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exocaliii · 5 months ago

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❦︎ And You Look Half Dead Half The Time (nsfw)

(pt. 1) (pt. 2)

| Kang No-eul / Guard 011 x fem!reader |

side! | Se-mi / Played 380 x fem!reader |

Summary: For six years, you've watched your best friend and only companion mourn a child she barely got to know. Now, you're given a chance that might finally rid her of this lifelong guilt.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: death, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, making-out, fingering + cunnilingus (r! receiving), bathroom sex, one use of Y/N even though I tried my best to avoid it lol, extreme jealousy/possessiveness, no-eul is not playing about her girl in this one LOL

A/N: finally reached the romance stuff in this one but there's still some build-up of course, hope you all enjoy and as always, i appreciate any type of feedback or comments, they make the writing worth it!! :D this is so self indulgent omg

—

When the platform begins to spin, you feel a firm grip on your hand, looking up to find Se-mi already staring at you with a calm expression on her face.

“Stick with me.”

You nod, and before you’re able to check on Min-su, you’re nearly thrown off your feet by the sudden stop of the surface you’re on.

“10 players.”

The boom of the announcer clears your senses, and as Thanos and Nam-gyu laugh and spin, you see another group of five waving their hands for more people. You shout at the loudest volume you’ve used since arriving here for them to come over, and with a tight grip on Se-mi’s hand, you drag her to the open room right across the arena. Thanos, Nam-gyu, and Min-su (who you can now see was hiding behind Se-mi) follow right along, and, thank goodness, the other team of 5 do the same.

“Are you okay?” You don’t respond to Se-mi's question because the answer should be obvious with the way you’re trembling, but she only nods in understanding. “Just stay calm, it’ll be fine.” You want to believe her, you truly do, but you see Min-su’s fear, and in that moment, you accept that this may be the game that kills you.

The lock clicks open.

Your group of ten steps out, stepping over the blood of those who lost the last round.

You want to retch, but you stay focused and get back on the platform.

With your hand in Se-mi’s, you block out the happy singing of Thanos and Nam-gyu, opting instead to pat Min-su’s back when you see him basically shaking like a leaf. He jumps, but turns to you with a grateful look in his eye. You pray that he lives, because someone like him should not die in a cold place like this.

“4 players.”

Your heart drops. Thanos glances back and forth between the three of you as Nam-gyu stands at his side. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, and your legs are stiff, ready to run. His eyes stop on Min-su, and you know what’s about to happen.

“You-”

“I’ll go.”

Se-mi barely has a chance to react before you rip your hand from hers and run to find another group. Somewhere in the bustle of the crowd, you swear you hear her call your name, but you’re too locked onto three men in the distance. They’re already in the room, but they’re calling for a fourth person. Fear threatens to strangle you as you run over, the countdown playing loud in the overhead speaker. Their eyes are desperate, arms open to beckon you over to save both your life and theirs.

At the last second, you basically ram into one of the men as you barrel into the room, one of them slamming it shut behind you not even a second before the lock clicks. No one speaks as shots ring out from outside the room, and you begin to come to terms with your act of sacrifice for someone you had just met yesterday.

Fuck, what were you thinking? Are you in this to win or not?

The lock clicks open, and you all step outside. There’s even more fresh blood on the ground, blood that you ignore as your eyes search the arena for your old group.

“Y/N!”

You spin fast enough to snap your neck at the sound of her voice, and Se-mi runs over to you followed by the rest of the group. You think she’s about to hug you but she stops just short of it, arms lowering back to her side awkwardly before she resigns to grabbing you by the shoulders instead. For a second, you stare at each other in silence, neither knowing what to say.

“Oh shit, that was too cool girl.” Thano’s voice ruins the moment, but before you all begin heading back to the platform, you hear a soft voice from behind Se-mi.

“Thank you.”

Min-su meekly looks at you with obvious guilt, and Se-mi drops her hands from your shoulders to take your hand as you all walk back towards the center. It’s comforting to have her hand in yours again (especially after you almost died letting go of it).

“It’s fine, I already saw the other group before leaving.” Obvious lie, but he didn’t need to know that.

As you all begin to spin again, Se-mi gives your hand a short squeeze before looking down at you with a gentle smile that, as always, almost looks like a smirk.

“I was right about you.” You chuckle at this and turn away to hide your reddened face, but of course, the moment doesn’t last very long.

“3 players.”

The three of you barely spare a glance at Thanos and Nam-gyu before you grab each other’s hands and run off, hearing the rapper scream a curse at your betrayal. You almost want to laugh, but you’re too focused on holding onto Se-mi and Min-su’s hands for dear life as you run towards one of the few open rooms still available.

They’re filling up too quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see two other groups scrambling towards the one room you have your sights set on. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you come to the horrifying realization that groups of three might be too small to fit everyone that was still alive, even if they were all paired up. The thought makes your legs move that much faster, but just as you’re about to reach your safe haven, a body collides with yours and sends you flying towards the floor.

10 seconds left.

“Min-su?!” He was on your left, but where is he?

7 seconds left.

“Get up, get inside the room!” Se-mi. You’re pretty sure it’s her rough hands that grab your sweater and pull you up.

5 seconds left.

“Where is he?! Min-su!” You stumble over your feet, your mind reeling as you’re bouncing back and forth between trying to find him and trying to follow Se-mi into the room.

3 seconds left.

“Wait! Wait, please help me!” He’s half on the ground, half fighting against a man trying to get up in front of him to enter a room to your right. You’re already in yours, and an arm wrapped tight around your waist prevents you from running out to save his life once again.

1 second left.

“Let go! Min-su!”

The buzzer sounds right as the door slams shut in your face.

The lock clicks shut.

Somewhere outside, you hear gunfire and the desperate cries of men and women who failed.

For a second, you think you can hear him begging for his life, but then a single shot rings out and his fate is sealed.

—

Somewhere in the haze of emotions, you continue to grasp onto her arm like a lifeline. Your head rings, and you don’t even hear the announcer’s call for each of the next two rounds. It’s Se-mi who makes sure you’re right next to her the entire time, no matter which group you join or which room you scramble into. She doesn’t bother to ask if you’re okay (because it is extremely obvious this time, with tear tracks on your cheeks and shallow eyes staring into the distance), but her firm hold on you still shows her underlying care. That, and the slight shake of her body reminds you that despite her previous bravado and confidence, she’s still human just like you.

When the game ends, you step over the blood of the losers to make it back to the main room (you wonder if you had stepped on Min-su’s as well - the thought of it makes you sick to your stomach).

Thanos greets the two of you with excitement even after you left him and Nam-gyu in the dust, but you don’t even have it in you to entertain his antics now. Your head was pounding, and the only thing keeping you from curling up into a ball on the spot was Se-mi’s arm around your shoulders; she was holding onto you like you would curl up and die if she let go, which you might.

When you both settle into her bed, you really begin to feel the weight of his absence.

“I’m sorry for grabbing you like that,” she says, her voice quiet as if you were a deer about to sprint away. “...You wouldn’t have made it in time-”

“I know.” You’re curt, almost rude, and you feel bad immediately for your outburst. It wasn’t her fault, you reminded yourself. It wasn’t her fault that your first selfless moment in this hellhole means nothing now. “I… I’m sorry. You saved my life. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” Her hand caresses yours, soothing you into finally allowing your tense body to relax.

Something about her gentle demeanor coaxes out a more peaceful side in you, and you lean your head on her shoulder. You’re pleasantly surprised at her lack of resistance, and something in your gut burns when she leans her head right back on yours.

For a second, you think about No-eul and feel a strange amount of guilt creeping up on you, but Se-mi changes her grip on your hand slightly to interlace your fingers and it all goes away. You owe nothing to her. Companionship isn’t something she should bar you from looking for when you face death at her hands everyday now.

What’s so wrong with finding your own comfort in the beautiful, kind, and unexpectedly soft woman sitting next to you?

—

350 million won.

It’s enough for those smugglers, enough for her, and so, it’s enough for you to change your vote.

When red LEDs light up your face and you begin exchanging your blue patch for a red one, you feel the weight of the entire situation crashing down on you.

You chose life this time. From now on, if you die, it won’t be of your own volition anymore. This fact disturbs you greatly, so you’re quick in pushing through the crowd to get right back to Se-mi’s side. You’re glad she chose to live too. If you made it out of here, you wouldn’t want to lose contact with her. Trauma bonds are pretty strong apparently.

—

When two groups of men start walking out of the bathrooms covered in blood and money begins to fill the pig again, you shuffle a bit closer to Se-mi, and her grip on your hand tightens.

Supposedly it was a brawl, and from the frantic head counts of both sides, the O’s had lost one extra man. The sight of a bloody Nam-gyu shuffling onto Thano’s bed, shaking from the drugs with a frantic, bloodthirsty look in his eyes made your stomach drop. Now, there was no idiotic rapper to take hold of his leash, and you were sure he would want to kill you two after you turned your backs on him twice.

The cold steel of the fork you took from dinner provided a comforting weight inside your pocket.

“Se-mi.” She turns towards you.

“Yeah?”

“Sleep on this side tonight, okay?” Your grip on her arm is tight and you know you must look completely shaken by now, but she still gives her signature confident smirk.

“Sure, but you better make it worth my while.”

Your face goes red and you scoff, making her chuckle. God, you’re glad you have someone like this by your side.

—

When the screams begin, you immediately dig into your pocket and pull out your makeshift weapon. You want to call out for her, but you’re terrified that if you make a single noise, you and her will be swarmed by the wolves tearing apart the people all around you.

Where the fuck are the guards?! No, who are you kidding, of course they would sit by and let you kill each other. Probably the highlight of their night. Under the fear, you feel so much anger and pain at the situation that you can barely focus.

No-eul’s face flashes in your mind once again but now, you’re beginning to struggle to differentiate her from the other murderers all around you.

No, no, no. You can’t think that way. She’s not like any of them.

“You traitor bitch!” You turn your head down to look for the familiar voice, and to your utter horror, Nam-gyu is standing right below you. Across from him (and cornered against the wall) is Se-mi. Even with the strobing lights, you can see the intense fear under her angry expression. “I’m gonna fucking gut you!”

When he charges at her, you make one of the easiest choices of your entire life and roll off the side of the bunk.

You nearly miss your landing, but your fork doesn’t and his scream of pain reveals that instantly. You take both him and yourself to the ground, but your heart is racing and you can still feel him bucking from beneath you, so you don’t get a chance to breathe before yanking the fork out of his shoulder and slamming it back down into the side of his neck. The feeling of it sinking it and spraying your hand with hot blood is sickening beyond belief, but you block out everything except the feeling of his squirming beneath you and raise the metal above your head again.

You aren’t sure how many times you bring it down on him, but a body colliding into yours knocks you out of your spiral.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Se-mi’s voice barely comprehends in your ears, but you can feel her arms around you clearly. “He’s dead, it’s okay, we’re okay.” Her hand rubs your back soothingly, and only then do you realize there are tears pouring down your cheeks.

Your chest heaves as you openly sob, clinging to her like a lifeline and unintentionally smearing the back of her sweater with Nam-gyu’s blood. You shut out everything but her voice, and even when the guards enter and fire into the air, you don’t find yourself flinching once, simply dropping to the floor still in her arms.

—

When some of the players gun down all the guards in the room, you hide in the corner with Se-mi (who was still whispering comforting words into your ears). You watch as players 120 and 456 take center stage in the room, shutting down the last bits of the riot and forcing the one square-mask guard onto his knees. They call for others to join them, others with military experience or even those with the faintest idea of how to use a gun.

Of course, you had military experience right alongside No-eul, but the ache in your body and the tight grip Se-mi has on you keeps you from getting up. Your head pounds and spins as your eyes begin trailing around the slaughterhouse of a room.

Dead people in green, dead people in pink. Your eyes linger on the guards and their triangle-masks, immediately recalling the shape No-eul had on hers.

What if…

No.

The moment the team of rebels leaves, you go to get up but a tight grip on your forearm drags you right back down.

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Her eyes are confused but her voice is just as gentle as it’s been the entire time she sat there combing her fingers through your hair and whispering about how brave you were and how thankful she was. “Talk to me please, what’s wrong?”

“I just need to check something, that’s all.” She doesn’t look satisfied, but Se-mi lets you get up after you give her a brisk hug and a strained smile.

With a shaky breath, you begin to make your rounds. You can feel the eyes on you as you walk up the first guard and pull off their mask, letting out a quiet sigh of relief at the lack of familiarity in their dead eyes.

With each one, you grow more and more tense, steeling yourself for the possibility of seeing No-eul’s empty, dead eyes staring back at you.

It would be the thing that kills you. The loss of your reason to fight in the first place.

Kneeling down next to the final guard, you can barely breathe as your fingers brush against the edge of their mask. Your hands are shaking so bad and you curse yourself for your sudden lack of strength. You would die if it was her. You would pull that fork out of Nam-gyu’s neck and jam it in your own if it was her.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you tug it off and let it clatter to the side. Your breathing slows when you peek and immediately recognize the face as belonging to a younger man’s, not your No-eul.

Please God, give me this one thing and let her live. Let us leave with my blood money and never come back.

—

You can’t even feel joy or disappointment when the rebellion inevitably ends in a whimper.

456 is dragged in and from a quick glance around the room, you see that 001 and 390 are missing as well. 120 and 388 sit dejectedly not too far away from you, and you can’t help but feel for them; they were people, far stronger than you, that failed to be the heroes. You can’t judge them, you never even considered fighting alongside these brave people in the first place.

Now that everything has calmed down again and lights-out happens like every other night and not the bloodbath that ensued earlier, you’re far more aware of the sticky feeling of blood on your skin. Your sweater even feels slightly heavier, the entire front of it stained with deep red fluid.

“I-I need to wash this off.” Se-mi, who was almost drifting off next to you, shoots awake and gets up right behind you.

“I’ll come with you.” It’s an unspoken fact that she definitely would, but you’re still happy at the confirmation.

In the haze of everything that’s occurred, you completely forget that No-eul has been the only reason you’ve been able to get into the bathroom these days, and the only reason she lets you in is because you’re you. So, when you call out and the door opens as usual, you’re confused at her stiff posture. However, after a weird awkward silence, she steps aside to let both you and Se-mi in, almost slamming the door behind you two.

—

No-eul’s eyes trail you two as you enter the bathroom together, and she can barely control herself from charging in there and kicking 380 out altogether; she had warned you about people like her, so what were you still doing clinging to her side like that? Moreover, seeing the blood practically covering your entire front was like a gut punch.

She should’ve been there. She should’ve blown the heads off of whoever did that to you. She’s been careless, and she understands that now.

The worst she felt was during the Mingle game. Each time she had been sent in, her breath would hitch and she would hesitate for a few seconds at the entrance, eyes scanning the wide open area for any signs of you. Every single time she failed to spot the number 037 on the clothes of those she shot, a weight would be lifted off of her shoulders.

After the final round, the room doors had opened just before she was able to leave through the soldier’s door. She takes the chance to search for your kind face, and instead is faced with the sight of you practically hanging off of 380, a lost, soulless look in your eyes. Pain for your sadness mixes with some other ugly emotion, and for a second, she lets herself imagine how your expression would change if she sent a bullet through 380’s heart.

Would you cry out for that woman, or would you call No-eul’s name out of instinct, like a lost animal begging for comfort?

In the end, she simply leaves with her fellow soldiers, silently cursing herself for such a violent thought.

—

As you scrub the blood off your face, neck, and hands, you do your best to not let your gaze drift back over to Se-mi. She finishes cleaning up long before you, and you can feel her eyes on you as you scrub away. But no matter how hard you seem to scratch at your hands, the faint red tint just won’t come out. Your breathing grows heavy, and you begin to rub at it harder with the soap.

Your hands are still red.

The blood from his neck covers your hands, the sounds, the sounds-

“That’s good enough,” a soft voice sounds from beside you, gently taking your hands in hers as you shake.

“No, no, there’s still blood, I-, there’s still…” You turn your hands this way and that, examining them and the red tint you can’t seem to get rid of.

“It’s not blood, you’ve just been rubbing too hard…” She shushes you gently and her thumbs begin tracing circles on your raw palms. “I’m sorry you had to do that, I really am.”

You can only shake your head and press your face in the crook of her neck. It’s a familiar position, one you were in only last night but with a completely different woman. She’s just as soft as No-eul, but she doesn’t wrap her arms around your body and pull you close. Instead, her fingers find the zipper of your bloodied sweater and gently begin to pull it down. The motion makes you back away a little, and she lets your sweater fall to the ground after tugging it off you.

It’s freeing without the weight of all that blood on you, and your heart swells when she takes off her own jacket to put it on you. This is the kind of care you rarely find yourself receiving, and whenever you did, it was usually by the hand of only one other person. You would have never expected the cocky, confident girl you met two days ago would become this important to you.

You were right about her. Se-mi was the ever genuine, ever caring woman you hoped she was after your first real conversation together, and you wonder if the world finally decided to go easy on you for once by sending you a beacon of strength in the middle of this hellhole.

“Thank you, Se-mi,” you breathe out, the feeling of her fingertips grazing the skin of your arms still present long after her hands have dropped back to her side.

She doesn’t respond. Her gaze is still heavy on you, but this time, you hold eye contact and let yourself drown in her eyes. For a split second, you’re sure you see them dart down to your lips, and you think she might just eat you alive with the way she’s examining you.

In an act that surprises even yourself, it’s you who leans forward and presses your lips against hers. Cliche fireworks don’t go off, but the second she reciprocates by grabbing the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, you feel the tension between you two finally reach a high point, and it’s euphoric.

You hold each other with pure, unadulterated desire as one of her hands travel down to your waist, pulling you in. The kiss deepens and somewhere in the back of your mind, you think of No-eul. She was right outside that door, what if you were caught?

What the hell are you thinking about right now?

“You’re beautiful, so perfect,” she whispers, and her words make your heart beat that much faster. “My brave girl.” Se-mi breaks the kiss to press her lips against your neck now instead, drawing a moan from deep in your throat. She’s still holding onto you like her life depends on it.

Unfortunately, your mind is still whirling and you have to remind yourself once again that you owe No-eul absolutely nothing. She shouldn’t and wouldn’t be angry over you finding someone to love, who loved you in a place like this. Is it wrong to search for comfort when you’re so sure you might die tomorrow? Especially from someone like Se-mi, who has done nothing but protect you and care for you.

Your hands tangle in her hair as she slides a hand beneath your shirt-

“Player 380.”

You spin around as the door slams open, a gruff voice making you jump apart from Se-mi. You shouldn’t feel ashamed, but you do, especially when you can feel No-eul’s eyes trailing up and down your disheveled form, and you know she knows exactly what happened here.

“Get back to the room.” You look down to see her revolver gripped tightly in her hand, as if she’s fighting the urge to lift it.

“Just give us a couple more-”

“Now.” She practically growls out that last word, and you can hear a click in the silent bathroom as she loads her revolver at her side.

Se-mi is brave, but she’s still smart enough to realize that she’s being threatened and would not win a fight against the taller woman with a loaded gun. WIth her head held high, she takes your hand and begins walking around the guard, but No-eul steps in her way and shakes her head.

“037 stays.” You all pause, and Se-mi grips your hand tighter.

“What? What the fuck are you on about? Just let us go back to the room-”

“She stays. Now get out before I make you.” No-eul takes a step forward, hand raising to point the barrel of the gun in Se-mi’s face.

It’s difficult to hold herself back when she’s this close to doing what she wants with this random woman who’s begun impeaching on her world. The barrier holding you and No-eul together, apart from everyone else, has been disrupted, and she begins to wonder if you’ll actually hate her if she pulls the trigger now. She wants to, especially hearing you fucking moan for this woman.

Where else has she touched you?

Her trigger finger twitches.

“It’s okay, Se-mi,” you whisper, breaking your gaze from No-eul to look over at her.

First name basis? You really want her to kill this woman.

“Just go, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Se-mi looks at you, confusion apparent in her features, but your face is perfectly calm and even though that disturbs her a little, she accepts it. She’ll trust you to stay alive with this psycho.

“Okay, just call out for me if you need anything.” No-eul scoffs at this, earning a glare from Se-mi before she walks out the bathroom. She spares you one final glance over her shoulder, and with a nod from you, she exits.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?!” You’re practically burning with anger at her behavior, but No-eul ignores your outburst and walks over to the door, turning the latch to lock it before turning back around to look at you. “You think ‘cause you have that mask on you can just go around pointing your gun at everyone?!”

“And what the hell were you doing?” She pulls her mask off, throwing it to the floor before pulling down her face covering. Now, you can actually see the anger simmering beneath her eyes, an accusatory look on her face as she steps closer. “Were you planning on having sex with her or something? This stranger you just met?”

Your face begins to burn for a different reason now.

“That’s… that’s none of your business. I’m a grown woman, I can decide what I want to do or not do.” Your voice is far too unsure and she laughs sarcastically. Running a hand through her sweaty hair, she approaches to stand right in front of you. Your breathing slows as her eyes trail down your face, locking onto the number 380 right above your heart. Her lips curl into a frown and she grabs Se-mi’s sweater, looking like she wanted to burn a hole through the number on your chest.

To her, it’s a reminder of her failure to protect you as she swore she always would, and now, in the wake of this failure, another person has come along and threatened to take her place - a place in your life she would kill anyone to keep.

“Take this off,” she breathes out. The air is tense, and you almost want to deny her just to see what she would do, but fuck, she almost looks genuinely hurt and you can’t say no now.

With your eyes still locked onto hers, you slowly pull the sweater off and let it drop to the ground at your feet. Her eyes are still pinned to your chest, but now you’re so close that you can feel her soft breathing on your face. You swallow harshly and press your face against her shoulder, bunching up her pink tracksuit in your hands as you pull her closer. The feeling of her so close again kills all the tension in your shoulders. This is the safest you’ve felt in 24 hours, and it’s in the arms of a woman who’s been killing people like you the entire time.

You’re almost a bit ashamed, but what’s wrong with being a bit selfish for once?

You’re shaking in her arms when she pulls back slightly to cup your wet cheeks in her hands. You hadn’t even realized you had started crying again, but now, she’s looking down at your glassy eyes and swollen lips with so much intensity that you forget why you were crying in the first place. Her thumb swipes a tear off your cheek before she leans down, lips brushing against yours.

“My beautiful girl.”

Finally, nine years after the day you met, she presses her lips against yours and claims you as hers. Faintly, you feel your back collide with the wall behind you as her tongue slips in your mouth. You’re holding onto her suit for dear life as she practically devours you, and you wonder how you were ever angry at this woman. It’s far more intense than the softness you experienced earlier with Se-mi, and you’re beginning to feel the effects of being pent up for so long.

It’s not like you’ve never had sex with her before (to be fair, it’s only happened once), but this was far too emotional to be compared to the drunken haze you were both in when she fucked you over the seat of her van. There were no kisses shared then, no gentle caress of your face before she took you for herself.

You’re dragged from your own thoughts when you feel a hand slide under your shirt and bra, gasping into her mouth as a cold hand cups your breast, roughly pinching your nipple between two fingers. You whimper right into her ear as her lips move down to your neck, sucking and biting as you openly pant. She’s practically surrounded you by now, but it’s not enough.

With trembling hands, you grab the zipper of her pink suit and yank it down to reveal her slender body underneath. She practically tears the black turtleneck underneath the suit off as you stare. Your fingers scratch down her toned torso and you drink in the wonderful groan that leaves her mouth. As you’re preoccupied, she tugs on the hem of your sweatpants, pulling them down right along with your panties in one pull.

Faintly, as her hands grip the plush of your thighs, you try to determine if you’ve ever felt such strong feelings of desire, of love, of anything with anybody.

No, you’re sure you’ve felt this before.

Your eyes shoot open as she calls your name. Somewhere in the haze, No-eul has dropped to her knees in front of you, and now, she’s looking at you like you hold the world in your hands.

“Do you still love me?” A pause, and her fingers press harder into your thigh, cold leather gloves long forgotten on the floor. “Can you still accept me?”

Every moment that you remember being so close to that overwhelming emotion, No-eul is right there next to you.

“I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

A tear falls from her pained eyes, but you aren’t given the opportunity to wipe it away before she leans forward and presses her open mouth against your core. A gasp leaves your mouth and you immediately tangle your fingers in her short hair. It’s a bit too much to take in all at once - the woman you’ve loved for years is fucking you, and this time, you think she might actually love you back.

No, who are you kidding, you know she loves you. Maybe not as much as you love her, but she has to love you if she’s on her knees like this for you.

With the comfort of this knowledge, you lean your head back and lose yourself in the feeling of her tongue deep inside you, strong hands holding you still against the wall even if your legs feel like giving out. As your moans and pants fill the room, you beg internally that Se-mi isn’t waiting right outside the door to walk you back (or at least let the sound-proofing be decent).

Unsurprisingly, after a couple years without any genuine intimacy with anyone (you couldn’t bear to let anyone fuck you after No-eul did), you reach your peak quickly. It doesn’t feel like some triumphant moment; your legs shake as the tight coil in your stomach unwinds and it’s satisfying to some extent, but you can’t stop the sudden rush of tears that follow.

Why did your acceptance of your feelings for her have to come in a place like this - covered in the blood of someone you killed with your own two hands?

Your legs finally give out in your grief, but she’s quick to catch you, leaning back to properly sit down on the floor as she carefully guides you onto her lap. For a moment, you just tuck your head in her neck and cry as a hand gently rubs your back.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” No-eul whispers, caught up in her own guilt for leading you down the same hateful path she accepted long ago. Why did you have to love her? Why did you have to follow her road towards self-destruction, the one she vowed to shield you from?

You want to tell her that she has nothing to be sorry about because you chose all of this on your own, but you can’t bring yourself to speak. You’re worried that if you open your mouth now, all you’ll do is start spouting nonsense about how much you love her and how much of your humanity you would forsake to protect her dream.

Instead of further exposing yourself, you gently take the hand she’s kept on your waist and guide it down lower once again. To her credit, she understands right away and you’re given no time to prepare for the two long, slender fingers she pushes inside you. The sound of your sharp inhale right next to her ear must’ve been enough confirmation that you were okay, because she immediately starts moving them up and down inside you, rubbing gently against your still sensitive walls.

Your hands wrap around her back and grip her shoulders as your hips begin to move in tandem with her hands, your heavy breathing a stark contrast against her soft one. The hand she had on your back is still there, soothing you until your tears turn from ones of sadness to ones of pleasure.

As the high you’re chasing starts to get closer, you tear your nails down her back. Even though she’s still the same person as she was minutes ago, something feels different this time.

“Please don’t stop, please-”

“I won’t, I swear.” The hand on your back flies down to grip your hips to hold you steady as your movements grow more frantic. “I’ll never let you go, not for anything.”

You almost fall forward when she suddenly leans back, but you catch yourself on her shoulders once again. This time, she looks you square in the eyes as she pushes you over the edge, her gaze filled with an emotion you know too well.

“I love you,” she breathes out, and this is all you need to fall apart in her hands. “I’m in love with you, I can’t let you go, I won’t.”

In the afterglow of the moment, she wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you right up against her body.

“Even if you can’t love me anymore, I’ll continue holding onto you for the rest of my life.”

You smile at her words. You feel more content than you ever have before.

It wouldn’t be so bad to die in this place now.

—

A/N: my bad min-su fans and nam-guy fans, its for the plot y'all😭😭also if im being completely honest, I started writing writing this longass story just for smut with no-eul but it got so unexpectedly deep cuz I couldn't handle writing it with no build-up or emotional tension or ANYTHING

hope y'all enjoyed and LOL to the fellow FREAKS out there I hope the smut was alright cuz that was the most difficult part for me... LMK WHAT U THINK!! pt. 3 is coming in SEVEN MONTHS LMFAO😭😭😭SEASON 3 SAVE ME... SAVE ME SEASON 3

also if u request feel free to add details and stuff I might be able to build it into a longass story like this (but WOW this took too long) also I LOVE TO WRITE SAD SHT!!! SEND ME SAD SHT ILL LOVE IT!!

Taglist: @asvterias

#squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #se mi squid game #se mi x reader #player 380 #kang no eul #kang no eul x reader #guard 011 #squid game #wlw #angst #smut #kang noeul x reader #semi x reader

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nekonaps0 · 6 days ago

Note

Girly pop your writing is immaculate. Don't stress, cause you got that dawg in you. :D

Also can I be known as Idia anon? Cause I ask for him the majority of the time. :>

So my request-

Actually I didn't check if you were accepting any...

I got too overjoyed, sorry :(

So incase you are taking requests--

House wardens dealing with a reader who's from like...the 1900s, so she's really bad with anything technology related.

Um anyway have a good day!!

You from the 1900s !?!?

✦characters: House warden

✦ gn!reader

Thank you so much! I’m trying my best!^^

And yes the requests are open!

And OMFG I LOVED WRITING THIS! I had so much fun writing it!

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle has no patience for breaking rules… unless it’s you.

He watches you poke suspiciously at a tablet, muttering something about how

“this strange mirror-box must be possessed.”

You nearly scream when the screen flickers.

“It’s not a cursed object!” he snaps. “It’s just a MagiTab! Everyone uses them nowadays!”

But when he sees the genuine confusion on your face, he exhales and sits beside you.

“It’s okay. I’ll teach you. Just don’t touch any random buttons. And absolutely don’t try to boil it in a kettle again.”

He ends up patiently writing out a guide for you in fountain pen ink because “it feels more familiar to you.” You keep it folded in your coat pocket like a love letter.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona groans when you stare at the washing machine like it’s going to explode.

“Herbivore, it's not gonna bite you.” You shoot him a dry look.

“We didn’t even have electricity in half the town I grew up in. This thing looks like a metal beast.”

He’s lazy, sure, but he ends up tossing his book aside and swaggering over.

“You put the clothes in, close the lid, hit the button. Boom. Magic. Now stop actin’ like it’s a damn ritual.”

You squint at the buttons. “Which one’s the ‘start’?”

“…You know what, move. I’ll do it. You’re gonna break something.”

But secretly, he likes it. It makes him smirk seeing how wide-eyed you get at the simplest things—like it’s all new magic. He tells Ruggie to record your first time using a microwave “just for the laughs.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is delighted.

You’re from the 1900s? You have no idea how phones, networks, or cameras work? Oh, what a dream client.

“I see… so, if I offered you a little contract that would instantly teach you how to operate all current-day magical tech…”

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s the catch?”

Azul pushes his glasses up. “No catch! Only a… minor magical pledge of servitude—er, assistance! For educational purposes only.”

But you’re stubborn. You refuse. So, instead, he ends up painstakingly drawing diagrams and holding tech history lectures just for you. Floyd laughs at him for it.

“You’re such a nerd for them, Shrimpy’s like a time traveler and you’re still blushing!”

Azul glares, but doesn’t deny it.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim thinks you’re amazing. You’re like a walking, talking history book! He once finds you trying to light a candle with flint and steel because “electricity is unreliable.” You flinch when the lights flicker.

“WHOA! You’re like… ancient…cool!” he gasps, stars in his eyes.

He insists on giving you the tour of the century he teaches you how to use smartphones by letting you decorate his with beads and charms. He even buys you a flip phone

“because it’s got buttons! You like buttons, right?!”

When you confuse the intercom with a telephone, he goes along with it and starts calling you over it like it’s a telegram line.

You both get in trouble for yelling into the hallway speaker system. He just laughs it off and offers to help you write your first email like it’s a royal decree.

Vil Schoenheit

You nearly faint the first time you see yourself in a selfie camera. You swat the phone out of your hand and scream.

Vil just blinks. “Dear, that’s not black magic. That’s your reflection. Honestly, you look rather radiant—”

He catches the phone before it hits the floor and sighs dramatically.

“You’re going to give me gray hairs.”

At first, he finds it exasperating until he realizes how refreshingly natural you are. No filters, no tech addiction, no social media dependence.

He starts calling you his “timeless darling,” and he adores how you prefer letters to texts. Vil even plan a classic-style photoshoot: vintage clothes, candlelight. It goes viral.

He won’t admit it, but he’s charmed by your innocence.

Idia Shroud

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

You don’t know what a smartphone is? You don’t have a favorite game? You’ve never even seen an anime?!

Idia short-circuits.

At first, he’s horrified. You stare at his glowing screens like they’re cursed runes. You once asked Ortho if he was a ghost.

“You’re like… a time traveler NPC,” he mutters, nearly spiraling. “No firmware update… no RAM… Y-you don’t even know what a meme is!”

But then…

He starts showing you all his favorite things. One by one. Old-school games, slow-burn anime, classic consoles. He sets up a CRT monitor just so it’s “authentic” to your time. You think the pixel art is “darling.”

It becomes your thing: old meets new. You even help him write a game based on “your era.”

You don’t get half the references, but you love his excited rants.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus… doesn’t think you’re strange at all.

You shyly explain your fear of cell phones, how the “mirror network” feels eerie, how magic-infused technology makes your skin crawl.

He just smiles, serene.

“I can’t agree more, you don’t have to worry about those dear” he says gently.

When you accidentally burn toast in the toaster and start panicking like you’ve summoned a fire demon, Malleus calmly puts it out.

“It’s only toast.”

He takes your hand and teaches you to send letters with magic, introduces you to enchanted paper that writes itself, and listens truly listens when you talk about your old world.

He even arranges a ballroom evening for you, with string quartets and vintage dancing. No phones. No electricity. Just you, stars, and a smile that makes you feel right at home.

..............................................................................................................................

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amazinglyashy · 8 months ago

Note

hello, idk if you're open but if you dooo, can you do HC of lads seeing MC being more...brutal? since we all know our mc is badass but kind right, but what if sometimes she slipped and her darkness come forth more than she usually let on? hahahah idk it just after all mc been through she's more than validated to be villain u kno. so yea! thankchuu

Just a heads up, I am ALWAYS open, it's just a matter of when I get to the request, so as long as you're patient, anyone can send in anything anytime!! :D And ooh, this is an interesting one, but something I've definitely thought about haha. MC's been through a lot, and I feel a lot of readers also have too, and there comes a point when you gotta say screw it, I'm mad now. (I'll also say I'm still really grumpy about how little we get regarding MC's grieving during certain points of the story, and the lack of how the Li's all react as well to the news, no matter how little they know about the situation :/) Thank you for the request <3 hope you enjoy!

Love and Deepspace Li's reaction to seeing you finally snap

Rafayel -

He's somehow... not surprised.

But can you blame him?

The amount of rage Rafayel carries in his heart is constantly, constantly threatening to bubble up to the surface and boil over the edges of his last remaining ounces of humanity. The amount of cruelty on the basis of pure rage that he could commit is not a volume that he is proud to carry, but something he carries heavily though.

So seeing you finally snap is... almost cathartic.

He knows what he's been through, hell- he knows a great deal of what you've been through. Even in the distant past. It would be a wonder if you weren't angry. If you weren't seeing things. If you hadn't 't been simmering up to your breaking point from microaggressions and trauma stacking up and up until-

Here you were.

And for him, it feels like you're doing something of your own volition- feeling something that was entirely your own. Devoid of any outside influence or need to be the kindest person in the room. To keep your head down, path straight and narrow.

And despite the sheer amount of power he possesses in comparison to you, he will admit if asked- that he was just a little bit afraid at first. Even if just for a moment.

And damn, he was proud of you.

Zayne -

Calmly, he watches you.

It's out of character, sure, given how you usually are. Even when you're rude or abrasive, it's never anywhere near... something quite like this.

But the other thing is- he has a good grasp on the human psychic, just from his medical knowledge, even though it isn't his main area of study. He knows what it takes to truly make someone snap, both from personal experience and from his findings in research.

He also knows the extent of things you have been through that have been building up, cumulating into this moment before him where you have finally just broken.

Depending on the level of rage and cruelty you reach, he may stop you, or he may let you go. Either way, his actions are calm and calculated, no matter how he might disagree with, agree with, or fear your actions. He knows someone needs to remain levelheaded in this situation, and he's more than capable of taking on that role.

Gods forbid once you calm down that you feel guilty. If what you did was uncalled for or wrong, he'll discuss it with you, but if there was justifications to your actions or experiences and trauma that had led you to your moment, he'll just pull you into a hug slowly, his expression even.

He'll say it if he needs to, but his actions will hopefully tell you that nothing, nothing you do will ever change his love for you.

Xavier -

He's startled.

He himself is used to having complete control over his emotions, to the point where he can disguise them exceedingly well to maintain a calm aura. So seeing you fully snap and head down a warpath, it's... shocking.

But he's not entirely surprised.

Honestly, he would be more surprised if you had never got this angry at all, given the things you had told him under the covers in his bed, after a particularly late night in his apartment watching movies together.

You've been through a lot.

He knows that.

He knows how it hurts.

So when you finally rage, it takes him a few moments for even the thought of stopping you to enter his mind. And even when it does, he first has to have a small battle internally on whether or not letting you go off and have your cathartic moment is better, even at the cost of a little bit of destruction.

He'll stop you if it's particularly dangerous though, even if it means having to wrestle you away from whatever it is that was taking the brunt of your anger.

Otherwise, he'll just let you go.

Whenever you're done though, if you dare try and steal a glance back towards him, afraid that you may have scared him or made him scared or angry with you-

He'll just flash you a small, comforting smile.

Sylus -

Sylus spends the majority of his time in a cesspool of seething rage, backstabbing psychopaths, and fake smiles that take advantage of the weak and needy.

Anger for himself, anger towards others, anger to benefit others who can't seem to get angry themselves-

If anyone knows what fury is, it's him. Whether secondhand, personally, or just being around it for so long, he knows the emotion intimately well and every single shape or form that it could possibly take.

Still, seeing you suddenly lose it is... surprising.

He likes it.

Not in a way where he's turned on necessarily (though it is an additional feeling), but the enjoyment stems from constantly seeing you put others before yourself- watching you make yourself small so that the people around you could be big- and now finally watching you take what you deserved in his eyes.

He won't intervene unless you're doing something he knows you'll deeply regret later, instead favoring watching you until you've burnt out and finished to the end.

He's mostly quiet, he knows it's probably not something you want to talk about, like most people wouldn't want to after a particularly vicious outburst in an argument. But he can't help a few small comments.

"I'm surprised. I never thought the kitten had such big claws. You really surprised me, sweetie."

#.writey #love and deepspace #lads #lds #x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader

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ruewritesoccasionally · 4 months ago

Note

The reader wants to make Aaron jealous for fun, but underestimates his crazy side 🤭

pairing: aaron pierre x black reader

warnings: explicit smut (18+), heavy possessiveness/jealousy, light bondage, exhibition kink, mild degradation, power play (d/s themes) choking, hair pulling, nipple play, sensory play and aftercare } lmk if you think i missed anything else

word Count: 3.5K

a/n: hi babes! sorry it took me a while to get back to you on this - writer's block is a bitch. i know aaron isn't full blown crazy in this but hopefully this is still along the lines of what you envisioned 🫶🏾

The spa air was thick with heat, the scent of eucalyptus and lavender curling in lazy tendrils through the space. Low candlelight flickered against the tile walls, casting golden reflections in the still pool water. It was peaceful, the kind of place meant to unwind, to forget the outside world. And that’s exactly what she’d done.

Leaning back in her lounger, she stretched her legs out, letting the last of the sauna’s warmth settle deep in her bones. The bikini she’d chosen—small, delicate, teasing—clung to her curves in ways that left very little to the imagination. She could feel the occasional glance in her direction, subtle but present. A quick flick of her eyes confirmed it: a few men across the way, pretending not to look but lingering just a second too long.

She smirked. Not because she cared about them, but because she already knew the only set of eyes she wanted on her. The ones that hadn’t arrived yet.

Aaron had been finishing up in the room, telling her to go ahead, that he’d meet her soon. She figured he’d take his time, maybe even indulge in a nap after the exhausting press tour he’d just wrapped. But when she shifted to stand—adjusting the waistband of her bikini bottom, the soft snap of the fabric against her skin breaking the hush of the spa—she felt it. A presence.

She didn’t have to look to know.

The air changed, thickened, charged with something heavier than the heat. A slow burn of awareness slid down her spine before she finally turned her head, confirming what she already knew.

Aaron stood at the entrance, dressed in all black, hands tucked into the pockets of his relaxed linen trousers. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, the chain at his neck glinting under the soft spa lights. But it wasn’t the way he looked that sent a thrill curling deep in her stomach—it was the way he was looking at her.

Green eyes locked onto her form, dragging over every exposed inch of skin in a slow, deliberate assessment. Not rushed. Not outwardly reactive. Just watching.

She tilted her head, teasing. “Took you long enough.”

Aaron hummed, taking an unhurried step forward. “Seems like you were keeping yourself entertained.”

The way he said it was light, almost absentminded. But the underlying edge was unmistakable.

She smiled, pretending not to notice. “It’s a spa, baby. I was relaxing.”

His gaze flickered lower, lingering on the curve of her hips, the deep plunge of her bikini top. Another slow, unreadable hum.

“Hmm.”

That was it. No sharp remarks, no immediate reaction. Just a quiet observation, followed by a small, knowing smile that made her stomach dip.

Then, without another word, he extended a hand.

She hesitated, just for a second, but his patience was thinner than it looked. His fingers curled slightly in a beckoning motion, voice lower this time.

“Come here.”

A command, wrapped in velvet.

Heat flooded her body—not from the sauna, not from the glances of others, but from the intensity in his voice alone. Still, she let herself hesitate a beat longer, testing, pushing, wondering if he’d show any cracks in that carefully held restraint.

Aaron simply lifted a brow. “Sweetheart.”

Her breath hitched. That was all it took.

Slowly, she placed her hand in his. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and firm, sending a quiet thrill through her system. No force, no rush. Just a casual retreat as he turned, leading her out of the spa with steady, purposeful strides.

But his grip? Solid.

And when she glanced up at him, searching for any lingering jealousy, any tells—

The small smirk playing at the corner of his lips told her she wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

The evening settled around them in a hush of warmth, the ocean breeze carrying the scent of salt and sun-drenched sand. The restaurant was tucked away near the water, intimate and dimly lit, the low hum of conversation blending with the gentle crash of waves in the distance. It was the kind of place meant for romance, for easy conversation over candlelight and stolen glances between sips of wine.

And yet, Aaron had barely touched his glass.

He sat across from her, fingers lazily tracing the rim of his drink, his expression calm—almost too calm. He listened as she spoke, nodded at the right moments, even let a small chuckle slip when she teased him about how much he’d needed this trip.

But his eyes? They never left her.

Not once.

The air between them held an unspoken weight, something simmering beneath the surface, hidden in the easy glide of his thumb over the stem of his glass, in the way his gaze lingered just a little too long on the delicate curve of her collarbone, the smooth line of her neck.

She felt it. The restraint. The quiet, charged patience.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the most thrilling part.

She played along, acting as if nothing was amiss, twirling the stem of her own glass between her fingers as she took a slow sip. The dress she’d chosen was silky, draping over her curves in a way that left just enough to the imagination, but not much more. Every time she shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs, she caught the subtle flick of Aaron’s gaze, the way his fingers momentarily stilled against his drink before he resumed that infuriatingly composed façade.

She smirked against the rim of her glass. Two can play this game.

"So," she mused, tilting her head, "you’ve been suspiciously quiet all evening."

Aaron leaned back, exhaling a low hum as he stretched his arm along the back of the booth. The motion pulled his shirt taut across his chest, the top two buttons still undone, teasing a glimpse of golden skin beneath.

“Have I?” His voice was smooth, deliberate.

She nodded. “You have.”

He let the silence stretch, the corners of his lips twitching like he was amused by her observation. Then, finally—

“I’m just taking it all in.”

That should’ve been an innocent statement. It wasn’t.

The way he said it—the quiet rasp, the slow drag of his eyes from her lips to her bare shoulders, to the deep curve of her dress—sent a shiver down her spine.

Her pulse fluttered, but she refused to let him see it. Instead, she smiled, reaching across the table to trace a light fingertip over the back of his hand. "Good," she murmured. "You deserve to relax."

Aaron’s fingers twitched, just slightly. But still, he remained composed, letting her touch him, letting her think she was in control.

Then, without warning, he flipped his palm, catching her wrist in one smooth motion. Not tight. Not rough. Just firm.

His thumb stroked slow, lazy circles against her pulse point, feeling the way it quickened beneath his touch. His voice, low and quiet, barely reached across the table.

"I’m relaxed, sweetheart. Are you?"

Her breath hitched.

Before she could answer, their waiter arrived, breaking the moment like a snap of tension in the air. Aaron let her wrist go as if nothing had happened, flashing the waiter that easy, polite smile of his, ordering without a hint of the quiet storm brewing beneath his skin.

And just like that, the game continued.

Dinner ended with lingering glances and the kind of silence that said more than words ever could.

The beach stretched out before them, dark and endless, the moon casting a soft silver glow over the rolling waves. They walked side by side, sand warm beneath their feet, the quiet night wrapping around them like a secret.

She sighed, tilting her head up to the sky. “I forgot how much I love places like this.”

Aaron hummed in agreement. “Peaceful, isn’t it?”

She nodded, glancing at him. “Mhm. You seem...calmer now.”

He smiled, small and knowing. “Do I?”

She swallowed. Something about the way he said that sent a thrill through her.

Aaron suddenly stopped, turning to face her fully. The gentle rush of the tide filled the space between them, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the weight of the silence.

His fingers lifted, trailing the strap of her dress where it rested on her shoulder. A featherlight touch. Barely there.

His voice dipped. “You’ve been having fun today, haven’t you?”

She blinked, heart stuttering. “What do you mean?”

His fingers ghosted over her skin, tracing down her bare arm, slow and unhurried. “You know exactly what I mean.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came. Because suddenly, she was the one feeling warm. She was the one feeling watched, exposed, standing under the weight of his gaze as if he could see right through her.

Aaron stepped in closer, until their bodies almost touched. Until she had to tip her head back just to keep looking into those sharp, unreadable eyes.

His thumb skimmed over her wrist again, deliberate. “You wanted my attention, sweetheart?” His lips barely brushed her ear, the deep rasp of his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

"You’ve got it."

She exhaled shakily, stomach tightening.

Aaron smiled against her skin, pressing the softest kiss to the pulse point beneath her jaw.

Then, as if he hadn’t just set every nerve in her body on fire, he pulled away, reaching for her hand. “Come on,” he murmured, his tone deceptively casual. “Let’s head back.”

And the worst part?

The most thrilling part?

She knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

The walk back to the hotel was quiet. Not uncomfortable. Not tense. Just quiet in a way that made every step feel heavier, every breath feel deeper.

The resort wasn’t far—just a few minutes up the beach—but the air between them stretched thick and charged, the weight of what was coming pressing against her skin like the humidity of the night.

Aaron’s hand remained wrapped around hers, warm and steady, his thumb grazing slow circles against her pulse. A small, absentminded touch.

Or maybe not so absentminded at all.

Because every time his thumb passed over her skin, she felt the edge of restraint in it—the simmering patience of a man who already knew how the night would end.

She swallowed, sneaking a glance up at him as they stepped onto the resort’s pathway. His expression was unreadable, the golden glow of the hotel lights catching the sharp cut of his jaw, the depth of his eyes. He looked like he always did—calm, collected, devastatingly handsome.

But there was something beneath it.

Something slow-burning.

Something dangerously intentional.

The elevator ride was silent.

They stood side by side, facing forward, the air between them thick with anticipation. She could feel his presence like a current, his body close enough that the heat of him pressed against her skin.

And then—ding.

Their floor.

Aaron placed a hand at the small of her back as they stepped out, his palm warm, guiding. The hall was quiet, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the ocean. The moonlight spilled across the sleek tiles, casting long shadows.

Her heartbeat picked up when they reached their door.

She expected him to unlock it quickly, to step aside and let her enter first like he usually did. But instead, he took his time.

Slipped the key card in slow.

Pushed the door open even slower.

And when he finally stepped aside, allowing her to pass, his eyes never left her.

The second she crossed the threshold, the shift was undeniable.

Everything felt sharper. The air. The silence. The way his presence filled the space behind her before the door even clicked shut.

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she stepped further inside. “I’m gonna hop in the shower,” she murmured, reaching for the hair tie around her wrist. “Need to rinse off all that sea air.”

Aaron hummed, low and approving. “Go ahead.”

She could still feel him watching as she disappeared into the bathroom.

The water was hot, nearly scalding, but she welcomed the burn. It grounded her, settled her for a moment—gave her a sliver of space to breathe.

Because the moment she stepped back out there?

She knew.

And that knowing sent a slow, delicious shiver down her spine.

Steam curled around her as she stepped out of the shower, her skin warm and dewy. She reached for a towel, patting herself down before moving through the rest of her nightly routine—moisturiser, body oil, a little perfume at her pulse points.

And then, just as she reached for her nightwear—

A hand closed around her wrist.

Her breath caught.

Aaron stood behind her. Close. Warm. A wall of heat against her back.

She hadn’t even heard him move.

“You won’t be needing that.” His voice was low. Certain.

A slow exhale left her lips. “Aaron.”

He hummed, his free hand smoothing up the curve of her waist, his fingers splaying across the softness of her belly. He pressed in, his front flush against her back, the thin towel around her body the only thing keeping them apart.

“You had your fun today,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear. “Now it’s my turn.”

She shivered.

His fingers found the knot of her towel, tugging it loose with ease. The fabric slipped down, pooling at her feet, leaving her bare beneath him.

And then—

The cool kiss of steel against her wrists.

Her breath hitched, her body going still.

Aaron’s lips curled against her shoulder, his nose skimming the damp skin of her neck as he brought the cuffs around her wrists, binding them together with a slow, deliberate click.

The second they locked in place, a soft, sharp gasp left her lips.

Aaron smirked. “Oh, sweetheart.”

His fingers traced up her spine, slow and unhurried.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just beneath her ear.

“You knew this was coming.”

The night air was warm, thick with salt and that ever-present feeling of exposure as he took her over to the balcony.

She barely had time to process the feeling before Aaron was on her—his front pressing into her back, his large hands spreading over her waist, branding her with heat.

He was everywhere. Surrounding her. Caging her in.

Her bound wrists rested against the railing, her fingers gripping the cool metal for purchase. It wasn’t enough.

Nothing ever was when it came to him.

“Aaron…” her voice was a whisper, but he caught it, catching the breath from her lips before she could even finish saying his name.

“Shh.” His voice was smooth, deliberate—like a promise whispered against her skin. His lips skimmed the back of her neck, his beard scratching against the delicate skin there. “You didn’t hesitate to put on a show earlier. Don’t start acting shy on me now.”

She tensed, instinctively trying to shrink away, but he didn’t let her.

Aaron’s grip tightened, one hand sliding up to wrap around her throat, the other reaching forward—playing, toying with the jewellery of her nipple piercings, the cool metal teasing the sensitive buds.

She gasped.

The night air swept over her exposed skin, heightening every sensation. The contrast—the cool breeze, the hard steel, the scorching heat of Aaron pressed against her—was intoxicating.

“I should make you count,” he murmured against her ear, voice thick with possession. “Make you say every name. Every pair of eyes that were on you today.”

His fingers rolled her peaked nipple, tugging at the delicate hoop, and her body jolted in response.

His chuckle was dark. Amused.

“I should make you say them while I remind you exactly who you belong to.”

His grip on her throat flexed, fingers pressing just enough to steal a fraction of her breath. She moaned, body melting, legs trembling.

Then—

He thrust into her.

A sharp, devastating stretch that stole every thought from her head.

Her cry was caught by the wind, lost to the crash of the ocean below, but Aaron felt it—the way her body tightened, the way her hands gripped the railing for dear life.

His fingers spread over her hips, possessive, unyielding, guiding her movements against him. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the night, raw and filthy, underscored by her breathless moans.

He set the pace—deep, claiming thrusts that left no part of her untouched, no inch unexplored.

She could barely breathe, barely think—only feel.

“Aaron…”

She tried to speak, but the words never formed.

She was too lost.

Too consumed.

And he knew it.

His hand slid up, tangled into the thick curls at the base of her scalp. He gave a sharp, commanding tug, pulling her head back, forcing her mouth open in a wordless cry.

Aaron smirked against her temple. “Say it.”

She whimpered, overwhelmed, teetering on the edge.

His other hand slipped lower, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that matched his strokes.

Her entire body shook.

“Go on, sweetheart.” His voice was honeyed sin, coaxing and cruel all at once. “Scream a little louder for me.”

Her nails clawed at the railing, her body tightening around him, the pleasure unbearable, inescapable—

A sharp gasp.

A trembling, broken cry of his name.

And then—

She shattered.

Pleasure wracked through her in waves, her body convulsing, trapped between the steel railing and Aaron’s unrelenting grip.

He groaned, feeling the way she pulsed around him, his movements turning desperate, erratic—chasing his own release, claiming her in every sense of the word.

With a final, punishing thrust, he spilled into her, burying himself deep, letting her body milk every last drop of him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Just panting. Trembling. Coming down from the high.

Then—

Aaron leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear, voice thick with satisfaction.

“Mine.”

Her body was still trembling, a delicious, lingering ache settling deep in her bones.

The cool metal railing bit into her skin, a stark contrast to the molten heat still pulsing between her thighs.

Aaron had yet to move.

Still pressed against her back, still buried inside her, still holding her as if he wasn’t ready to let go.

His breath was ragged, warm against the shell of her ear. Then, slowly, he dragged his lips down the side of her neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses over the sensitive skin.

The shift in his touch sent a different kind of shiver down her spine.

Gentler. Softer.

As if he were grounding her.

Or maybe grounding himself.

His hands, once so possessive and demanding, now traced over her skin with reverence. Up her sides, over the curve of her waist, smoothing down her thighs.

Then—

A soft click.

The cuffs unlatched, and she barely had the strength to lower her arms. The moment her wrists were free, Aaron caught them, massaging the marks left behind by the steel.

He brought them to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the delicate skin before folding her into his embrace.

She melted into him without hesitation.

Neither of them spoke at first.

There was no need.

The sounds of the ocean filled the silence, the night air wrapping around them like a whispered lullaby.

But then—

“You okay?” His voice was low, rough with the last remnants of pleasure, but laced with something else now. Something softer.

She nodded against his chest, sighing when his fingers traced slow, soothing circles against her lower back.

Aaron hummed, satisfied, but still not letting go.

He never did.

Eventually, he eased her back inside, walking her toward the bathroom. The warm glow of the vanity lights flickered on, and he wasted no time in reaching for a washcloth.

She watched him in the mirror as he wet it with warm water, his brows furrowed in focus, the last remnants of his possessive storm now replaced with tender care.

When he turned back to her, his gaze softened.

“Spread your legs for me.”

The words should have been filthy.

But the way he said them—gentle, coaxing—was anything but.

She did as he asked, exhaling softly when the warm cloth met her skin, when he took his time cleaning her up with delicate, careful strokes.

Once he was satisfied, he kissed the inside of her thigh, then rose to his feet.

“You still sore anywhere?”

She shook her head, but Aaron wasn’t convinced. His hands skimmed over her shoulders, her waist, her hips, massaging any places that had taken the brunt of his grip.

When she let out an involuntary sigh, he smirked.

“I’ll run us a bath.”

Minutes later, she was sinking into the warm water, Aaron settled behind her, his arms wrapped securely around her waist.

She let herself relax, let her body go weightless against his.

His lips found her shoulder, pressing a slow, lingering kiss.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @theogbadbitch @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#ruewrites #aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x black!reader #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre fluff #aaron pierre smut #aaron pierre x reader #aaron pierre x black!oc #aaron pierre fic

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hoseoksluna · 9 months ago

Text

LADY BEETLE | knj

pairing: non-idol!namjoon x oc

genre: situationship au ; sex playhouse ; glory hole / smut, fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: when you came to seoul's hidden sex playhouse to forget about namjoon, you didn't think the anonymous mr. kim would actually be namjoon.

pin: lady beetle / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: sex club setting, oc struggles with her feelings towards namjoon, glory hole but with hoseoksluna twist, engaging in sexual practices with a person you don't know, commitment issues, heated conversations, dirty talk, patience game, counting down (for my neva play girlies), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, face fucking, nipple play, unprotected and rough sex, teacher namjoon, spanking, praise kink, size kink, choking on fingers, rough treatment in general, aftercare, oc and namjoonie smoke together.

note: i daresay this is my best work. :D fuck my life, guys. i need this namjoon like i need air to breathe. if i see any of you wearing panties... TAKE EM OFF NOW. sldjflskdjfsl jk, jk. THE SUPRISE IS REVEALED. GLORY FAWKING HOLE. my babies, enjoy this filth. stream neva play. imagine that deep voice of his.... yeah. yeah....... faaawwkwkjsdlfjsdlfjsdfjslfjsls. ENJOYYYYY. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. MY ASK BOX IS OPEENNNNNNN.

The building looked ordinary from the outside view. Like any other building in this part of the city. Long and tall, coalescing with the evening heavens and with its freckles of stars—very much like those upon your skin. McDonald’s was just down the road, a to-go coffee stand perfumed the whole street with its coffee beans, and a bookstore stood right next to this peculiar piece of urban architecture, unaware of all the sins that lurked behind its walls.

It may pretend to be pure, with its grand hall, its sophisticated reception and even graceful employees—dressed in the finest of fabrics that glinted beneath the opulent chandelier—but it was just that.

An act.

They smiled at you, but in their heart they knew what you were here for.

In this seemingly normal, ordinary building all your sexual fantasies flare out. In the simplest of words, you come here to get fucked out of the norm that is considered vanilla. You fill out an online application, set the date, the time—and depending on your desire, you even get to see who your dream fulfiller is.

In your case, you were going into this blind.

And so was he, your dream fulfiller.

While you opted to stay anonymous, the only detail you knew about the man was that he was from the cursed Kim clan. Another male that bore the last name like the one who wrecked your nerves to the point that you had to bite the bullet and try this out as nothing else was working. It was a newfound obsession of your best friend, who gifted you a voucher to this place on your birthday. And you weren’t sure if Kim Namjoon had the sixth sense and somehow knew about this, although you’d believe he was very much capable of possessing one, just to piss you off even more.

You have been crushing on this man since the day you met him at your mom’s small ramyeon restaurant you are working in for her. Since the moment, in fact, you glimpsed at his vintage black Cartier watch with a matching singular bracelet adorning his wrist that he kept calmly on the table while he was on a work call, growling and snapping into the phone. Your mom curled her lips, swatted her eyelashes as she grew hot in the cheeks, chopping green onions for him from her cooking station while you were watching over the noodles. It was her who noticed him at first—and it was her who told you to do your best and seduce him.

And when you lifted your eyes, saw that thick mane of his cloudy hair, the cleft of his cheek as he gritted his jaw and then that picturesque hand of his, you sensed that unfamiliar, magnetic pull towards him that made you blush. And you never looked more like her than in that moment.

For some reason you knew better than to not listen to her and do as she says. You felt it was the right decision, the right move and so you fixed your hair, swiped your flower clip through a half of it while your face-framing wisps fell naturally in front of your pink face. Your mom tossed you her lip gloss from the pocket of her apron and you brought him the ramyon she cooked for him.

Smiled at him. Batted your eyelashes at him like your mother taught you throughout your girlhood and it worked.

Namjoon told you were a breath of fresh air when you sashayed towards him after such an important, yet aggravating phone call, apologized for the inconvenience, bowed slightly. Balanced, most delightfully, respect and flirting. Leaned more towards the latter when he would steal glances at you and smile at you at every opportunity that your gaze would connect to his.

Your heart hammered once he came to you to pay for his meal. Your mother stopped whatever it was that she was doing just to beam at him and he personally gave her a huge tip in cash—right into her right hand that he held. Turned to you and asked you if you’d like to have dinner with him sometime.

And you agreed—without knowing he would get on your nerves in the long run.

Namjoon was not a serious man, not as he appeared to be. Although he showed you the side of Seoul you would otherwise never have the option to see and feel with your entire being by taking you to luxurious dinners, cafés, art exhibitions and work events—the things he would say and the things he would do did not reflect those settings by any chance.

He took you from rags to riches and you paid for it by being a victim of his odd form of cute aggression.

The man would get you tangled up in your sentences because he simply enjoyed the view of you getting flustered. He found pleasure in revving you up enough for you to curse at him and growl at him, be it by bugging you with tickles, pokes or be it by making fun of you until you yourself laughed.

There was nothing sexual about your relationship, if you could call it that. He didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t regard you hungrily as so many men do in his place, but he did look at you with the rawest form of purity. At your freckles—ones that made him give you the adorable nickname Lady Beetle—at your butterfly tattoo on your ankle that your dress would always expose from its natural criss-crossed position. The things he would say did not contain any hints of this leading into the bed. And he never kissed you, even though there were many occasions, where he looked like he was about to do it.

He always held back. And while it, and everything else, made you pristinely fall for him, it also angered you so much that there was nothing else you wanted to do but to grab his head and kiss him madly.

And the other day, you did.

Leaned in after the heft of your shared tension grew too big for you to hide it in your hands—only for him to turn his head, slightly, and let you merely kiss his cheek.

That was the final straw. And so you stopped agreeing to his “date” invitations until you stopped replying to his messages altogether. You thought he wasn’t going to have any part of you if he wasn’t willing to properly date you.

And in your anger, you dwelled in the hole he left behind. The hole that was asking for his fatherly attention that caused you so much extraordinary joy. Your mother must’ve sensed it with her motherly instincts that he would occupy that place in your life, which your father didn’t. Your body missed laughing with him until your tummy hurt—and you missed him. And the more you did, the more your anger blazed.

You couldn’t get rid of it.

You tried exercising. You tried running around the block, only to never do it again because you couldn’t catch your breath and you thought you had almost died that day. You smoked a pack after pack, and that didn’t help either.

Neither did abusing your cunt until you couldn’t go on anymore. Your anger burned down your bedroom and once you groaned and whined, punched the pillows and kicked your legs, your eyes fell upon the voucher you had pinned on your corkboard

Your remedy was in front of you, and in the worst of your anger—you gave it a go.

You filled out that application in the middle of the night, one that made you even hornier. And because you didn’t want to see any other man but Namjoon while you were getting your brain fucked out of your head, you chose the only option there was for that case.

Glory hole.

And the idea of it made your anger falter ever so slightly. You could imagine it was him pounding you through the barrier. The wall would only help your imagination.

Friday. Seven PM. You had to come two hours early because it was a necessity for you to shower at the place after you signed the contract. You also had to quickly think of a safe word, it was the only thing you foolishly forgot to fill out that day, as lost as you were within your flight of fancy. And because the employee standing in front of you made you anxious, you wrote down the first thing you thought of.

Beetle.

Your heart pounded, and when you let go of the pen, the gravity of the moment hit you. You truly were about to swim in a pool of sin only because the man you desperately wanted didn’t want you back. At least not in the way you wanted him to.

The employee led you into the room, where your own personal sin would uncoil. A grandiose, large space, plucked out of a French chateau, with dark antique furniture, an easel with a painting you were quick to skip to in order to ogle at it. Your kitten heels clicked on the old, parquet floors that creaked, scuffed against the carpet that cost more than your yearly salary. It was a room that Namjoon would like—and it was a room that took your breath away.

And the painting paused your blood flow.

The Unequal Marriage by Vasili Pukirev.

A painting of you, essentially, because you can’t have the man you yearn for.

Your heart shrinks, painful pinpricks digging deeply into the flesh. You lift a finger and trace the despondent face of the bride, acknowledge yourself with that secret, yet vivid piece of your agony eternalized within the thickness of the brushstrokes. Her silver flower crown, the gossamer fabric of her veil, and finally her delicate hand. And in your soul, you hold it.

You peek at the elderly groom and disgust seizes you. Because of the poor girl’s fate, because of your own. It feels as though you’re about to sin with that very man and you regret ever coming here.

An emotion that you hurriedly shake off because your best friend paid a huge amount of money for you to experience a good time. Like she did.

Your hand slaps back to your side. Your emotions, too. You will them to hide their starlight just for this one night. Hide their love for the man they can’t have.

You turn around and glimpse upon a table with bottles of both champagne and wine. Think you need one at this moment; think your dream fulfiller would appreciate it if you poured him one, too. But having one sip of that dark liquid, you say fuck it and finish his glass as well.

Undress. Take a shower. Weep under the stream.

And the same employee waits for you when you emerge out of the bathroom in your robe. With manicured hands folded over her stomach, her eyes have softened a little bit, and abruptly, you realize how glad you are that a woman is accompanying you on this strange journey. If a man stood in her place, you would’ve already walked out and wasted your best friend’s money.

“Mr. Kim wishes for you to be naked,” she says, her voice light, but firm. Your skin prickles with goosebumps—you bought a lacy red lingerie for the occasion, to help your imagination do its job to the fullest. A certain wisp of sadness clutches you that you won’t be able to wear it.

Or…

“What happens if I disobey?” you ask, gripping the thick lining of your bathrobe at your chest for mental support. The seriousness of the situation inches nearer and nearer and your stomach knots.

She inhales, straightening up, as if she was about to leave this room. “Mr. Kim is not a regular, so I don’t know anything about this temper, but I would suggest respecting his wishes.”

And she does, making space for your thoughts to whirl, and your eyes trace the flowers on the red Persian rug underneath your slipper-shod feet.

He’s not a regular, so that means he’s not anything like the disgusting groom in the painting. He may be an ordinary person just like you, trying your luck in an unusual setting. Perhaps young, perhaps older—but normal. Not a lecher about to feast on your purity.

Your stomach relaxes as do your muscles and you walk over to the bed to grab your make-up bag. Set yourself into the doll version of you that enjoys a male company with your eyeliner and glitter. Finish the process with a red tendril of lipstick over your mouth—just to leave behind a pleasant trace if the man ever decides to up the fun a little bit.

Will it be fun? Or will you regret every second?

An unanswerable question for your doll brain. You shake it off. Sit down at the edge of the bed and wait.

Wait for him to fuck not just your anger, but your feelings out of your body.

The woman emerges out of the bright light of the hall as if she was a housekeeper coming in to clean the hotel room. To a naked eye, it is not far from reality. This time, her softness has deepened so much that she bears a smile on her face. One, that you’re unsure of what it means. And one that relaxes your system to its finality.

She raises a hand towards the double doors, in the direction of the easel with the painting, and nods, her smile unwavering.

“You may proceed, miss, through this door. You can take off your robe now and get on the bed through the back of the cubicle. Mr. Kim will join you in five minutes.”

Your breath shivers as you exhale. You thank her and she clicks the door shut behind her. Scurrying onto your feet, you gather as much bravery as you can. Your bathrobe plops down onto the bed. You give one last look to the unhappy bride in the painting before you open the door.

You sense her encouraging you to go on—to live a life full of emancipation that she never got to grasp with her fist. And that, you find, is your bravery.

The dimmed room, in size, mirrors the one you just walked out of. And it stares at you head-on.

The cubicle the employee spoke of faces you to the right. A black-painted wooden little structure with a hole in the middle, covered in leather that is cut into long fringes. The lower half of your body will stick out of it and you reckon it depends on Mr. Kim himself what he does with your legs—whether he pins them up using the restrains on the wood or if he holds them.

The unknown lengthens and for the first time during this night, a small ribbon of excitement begins to swathe your chest.

Next to the cubicle, in the far corner of the room, is a dresser. You believe the drawers are filled with toys, but the top is lined with dark bottles of alcohol that you recognize. European—Jack Daniel’s, Jim Beam. Suits the play house’s style, you guess.

And on the left, a monumental bed that takes up the rest of the room. And it’s hung up from the ceiling.

You don’t have time to ogle it as time ticks, but while you run to the back of the cubicle like you were advised, you do notice that there are no paintings embellishing the walls. No person from the old age of time to witness the unfolding of your so-called dream. Sinful, sinful dream.

Maybe that was done on purpose. Maybe you’re supposed to live this dream with the anonymous Mr. Kim in some way.

The mattress inside the cubicle is made out of leather, but it is the strong scent of fresh wood that hits your nostrils. It is decorated with twinkle lights all around, giving it a comforting feel. One pair of restraints is installed into the walls as well, but you think it’s more for leverage than for the wishes of the dream fulfiller. Milky and silken, they stand out from the dark tones of it all, and you gaze at them for some kind of comfort as you strengthen your legs through the hole, the cold tassels drifting along your bare body sending sparks of strange delight up your stomach. You bite your lip at the sensation, scooching up to an awkward, almost sitting position so your legs don’t dangle out, but the backs of your knees press against the edge of the mat.

You cross your ankles.

And you wait, all over again.

Wonder if you should touch yourself or if you should give the honors to Mr. Kim to make you ready for him, but the tassels, the sight of your hip bone tattoo that says angel… your nipples perk up on their own and maybe you’ve come to like the act of waiting for him. Or maybe you like the view of your nakedness at a peculiar place such as this. Of your angelic form bare and about to be taken back to heaven.

Your stomach swarms with anxious morsels at that thought and you take a deep breath. At your exhale, you hear the door creak open and close with a certain tenderness that you immediately know it was used in order not to startle you.

One point up for Mr. Kim.

Maybe the Kim clan has good manners and thoughtfulness engraved in their DNA, but they’re men and disappointment always awaits you eventually—

His footsteps lead towards you, carrying that same tenderness. The sound of the muted thuds grow more and more distinct, no ounce of hurriedness lodged in them. A small fire begins to burn in you due to his evident patience, awakening your body, and you’re so, so surprised to detect such gentle arousal just from the energy he’s brought in.

That, alone, causes you to curl in your coyness, but when you hear him huff out a gentle laughter, you instinctively squeeze your thighs first before you bury your face in your hands, your cheeks hot to the touch.

Why is he laughing—

He places a large, warm palm on your knee. You flinch and his touch becomes heavier as if he was telling you not to be scared, its warmth begins to descend down your shin—and then lips. His breath wafts over your skin and he presses his lips against it as a way of greeting.

It is the rule of this sexual practice—no speaking between the partners. And now that it’s unfolding in action, you find yourself absolutely enthralled by it.

You flutter all over, the apex of your inner thighs slick with the liquid expression of your arousal. Your heart pounds, touched by that unusual but kind gesture, and you’re curious for more.

He rubs the place he kissed with his thumb and then… coldness. He must have withdrawn, straightened his posture, and a great oddity begins to take form in you.

Your knees tremble, sensitive from his benevolence.

And you wonder if he’s watching his creation, taking his time as he is for the next move. You long for it, timid, unsure of what to do with your hands. You flex them and unflex them on the leather, your lower limbs gaining momentum, and you feel your wetness trickling down onto the mat. You do well to stifle the mewls gathering in your throat and you yearn for those considerate hands of his to touch you everywhere—

He yanks you forward and, remarkably, the yelp that is flung out of you is hushed, not heard by his ears. At least you hope so—you don’t want to get in trouble, turn that kindness of his around. You’d regret that, and you’d regret that very much.

Mr. Kim spreads your legs apart, but your femininity is concealed by those suspended tassels that tease your core, your clit, and your hip bones, the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of you. A great dose of pleasure surges through you from it and from the way those fingers of his glide upon the inner of your thigh. He reaches as far as where your shiny stain is. A low, deep breath is exuded from his chest when he feels it and he smears it along your pelvic bone and a little bit on one of your folds.

He heightens your tremor by doing that.

You feel bad for reacting like that, but you can’t help it—neither can you stop it. You try to keep your body still and through the opening you can see him propping his hand on your thigh, watching you do so, as if he won’t continue until he knows you’ve regained your composure. And something about that, in its own way, helps you, and it helps you tremendously.

With his palm flat, he caresses your flesh in a circular motion to praise you for it, lifting his hand upwards and beyond your sight. Your stomach undulates and it is now that you notice the navy blue of his dress pants, the growing tent that takes shape in the middle, and owing to the calmness and the sense of safety he’s installed within you, you do the boldest thing you’ve ever done, save for leaning in to kiss Namjoon nearly two weeks ago.

Turned on from the sight of his arousal, you grab a hold of the tassel and you begin to provoke him, deciding that you want his manhood to grow. Because of the way he treats you, you deem he deserves it.

You move, smooth, the leather strip along your cunt, collecting your slick. You shift your hips in circles, the fabric cool and sensual in a way you never thought it would be. Your breaths come out whiny the longer you do it and when you change the direction and move up and down, you can hear his breaths, too. And maybe the blackness of the walls are messing with your mind, but you could’ve sworn, his secret noises have become whiny just the same once you pressed the tassel against your swollen clit.

And it isn’t until you naturally feel the back of his leg with the ball of your foot that he lets you see how much your little show advanced his arousal. The print of is cock is prominent, thick in the tightness of his pants, and you want it.

You no longer want Namjoon’s. You want his.

The plan worked.

And with a smile of a winner gracing your features, to celebrate you start to make yourself feel delightful. You rub your clit, still with the strip, biting your lips in order to suppress your moans, the pleasure more vivacious this time around. He’s not palming himself, he’s not doing anything at all but watching you, his hands by his sides, and perhaps to reward him—you let go of the tassel.

You let him see your pussy.

Shiny, swollen and needy, asking for a man you haven’t seen and won’t even see.

How sinful, how titillating. You can’t wait to have a cigarette after this.

His cock twitches and it beguiles you, the way your hand, without your conscious knowing, extends out and reaches for it through the hole. Your femininity, your sexuality—brazen and alive, unafraid and illimitably splendid.

And in this situation, it is a thing of absolute sublimity, the act of him inching forward and letting you touch him, feel your own creation the way he felt his. You want his number, you want to make him come. You want him to take you out and you want to show it off on your Instagram story, hiding everyone else from seeing it except for Namjoon. A devilish laughter pricks at your throat, desperate to be heard. You sense how heavy his cock must be, how strong, how hard. It’s impossible for you to suck it as he’s not allowed to see your face, but you know the idea of it will haunt your daydreams—

He grasps a hold of your wrist, silencing your thoughts, and you hold your breath. He slides his grip down to your hand and he makes you squeeze him, his length, his balls. Your hole clenches, even your features scrunch up in need, and with your other hand you begin to help yourself, but he stops you.

Pins your hands down on the leather. Maneuvers to firmly grapple both of your wrists on top of your tummy and uses his free hand to push you forward a little bit. Your legs dangle out, uncomfortably, and he’s so attuned to you that he notices. Leads your leg to wrap around him, the other one two, and if it weren’t for the mattress jutting out, you and him would be flush to each other.

Body to body.

He sucks in a breath at the first contact of his thumb and your clit. He must feel how swollen it is and he dips down to your hole, circling it there, gathering your arousal before he returns to that needy flesh, continuing his circles there. Slow, slow circles that make you writhe on the mat, the leather creaking. You lament that he can’t attach his mouth to it, regret that you chose this option because of your foolish feelings, and despite the fact you thought your plan worked and Mr. Kim alleviated your anger, the emotion bursts within you.

Your muscles tense, your lips flatten in a tight line, your fists in his hold clench, and you’re angry. Angry, angry, angry. Hateful of your life, hateful of your body, of your heart. And in the middle of the explosion, you make a mistake.

You growl.

He stops his circles.

Time beats two times before you’re yanked out of the hole, your feet landing on the parquet floors with that familiar gentleness the man bears.

And the man…

The man is no other but Kim Namjoon himself. The source, the epitome of your anger.

And you feel nothing. Your shock evens out through every fraction of your nerve endings, paralyzing you. Time ceases its beats here—while you stare up at him and he stares down at you. Namjoon isn’t seized by the shock like you are, though. He begins to laugh, darkly, hushedly, humorlessly. Slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and takes a step back.

Embeds life into time.

“I fucking knew it was you,” he rasps, that laughter melting into nothingness until the gravity of this situation spreads across this sinful room. Heavy, heavy energy. You should feel ashamed at this very moment, you should cover yourself up, but you don’t. You don’t do anything. “I read your safe word. I thought it was a coincidence, life making fun of me. And then, I saw your butterfly tattoo, but tattoos can lie to me and it was too good to be true. But that growl… that growl of yours can’t lie to me. I know it like I know myself.”

Your growl was your response to his never-dying teasing. If he tickled you, nudged you, bugged you, the only way you would make it stop was by letting out that vexed noise of yours—and it would work. He’d laugh to himself and withdraw his hands.

You part your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your shock rises in you like a tidal wave that submerges in you and you drown.

Then, a perplexing song of a mockingbird breezing through the wind outside sounds out within the room, saying things your body is unable to.

Namjoon blinks, taken aback by your lack of retort. No words, no growls. Merely the song crooning along the spaciousness of the atmosphere. He licks his lips.

“Why did you stop replying to my messages?” he asks, and you find it obscene that he’s inquiring about this when you’re all bare, trembling, and with your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. If anything, he should be asking you what you’re doing here, but it’s like the fact isn’t news to him.

And what you don’t know is that he pours life into you with his bizarreness.

Your first reaction is to scoff. Your second is to bash your fists against his chest, pushing him a step back. And Namjoon… he smirks. As if he succeeded in his plan—pulling you out of your state of shock into a blooming garden of your emotions, where you can run, where you can scream and where you can inflict violence.

Where you can speak.

“Why did I stop replying to your messages?” you throw it back at him, your voice rising in volume, and Namjoon straightens, delightfully watches you be full of life. “You think you can share your life with me, take me on dates, pay for me and leave it at that? Turn your head when I try to kiss you? Do you think I’m some kind of lady companion—”

“No,” he interrupts, tilting his chin up, his dominance on full display with the deepness of his voice, the width of his shoulders and his powerful stance. You drip for him, but you’re as powerful as he is. You’re equal—equally tangled up in the same sin. “You’re my Lady Beetle, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitches, your nipples hardening, and your wetness is so, so uncomfortable, trickling down your flesh. And he provokes the pressure of your arousal in your core by that nickname, even more so when he lifts a finger and traces the freckles upon your right shoulder, the meaning behind that term of endearment, from his distance. Even more so when he sinks his fingers into the hair on the nape of your neck, uttering his following words.

“Get back inside the cubicle.”

But you’re not obeying. You don’t know his temper either, but you are getting yourself into trouble. And you’re not getting fucked until you know that he reciprocates your feelings.

And you know what to do.

“Kiss me,” you murmur, crossing the distance, inching towards his face. Namjoon tilts his head down, his lips nearly brushing against yours, and that’s all he does, nudging your anger. “Kiss me, Namjoon, or I’m walking out of this room.”

He lets the tension simmer, unblinking, consuming your eyes from this close proximity. And when he opens his mouth, you think he’s about to kiss you, but you’re mistaken. Deadly, deadly mistaken.

“Did you come here to forget about me?” he whispers, inching even closer until your nipples graze against the soft material of his sweater, hums in question when you don’t answer. Lifts your chin to make you look at him when your eyes stray away, your anger bubbling in you. He perceives the real you, always has, and you don’t have to say a word. Only a person intertwined with your soul could be able to do this; why won’t he act on it?

“Did you come here to look for me?” you whisper back, pressing your torso against him until your breasts squish against his hard chest. His still hard manhood pokes you in your tummy, harder than it was when you touched him earlier, and wrap your arms around him, your hands traveling all across the width of his back until they wander down his loins, even lower to his buttocks.

He pants, but his voice is not affected by the whirlwind of his emotions. Delicious, delicious whirlwind.

“Yes,” he says, firmly, flattening his lips and growling when you squeeze his butt. You enjoy those selfish touches so much that your grin illuminates the room, a ball of light amidst all this darkness. Your anger watches on, stunned. “What do you think? If I wanted to move on, I wouldn’t have chosen a fucking glory hole out of all the options. I’m not like you. I don’t give up. I’m patient.”

“Patient…” You taste those words on your tongue, dwelling on them. They’re bittersweet, and you stand in the middle of your decision whether you like them or not. “What are you waiting for?”

He sighs, lifting his hands and digging his fingertips into your ribs, holding you to him. You mirror his movements, and you let out that strained breath of yours when he bends his head and places a singular, wet kiss onto the side of your neck.

You had asked him to kiss you, even though you didn’t specify where, but you didn’t expect your body to tingle this much and grow boneless in his unfailing hold. You cling to him with all your might—there’s nothing left for you to do.

You’re his. Have been his since the moment you saw his watch.

And you can’t believe you haven’t noticed that Cartier adornment when you were ogling his manhood.

He brushes away a wispy strand of your hand before returning it back to its rightful place. “You deserve the world and I’m not there yet to give it to you. And you’re not gonna look for it elsewhere, I’m not letting that happen. I’m gonna give it to you.”

Honesty is here at last, the explanation to his distance. You hide the fluttering joy that opens in your chest, but you do let him see the smile that begins to curve your lips. He likes you; you can live at peace now. No more anger, no more daydreams.

“Kim Namjoon,” you breathe out, moving your hands to his sides. “Is that a promise I hear?”

He nods, tilting his head to the side as his pupils grow large. “Yes, that’s a promise. The last relationship I was in fucked me up, but I’m gonna get right, and I want you to hold onto that promise.”

You hum. “What does that mean for us right now?”

He smirks, that cheek cleft enchanting you all over again. “If you want kisses, then kisses is what you’re gonna get.”

Your smile lengthens until your cheeks hurt, heated. “I want kisses. Lots of kisses. On different places of my body, too.”

Namjoon retreats back to your neck, peppering kisses along that column. You whimper, hands hurrying to undo the button of his pants, desperate and arbitrary. But with a disapproving noise, Namjoon stops your hasty movements. Pins your hands behind your back.

“Patience,” he whispers, gliding his lips across the kisses he left behind. Your skin prickles with goosebumps against him, your nipples so stiffened that they ache, and, most unfortunately, you moan softly in impatience. “You’re gonna learn what true patience is, little beetle.”

Color heats your cheeks and as you grin, you bite your bottom lip. “Be my teacher, Namjoon.”

He chokes out a groan, dizzied by the idea, one that fades into your yelp when he unexpectedly turns you around and pushes your back against his chest, your arms long and criss-crossed behind you, hands flat against his cock.

Something tells you this lesson will be one of great difficulty for you. And of great pleasure.

Namjoon cups your jaw, swivels your head to face him a little. “Where do you want those kisses?”

Your quivering breath fans out across his big hand. “On my nipples.”

At your quick answer, he makes a sound of approval and with a feathery-light touch he sails his knuckles down the right side of your chest, from your collarbone down to the beginning of your supple breast, where he stops his voyage to study your reaction. As much as you’d die for his fingers to go a little lower, you keep your tremors in tact. Even your fingers remain obedient, relaxed in their position and not tempting his temper. You close your eyes, try your bestest to hold it while you wait it out, and your slick by now creates a pool between your feet. Namjoon’s cock twitches at your goodness and he sighs a little praise into your ear, just for you to hear. It roots deeply in your gut, where it stirs the butterflies that are painted in the color of his eyes.

His knuckles descend lower and lower, stop at the apex of your nipple, and the nearness is enough for you to stoop in your desperation.

Something you shouldn’t have done.

Namjoon slaps that pointy flesh, coaxing such a filthy moan out of you that it reverberates through the room. The harshness, intertwined with the swift stimulation of your nipples spreads a buzzing sensation down your body, settling in your aching clit, and the loud noise you let out echoes in small whimpers, wordless pleas for more. He becomes harder in your hands, as if he could translate them, and the temptation croons at you again, telling you to squeeze him. This time, you can’t really hold back. This time, you want him to do it again.

On the other breast.

You squeeze him, the weight of his cock an inexplicable experience that drives you to a point of carnal madness. You slide your palms along that thick length and the way he’s quiet, unspeaking, unbreathing, puzzles you and alarms you simultaneously.

You look behind you. Catch his features screwed up in such pleasure that you whimper again, announcing that you’ve seen him in his weakest. And Namjoon is brought back into his teacher mode. He allowed himself that fraction of time for his own pleasure, perhaps for yours, too, and you’ve never discovered something so imposing.

Your sexuality and his, interwoven, a thing of glory more magnificent than this playhouse itself.

“Little beetle, you’re just so naughty, aren’t you?” he rasps into your ear, pressing you against him with both of his arms wrapped around your chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. He kneads your breasts hard before he slaps them, both at the same time, and you make such a mess. “So impatient, so desperate to touch and be touched. What am I gonna do with you? Can you even learn, hm?”

Knead. Slap. Namjoon tweaks your nipples, circles them with his fingers, filling your body with such pleasure that your knees nearly give out on you. And he holds you to him by your neck, a firm grip that conveys to you that from now on, he won’t be very nice.

And you don’t really mind.

“Get back inside the cubicle so I can deal with you accordingly,” he mutters his order, tracing the shell of your ear with his puffy lips before he latches onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth briefly, making you cry out. “Do you know what happens to girls who can’t be helped?”

Your voice is strained, impossible to use. “No.”

“They get spanked and fucked so hard that they forget who they are,” he reveals, sailing his hands back down your body, flicking your nipples on the way, before his palms anchor at the V-shape of your private parts. He plays with your folds, stimulating your clit in that way without touching it. You grind your hips into his movements, seeking more, but he slaps your pussy for it, halting you. “That’s the only way they get salvaged.”

And then he lets go of you. And the look he gives you is so lecherous, so dirty that your legs are jelly as you scurry to the end of the glory hole cubicle, thinking that this entire moment is speckled with glory that will haunt you for the rest of your days.

You get back into position, your legs dangling out, and Namjoon repeats his voyage. Sails, sails down your tummy before anchoring at the mound of your cunt, but this time he doesn’t gratify you with any delight. He continues down your wet thighs and, abruptly, he turns you over, pushing you forward so your bum shows fully, your tippy toes touching the floor.

The tassels are warm and saturated with the dew of your arousal, tickling the small of your back.

“Now listen to me,” he says, his fingers wandering all around your flesh, but not where you want him the most. “I’m not Namjoon at this moment. I’m not your teacher. In your mind, you’re gonna go back to who you thought I was before I showed myself to you. Mr. Kim. And you’re gonna address me as so, do you understand?”

Your brows furrow and you curve your body to the side in question, not understanding this sudden change of the play. You may have wanted this fictional Mr. Kim more than you wanted Namjoon but that was before you found out that he felt the same way as you.

“Why?”

He massages the round, graceful cheeks of your bum, propelling you to rest your torso flat on the mat, comfortably. “Because you deserve it. Because your Namjoon isn’t where he’s supposed to be yet. So I’m not fucking you as Namjoon, I’m fucking you as Mr. Kim. This is the only time you’re getting fucked before I get right, so I suggest you enjoy every second.”

You gasp at his words, but your hole reacts first before you do, opening and closing all for his eyes to see—and they do. And he likes the view so much that he takes his thumb and perseverates the brief motion, your center coating his digit in sopping wetness. Your hips follow him and this time, he lets you. He gives you a moment to comprehend your future full of pure possibilities and kisses and you detect in your soul no disapproval. Because you’re rewarded with his heart in the end, it’s worth it.

His heart is one of gold, one that won’t perish.

You’ve seen it in the way he treated your mother, in the way he would stop his teasing when you had enough. In the respect he has towards you because he isn’t ready for a relationship. In the promise he gave you, even though that gold is scratched.

You love him, and because of that you shall play his game.

“Yes, Mr. Kim.”

He kisses the fleshiest part of your bum, wetly, humming into your skin—another reward.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, nibbling the place he gave love to. “Try staying one.”

You mewl, grinding into his face, desirous for a release. “Yes, sir.”

He draws back and chuckles. “Look at you, so good all of a sudden when you’re all spread for me. You’re still getting spanked, little girl.”

You whine, pretending that you don’t like what awaits you, when in reality you can’t wait. “Can I get another kisses after?”

His laughter roars through the room. “Where do you want them?”

“On my pussy, Mr. Kim.”

He growls, swearing, his hands nowhere to be found on your body. “You’ll get lots of kisses on your pussy if you take these spanks well. Can you count them down for me?”

You nod, but you quickly realize that he can’t see you. Your dusky world pirouettes and you’ve tumbled into a state of haziness, needing his firm hand, his dependable stability. “Yeah, I can.”

Namjoon coos, his palm back on your bum, fondling it. “Good. Do you remember your safe word? You’re still getting those kisses if you use it, darling.”

You dissolve into the leather, your body limp, but you do remember the magic word of utmost adoration. “Beetle.”

A kiss on your flesh. “That’s it. Perfect. Does someone you know call you by that nickname?” he asks and you giggle, the comfort and the safety of the moment almost lulling you to sleep. “From ten, little beetle.”

And he rouses you from your sleepiness by landing a sharp spank on the cheek that he made so tender. The pain is so acute, so good that you almost forget to utter out the number, swimming in the sensation as you are, but Mr. Kim isn’t upset by it. No, he helps you.

“What number was that?”

“Ten.”

“Ten, that’s right. You’re doing so good.”

Mr. Kim’s kindness enters you all over again, liquifies between your legs, and you moan out. The following sting of his palm is greater than the previous one and your chest arches off the leather, but you like it. Even though he doesn’t alleviate the spank, lets only the air make it better, you still like it—so much that you don’t make a mistake and count it down.

“Nine.”

And he repeats it after you, spanking you again and again until the skin of your left cheek is inflamed, burning red, and the perception of the pricks is too much for you to handle. But taking after him, you don’t give up. Grit your jaw, flex your fists, scream out the numbers until you reach one and that side of your bum feels numb.

And Mr. Kim praises you for it so lasciviously that you can only whine in response, your little noises muffled by the leather.

“Good girl. You took your punishment so well. Your ass is so prettily red, oh my God. You’re gonna get those kisses now. So, so many of them until you come all over my tongue. Spread your legs even more for me.”

You do as he says, mind blank, and you hear the thud of his knees hitting the floor. That alone makes you drool, the sound of his submission, let alone his satisfied groan when he attaches his mouth to your pussy lips.

And you can’t voice out the surplus of your emotions, the unrestrained joy that you feel because you’re being eaten out by a man that you love, but because of their boisterous nature, they come out nonetheless. Out of your tear ducts, out of the corner of your mouth in the form of drool and little muted noises that are impossible for anyone to hear but you. And you fail him. You can’t imagine a fictional person sucking on your clit like that, that feels as though your soul is being yanked out of you like you were so many times upon this night. No, only Namjoon can do this to you—and so, privately, you bask in it. In Namjoon’s tongue swirling circles on your clit; in Namjoon’s lips sucking them so hard that you lose track of time, surroundings and your own being. In Namjoon’s hands shaking your bum in his face; in his fingers rubbing rapid side-to-side motions on your wet clit from the front when he fucks you with his tongue from the back.

You’re transported to a place that is neither heaven nor paradise. A place he, himself, must have brought into existence by the energy of his utter devotion for you. And you make it real when you come—sprinkle him with the fountain of your essence that contains the molecules of the universe he created for you. And you float, you float, you float. And he seizes the gravity by praising you for squirting for him, for coming so well and making the best of your so-deserved kisses.

And then his pants flop to the floor, his sweater—until the only things he’s wearing are his watch, his bracelet and his affection for you. You turn your body halfway so you can see him, the wholeness of his manliness that is aching for you, dripping for you like you’re dripping for him, and his cock is so hard that it points up to his abdomen. You’ve never seen anything like this before and you grow so savagely hungry for it that you begin to suck on your index finger.

Purposefully loudly, smacking your mouth.

Namjoon chuckles, darkly, and the warmth of that expression of his pulsates in you. “Oh, you’ll be sucking on this cock, too, don’t you worry, my beetle. I just need to feel your pussy around me.”

Oh, the slip-up. He feels this on the same wavelength as you—no Mr. Kim, no anonymity. Only Namjoon and you. If you were unsure of his feelings before, you can’t be unsure now. The universe he created palpitates around you and you’re so drunk on all of this new knowledge that when he buries himself inside your heat, you can’t let him in. Your walls are compressing so tightly with your still-yet growing arousal that you clamp down on him, but at the sound of his torturous moans, you suck him in.

And he doesn’t go easy on you.

With his hard, hard, and long shaft he begins to fuck you, violently. He rams into you without any mercy, lifting your leg onto the mat and entering you more deeply, curling his hips to kiss and kiss your cervix again and again. His strokes are reverberated throughout your whole body—your nipples rub against the leather, your head rocks against it in a way that turns you feral, you gag on your finger, your clit is teased with those relentless pounds. You’re helpless, but also boundless, being fucked like that, and you realize, with your dumb, blank and empty brain, that you’re extensively getting your best friend’s money’s worth.

And Namjoon elevates your experience.

He reaches through the hole and roughly captures your hair in his fist, popping your finger out of your mouth. Decides it’s not enough, decides you’ve had enough of the hole time and he pulls you out, all while still being inside of you. Straightens you against him, grasps your jaw while his other hand slips down to your clit.

And the side-to-side motions are brutal. Mean. So dominant in the way he keeps the contact light, barely stimulating you, but stimulating you, regardless.

“You think you can gag on your little finger and that it does nothing to me?” he scolds, pinching your clit, and your growl is scratchy, raspy, so fucked out. He’s reprimanding you, but his words don’t reflect his actions. Namjoon kisses you everywhere he can reach. Ear, cheek, jaw, neck. So frantically, so impatiently. “Have you learned nothing?”

You pant, your orgasm so awfully close from being bound but unbound at the same time, fucked slowly and torturously as Namjoon begins to move, grinding against you. But he has to stop—because if he doesn’t, you’re gonna come all over his cock, right in the center of this room. He’s teasing your build-up, just like you imagined he would, letting it rise and letting it fall in short intervals.

But he has pity on you, stemming from his affection. A cold, cold pity that you need for the heat rippling through you.

“Get on the bed. On your knees.”

He pulls himself out of you and urges you forward—towards the hanging bed. And you don’t care to ponder if it will move under your weight. All you can think about is his dick as you crawl onto that bed that does not wobble at all, but remains perfectly offset. You sit back on your folded legs and wait for him—watch him take those leisurely, effortless steps like he did at the start of this evening. Only this time, you get to see it with your eyes. His tall height, his swaying shoulders, flat abdomen and that hard cock, glistening with your slick. Carmine, aching.

You lick your lips. Prop yourself on your knuckles in front of you, back arched. Realize he kissed you everywhere, but on your mouth. And so you pout—and you make puppy eyes at him.

He smooths down a flyaway on your sweaty hairline, endeared. “What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t kissed me on the lips.”

Namjoon smiles down at you, dejectedly. Curls your hair behind your ear, grabs you by the back of your neck, calls to attention all the butterflies in your tummy. “I’m sorry.”

And he captures your mouth. As Namjoon, as a golden-hearted man that longs to give you the world, and you can vividly feel it. Mr. Kim doesn’t exist anymore and Namjoon seals that fact in when he prods his tongue inside, toying with yours before retreating back, moaning into the kiss.

A kiss that was more than a kiss.

And you have to kiss him again when he takes a moment to breathe. You have to devour him, clasp your hand around his wet cock as you do so—and Namjoon has to push your head down, fucking your mouth until your tears freely escape from all directions. He grips your hair tight, holds you to him from the side, plunging in and out of your throat however he pleases, your gagging noises encouraging him to possess every inch of you. Your mascara zigzags down your face in clumps—and once Namjoon’s pity flickers in him all over again, he lifts you and kisses you so nastily that you fade into nothingness.

Then, you’re on your back and he pounds that nothingness. Uses your thighs as leverage as you’re just laying there, a hole and nothing else. Perhaps the cubicle changed your life to such an extent that you’ve become it. You shall never forget it—even now it is scattered all across your vision as you’re fucked into oblivion, the skin-slapping sounds and your pussy squelching around him accompanying your memory of the dark wood, the fairy lights, the restraints you never used.

The sex was too personal, too intimate for you to do so. Even before you discovered that Mr. Kim was Namjoon. Your body recognized his, your mind too blind, too preoccupied with your anger that is now healed.

As if Namjoon could read your thoughts, he pumps into you with a hard thrust, eternalizing it.

“Focus on me,” he growls and you squeak, hiccuping into every movement. It feels as though he’s blocking your throat with how deeply he’s ravaging you and you can only nod.

You can only moan his name.

“Namjoon. Yes, yes, yes—oh, Namjoon.”

He laughs, that articulation of his joy abating in your mouth as he bends to kiss you, fully buried in you. And then he pulls out, presses his heavy cock on your cunt, lifts your head by grabbing your hair, consuming your mouth as if you were everything he ever lacked in his life.

“Grind your pussy on it, it’s yours, my little beetle.”

You whine, pucker your mouth against his, spinning your hips in circles, his cock so wet and so sticky from your happy juices.

“Joonie, Joonie bug.”

He closes his eyes, moaning all in your face, the principle of you softening and connecting his persona to yours absolutely ruining him. He tightens his grip on your hair, sinks himself inside you with his other hand and then sticks those soaked fingers inside your mouth. All four of them, gagging you.

“Little beetle and big Joonie bug, hm. How do we taste?” His tone is so low that it penetrates your skin, paralyzing your senses until only one remains. Until all you know is the bitter-sweetness of his precum and the tanginess of your slick. And he doesn’t draw his fingers back, he continues to control your gags until he paints your face in another set of pretty black tears. “Tell me. How do we taste?”

You growl around him, the sound he knows, and he pounds you for it, a thrust that hurts but feels good at the same time. You suck on his fingers, a trail of your drool trickling down from your connection, and Namjoon grunts. Slides his fingers out of your mouth and places them right on your clit.

Rapid, rapid rubs. And equally rapid strokes.

“Come,” he orders, and it’s like he flicked his fingers and made your body come. You didn’t have to do a thing. “Good. Finally. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Coming around my cock after all this time. Joonie bug is right there with you. Just a little bit more.”

He’s given life to your orgasm by his words. A storm erupts, clearing out everything negative that was ever seeped throughout your soul. Your body quakes, submitted to him through and through, at his disposal to make himself come—until your orgasm is so milky that you can’t see. Your vision is dotted with white, with tiny glazing stars that must be hung up in the sky just like this bed. And Namjoon brings you to him, lips to lips, needing you as he fucks you through your mutual release, and those stars splotch him with their dust.

You squirt all over him, for the second time around. And you don’t stop, the twitching of his cock, the warmth of his cum as he keeps stuffing you full of it, the unfaltering hardness of his thick shaft roll in your tiny orgasms, those little fountains of boundless pleasure that drench him, give him the likeness of those stars. He’s turned on your squirting ability and there’s no way back. No, no way back.

Namjoon is exhausted as he pulls out—and you already feel so empty, so lonely. His cum streams out of you, staining the bed, and it saddens you so much that you reach into your heat to collect it, plunging your fingers into your mouth, eating him. And you moan, at his male taste, for the last time.

“Fuck, don’t do that. I can’t go again.” He wipes down his face, a gleaming man that has your entire identity woven into his veins that run all across his arms, and you love him. You love him so drastically that you can’t get on your feet on your own, can’t make a decision of your own, can’t live without him.

He fucked you so well that he attached you to himself.

A wave of strange emotions engulf you.

“Namjoon,” you whimper, tears burning each corner of your eyes, and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what is happening. He lifts his head, round eyes blinking, and he’s so quick to cradle you into his arms, letting you cling to him, letting you wrap your legs around his torso like a baby. And that’s precisely how you feel—like a baby.

“Talk to me,” he encourages, caressing your back in circles, and you moor your face in his neck, inhaling his individual bodily scent. So masculine, so heady, so intoxicating. You sob, running your fingers through his misty, blond-streaked hair, needing to be even closer to him than is physically possible.

Namjoon shushes you, kissing your shoulder, giving you the strength to speak, giving you the identification of what you’re feeling.

“This was so intense,” you croak out and Namjoon hums, halting his touch to focus on you wholly. “Emotionally. I feel much closer to you. Too close.”

And he’s not running out of things to give you. He gives you kisses on your neck that bear no sexual context—romantic, reassuring kisses that ease up your muscles, that part the raging thunder of your emotions. And he gives you such comfort that you feel as though you’re floating upon an open body of water, as free as a human being can be.

“What we did was intense but it was right. What you’re feeling is normal. I’m feeling it, too. We’ve been hiding our feelings for so long and we let them out just now, so it’s overwhelming. It’s okay. You’re good. Such a good girl, my good little lady beetle, tiniest girl beetle in the whole universe. I will protect you from the other bugs. Let’s get this make-up off, hm?”

You nod, sob and laugh softly at that solace. Namjoon carries you into the shower. Lets the cold water streak down on you while you shield yourself from it, nearly slipping off his grasp. Namjoon chuckles, hoisting you higher, taking a step back to wash you completely clean. You scream and his chuckle deepens, getting you away from the iciness by pressing you against the tiles.

He truly won’t stop teasing you.

The water turns warm by the time he fetches the make-up remover. Pouring some on a large cotton pad, he cleanses the remnant of your sex tears, the physical memory of how good he fucked you and how he bound your soul to his. He’s careful around your eyes, focusing so intently that his lip is caged between his teeth. Once he’s finished, he kisses you—with Mr. Kim’s gentleness.

Washes you clean, especially thoroughly between your legs. Embraces you in the shower and lets you feel—creates a safe space for your feelings.

And then he’s dressing you in the clothes you came here in. A dark green dress that ends at your ankles. He makes sure to kiss your butterfly tattoo as he smooths down the skirt and you think you’re ready to marry him.

You want to meet his mother. Not now, not after what you’ve done together. But someday soon. And you want your mother to meet his.

“I need a cigarette,” you comment as he’s scrunching your hair with a towel. He himself has changed into a pair of clean black dress pants and a plain white shirt, almost oversized. An outfit that made your mouth water. “Like right now. And at least two.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You can smoke on the balcony. I’ll have one with you. Do you want a drink?”

Your eyes light up. Your whole body, too.

Placing a bathrobe around your shoulder, he gently slaps your butt and guides you forward to the balcony. He grabs that bottle of red wine you had opened and joins you.

Two chairs, one small round table in the middle. The view of the entire Seoul city and a fucking statue in the corner of the balcony.

A beautiful girl, half dressed. The fabric of her forever garment falls off her chest and you’ve never seen a more spectacular sculpture in your life. You enkindle your cigarette and touch her cool face, feel yourself immersed in her seductive beauty. One day you shall be just like her—once Namjoon comes to collect you. Not a doll, but a girl.

“Take a picture of me,” you say, getting into position, only to realize that Namjoon has been snapping pictures of you while you were acknowledging yourself with the statue. With a cigarette hanging limply in the corner of his mouth.

You can’t love him any deeper.

You pose with her. Mirror her body language, even shake off your bathrobe and let your straps fall off your body like her. Private pictures just for him and for you—a reminder for what awaits you.

A future full of pure possibilities. And sex, lots of and lots of sex.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

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tiki-was-here · 3 months ago

Text

Most Valuable Possession Chapter One

Injured Athlete Homelander x Physical therapist reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Ch 2

images by diana-foggy-master

The soft hum of the overhead lights did little to ease the tension building in your shoulders. You were used to high-profile clients, but something about today felt different. Maybe it was the fact that it’d been five hours since you’d last eaten, or maybe it was the fact that Homelander himself was walking into your office today.

You glanced at the clock. He was late—no surprise there. But you were ready for whatever attitude he’d bring. The man had an ego the size of a stadium, and his time, in his mind at least, was far more valuable than anyone else’s. Of course none of his fans knew of his darker nature, but you'd been in the business long enough to recognise the cold indifference hidden behind his fake smiles.

You weren’t a fan of his. You didn’t follow his baseball career—hell, you didn’t even know much about the sport itself—but you knew enough to know that he was something special (whether you’d like to admit or not). The kind of athlete who could make crowds chant his name with just a glance.

The door opened with a suddenness that startled you, and the unmistakable figure of John Gillman stood in the doorway. He observed your quaint office with a glare laced with disdain and as he took his first step inside you could swear you felt the air get heavier.

Behind him trailed a much smaller red-headed woman. You assumed she was his assistant, Ashley, who had practically begged you to meet with him two weeks earlier after she realised that the “honor of treating America's number one baseball player” wasn't enough to get you to squeeze him into your already busy schedule. From the way she constantly glanced at him, you could tell she was walking on eggshells.

His eyes—blue and cold—locked onto yours as he stood at the chair in front of your desk.

Ashley seemed to be babbling about something, her voice breaking the silence between you and Homelander.

“You okay, John?” she asked, hovering beside him. “You should sit down—no, let me—”

“Don’t touch me,” John snapped, his voice dripping with irritation.

You stood up, placing the clipboard you’d been holding on the desk, eyes narrowed. It was clear he was frustrated—probably more than he was willing to admit. His injury was serious, and though it wouldn’t keep him off the field permanently, it had put a dent in his perfect image.

John’s voice was smooth, deep, with just the slightest undertone of arrogance. “I trust you’ve been briefed about my injury?”

You nodded, keeping your face neutral. “I’m aware, Mr. Gillman. A strained rotator cuff. Serious, but nothing permanent.”

He barely acknowledged your response, eyes flicking over to Ashley, who was already pulling out a chair for him.

“Sit down,” she urged gently, her hand hovering over the back of the chair.

“I said don’t touch me,” he repeated, his voice rising. He practically growled the words as he shoved past her to the chair, causing her to stumble back slightly. (my poor queen)

You watched the scene unfold, and it took all your restraint not to climb out over your desk and do something that would surely cause you to lose your license.

“Isn’t it cute?” he murmured, finally taking his seat.His lips curled into a small smile, but it wasn’t warm. “The way she hovers?. A grown man like me needing a babysitter.” His tone wasn’t outright harsh, but there was a bite to it that made Ashley look down at the floor, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. But she said nothing

You kept your voice even. “She’s just doing her job, Mr. Gilman. It’s not uncommon for assistants to be present during appointments like these.”

John let out a quiet, almost undetectable sigh, his gaze briefly flicking over to Ashley before it returned to you. “I didn’t come here for a therapy session with her. I came for you. And I’m not sure what to make of this place…” His gaze swept over the sterile, minimalist décor. “But I’m sure you know what you’re doing, right?”

You held his gaze without flinching, the air between you thick with the tension of unspoken challenges. “I do. My job is to help you recover, Mr. Gillman. If you’re serious about it.”

His eyes narrowed, “Serious? Do you think I’m here for fun? My entire career is on hold. I don’t have time to waste on this, but it looks like I have no choice. Just write me a prescription for a bunch of painkillers and i'll do the rest. And don't worry sweetheart i'll pay you for your time.” he finished with a practiced wink.

You didn’t budge. “You’re here because your doctors sent you. I’m here to help you recover, but it’s up to you whether you want to do the work or not.” You held his gaze steadily. “And if you’re not serious about it, you can walk out right now. There are plenty of other athletes who actually care about their recovery.”

You gestured toward the exam table, keeping your tone professional. “If you’re ready, we can begin the physical assessment.”

John’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like that you weren’t cowering.For a moment, he just stared at you, gaze ice-cold. He was sizing you up.

He leaned in slightly, his face inches from yours, predatory glint in his eyes. “I can buy you out of this job, you know. I could make your life a hell of a lot harder so if you just—”

You cut him off before he could finish. “I’m the fourth therapist you’ve seen because the other three couldn’t handle your attitude, or you didn’t like them.” You crossed your arms, leaning in just slightly to emphasize your point. “Like I said… you’re free to leave anytime. But just know—every minute you waste, your injury gets worse and you’ll stay off the field longer.If you want to get back to playing, you need to follow the steps. That means listening”, you drawled, speaking to him as if he was a child.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. You could feel the tension crackling in the air. Then, without another word, he stepped back.

“Fine,” he muttered, though it was clear he was still furious. “Let’s get this over with.”

You nodded,allowing yourself a small, victorious smile. “Good. Now, if you’ll sit down properly, we’ll begin the physical exam.”

As you got up from your desk and made your way over to him, you just missed the dark glint that flickered in his eyes—it only lingered for only a moment, but it was there. Irritation made way for curiosity as his eyes began to trail your every move.

#𐌕𐌉𐌊𐌉 ᯓᡣ𐭩 #male reader #x male reader #top male reader #the boys x male reader #homelander x male reader #homelander x reader #the boys #the boys x reader #bottom male reader #meow #.˚𖹭 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 𖹭 ˚.

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pazzi5351 · 14 days ago

Text

PART 3

Just Friends

Highschool AU

Football P x cheerleader A

Bsf to Lovers

WC: 1.8k

AN: i was finishing writing as the fuckass knicks LOST. LIKE I HATE NY SPORTS (not the liberty) anyways knicks in 7 (they’re 3-1 in playoffs) (they’ve won 1 game) But bare with this and them in this rn. They’re teenagers that dk shit abt communication! Love ya! Happy reading! Leave live reacts i wanna know what yall think!😗

————————————————————————————

Monday morning sunlight streams through Azzi’s curtain as her phone balances on her vanity, FaceTime open. She’s brushing her hair while Caroline, on the other end of the call, curls her lashes. Ryan, their backspot and self-proclaimed stylist, lounges in bed shirtless under a fuzzy pink blanket, sipping iced coffee like it’s a mimosa.

“I still say we manifest a hotel with a hot tub for playoffs,” Ryan begins saying. “And if I don’t get to room with my besties, I’m leaving.”

Caroline snorts. “We already told coach we’re rooming together. Azzi, you’re fine bunking with us, right?”

Azzi, seated on the floor with her hair half up, bends down to grab her sneakers. “Yeah, of course—”

Ryan squints into the screen. “Uhm. Miss. Fudd. My favorite, most favorite main base…”

Azzi looks up. “What?”

Ryan leans in. “What’s that right there? You know. On your neck?”

Azzi freezes, casually brushing a hand over the spot by her jaw. “What? There’s nothing there. Ry, what are you even talking about?”

Ryan gasps dramatically. “Oh, so, we’re lying now?”

Before Caroline can chime in, Azzi’s screen flashes with an incoming FaceTime, from the one and only, Paige.

“Oop! Gotta go, see you guys later!” She hangs up before they can interrogate her further and answers the new call.

“Hey,” Paige says, her voice warm and casual. She’s already in her car, one hand lazily on the steering wheel (Azzi definitely didn’t take note of the veins that were lightly showing in her hand). “Come outside, I’m here.”

Azzi blinks. “I told you, you didn’t have to pick me up today.”

“Yeah, okay Az. You wanna go to Starbucks?”

Azzi’s smile falls into place. “I’ll come outside.”

She jogs out the front door, bag hanging over her shoulder. Paige rolls the window down as she pulls up.

“Oh look,” she says, eyes sparkling, “it’s my favorite vampire.”

Azzi rolls her eyes. “I thought we were going to Starbucks, not being annoying in my driveway.”

Paige just laughs, unlocking the door.

The car ride is calm, windows cracked slightly as morning air moves in. Azzi watches the road move past.

“How you feelin’ about playoffs?” she asks.

Paige nods, chewing her gum slowly. “I feel good. I’ve been watching a lot of film on them—how they go after receivers, how their D-line shifts a little pre-snap. I think I’ve got a decent read on it.”

Azzi hums, impressed, and nods along like it’s a language she doesn’t fully speak but wants to understand.

At Starbucks, they step up to the counter. Paige goes for her usual, but Azzi nudges her.

“You’re getting the strawberry acai lemonade refresher. Light ice. No berries.”

Paige frowns. “What—why? No berries?”

“It’s good for the soul,” Azzi says matter-of-factly.

She pulls out her phone to pay, but Paige hip-checks her out of the way, card already tapping the reader.

“No, Paige—stop. You pay all the time. It’s literally Starbucks, it’s like twelve dollars.”

Paige ignores her.

The barista, a girl with glossy lips and a little too much blush for 8 am, smiles brightly at Paige. “You look familiar—do you play football at Arlington?”

Paige, polite, smiles. “Yeah, wide receiver.”

“Oh, cool! You guys are really good this year.”

Azzi, standing beside her, eyes the girl. And with zero shame, she reaches over to move Paige’s hair off her shoulder, planting her elbow there. Paige doesn’t react—until the girl’s expression falls at the sight of the very visible hickies all over Paige’s neck.

The barista gives a tight smile. “Um… I’ll go grab your drinks.”

As she walks away, Paige turns slowly. “I didn’t take you for the possessive type.”

Azzi started walking off and looked over her shoulder. “Hm? What do you mean? I just wanted to put my arm on you.”

Paige grins. “Right.”

They return to the car, and as Paige starts driving toward school, she glances at Azzi with a half-laugh. “I thought it was kinda hot though.”

Azzi blushes, looking out the window. “You’re so annoying.”

At school, they split off toward their respective lockers. On her way, Paige runs into Nika, who clocks the drink in her hand and side-eyes her.

“Is that… a strawberry acai refresher?”

“Bro, Azzi made me get it,” Paige mutters. “It’s good though. So, like, shut up.”

Nika laughs. “Oh yeah? Speaking of Azzi—what did y’all do after you left Friday night, hmm?”

Paige rolls her eyes. “Drop it.”

But Nika keeps walking with her, “You know I’m gonna get it outta you eventually, right?”

Paige hums and keeps walking, listening to Nika yap, heading to class.

In second period, Azzi’s scribbling in her notebook while Mackenzie leans across the desk. Colleen’s doodling hearts on the corner of her page.

Azzi lifts her arms to put her hair up, and Mackenzie gasps and grabs her wrist.

“Girl. I would strongly advise keeping that hair down unless you’re ready for everyone in this room to know your business.”

Azzi pauses, then slowly lowers her arms and lets her hair fall. “Damn.”

Colleen leans in. “So, you wanna explain that, Az?”

Azzi sighs. “No actually. Next question. Shit—I have cheer later. Caroline and Ryan are gonna have my ass.”

She drops her head dramatically to the desk as her friends laugh around her.

That afternoon, Paige is stretching on the football field, lined up between Jalen and Jacob. They’re mid-conversation about the new 2K drop when Jalen leans forward and tilts his head.

“So… I’m assuming Friday night was fun.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “Huh? I mean… yeah. The fair was cool. Nika’s after was fun.”

Jalen grins. “Nah. I mean with Azzi.”

Paige blinks, suddenly slightly defensive. “What about Azzi?”

Jacob smirks. “Bro, you might wanna invest in a scarf.”

Jalen gestures to the side of Paige’s neck. “Shawty lowkey a vampire though.”

Paige’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh my God.”

Jacob just laughs. “I know whatever’s on the other side gotta be worse.”

Paige turns red. “I’m gonna kill her.”

They laugh and start tossing around new nickname ideas for her.

At cheer practice, Azzi’s holding steady in the base position while their flyer, Maddie, preps to go up.

“Can you move your hair, Az? I need to see your grip.”

Azzi shakes her head, moving to sweep her hair over one shoulder.

Caroline and Ryan immediately freeze.

“Wait. Wait wait wait,” Ryan says. “I knew I wasn’t crazy this morning.”

Caroline gasps. “Azzi!”

Azzi winces. “Shut up. Oh my gosh.”

“You really let Paige get vampire privileges?” Ryan says, horrified and joking.

Caroline just grins. “Well, she was high as a kite Friday night, and her knight in shining armor was our star receiver sooo….”

Azzi buries her face in her hands.

Later, while rolling up mats, she slides over to them.

“Hypothetically,” she starts. “If you had a friend. And you saw someone flirt with them. Hypothetically after you hooked up. And hypothetically you got jealous… so you hypothetically revealed something…. on…. them to prove y’all hooked up yet the flirty person… hypothetically would that be… possessive?”

Both of them stopped in their tracks.

“WHAT?!” they said at the same time.

Caroline narrows her eyes. “Wait—so you and Paige hooked up? Like deadass?”

Ryan covers his mouth. “And then you got all possessive and shit cause someone was flirting with her?!”

Azzi fidgets. “Well yeah—but no. Because that’s a hypothetical situation.”

“Right,” Caroline says dryly. “Well, hypothetically… that means you like her.”

Ryan nods. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

Azzi’s face is tinged with red. “Okay, I’m done. This conversation’s over.”

But inside, she knows it’s not. Not even close.

Because as practice ends and her phone buzzes with a new message from Paige — a casual “you wanna come over later?” — all Azzi can think about is how bad she wants to say yes.

And how much more complicated that yes is getting.

The locker room is buzzing with laughter, the smell of sweat and cheap body spray hanging in the air. Paige sits on the edge of the bench, hoodie still zipped, earbuds in—but not playing anything. She just doesn’t want to talk. Or explain. Or have anyone else ask “who did it”.

Even though everyone already knows.

Jalen flops down next to her, draping a towel over her shoulders. “So. You and Azzi, huh?”

Paige doesn’t look up. “Nothing’s going on.”

Jalen laughs. “Mmhmm. Tell that to the matching ‘curling iron marks’ you both tried to hide today.”

Paige’s jaw clenches. “It was just a weekend. Don’t make it a thing.”

Jalen leans back, arms crossed, something softer flashing behind his eyes. “I’m not trying to start anything. But you can’t act like that didn’t mean something and then pretend you’re fine. You’ve been off all practice. That’s not what we need right now P.”

Paige shoves her shoes into her bag a little too hard. “I said I’m good.”

Jalen watches her for a moment. “Aight.”

But the silence between them says otherwise.

At home, Paige lies on her bed, phone lighting up again and again.

💗: heyyy

Read 7:15 PM

💗: you good?

💗: i can come over still?

💗: if you want

💗: or not. idk. up to you.

💗: P???????

Read 7:36 PM

She stares at the messages but doesn’t respond. She wants to. God, she wants to. But something feels off now. Like a line was crossed, and it’s too late to step back, but too soon to keep going.

There’s a knock at the door.

Her dad peeks in. “Dinner’s ready. You okay?”

Paige nods without looking up. “Yeah.”

Meanwhile, Azzi is curled up on her bed, hoodie sleeves covering her hands, the silence in her room way too loud.

Colleen’s on FaceTime with her, lying upside down on her couch.

“You’re spiraling,” Colleen says bluntly, chewing on a french fry. “You’re doing that thing— where you overthink and overanalyze and think the worst even when nothing happened.”

Azzi exhales sharply. “She barely talked to me all day after school. She didn’t even answer my text after she asked me to hang with her. The fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“Maybe she’s just tired. Or stressed.”

Azzi shakes her head. “No. It’s more than that. It’s like… we were up here,” she raises her arm above her head, “and now it’s like she dropped back to pretending we’re just friends. Like we didn’t even kiss. Like I didn’t literally leave like 5 fucking hickeys on her neck.”

Colleen stares. “Which, by the way, iconic. But yeah, that sucks.”

Azzi bites her lip. “I don’t want to be a mistake she pretends didn’t happen in the name of stress.”

There’s a pause.

“You’re not,” Colleen says gently.

Azzi’s voice cracks. “Then why does it feel like I am?”

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #paige and azzi #pazzi #pazzi fic #pazzi fics #dallas wings #uconn wbb

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redvexillum · 8 months ago

Text

Listen @nyx91 I'm not well versed in the realm of writing a threesome. So, I did my best.

TAGS/WARNING: AFAB!reader, threes♡me, d♡uble penetrati♡n, rough ♡ral s♡x, rough cunniling♡s, hair pulling, an♡l sex, p in v, d♡cryphilia, multiple ♡rgasm (f!receiving), over-stimulation, sobbing, begging, d♡m/sub, sub!reader, sq♡irting, reader gets their brain f♡cked out, rough s♡x, b♡ndage

The tendrils of shadows coiled around your wrists like snakes, slithering up your arms until they pinned you helplessly to the bed. Their grip was firm, almost possessive. Your breath caught in your throat, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps, as your gaze darted between the eerie glow of Vox’s blue screen and Alastor’s piercing red eyes, watching you hungrily from the darkness.

A sudden chill prickled across your skin as thin, metallic wires wrapped around your ankles, cool and unyielding, spreading your legs apart with deliberate slowness. Your body trembled, nipples hardening from both the icy air and the rush of sensation flooding through you. The slickness between your thighs grew shamefully, your cunt betraying you as it throbbed, anticipating what was to come.

Footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, sharp and calculated, until the familiar weight of claws dug into your cheeks. Alastor’s grasp was commanding as he tilted your head back, forcing your eyes to meet his. The ticking radio dials were a cruel rhythm that matched the sinister gleam in his gaze.

“What was that, dear?” he hissed, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He tugged your face towards him, making your shoulders strain from where your wrists were bound above you.

“I...I just wanted...” your voice faltered, breath catching once more as Vox’s fingers slid inside you unexpectedly, stretching your aching core with a rhythm that was both torturous and electrifying. Each plunge was punctuated by the wet, obscene sound of your slick, the noise amplifying in the oppressive quiet of the room.

Alastor’s smile widened, mocking. “Eugh, Vox, must you really reward her insolence?”

“Reward?” Vox’s chuckle was low and dangerous, his thumb pressing hard against your swollen clit, making you jolt violently, your body unable to contain the sharp spike of pleasure that shot through you. “Oh, I don’t think she’s seeing this as much as a reward, do you?” His voice dropped to a whisper as he circled your sensitive bud again, dragging another strangled cry from your lips.

It was too much – pleasure and pain, an exquisite blend that left your body trembling, every nerve bursting to life with sensation. “Ngh - pl – pl-” you stammered, hips twitching, desperate to escape and yet needing more at the same time. Your cry was swallowed as your body arched, caught in the maddening whirl of overstimulation.

Alastor hummed thoughtfully, his sharp claws ghosting down the length of your neck, trailing over your collarbone before pinching one of your nipples with cruel precision. You gasped, the pain sharp but twisting into something delicious as it mingled with Vox’s relentless thrusts and the pressure on your clit.

Tears welled at the corners of your eyes, your vision blurring as your mind struggled to keep up with the overwhelming assault of your senses. Alastor’s hands worked your breasts mercilessly, squeezing and twisting your nipples, while Vox curled his fingers inside you, hitting that spot deep within that made you see stars.

Your body couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure building inside snapped like a tightly wound coil, your back arching violently as your mouth opened in a silent scream. Your release crashed over you in waves, your body spasming helplessly under their touch.

But as the tremors of your orgasm subsided, Vox withdrew his fingers abruptly, leaving you gasping, your slick clinging to him as he pulled away. His voice was a low growl, vibrating with dark satisfaction. “Now you’ve done it...who gave you permission to come?”

“You mean my permission,” Alastor scoffed, his dark grin widening as his gaze bore into you, predatory and gleaming with amusement. That familiar shiver coursed through you, his sinister energy wrapping around your body like a vice.

You rolled your eyes in defiance. “There you guys go again,” you muttered under your breath, regretting it almost instantly when you felt the sharp intensity of Alastor's red eyes fixating on you, the weight of his anger palpable.

“Is that why you’ve been such a brat lately, my dear?” His voice shifted, higher, mocking. The sound of zippers slowly undoing cut through the room, a tell-tale sign of what was to come. “You sent letters to both of us, didn’t you? Now, what was is that you wrote?” His smile turned menacing, his grin cutting through his cheeks.

Vox’s voice chimed in, repeating your words like they were the punchline of a joke. “Why don’t you fuck and make up, you old farts,” he drawled, his deep tone laced with amusement.

A wave of heat surged through your body, the embarrassment spreading from your flushed cheeks down to your chest. It had sounded so much better in your head when you wrote it. Now, in front of them, if felt immature. You shot a pleading look toward Vox, hoping for some reprieve. He was always softer with you compared to Alastor, more indulgent when Alastor revelled in pushing you to the brink.

“That’s because you two were having a pissing match, and I didn’t want to be in the middle anymore!” you exclaimed, squirming against the binds that held you captive. Your plea hung in the air, but you could see from Alastor’s expression that he was far from convinced.

“Oh? So, you thought it wise to snub me when I specifically asked you to come to my bedroom last night?” Alastor’s voice dripped with disdain, his tentacles undulating as they slithered across your body, binding your wrists behind your back. With a firm shove, he pushed you upright, his cock now in full view – thick, rigid, and the angry tip already slick with pre-cum. It pressed insistently against your cheek, hot and demanding.

“I asked Vox to go instead,” you mumbled, the words barely leaving your mouth before Alastor’s fingers curled tightly into your hair. He yanked your head forward, forcing you to face him, his cock brushing against your lips.

“Suck,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.

“Hmph.” You closed your mouth defiantly, turning your head away with a stubborn pout. “No.”

Alastor’s eyes darkened dangerously at your rebellion, and you could feel the tension rising between the two of them. You knew you were playing with fire, but the constant feud between them – the passive-aggressive digs, the battle for dominance – was exhausting. You wanted them to stop. “Not until you two make up with each other. Maybe fuck out all that frustration.”

A screech of static and white noise filled the room, both Alastor’s and Vox’s displeasure evident. You winced at the sound, realizing just how much you’d overstepped. Perhaps discussing this in the middle of the bedroom, bound and at their mercy, wasn’t your wisest choice. But before you could even begin to back track, Vox’s voice cut through the air, dark and teasing.

“Oh, baby doll,” he cooed, his tone dripping with danger. “It sounds like you’re asking for a punishment from the both of us.”

Before you could protest, his long, serpentine tongue slid up your swollen cunt, the sensation jolting through your already sensitive body like a lightning bolt. You yelped, the sound muffled as Alastor took the opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth. The heady, intoxicating scent of him filled your senses as you instinctively began to suck, the weight of him pressing against your tongue, thick and unrelenting.

"Any drama I have with Vox is none of your concern,” Alastor growled, his words vibrating against your skin as he pushed further into your mouth, making you take every inch. “I’m sure my old pal agrees with me,”

Vox’s wet, obscene slurp echoed from between your legs, his tongue devouring your slick heat with fervour. He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with a wicked gleam. “That’s right, baby. You just need to be a good little girl for us,” he rasped, his breath hot against your thighs. “Let us fuck you whenever we want, and open that pretty pussy for me.” His clawed fingers stretched you open, the sharp edges of them making you shudder as you felt the pain and pleasure mingling together.

Alastor’s breath hitched as your tongue expertly swirled around the head of his cock, your mouth working him with practised ease. “In less...crude terms,” he grunted, pulling back only to thrust deeper, the tight space of your throat accommodating him as you gagged, “we fulfill each other’s desires. That’s all that matters.”

His hips snapped forward, his balls slapping against your chin as he filled your mouth completely, the sensation overwhelming as you struggled to keep up. Every thrust pushed you further, your mind spinning from the sensory overload – Vox's tongue dragging you toward another orgasm, Alastor’s cock hitting the back of your throat with precision, the two of them taking control of every part of you.

You moaned around Alastor’s length, the sound vibrating through your throat as your body convulsed, teetering on the edge of another release, knowing you were completely at their mercy.

You had always known where you stood with them, perfectly slotting into the role they craved – a partner who could resist just enough to make the submission sweeter, but ultimately, their good little cock sleeve. The arrangement worked, and lately, you couldn’t help but notice the shift in their dynamic. Maybe this new obsession with taking you together was their way of rebuilding their bond, using your body as the bridge between their fractured relationship.

Alastor’s hand tangled in your hair, pulling you back as his cock slipped free from your lips, slick with your spit. You barely had time to catch your breath before Vox’s thick, wet tongue plunged into your aching cunt, delving deep and curling inside you, exploring every inch of your soaked core. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, your shoulders burning from being tied together, your legs trembling as they spread wide to accommodate him.

Alastor’s voice slithered through the haze of pleasure, teasing. “Are you going to cum again, dear?” His hand stroked his length, the heavy head of his cock tapping against your lips, demanding entrance. “Are you going to cry and cum all over Vox’s tongue?”

Your breathing was ragged, your chest rising and falling as the pressure built inside, another orgasm so close on the heels of the first. The edges of your vision blurred, your mind growing fuzzy, consumed by the sensations flooding your body. You nodded weakly, unable to speak, knowing you were on the verge of tipping over the edge.

As the peak hit, your cry turned into a scream, your body convulsed, desperate to curl way from the relentless assault of Vox’s tongue, but Alastor was quicker. His cock thrust into your mouth with a rough shove, silencing your scream as the orgasm ripped through you. Your moans were muffled around his thick shaft, your saliva dripping messily from your lips as you gagged and swallowed, the raw intensity of pleasure overwhelming.

When Alastor finally eased his grip on your hair, you collapsed back onto the bed, the mattress creaking beneath your weight. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, hips jerking with the aftershocks of pleasure that still pulsed through your body. Tears mixed with the saliva on your face, your eyes rolling back as you struggled to steady your breath.

But there was no reprieve. You were barely aware of your body being shifted until you felt the solid warmth of Alastor’s chest pressing against your back. His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, the curve of his smile unmistakable as he whispered, “It seems it’s my turn to punish your ass today, dear.”

A hot breath ghosted across your neck, and then you felt it – the blunt tip of Alastor’s cock pressing insistently against your tight ring. Your eyes widened in panic, your body instinctively tensing as a high-pitched whine escaped your lips. “T-too much,” you gasped, even though you knew what was coming. They had done this countless times, and every time, they left you wrecked – completely soaked by both their release and your own.

“Oh, we know,” Vox’s deep voice rumbled from above, his hands bracketing either side of you and Alastor as he hovered over you. He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, his thick cock drove into your slick, waiting pussy, stretching you wide with a sudden, powerful thrust. Your head fell back in a cry of agonizing pleasure, your body already trembling from the heat of it, your nerves tingling from the sheer fullness.

“Ah, that’s it, baby,” Vox groaned, sinking into you to the hilt, his cock throbbing inside your tight walls. “You squeeze me so fucking good.” His voice was a dark, satisfied purr, every word dripping with lust.

Bound and helpless, your wrists tied behind your back and pressed against Alastor’s stomach, you squirmed between them. Alastor’s voice was a low, dangerous murmur in your ear, his cock now teasing your other entrance. “We’re not stopping, dear, not until you’ve learned to be a good...” His tip pressed against your tight opening, pushing just inside, the pressure maddening. “Obedient...” His breath hitched as he thrust deeper, sliding into your ass in one swift, brutal motion. “Girl.”

You screamed, the sound raw and desperate, your body overwhelmed by the twin sensations of being filled to the brim. The stretch was almost too much, but at the same time, it felt so unbearably good. Your cunt clenched tight around Vox’s cock as Alastor’s length pushed deeper into you, the two of them moving in tandem, leaving no space for you to catch your breath.

Vox let out a guttural groan, his eyes rolling back as he revelled in the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him, the thin wall separating him from Alastor’s cock rubbing against his own. “Fuck, that’s right, baby. So, fucking tight, so fucking perfect.” He thrust harder, deeper, his hips slamming against yours as you writhed beneath them.

Alastor’s curses were hot against your ear, his body trembling with the force of his restraint, both moving in sync as they claimed you together. You could barely think, barely breathe, your mind reduced to nothing but the overwhelming sensations of being filled, completely owned by the two Overlords who had you at their mercy.

Every thrust, every movement drove you closer to the brink, your body unable to hold back as another orgasm built within you, threatening to shatter you all over again. They didn’t stop, didn’t slow, driving you higher and higher until there was nothing left but the raw, aching pleasure of being utterly devoured by them both.

Vox leaned down, hips lips capturing yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue invading your mouth and making you taste yourself on him. The heat of it, the slick, possessive way his tongue curled against yours, muffled your moans as his cock, along with Alastor’s, continued to ravage you.

Their relentless thrusts filled you to the brink, stretching you in ways that had you teetering on the edge of ecstasy. Alastor’s hot breath tickled your ear, tiny, almost imperceptible moans escaping him as he pumped into you from behind.

Your body trembled, overwhelmed. You knew you wouldn’t last long – not with the way they were fucking you, both cocks hammering against every sensitive spot inside you. The remnants of your previous orgasms still echoed through your core, heightening every sensation, making it impossible to hold back as another wave of pleasure crashed over you.

Vox’s pace quickened, his balls slapping against you and Alastor. The rhythm between the two men dissolved into chaos, each thrust growing more frantic. Sometimes they filled you at the same time, their thick cocks stretching your pussy and ass simultaneously, and other times they alternated, the sensation driving you wild.

Vox pulled back from the kiss, panting heavily, his lips wet with your shared saliva. His head fell back as he continued to pound into you like a man possessed. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” he moaned, his voice low and breathless. “So fucking right, both of you...feels so fucking good.”

Alastor let out a rare, soft moan in response, his usually composed demeanour slipping. The wet, lewd sounds of your soaked pussy and their hard cocks slamming into you filled the room, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat.

Your head fell back, resting against Alastor’s shoulder as the orgasm built inside you, threatening to consume you whole. You screamed as it hit, your voice raw and hoarse, your body convulsing weakly this time around.

The intensity of it shattered you, warm liquid spraying from your cunt, drenching Vox and dripping down onto Alastor’s cock. Your heart pounded, your chest heaving as the pleasure tore through you, leaving you trembling and slick with sweat, your back sliding against Alastor’s chest.

Vox grunted, still thrusting through your orgasm, the wet sound of his cock fucking into you louder now. “Oh, fuck, baby doll, is that for us?” His voice was rough, teasing, as he continued to drive into you. “You squirting just for us?” His words sent another ripple of pleasure through you, the sensation overbearing, overwhelming.

“Heh, Alastor, come on, I know you want to blow your load,” Vox taunted, his voice strained as he fought to hold back.

Alastor’s breath hitched, his hips slamming into you harder, his cock stretching your ass with every thrust. “Why don’t you come first?” he rasped, his voice dark with lust. “I can smell how close you are.”

Your body was limp, utterly spent, but they didn’t stop. Both of them pushed you further, Vox’s hips snapping against you, his movements sending delicious jolts of pleasure through your overstimulated body. The pressure on your clit, the friction, was too much, too good. You were already nearing the edge again.

“Pl-please, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears spilling down your flushed cheeks, your body shaking with exhaustion and pleasure.

Vox chuckled darkly, leaning in to whisper, “Oh, baby doll, you just sealed your fate.”

Alastor’s tongue flicked out, tracing along your cheek to collect your tears, his hum of approval sending shivers down your spine. A low, feral growl rumbled deep in his chest, and you felt him swell inside you. Your ass stretched further as Alastor’s cock grew, his control slipping as the sheer size of him pushed you to your limits.

That was Vox’s undoing. With a strangled curse, he came firm, his hot release flooding your pussy, filling you with a deep, satisfying warmth, Alastor’s hips slammed into you with a final, brutal thrust, his cock pulsing as he followed suit, spilling his thick cum into your ass with the same ferocity. The two men groaned, their bodies trembling against yours, their cocks twitching as they emptied themselves inside you.

The sensation of being so full, of both of them throbbing within you, sent another shiver of pleasure through your body. Your breathing was ragged, harsh, as you tried to come down from the high, but they didn’t give you a moment to recover. Their cocks softened, slipping from you, and you let out a small, breathy moan as the sensation of their hot cum spilling from both holes sent one last wave of pleasure rippling through you.

You barely registered the binds around your wrists loosening, your body too spent to move. All you could feel was the heat of their cum dripping from you, your holes convulsing weakly as they expelled the remnants of their release. Your mind was foggy, lost in the haze of exhaustion and pleasure, the only thing anchoring you to reality being the sight of their satisfied, devilish, smirking faces.

You were completely spent, utterly wrecked, your body trembling and slick with sweat and cum. Every muscle ached, and your mind was swimming in a fog of pleasure and exhaustion. Yet, as you lay there, barely able to catch your breath, it was clear from the gleam in their eyes—they weren’t done with you yet.

Alastor's fingers brushed against your cheek, deceptively gentle for someone who had just ravaged you so thoroughly. His grin widened, a dark promise lingering in the curve of his lips. “Oh, darling," he cooed, voice dripping with dangerous sweetness, "you didn’t think we were finished, did you?”

Vox’s chuckle rumbled from somewhere behind you, and you felt the bed shift as he moved, his presence hovering close. “You see,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, “we still need to teach you a little lesson about what happens when you decide to act like a brat.”

And as Alastor’s hand curled possessively around your throat, and Vox’s lips pressed against your shoulder, you realized you weren’t just at their mercy—you were craving it.

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

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laseracronym · 4 months ago

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Jealousy, Jealousy (MHA/Fem!Reader)

Summary: Where you're not jealous. Definitely not. (MHA characters reacting to their girlfriend getting jealous. Part 1?)

Characters: Dabi, Aizawa

Content: Jealousy. Violence and Unhinged!Reader in the Dabi one.

MHA-MHA-MHA

Dabi

You stalked out of the bar, leaving behind the chaos you just caused.

Cold rage coursed through your veins, your pulse pounding in your throat. You could still see that woman's hands all over Dabi, hear the sweet words she was whispering in his ear. That stupid look on her face, the confidence she had that she would be able to take what was yours.

She's lucky all you gave her was a few broken bones.

A hand caught your wrist and you reacted quickly, spinning around drawing on your quirk, ready to strike.

"Take it easy, Angel," Dabi's grinning face, full of twisted amusement, both calmed and paradoxically infuriated you. "It's just me."

You scoffed, the sound a cobra's hiss, and let up on your quirk. You straightened up and pulled away from his grasp in favor of crossing your arms. You'd left him behind when you stormed out, eager to get out before you truly lost control.

He chuckled at your behavior, at the anger still radiating off of you. He was undaunted by it, moving closer, fingers skating along your upper arms. "What was that about, pretty girl? Feeling jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," you spun away from him and began walking again, his skulking footsteps following you. "I just don't tolerate anyone disrespecting me to my face."

"Sure, sure," he obviously didn't buy it.

"Don't piss me off," you snapped, walking faster, "you weren't exactly discouraging the attention, you know."

"And miss out on the show?" you were spun around to face him again and he pushed you up against a wall. His eyes pierced you, his voice a pleasant purr, "not a chance."

You tried to hold onto your anger, but a new kind of heat burned through you at the look on his face, the feeling of his hand running up your side. He nuzzled into your neck, his tongue dragging along your skin and making you shiver.

"Do you know how fucking sexy you looked? Raging like that, all over little old me," he grabbed a handful of your hair, tilting your head back so he could gain better access to your neck. "Vicious girl..."

Your eyelids fluttered and you gripped his shoulders tight as he began to bite and suck at your neck. Possessive lust hazed over your mind and you pulled him closer.

Dabi was yours, and you'd tear apart anyone who dared to try and take him from you.

Aizawa

It was stupid.

You were a grown woman, well beyond the age of petty bouts of jealousy-

And yet.

Sometimes, seeing Shouta's friends, like Miss Joke and Midnight, playfully flirt with him in the way that they did...

It got to you.

And you hated it. Because you knew they were just joking, knew they had no interest in Shouta. And Shouta never entertained their jokes at all, shooting them down in that stern way of his. You had nothing to worry about.

But sometimes, you could still feel the heat rise up under your collar, the tension in your jaw, the urge to tell them to knock it off sitting ready on your tongue. But you didn't. You didn't want to be that girl. You didn't want to make a big deal out of an obvious joke, be the girlfriend that was so insecure she had to bare her teeth at every woman that came near her man.

So you said nothing. But that didn't mean Shouta didn't notice something was bothering you. He knew you so well.

MHA-MHA-MHA

"What's the matter?"

You blinked, glancing over at Shouta as his voice brought you out of your thoughts. The two of you had just left after getting dinner with some of your UA colleagues and were walking home. At some point, after a few rounds of drinks, Midnight had turned her suggestive persona in Shouta's direction. You'd also had a drink or two at this point and couldn't help but leave the table, using the excuse of needing the restroom to step away and cool off for a while. The attempt to calm down didn't work, and you'd remained quiet and closed off for the rest of the evening.

"Nothing," you weren't very convincing, you knew, but you still tried. "Nothing's the matter."

"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully, not saying anything for a few minutes as you continued on your walk. But that didn't mean he was dropping the subject, "you've been quiet since Kayama started in on her antics."

Your mouth twisted into a soft grimace when he hit the nail on the head, "...she was just joking," you said, something you reassured yourself of many a time.

"She was," he agreed quietly, "but it still bothered you."

It wasn't a chastisement, merely an observation, but you still felt embarrassed. You didn't look at him, a horrid blush burning on your face as your silence answered for you.

His hand closed around yours, the familiar warmth a comforting balm to your nerves. "I'll tell her to stop. Joke, too." He really it all figured out, didn't he?

"No," you disagreed, and damn it, why was your throat tight? Why did your eyes burn? "I'm being- I'm just being childish."

"You're not being childish," slowly, Shouta stopped walking, pulling you to a stop as well. He used a gentle hand to guide you into looking up at him, and all you saw was his calm patience that you adored so much. "It's making you uncomfortable, so it's worth addressing."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, the tenderness of the action, of his words, coaxed a few tears out of you. You sniffled, nodding quietly. You still felt so embarrassed, but a part of you felt so relieved to finally have it out in the open, and to have Shouta take it seriously.

He brought you into a hug, and you pressed your face into his chest, the press of his hand resting on the back of your head grounding you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Don't be," he said reassuringly.

(Requests)

#mha x reader #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #fem!reader #female reader #laser writes #lowkey i feel bad throwing midnight and joke under the bus like that #i honestly think they wouldn't be flirty with someone if they were taken #even jokingly #but you know #for the sake of the story #also i'm still on my unhinged!reader for dabi agenda #it's just so fun

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queenbee298 · 4 months ago

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Poppy playtime x Gender Neutral reader! “Finally Free” Part 1

I feel like making a story on poppy playtime chapter 4 like if we escaped with Doey, Poppy, Kissy Missy, Yarnaby, and the mini critters. Like if you take them to your home and gave them a real dinner. P.S. don’t judge this story, this is my first story I’m writing on this app. But let’s begin.

——————————————————————————

It was all over…It was finally…You escaped the factory… The fighting, the death, the chaos, the pain, and horrors of the Playtime Factory was over.

Poppy: “It’s all over… We escaped the factory!”

Poppy shouted. Happy tears falling from her face as she hugged Kissy. Kissy hugged Poppy backed. She cried tears of joy, evening if she was always smiling, now that she was out of the factory and away with the Prototype, she felt happy and free.

Yarnaby rubbed himself on you and purred as you patted his head. You saved him from nearly burning to death and now he was loyal to you.

Dogday, who now had his legs, held you hand.

Dogday: “Thank you, angel. I couldn’t be more grateful.”

Y/n: “No problem, DD.

Y/N: “Now it’s all over. How are you feeling, Doey?”

You question your colorful friend, but he didn’t answer. Millions of thoughts ran through his mind. He was free, away from the Doctor, the Prototype, and now he’s with his friends.

The children possessing the giant mount of dough were over the moon knowing they were free from the factory. Tears fell from his faces and the little critter’s attention were on their doughy friend.

Bobby Bearhug toy: “Doey, are you okay?”

Doey snapped out of thoughts and looked down to the little critters.

Doey: “Oh! I’m fine. I’m just so happy to be out of the factory.”

Hoppy Hopscotch toy: “Where do we go now?”

Doey paused. He didn’t have know what to do after they escaped, but before he could answer, you spoke.

Y/n: “You guys can live with me.”

The toy’s attention was on you.

Poppy: “Y-Y/N? Are you serious?”

Now let’s continue

Y/N: “Yes, I don’t want you guys to get hurt or the be separated from each other. Plus you’ve all been through so much in the factory. I want you all to have a real home.”

The toys were speechless. It was silent for a minute or two. The toys squeezed you into a big hug. You were taken aback from the hug, but it was nice.

Poppy: “You really are angel.”

Dogday: “Our Angel.”

After a minute of the hug, you broke free.

Y/N: “C’mon, let’s go home.”

You took out your car keys, that you somehow didn’t lose in the factory. You unlocked the car and hopped into the car with Kissy, Poppy, Dogday, and the mini smiling critters in the back. Doey sat in the passenger seat between you. Now to let’s go home. The car ride home was interesting.

The mini critters were looking out the window, gazing at the scenery of the sunset. The mini critters were little children and happen seen daylight in years, Dogday, Poppy, Kissy, and Yarnaby were fast asleep, holding each other. Before you escaped the factory you managed to patch up Kissy’s injuries when you were in Safe Haven. Doey’s was looking at you, with a frown on his face.

Y/N: “Doey, what’s on your mind?”

Doey: “Nothing, I’m just… I’m just want to say thank you. For letting us live with you and helping us escape the factory, Angel.”

Y/N: “No problem, big fella.”

20 minutes later, you were home. You had a house in the woods, away from civilization. It was big enough for your new family.

Y/N: “Home sweet home. Guys wake up, we’re here.”

You unlocked the car and you and Doey hopped out the car.

Kissy, Yarnaby, Poppy, and Dogday woke up. You opened the door for Kissy, Yarnaby, and Poppy and the mini critters. They stared at your house.

Poppy: “It’s so beautiful.”

Kissy nodded her head in agreement.

Y/N: “Thanks guys. Come guys, let’s go.”

You and your new family walked to the door. You unlocked the door and entered your home. The toys looked around your house, seeing pictures of you with family and some friends, a lovely living room, and more. The mini critters ran around the living room, bouncing on the couch and staring at your pictures.

Doey: “You’re house is so pretty, buddy!”

Dogday: “It fells so comfortable.”

Poppy: “I’ve never seen a house so beautiful.”

Y/N: “ Thanks guys. Now I need to put somethings together, so why don’t you get make yourselves at home?”

You took the TV remote and changed to nickelodeon. SpongeBob SquarePants was playing and the little critter, Dogday, Poppy, Kissy, Yarnaby, and Doey sat front of TV. While they were distracted, you went to the kitchen. You knew the toys were hungry after all those years in the factory.

You looked in your refrigerator and saw there was not enough food for all of them. You sighed, wondering what to do, but you saw a pizza flyer on your fridge and decided some pizza wouldn’t hurt. You called the number on the flyer and ordered 2 large pizza’s. Your pizza would be ready in 30 minutes.You went up upstairs to prepare the money and a tip for the pizza man.

You looked back to see the toys still watching TV and singing to the theme song.

You went back into the living room with the toys and brought some snacks. Sometime passed and some critters were still watching TV, Kissy and Poppy were talking. And Doey and Dogday were playing with some critters. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The toys froze in fear, not knowing who or what it was. Doey and Dogday stood up to protect you and the toys. Yarnaby stood up and snarled at the door. You stood up knowing who it was.

Poppy: “Y/N! Wait! You don’t know how that could be!”

Y/N: “Relax, it’s just the pizza man.”

Toys: “Pizza?” Kissy and Yarnaby tilted their heads in confusion.

Y/n: “I thought we could have some pizza for dinner.”

You opened the door, paid, grabbed your pizza’s, and headed for the kitchen and the toys followed. You prepared plates, drinks and napkins. You set plates of pizza and glasses of juice.

Y/N: “Come and eat guys.”

Kissy, Doey, and Dogday sat on the chairs, while you placed books on the chairs for Poppy and the mini critters. Yarnaby was bigger than the table, so he sat down on the floor.

Y/N: “Bon appétit, guys.”

The toys begin eating and I swear they were hungrier than you thought. They demolished the pizza. The mini critters were so happy they got pizza after all those years in the factory. Kissy and Yarnaby enjoyed the pizza too, but it freaked you out to see just how sharp their teeth were.

Doey: “ Now that really hits the spot. This is so more better than the piano dinosaur.”

Poppy: “Angel, I can’t even thank you enough for all of this. Saving us, letting us into your home, feeding us. You’re a true angel.”

Y/N: “Thank you, Poppy. You guys deserve this and I promise I’ll keep you guys safe.”

#ppt 4 #poppy playtime doey #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime kissy missy #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime spoilers #poppy playtime safe haven #poppy playtime 4 x reader #doey the doughman #kissy missy #smiling critters #poppy playtime yarnaby #finally free au

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sinning-23 · 1 year ago

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Parenthood

OPLA Dilfs with their s/o and their moody teen! Uhhh idk what possessed me to write this but here we go!

D/N= Daughters Name

S/N = Sons Name

Shanks

-Your daughter is literally a witty bundle of joy! She's may not be moody but she definitely had a sarcastic air about her. (Shanks think she gets it from you a little bit)

-She's fast on her feet but also has her pouty moments, most of which occur when she’s told to complete her chores and she'd much rather pretend to steer the ship and watch the water for sea life.

-The most she'll do is roll her eyes and anger her eyebrows but will clear her throat when you use your mom stare on her to get her to 'fix her face'

-"Roll them again and they'll get stuck like that! Now go do what your father asked!" you snap, seeing her scurry away.

-She rarely gives Shanks attitude but when she does she tries to have it come across as joking.

-"(D/N), take these to-" "Sure dad I'll give you a hand.”

“……”

“I’m telling your mother” he chuckles, the color draining from her face.

“NO WAIT!”

Buggy

-Your son is literally a menace and just as moody as his father, if not worse. You have to deal with constant attitude, eye rolling, and the frequent mumble under the breath.

-Buggy usually catches it and is quick to flick the boys forehead and that also results in a scuffle between the two.

-"Tell your husband to get off my DICK!" S/N shouts as Buggy chases him around the arena.

"WATCH YOU MOUTH YOU LITTLE SHIT! And quite trying to turn your mother on me!" Buggy shouts back, various body parts launching at the blue haired teen.

-Sometims it feels like youre dealing with two children because in the end each of them has and ear being pinched between your delicate fingers.

-"S/N, watch your mouth. Just because you’re a sailor doesn't mean yo need to swear like one. Buggy, darling." You begin sweetly before pinching harder,

"STOP PROVOKING OUR SON TO ANGER!"

Mihawk

-The twins have...rather manageable attitudes when they’re reminded to calm down.

-Hell, when they were born they’d practically sneer at you if their feeding or nap time was off by a milisecond.

-Your son and daughter look closer to you accept the obvious yellow eyes. (You didn't really stand a chance when it came to the eyes,)

-Your son is more subtle with his attitude, giving jabbs to his father while your daughter just flat out doesn't give a shit.

-One day, durring an outting to stock your home with more goods, the twins noticed how everyone that lived on the village you currently reside don sort of....stared and judged them. of course they could care less but tey couldn't help but shoot insults in quiet whispers.

"She's not nearly as alluring to be this witless." S/N states, following behind you but keeping pace with his twin sister.

"If only her mother had swallowed." D/N adds.

You choke at that last one.

-Both you and Mihawk ge your fair share of attitude but all it tasks if the threat of an intense and bone breaking training sessions and all attitudes simply cease.

#x reader #one piece #reader is black #one piece live action #i don't care he's hot #headcannons #one piece x reader #opla #smut #hes so hot #shanks is a daddy #opla shanks x reader #one piece shanks x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy #buggy the clown x reader #opla mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader

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witchhkitty222 · 1 month ago

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Altitude, Afterglow & Accidents- oneshot

Tony Stark x reader

summary: Tony Stark thought he’d seen it all—until he fell for a twenty-three-year-old who made him feel younger, harder, and a whole lot more wrecked than any battle ever had. From glass walls to penthouse floors, steamy showers to sweaty bedsheets, their chemistry is relentless—and she’s insatiable. While he’s feeling the years in his bones, she’s dragging him into round after round with a wicked smile and an even filthier mouth. And just when he thinks he’s survived the night? She’s waking him up with her mouth and riding him midair on his private jet—until Pepper Potts walks in and gets more than just turbulence. And Tony? He’s the happiest exhausted old man in the world.

warnings: explicit sexual content (multiple penetrative sex scenes, oral sex – f receiving and m receiving, semi-public sex, shower sex, and morning-after sex), age gap (Tony in his 40s, reader is 23), praise kink, dirty talk, mild D/s undertones

wordcount: 4k

"To us," Tony said, clinking his glass against Y/n’s, amber liquid catching the light.

The deal was closed. Stark Clean Energy Initiative had just partnered with the UN on a global scale—contracts signed, champagne poured, and the city below buzzing far less than Y/n’s skin.

She was glowing—black silk dress clinging to her like a second skin, her heels tossed somewhere across the penthouse. Tony couldn't keep his eyes off her. Twenty-three, brilliant, bold, wicked in the way she teased him with nothing but a look. And completely his.

He didn’t remember crossing the room. All he remembered was her back hitting the wall, his mouth on hers, hands pushing that perfect dress up, and her laugh—breathy, sweet, and aching for him.

“You know what I want for dessert?” she whispered.

“What?” he murmured against her neck.

“You.”

He didn’t stand a chance.

The first round happened right there, against the glass wall with New York City as the backdrop—her leg hooked around his waist, her moans muffled by his mouth. She came fast, from the thrill of it, from the way he muttered, “So damn good, baby, just like that,” into her ear.

He came with a groan, deeper than the skyline, his grip possessive on her hips. And yet—her eyes still sparkled with heat.

Round Two: The Bed

The second time was slower. In bed, lights low, her head thrown back as he moved inside her with practiced control. She wrapped herself around him like silk, kissing his neck, whispering, “You feel so good, Tony…”

He watched her fall apart again, her lips parted, cheeks flushed. “My perfect girl,” he breathed. “God, I love watching you come for me.”

And when she begged for more, he gave it to her.

Round Three: The Floor

The third time? That was on the floor beside the bed. Clothes scattered, breaths ragged, her voice breaking as he held her legs up, hips snapping hard enough to make her whimper.

He was panting, sweat slicking his back, her nails dragging down his chest. “You still with me, old man?” she teased, giggling when he thrust harder.

He didn’t answer with words—just a growl and a kiss so deep she forgot her name for a second.

When he finally collapsed beside her, both of them drenched in sweat and satisfaction, he was sure he was done.

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

Steam curled around them in the bathroom, fogging the glass. Tony leaned his forearm against the tile, eyes closed, trying to regulate his breathing.

Three rounds.

Three.

He was in his forties. Not superhuman.

And yet—

He felt her. Y/n’s soft hands trailing up his chest, her body pressed to his back, lips teasing the wet skin of his shoulder.

“You’re quiet,” she whispered.

Tony huffed out a laugh, eyes still closed. “I’m recovering.”

“Still hard,” she murmured, fingers wrapping around him. And he was.

She grinned when he cursed under his breath.

“You’re killing me,” he rasped.

“You’re the one who built a suit of armor in a cave,” she said, sliding in front of him. “But you can’t handle your 23-year-old girlfriend being a little needy after three rounds?”

He looked down at her, soaked hair, glistening skin, pupils blown wide with lust. His heart clenched—and not from exertion.

“I’m getting old, sweetheart,” he groaned. “How many rounds do you want, woman?”

She stepped closer, fingers sliding along his hips. “You don’t have to move a single muscle,” she whispered, kissing up his throat. “Let me ride you. Let me make you feel good.”

He gave her that half-surrendered, half-destroyed look he always wore right before she ruined him.

“Please?” she whispered. “One more. Let me be your good girl.”

Round Four: The Undoing

Tony barely made it to the bed.

He laid down, propped up by pillows, chest rising and falling fast. Y/n straddled him slowly, teasing, dragging her slick folds over him until he cursed.

She sank down with a sigh, both of them moaning at once.

“Fuck—Y/n,” he gasped. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

She began to move, slow and hard, watching his jaw go slack.

“That’s it, babe,” she whispered. “Let me ride you. Let me make you come.”

His hands gripped her thighs, barely holding on. “My good girl,” he choked. “Always wants to ride me… Look at you. So greedy for me.”

She bounced harder, each movement drawing a strangled moan from him. “I love how you feel,” she said. “Love making you lose control.”

His head fell back. “You do. God, you do. Always know how to wreck me, don’t you?”

She leaned down, kissing his jaw. “Say it again.”

“You’re my good girl,” he panted. “The best I’ve ever had. Can’t think straight when you’re on top of me like this.”

She clenched around him, dragging another moan out of him.

“You ruin me,” he whispered. “Every damn time.”

When he came, it was with her name on his lips like a confession, hands gripping her hips like he never wanted her to leave. She followed a second later, body trembling, falling against him with a broken whimper.

They lay there in the silence after, limbs tangled, breath slowing.

He stroked her back, lips pressed to her temple. “I should be terrified of how much I want you,” he murmured. “But I’m too damn tired.”

She giggled against his chest. “Tired or satisfied?”

“Both.” He kissed her hair. “Completely gone for you.”

She smiled and whispered, “Good.”

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

It was barely past 7 a.m. The New York skyline was bathed in early gold, the floor-to-ceiling windows catching soft morning light.

Tony stirred under the sheets, still blissed-out and heavy-limbed from the night before. His muscles ached in a good way—the kind of ache that reminded him exactly how many rounds they’d gone. Y/n was still curled up next to him, her thigh draped across his hips, her breathing slow and warm.

Or so he thought.

Because then he felt it—her hand, slow and featherlight, sliding beneath the sheets.

His brows furrowed, lips twitching with a lazy smirk. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep.

She didn’t say a word.

She just kissed his hipbone.

And then?

Her mouth was on him—wet, warm, perfect.

Tony’s breath caught. His hand instinctively went to her head under the covers, fingers threading through her hair.

“Oh my god, woman…” His voice cracked with half a laugh, half a groan. “You’re insatiable.”

She sucked slow, steady, like she had all the time in the world. A little swirl of tongue here, a deep drag of her lips there. Her rhythm was cruel and beautiful—enough to drive him insane, not fast enough to let him finish.

He pushed the blanket off, wanting to see her.

Her eyes met his as she licked a thick stripe up the underside of him, mouth already wet, chin slick with spit. She looked proud of herself—bedhead, flushed cheeks, morning glow and all.

“You tryna kill me first thing in the morning?” he asked, breath stuttering.

She just smirked and took him back in—deeper this time, hollowing her cheeks, one hand stroking the base, the other gripping his thigh to hold him down.

“Fuck, Y/n…” His hips twitched. “You suck me like you missed me and I’ve been inside you all damn night.”

She moaned around him in answer—and the vibration made his eyes roll back.

When she finally let him go with a loud, messy pop, he was panting. “You wanna get on top, or you wanna finish what you started?”

“Both,” she said sweetly, voice husky and full of wicked delight.

She crawled up his body, kissed his chest, his neck, then straddled his hips, already dripping wet. He felt the heat of her against him, and his hands flew to her waist.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “You’re already soaked.”

“You make me like this,” she whispered, grinding down slowly until he was fully inside her. “You make me crazy, Tony.”

Her hips started slow, grinding and lifting, then dropping fast enough to make them both groan. Skin slapped skin, wet and obscene and addictive. Her fingers dug into his chest for leverage as she rode him like she owned him.

"That’s it," he groaned, voice deep and cracked. "Fuck yourself on me, baby. Take what you need. Look at you, fucking milking me."

She moaned, louder, her back arching.

“My perfect girl,” he growled, gripping her ass. “Always so tight, so wet. You love riding your old man, huh?”

“Yes,” she cried out. “Yes, Tony—love how you feel—love when you talk like that—”

“You want praise, princess? You’ve got it. You fuck me better than anyone ever has. You ruin me. You make me want to never leave this bed again.”

She was losing rhythm, legs shaking, head thrown back.

Tony took over, thrusting up into her hard, his grip punishing and desperate.

“Come for me,” he demanded. “Come on, sweetheart, be my good girl and come.”

She did—loud, trembling, collapsing onto him as he followed, groaning her name into her shoulder.

Later:

They finally made it to the kitchen—barely. Y/n wore one of his t-shirts and no pants. Tony looked like he’d been hit by a sex hurricane, but the grin on his face was pure satisfaction.

He watched her pull cold orange juice from the fridge, barefoot and glowing.

“I’m gonna need a wheelchair by lunch,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw.

She laughed. “You love it.”

“I do.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck. “I’m the happiest old man in the world. If this is how you celebrate, we need to close a deal every week.”

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

Tony leaned back in his plush leather seat, drink in hand, smirking like he owned the sky.

Because he kind of did.

Y/n sat on his lap in a soft white hoodie (his), bare thighs straddling him, and the kind of smirk that said she was up to no good. They were supposed to be flying to a summit in Geneva. Pepper was somewhere in the cabin working. Happy was up front. And Tony?

Well, Tony was distracted.

“You’re squirmy,” he murmured against her neck. “Can’t sit still, huh?”

“I’m not wearing panties,” she whispered in his ear.

He froze.

She grinned.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be,” he said, eyes already darkening.

“Maybe I just want to ride my man thirty-five thousand feet above the earth,” she whispered, grinding down on him, slow and dangerous.

The belt was off. His pants were undone. And before either of them could think better of it, he was inside her—bare, thick, deep. She gasped, clutching his shoulders, bouncing slowly on his lap as the engines hummed beneath them.

It was dirty.

Sloppy wet kisses. Her hips grinding in lazy circles. The kind of filthy, slow, toe-curling sex that said we’ve been doing this all day and still can’t get enough. The leather creaked beneath them. His hand slid up her hoodie, gripping the curve of her ass, helping her bounce harder.

Tony growled, low and dangerous. “You like this? Riding me while Pepper’s ten feet away? You’re such a little freak, baby.”

Y/n whimpered, trying not to moan too loud—but the slap of skin was undeniable now.

“You’re gonna make me embarrass myself,” she panted.

“No, you’re gonna make me embarrass myself,” he muttered. “My girlfriend riding my dick on my own damn jet like she runs this place.”

And then—

The cabin door slid open.

“Tony,” she gasped, hands up. “I��OH MY GOD.”

Tony didn’t flinch. Y/n squeaked and buried her face in his shoulder, her whole body frozen in shame and shock.

“Pepper,” he said casually, “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It’s exactly what it looks like!” she snapped, stumbling backward. “I—OH MY GOD—Tony!”

He just grinned, still buried inside Y/n, arms wrapped around her hips like she was his and the interruption was barely an inconvenience. “You interrupted. That’s bad manners.”

“I’m—I’m leaving,” Pepper stammered, already backpedaling. “Get your shit together.”

The cabin door slammed shut.

And then—

Silence.

Tony tilted his head to whisper against Y/n’s ear. “You okay?”

Her cheeks were on fire, still hiding in his neck. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

He chuckled low, palm sliding up her thigh. “You wanna stop?”

She didn’t answer right away. She lifted her head slowly. Her lips were pink and parted, eyes glazed with the kind of wild adrenaline that only came from being caught mid-thrust. And under the blush?

She was still turned on.

He raised his brows at her, the smug bastard. “Keep going, baby.”

She swallowed. “Can I?”

“Ride me,” he murmured, voice rough with lust. “Right now. Don’t even think about her. Just think about how full you feel. Show me how much you want it.”

Her hips gave the tiniest experimental grind—slow, gentle, testing the waters.

Tony groaned.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “There’s my girl.”

She started moving again, shaky at first, like she couldn’t believe she was doing this after what had just happened. But her rhythm came back fast—rising and dropping with those filthy little gasps, legs tightening around his hips.

“Look at you,” he muttered, hands sliding under her hoodie to grab her ass. “Still fucking me after we got caught. You’re so fucking nasty.”

She moaned softly, hips rocking harder now.

“You like this,” he said, groaning when she clenched around him. “You love knowing someone saw you like this. Being so damn good for me you couldn’t even stop.”

Her movements were quicker now, head tossed back, hair sticking to her neck.

Tony’s grip was brutal—pulling her down harder with every bounce.

“Fucking ride me, Y/n. Take it.”

“I’m trying—” she cried out.

“You’re doing it. You’re ruining me,” he breathed. “You’re gonna make me come like this, on my own goddamn jet.”

She whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Come with me,” he ordered. “Let it go. I want to feel you lose it all over me.”

And when she came, it was almost silent—except for her broken little breath and the slap of skin and Tony’s deep, wrecked groan as he followed.

They sat there for a moment—sweaty, breathless, totally gone.

And then, still panting, Y/n whispered, “We’re never flying commercial again.”

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

Pepper burst into the cockpit lounge where Happy sat sipping coffee, headphones in. She yanked them off.

“Happy. Happy. I just walked in on—on them.”

He blinked. “Walked in on who?”

“Tony and Y/n. Having sex. On the seat. Like animals.”

Happy choked. “On the jet?”

“YES. And not just normal sex, Happy. Like—like she was on top, and there was sweat, and he said things like ‘my girlfriend riding my dick like she owns the place.’”

Happy stared.

Pepper leaned in, visibly shaken. “We used to have sex, you know. Me and Tony. It was... it was fine. Normal. Respectable.”

“Respectable,” Happy echoed.

“This? This was pornographic. I didn’t even know Tony could make those noises.”

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