra five minutes, even checking with an employee. But they were out. What were you supposed to do, conjure them out of thin air? You huff, tossing the bag of groceries onto the counter with more force than necessary, earning the smallest glance from San. If he cared so much, maybe he could have gotten them himself. 

You tell yourself you don’t care. But later, when you hear him sigh as he reaches into the pantry and grabs something else, something he obviously doesn’t want, irritation prickles beneath your skin. You clench your jaw and look away, as if ignoring him will make the frustration disappear. Yeah, right. 

The silence lingers, a thick unspoken challenge. You stare at each other a beat too long before turning away, the tension weaving itself into the very atmosphere between you. 

Two days later, you find the towel on the floor again. This time, you don’t pick it up. You just glare at it every time you walk past, willing it to disappear out of sheer frustration. 

And as the days go by, the apartment begins to feel smaller and smaller with all the unspoken tension. The walls seem to press in, like the walls keep adding a layer of paint, only further amplifying every little minor annoyance. The sink constantly has stray dishes, the coffee table in the living area is cluttered with San’s random belongings—headphones, a half-empty water bottle, a single sock he never bothers to pick up. Your already small living room, feeling even smaller. After all, it was just the TV and a single two seat couch. It’s chaos. And you can’t breathe in chaos. You never have been able to. 

At night, you can somehow hear him moving around in his room, the walls were not as thick as they seemed, you noted. The sound of the drawers opening, the soft creak of his bed as he shifts, you could almost make out the rustling of his sheets when the heater stopped humming. It annoys you more than it should, the sheer awareness of his presence making it impossible to fully relax. And yet, when the apartment falls silent again, you find yourself still awake, staring at the ceiling, listening. 

The unspoken tension simmers beneath the surface, neither of you actually addressing it outright. Conversations are kept short, words clipped or laced with sarcasm. 

“San, do you actually plan on washing your dishes, or are they just for decoration to you?”

He barely looks up from his laptop. “I’m trying to conduct a long-term experiment. I’ll see how long they can stay in the sink before they clean themselves.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, bring the tips of your fingers up to pinch the bridge of it. “Fascinating.” 

He smirks. “I thought so.”

You leave the room before you say something you know you’ll regret. But the irritation follows you, clinging to your skin like static. Even when you’re not in the same room, you can feel his presence, lingering at the edges of your awareness, like a song stuck in a loop in your mind. It was deafening. 

The worst part? It’s that you’re both acutely aware of each other in a way that has nothing to do with the irritation. It’s the way you notice when he walks out of the shower, his hair damp, towel slung low around his waist, his skin just glistening under the soft glow of the bathroom light. Your eyes linger for too long, you know this. Just a second too long, before you force yourself to look away. You try to be nonchalant, pretend you’re unfazed, but your breath hitches slightly, unconsciously, when you catch the way droplets trail down the ridges of his stomach before disappearing beneath the towel. You tear your gaze, cheeks warming with something you refuse to acknowledge.

And San, he isn’t blind either. 

It’s in the way his gaze flickers to you when you stretch in the morning, the hem of your shirt lifting slightly, exposing a sliver of skin. His jaw tightens before he returns to his phone like he saw nothing. But you notice the way his fingers pause on the screen, gripping a little tighter than he should, how he exhales before resuming whatever it was that he was pretending to be focused on. 

The way that the air feels thicker when you pass each other in the narrow hallways, shoulder nearly brushing, your breaths momentarily syncing before one of you steps aside. The slight pause before movement, as if you're both aware of the proximity, and maybe of the tiniest of heat that lingers between you. 

Stolen glances that neither of you fully acknowledge. The way your stomach tightens when he murmurs something under his breath that you’re not sure you were supposed to hear. The moments where annoyance and something else blur together, tangled into something, almost dangerous. 

The tension stretches thin, taut like a wire ready to snap, but neither of you makes a move to cut it. Because neither of you will admit to it. 

But it’s there. Waiting.