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ohmybueckers · 26 days ago

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𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴: 𝘱.𝘣 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

summary: you and paige make a bet to see who can go the longest without initiating sex. much to both of your displeasure, neither one of you are willing to go down without a fight themes/warnings: smut with very little plot, fingering (r receiving), oral (p receiving), strap-on use, exhibitionism if your squint (not really though just adding it to be safe), sexting, breeding kink (sort of) word count: 5.6k note: yes i wrote and proofread this in less than 24 hours. no, the timeline of this story does not make much sense with actual UCONN schedules. please suspend ur disbelief there, this is basically just filth xoxoxo enjoy

It all started on a Friday night in Paige’s apartment. The two of you laid on top of her comforter browsing places for a potential upcoming weekend trip. Dating one of the most prominent players in women’s college basketball was not for the weak, with the two of you often having to piece your busy schedules together like a puzzle to find enough time for a simple dinner or even time to coexist together. But occasionally, the universe (or Geno) granted you a gift in the form of time off for Paige. This meant you were able to disappear off to a romantic getaway with your girl for a bit. If you two could pick a place, that is.

“We could go to Miami?” You suggested, reading off a list on your phone. Paige leaned in to look, lightly tapping the side of your head with hers. Her arm rested around your shoulders, her hand drawing circles on your arm every once in a while. Her limb had fallen asleep about 10 minutes prior, but she would never tell you that.

“Don’t we wanna go somewhere a little more romantic?” Paige questioned, a point you failed to consider. “Plus you know I’m gonna get sunburnt on the first day.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re sunburnt.” You giggled in response, remembering the various vacation photos you’ve received over the years with Paige’s skin in ranging shades of red. Apparently, she didn’t seem to think so, as she looked at you pointedly with an eyebrow raised. You huffed, “Fine, what are your ideas.”

As Paige moves to unlock her phone, the two of you are interrupted by a sharp soundcoming from outside of her room. Paige’s face shifted to confusion at the same time as yours, the two of you sitting up on the bed as if that would help you detect the sound faster. Just as you were about to ask if Allie or Jana had decided to rearrange the furniture, you heard a clearer sound: high pitched moans, followed by a series of bang, bang, bang. You watched your girlfriend realize at the same time that these sounds were most certainly coming from the apartment above hers, sending you both into a fit of roaring laughter.

“Oh my God.” Paige chokes, throwing her head back and grabbing your arm to stabilize herself.

“I really hope we’re not that loud.” You cracked a joke, not expecting anything of it. That is until Paige looks at you in a way that screams “you can’t be serious” and you can feel your heart drop. “Paige, why are you looking at me like that?”

Paige bit her lip, nodding a few times for courage before saying, “Jana said she’s definitely heard us a few times.”

You groan loudly, flopping on the bed once more. “Kill me,” you plead, voice muffled by the pillows.

“I like the noises you make.” Your girlfriend comforts you between her laughs, rubbing your back. You stand, feeling as though pacing in her room will help work off some of the complete and utter embarrassment you were feeling right now. Sure, you knew you and Paige weren’t exactly the quietest. But receiving confirmation that others had heard you in your most vulnerable state was humbling to say the least.

“It’s not my fault I’m dating the horniest girl on the planet,” you quipped in an effort to make yourself feel better. You watch as your girlfriends jaw drops, her head cocking to the side.

“Woah,” she all but yells, her head shaking. “I’m the horny one?”

Her expression is so comical, with her eyes practically bulging out of her head, you can’t hep but crack a smile as you defend your position. “You initiate constantly.”

“You initiate just as much as I do! Plus all those photos you send me on away games.”

You blush, remembering all the nights alone where the bed seems just a little too cold without your tall blonde girlfriend by your side. Nights where you open the drawer of various lingerie you and/or Paige had picked out throughout the years. It was a winning move all around: you got to feel sexy with every snap you sent to Paige, both of you got off to it, and it usually meant that your sex after she returned was even better. “Yeah, because I know you like them.”

“There’s no way I’m hornier than you, bro.” She throws her hands up. To be fair, as you watch her sit on her bed legs spread apart, donning a grey Nike hoodie and black sweats, you think she may have a point. This doesn’t stop an idea from popping in your head.

You sauntered over to her, legs straddling one of hers as she looked at you curiously. You sat yourself down, hands reaching under the hoodie and lightly tracing at bare skin. “Okay, prove it.”

“Huh?” She asked, her voice gravelly. I got the advantage already, you think to yourself mischievously.

“First person to initiate sex loses.” You propose, expecting an absolutely not from her. To your surprise, she seems even more intrigued.

“Ok, what does the winner get?”

You think for a moment. “Bragging rights,” you decide, adding. “and the choice of movie on movie night for the next month.” Though you both cherish your movie nights when you’re able to sneak them into the week, trying to agree on a movie is a battle.

“Deal,” Paige sticks her hand out, acting like some sort of businessman. You play along, accepting her firm grip, which she used to pull you in closer, her gaze still roaming your body. “and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Her head moved closer and closer. You could feel her breath on your skin, sending goosebumps up your arm. She peppered a few light kisses on the back of your ear before whispering, “I think we both know who’s going to win this, baby.”

Two days after the bet

This may be the worst idea you’ve ever had.

In the hours after you first proposed this little competition, the rules as to what counted as initiating became more explicit. Kissing, grinding, and the like were all okay as long as third base was not crossed. Should be easy enough, you thought, recognizing that you could do a majority of your favorite acts of intimacy without forfeiting.

What you failed to consider is just how much more appealing sex was when you knew you couldn’t have it. Little things from seeing a sliver of Paige’s toned torso as her shirt rode up reaching for the top shelf to how her hair got wavy after she had taken a post-practice shower got a reaction out of you these days . You were going insane, and yet your girlfriend appeared to be cool and collected. You truly should have expected this. There was no universe where Paige Bueckers wouldn’t be competitive, even over some dumb shit like this.

So when you woke up in her bed, approximately 30 minutes before her alarm to get ready for the bus taking her to a game in New York, you planned to change that. Gently loosening the grip she had around you, you reach you head up to pepper kisses on her cheeks, watching her stir before blinking her eyes open. Once they are able to somewhat focus on you, she offers a tired smile. “Mmmm, good morning to you too.”

Her hand cups your face, connecting you in a sweet kiss. You got her exactly where you want her. You let yourself melt into the kiss for just a moment before swinging a leg around to straddle her. Though the blonde was never much of a morning person, she suddenly seemed a lot more awake. Reaching for the bottom of Paige’s crewneck that you borrowed (stole), you pulled it over your head before throwing it to the ground with the rest of Paige’s clothes. This action sent Paige’s line of vision straight to your breasts, which you kneaded in your hands as you lightly ground down on her pajama covered crotch.

“Shit, Y/N,” She was seemingly mesmerized, unable to resist and you lean down and capture her lips once more, both of you a lot needier than before. Her tongue slips in, and it takes everything in you to pull away long enough to nibble at her ear.

“We got time before you have to make your bus.”

Her hands reach around to feel your waist, before coming back around to cup your tits. “Oh really?”

You nod, humming as you feel your victory is imminent. “You gonna give in, Bueckers?”

“Oh hell no,” her eyes widen, her movement in her hands stopping abruptly before removing contact entirely, a move you were less than pleased by. Still on top of her, you raise your eyebrows, an action which she returns. “What, you seriously thought I was gonna lose from that?”

Damn, she really didn’t have to be that harsh. “Ouch.”

Her laughter comes to a halt, her expression softening as she brushes your hair out of your face. “You were so sexy, you always are.” She gushes. “But I told you; if anyone here is losing this challenge, it’s you.”

You whip your leg back around, moving to a standing position and grabbing the discarded crewneck before throwing it back on. “Whatever,” you sulk.

“It’s a shame, too.” Paige follows your lead, moving to a standing position and grabbing your waist, making it abundantly clear just how much taller she is. She puts a finger under your chin, lifting so you’re forced to make eye contact. “I was getting real excited about being inside you.”

You have to physically hold yourself back from shivering at the comment, not wanting to show Paige just how much pressure was between your legs. “Go pack,” you crack a small smile, gesturing to her almost empty duffle.

Six days after the bet

Paige was off at an away game, this time much farther than just a state away. This required her to spend two nights away from Storrs, making the challenge just a little bit easier. Sure, you missed your girlfriend. But considering the circumstances it was nice to not have such a close reminder of how much you wanted to jump her bones.

You kept yourself busy the days she was gone with classes, extracurriculars, and time spent with friends at the student union. By the time you got back to your apartment the second night she was gone, you were completely wiped out, midterm week beginning to take a toll on you. Upon checking your notifications waiting for you while your phone was on do not disturb, you spot a snapchat notification from Paige. Sitting on your bed, you open it.

She’s sat in what appears to be her hotel room, snapback hat covering the top of her head. Her tongue is all the way out, paired with the caption “Miss you my sweet girl. Can’t wait for munch madness.”

While on any other day you would only be hyper focused on the pure absurdity of the photo, her tongue and the implications in the message had a downright embarrassing effect on you. Preparing to send back a more normal photo, your eyes make contact with the top drawer of your dresser, reserved for very specific articles of clothing. Two could play at that game.

Your red set had always been her favorite. You bought it at a smaller boutique towards the beginning of your relationship. Paige went so feral over how it hugged and accentuated every curve of yours the first night you wore it. You brought this set out on rare occasions, but figured this was enough of a reason to dust it off.

You knew exactly what angles she liked, showing off your body while disguising your face just enough to feel comfortable sending it. So when Paige sent back a chat which read "You’re gonna be the death of me,” you relished in the small victory you reached over her.

What are you thinking about? You send back, which Paige reads immediately.

How good you’d look sucking my cock in that, pretty girl.

The message nearly makes you choke on your own spit. It wasn’t every day that Paige brought out the strap. Many days, the two of you preferred intimacy just before bed, with Paige trailing her fingers under your pajama pants and you eating her out under the covers. But in some occasions, whether it be moments after a win or other times Paige was feeling particularly cocky, best believe she was ready to have you bent over seven different ways.

Want it so bad. You almost cringe at just how desperate you sound, but who could blame you?

Paige’s bitmoji popped up and down a few times, pondering before sending; Going to bed soon. See you tomorrow ;)

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you groan as your head hits your pillow. If you couldn’t have the real thing right now, you would at least settle for Paige talking (texting?) you through an orgasm. More frustrated than when you started, you reach a hand into your lace underwear, seemingly gone to waste.

And when Paige returns the next day and is able to stray from touching you outside of a quick makeout session, you wonder whether or not this bet was even worth it - you would be perfectly fine sitting through Disney movies for the next month if it meant your girlfriend could at least fuck you afterwards. But more than anything, you were still playing for your pride. After all, you knew this was the kind of shit that Paige would never let you forget.

Two weeks after the bet

After your failed seduction via Snapchat, you ruled it wasn’t worth it to try to get Paige to fold, and that your energy was much better used in not getting yourself to give in. Thankfully, your girlfriend had been booked and busy with two more games, one of which was a home game you attended. When it got to the point where Paige’s arguments with the refs were beginning to turn you on instead of simply make you laugh, you knew you were in deep, deep shit.

There were very, very few times you were forced to resort to masturbation typically, Not that there was any shame in it, its just that you always had Paige to help you out. Even if her schedule forced you to wait a few extra hours or even a day to get your release, it was a negotiation you were willing to take. Even though you knew your own body and what you liked, Paige seemed to have your body memorized, knowing just how much pressure to put on your clit and the precise second to speed up. Masturbation was essentially reserved for when Paige was physically not in the same state, and even then she helped where she could (as was to your detriment last week).

However with Paige gone at a practice on a Friday night and your friends all refusing to go out in the pouring rain, you were left alone in your one bedroom apartment and bored. That combined with the arousal that had been pooling inside you for weeks now was a lethal combination.

You tried to starve it off, you really did. You left the door unlocked for Paige later, just in case practice got off on time (it nearly never did) and she had time to swing by your place. A little part of you hoped she would break tonight, give you exactly what you needed. But at this point, the chances of that happening were sounding less and less likely, even to the most delusional section of your mind.

So you spent your night eating leftovers and binge watching your current Netflix fixation, trying to ignore how you would much rather be spending your night. Your legs rub together in your bed, soft and smooth from your nighttime shower routine. Pressing your thighs together, you sigh, unable to resist. Fuck it.

After shutting your laptop and placing it on your bedside table, you remove your pajama pants, tossing them to the floor. You could feel yourself dripping even from outside your underwear, breaking any last reservations you had on indulging in self pleasure. Reaching in, you put pressure on your clit, immediately melting into the touch.

Unknown to you, practice for UConn didn’t get out on time this night - it got out early, an uncharacteristic move for Geno who felt that the players would be better off resting their bodies before their upcoming games after a long week of practice than another hour of running the same drills. Though normally Paige would use this extra time to go to Ted’s with the rest of the team, she was more than happy to return home to you - even if this stupid bet was still going on.

The truth is, Paige had been just as wound up all week. If the two of you weren’t equally as competitive, she likely would have forfeited in the first three days. Honestly, its not like she would necessarily disagree that she was the hornier one out of the two of you - I mean, anyone who saw you would be. It was the definitiveness in your voice that got to her. She always loved proving people wrong.

She knew your door was unlocked, but gave it a light tap just to notify you of her presence. Normally this would prompt a “come in” or “it’s open”, but this time she was met with nothing except for the muffled sounds of your neighbors pregaming. Curious, she opened the door, walking into your living room with a call, “babe?”

Though you heard her, your brain was slow to process, too focused on the sweet relief you were getting. As you heard footsteps pad towards your room, you finally developed enough sense to slow your breathing, about to will yourself to remove your hand when the door swung open, all six feet of your sweaty, rain soaked girlfriend standing in the arch.

For a beat, the two of you looked at each other like deer in headlights, your hand still in your panties and her jaw on the floor She noticed the same moment you did, her eyes trailing as you quickly removed the digits.

Paige slowly set her backpack on the floor, blue eyes still never leaving you. Her gaze was filled with something you couldn’t quite detect - was it anger? She made a slow stride over to you, her hands shoved in her pockets, and you realize just how dilated her pupils had become. Nope, definitely not anger. More like pure arousal, mixed with admiration.

“Keep going,” Her voice is low, accent thick. You want to question it, but she adds on a,“Please.”

Shocked yet intrigued, you slowly trail your hand back down, tracing your nipple and lightly kneading the soft tissue of your breast. Paige licked her lips, watching the show you were putting on intently. Her pupils dilated as you finally make your way to your cotton panties, hooking your fingers under the sides and pulling them down just enough to give yourself more mobility and add more visual appeal for Paige. Paige hardly had time to be embarrassed by how much of an effect your wet pussy had on her after a two week drought, not when you immediately sunk a finger in while maintaining your hungry stare on her.

There was a beat of silence, the only sound in the room being the faint suction of your core gratefully accepting the relief from your middle finger. You don’t know whether it was the fact that you hadn’t cum with your girlfriend in weeks, or the fact that she was staring at you hungrily, but you couldn’t hold back the moan that raged through you, ending in a sharp whine. Paige inhaled, her eyes shutting as if she couldn’t bare to look. Exhale. Then, the silence was broken.

“Fuck it.”

You hardly had time to blink before she was on you, a hand reaching down and borderline yanking your hand away from your clit, replacing it with hers. The other hand reached for your face, connecting your lips as her fingers began making messy circles.

You melted into the kiss, thankful for the way it muffled your moans as Paige slipped a finger in, still paying good attention to your puffy clit. Your legs began to tighten, and you could almost cry because of how overwhelming it all was. You never thought just fourteen days without sex would do such a number on you, as you and Paige has certainly gone longer, but the fact that it was forbidden combined with the knowledge that you got her to snap like she did caused a rush of warmth to your core.

“You feel so good.” Paige’s voice comes out muffled by your lips, her breath labored. You love when she does this, riling herself up just by getting you off. “Missed this pussy so much.”

“Paige, please,” you don’t quite know what you are begging for, but the pure desperation in Paige’s voice has done a number on you. After over a week of feeling like the needy one, the way Paige is fucking you now is nothing short of satisfying and you need more. “Need you so bad.”

“I know, I know.” She whines, her face hiding in the crook of your neck. She was convinced if she took one look at you while you were asking (no, begging) her for more, she wouldn’t be able to hold back from cumming in her pants. Between sloppy kisses to soft skin, she babbles, “I’m gonna make you feel good, I promise. Gonna make you cum.”

That was Paige in a nutshell. No matter how tired she was, or how much the ache between her legs begged for her attention, she put your orgasm before hers always. She paid attention to the way your breath quickened, your legs becoming impossibly stiff, and she whispered, “You close?”

All you could do was nod, so focused on your release that forming coherent sentences was not in the cards for you at the moment. “Go ahead, wanna feel it.”

Your release rushed through you, warm and all encompassing, and it took all your strength to remain somewhat quiet as you exhaled through it, your moans coming out more as whines if anything. As your breath steadied, Paige’s mouth returned to yours, this time more sweet as she brought you back down.

In your post-orgasm glow, you widen your eyes just enough to look at your girlfriend, the front tendrils of her hair damp from both sweat and the storm outside. A blush floods her face as she grins at you, prompting you to pull her down for a kiss.

“Wanna use my mouth on you, that okay?”

Paige nods, her eyes wide and breath labored from the performance she just gave to you. The two of you switch positions, her laying down on your pillows while you crawled over her, moving down her body. Though you wanted nothing more that for her to just sit back and relax as you showed her just how grateful you were for her, she did aid you in removing her drenched hoodie, the two of you laughing as it momentarily got stuck on her head (in any other circumstance you would scold her for laying in your bed with wet clothes, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment).

You kiss down her torso, watching her toned core flex in reaction as she inhales sharply. Her hands reach down to your shoulders, and you know exactly what she wants - she would just never outright ask. Looking up, eyes wide, you smile sweetly. “Grab my hair, baby.”

She sighs, fingers interwoven in your hair as you make work on her pants, pulling them down along with the boxers you love so much. You press gentle kisses to her inner thighs, ignoring the area begging for your attention until Paige huffs, “please, waited long enough. Want you so bad. Need you so bad.”

You bite back a grin, loving just how vocal your girlfriend gets. Giving in, you press a gentle lick to your girlfriends core, feeling her thighs tense in reaction, before giving her all of you and finding her waiting clit.

“There you go, good girl. Oh fuck,” She melts into your bed, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she’s overwhelmed by the sensation. Unlike you, who at least got the opportunity to indulge in self-pleasure, she never had the time, either spending her nights with you, in a hotel room with her teammates, or too tired after a long day of practice. Wanting to make the most of your handiwork, she moved one hand to the side of your face. “Look at me”

Still sucking at her clit, you lift your head slightly, and she cries out as she sees just how drunk off of her you look, doe eyes watering as you lap her up. It’s all just too much for the blonde as she struggles to maintain her breathing, feeling familiar sensations way quicker than she normally should.

“I’m close… I’m gonna cum… fuck.” The words tumbled out of Paige’s mouth in quick succession, as if she severely underestimated just how quick she was to tipping over the edge. With a groan, her grip on the back of your head tightened as she met her release, your tongue lapping it up like it was your last meal.

You wait until she rides out her orgasm before crawling back up, her hands meeting your waist to help. You collapse next to her, head raising just in time to meet her waiting lips.

“Love the way you taste,” you hum in satisfaction, prompting a smile from your girlfriend. You lived for the come down after sex, where it felt like it was just you and Paige alone on this earth, nothing and nobody else to worry about. She rubbed at your back, and you get so wrapped up in the domesticity of it all you almost miss the next words out of her mouth.

“You got one more in you, baby?”

“What?” You croak, looking at her as if you must have misheard. You thought the two of you were on the same page, having cum so hard you couldn’t imagine having space for anything more than passing out next to her.

That is until Paige finds enough energy and strength in her legs to stand, backing up towards your dresser while still facing you with a smirk on her face. “You didn’t think I was joking when I was telling you how bad I want you to suck me off, did you?”

Fuck. Though you were tired before (and still are), you can’t deny the way warmth floods south, already wound up again after hearing the sounds Paige made as she released. You nod, and Paige opens the top drawer.

In this moment especially, you’re grateful for Paige’s idea to get two straps, one for each of your apartments. “More convenient that way,” she had said with a wink. Paige adjusted the harness to herself, her movements only faltering for a moment when she noticed you drop to your knees, Calvin Klein bralette still on.

“You know what to do if you need me to stop, right sweet girl?” Her thumb traces your cheek sweetly. You nodded, having done this just enough times to establish a gesture (three taps on Paige’s inner thigh) to indicate you needed a rest. You’ve never had to use it - Paige just absolutely refused to put herself in a position where she could hurt her sweet girl without safety measures.

You inch closer, offering gentle kitten licks to the tip of the dildo before opening your mouth to let it rest on your tongue. Paige, gentle yet firm, pushes you down a little further, and you inhale through your nose praying that you don’t gag so early on. Your thumb is caught in a fist on your non dominant hand, the other one wrapping around the remainder of the strap as you bob up and down.

“Fuck, thats it.” Paige groans as the back of your throat betrays you, resulting in a choking sound and a pool of saliva on the toy. When your eyes meet hers, watery yet determined, she sighs. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You remove your lips with a pop, gaze never wavering. “Need to be inside you, please.”

Paige, never one to deny your request, aided you in a standing position, hands at your waist as she backed you towards your bed, until the two of you were forced to crawl on top. Biting her bottom lip, she circles your core a few times before allowing herself to sink in, and both of you gasp at the intrusion as if the dick was truly a part of her.

“So big… you’re so big.” You whimpered as she began plowing into you, lifting one of your legs to where your knee was nearly to your chest. The sounds your pussy made as it gripped Paige’s cock were sinful, prompting a smirk from the girl above you.

“So scared of people hearing huh? Why’s this pussy screaming for me then?” Paige taunted, watching the purple dildo slip in and out. The room filled with slapping of skin and Paige’s cock genuinely swimming inside you - you can’t remember the last time you felt (or sounded) like this.

“Such a fucking tease all week, winding me up so bad.” Paige continued, her voice gravelly as she watched your tits bounce up and down with each thrust. Licking her lips, she added, “Just needed a good fuck, didn’t you?”

Your eyes were screwed shut, focusing on the feeling of the strap stretching you out. She was consuming all of you, from your pussy to your mind, and you forgot to respond until her hand grabbed your waist, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough pressure to snap your attention back towards her. “Words, sweet girl. I know you know how to use them.”

“Paige, please. Wanna feel you in me,” Your words come out as broken sobs as she stilled herself, reaching down to play with your overstimulated clit just to feel something. You feel Paige offer a shallow thrust, but it isn’t good enough, you want more. Observing the way her brows furrowed in a last attempt to maintain control, you pout. “Wanna feel you cum inside me.”

You didn’t fully understand the grip those six words would have on her, not until in what felt like one movement she flipped you around, your knees planted on the bed and back arched as she entered you once more, both of you moaning at the contact as she drove into you like it was her mission. All of your senses were overwhelmed; your ears filled with the sound of your ass pushing back against the strap only to bounce back, mixed with Paige’s stuttering breath. Your head pressed close to the pillow, giving easy access to smell your freshly washed sheets. Turning your head to the side to breath, you could see your full length mirror capture the point where you and Paige met, the sight bringing you to the edge.

You’re sure two weeks ago you would have been utterly humiliated at the cry that leaves your mouth as your orgasm washes over you, but when mixed with Paige’s groans of “fuck”, you couldn’t give less of a shit if your neighbors heard. By now, they definitely knew Paige’s name.

Paige collapsed on you, strap still inside your spent core until she musters enough strength to roll over to her side. The two of you took a moment to catch your breath, unsure of the last time you had gone that hard. Finally, still covering the top of her face with her arms, Paige breaks into a chuckle, which I catch.

“Holy shit.”

“Don’t say it.” She says, her voice deadpan. I take one look at her flushed cheeks, hair a messy collection of blonde tresses, and consider sparing her from my gloating. But after two long weeks, I feel passing up on the opportunity would be a waste.

“you lost the…”

“I know.” Paige groans, though her smile reveals she’s not being serious. “You try hearing your pretty little moans and not fucking you. It’s physically impossible.”

You laugh, moving to cuddle next to her as she haphazardly disposes of the strap, tossing it along with the various articles of clothing (you made a mental note to wash it later). “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think any of my actions the past week have proven I’m any less horny than you.”

Paige shrugged, arms wrapping around you and pulling your head into her chest, her lashes fluttering in a failing attempt to stay awake. “It’s why we work so well together, I guess.”

The two of you lay there, your breath matching hers, ready to put this stupid bet to rest along with yourselves. Reaching for the remote for your fairy lights to turn them off, you turn to her. “Just so you know, we’re watching a horror movie on Friday.”

“Worth it.”

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers fic

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pathologicalreid · 4 months ago

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with your hands tied | s.r.

in which you and Spencer try something new in bed, with a hands off approach (for you, at least)

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: super very much established relationship, explicit consent, bondage (w/ rope), sensory deprivation, softdom!spencer, sub!reader, there is a clear safe word, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, praise kink, lowkey voice kink, aftercare word count: 3.77k a/n: writing the content warnings for smut is always a humbling experience. anyways, welcome to kinktober.

“You’re too tense,” Spencer murmurs against your neck, continuing to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses along your bare skin.

You part your lips as he sucks gently just below your collarbone, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough for your brain to go fuzzy. “Am not,” you counter, leaning your head to the side in an attempt to give him a broader surface area.

He hums against your skin, sending vibrations through the entirety of your body as he leaves one more kiss before pulling away to look at you. You were propped up in his lap as if you were on display—but only for him. “You know the rules,” he says, a light warning in his voice telling you that your plans might change.

Nodding, you hold your hand up to list off the big three, “Open communication, deep breathing, and trust in your partner.”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, reaching his hand up and sweeping some of your hair behind your shoulder, keeping his other hand stable on your waist.

Realistically, you wouldn’t have asked him to do this with you if you didn’t trust him. “Yes,” the answer comes easily to you as anticipation thrums through your body.

Spencer squeezes your waist reassuringly, using the pressure to garner more of your attention, “Your heart is racing. Take a deep breath for me, angel,” he instructs.

You’d approached him two weeks ago and asked if he would be willing to tie you up. You knew he liked to be the one in control, you knew he liked to show you new things, but you hadn’t anticipated him being so willing. Taking a deep breath, you seek his reassurance, “Will you walk me through it again?”

He hums in confirmation, gently sliding you off of his lap, he uses his hands to guide you to the mattress. There’s no force in his actions, barely touching you with his fingertips until your head hits the pillow. Tentatively, he takes both of your hands in his before crossing your wrists over one another and bringing them above your head, using one hand to secure your wrists while dragging the other down your side, “Once you’re ready, I’ll bring your hands up here, and I’ll tie your wrists together.”

Spencer previously explained that he wouldn’t use handcuffs on you, citing it as a personal boundary that he wouldn’t cross. He had given you a few binding options, and you chose a lavender rope. It was soft enough to avoid irritating your skin but had enough grip that a knot wouldn’t come undone the moment you tugged on the restraints. You take another deep breath.

“It won’t be too tight,” he continues, “but it’ll be enough to severely limit your range of motion.” Spencer releases his grip on your wrists but maintains his position hovering above you. “At its core, bondage is sensory deprivation. I’m taking away your sense of touch.”

You nod, confirming your understanding as you lift your hands, placing them on either one of his shoulders, “I’m giving it up to you.”

He smiles softly down at you, obviously pleased with the level of trust you’re displaying toward him. “Your heart is still racing,” he observes quietly, leaning down and kissing both of your cheeks.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warms at his observation, “I’m horny, of course my heart is racing.”

“C’mere,” he hums, dragging you back into his lap and holding your face in his hands, “What’s our safe word?”

Settling your knees on either side of his hips, you return your hands to their previous station, “Cactus.” The remarkably unoriginal word was inspired by the plant that was currently resting on your coffee table.

Spencer moves his hands, skimming his palms up and down your bare arms, “What happens if you use the safe word?”

“Full stop,” you answer dutifully, “You stop everything, and the rope gets cut.” Despite its pretty color, Spencer told you not to get attached to the binding – he’d hold no issue with grabbing the shears from your bedside table.

“What happens if I use the safe word?” His intent was for the question to be a challenge, but you know his boundaries as well as you know your own.

Shifting on his lap, you easily recall the discussion from last night, “Full stop. If you can’t release me, I can try to undo the knot on my own.”

He nods in silent confirmation before hooking his finger beneath your chin, getting you to make eye contact with him, “Are you going to try to undo the knot on your own otherwise?”

“No,” you breathe. It was for your own safety more than anything else—if you were to try to undo the knot on your own, you’d risk hurting yourself, but to Spencer, it was a trust thing. If you want him to untie you all you need to do is ask.

Dropping his hands, Spencer slips them beneath the cotton of your t-shirt, skimming his palms over your bare torso and leaving goosebumps in their wake, “Good girl.”

Your breathing hitches at his praise, unable to decide if you want to focus on his words or the way his hands are slowly making their way toward the band of your bra. Tentatively, you poke your head forward to kiss him, wanting to make sure you’re both moving at the same pace.

While you have a slight height advantage from your perch on his lap, he tips his head back so that your lips can connect, satisfying an itch that you were desperate to scratch. Spencer’s lips were always soft in a way that was unfair to the rest of the world population. You consider yourself lucky that you have them at your disposal, working against your own as he slips a hand beneath the fabric of your bra.

When your lips part at the sensation of him gently palming your breast, Spencer wastes no time in deepening the kiss, maintaining control even from his place beneath you. You whimper slightly as he pulls away, moving his hands to tug your t-shirt over your head before fiddling with the clasp of your bra.

You watch as a switch flips in his brain, pupils dilating with lust as he studies the vision of you in front of him. It didn’t matter that you’d been naked in front of him hundreds of times by now, Spencer always made you feel just as special as the first time.

Spencer reaches his hand to the side of your neck, letting his forearm rest on the slope of your breast as he takes you in, “You’re so pretty,” he coos, “My pretty girl.”

Sighing as a direct result of his words, you thumb the hem of his t-shirt, signaling to him that you want to level out the playing field before it becomes rigged in his favor. Silently, he complies, lifting his arms above his head so you can toss the fabric next to yours on the floor.

You lean forward, taking pleasure in the way your skin sits against his, the push of your breasts on his chest. Ignoring the slight tremble in your hands, you run your palms over his chest, admiring the dips and curves of his torso—taking in every part of him before he binds your arms over your head. “It’s alright to be a little nervous,” he assures you, dropping a soft kiss to your bare shoulder.

Swallowing thickly, a thought crosses your mind, “I can… Can I use my mouth on you?”

“No,” he answers almost instantly, “It’s not about me today. It’s about you.”

His response surprises you, “I just want to make sure you feel good too. If I can’t use my hands to touch you, then I want to make sure you find this uh…” you search for the right word, “Fulfilling?”

Spencer chuckles lightly, the vibrations from his chest emanating through your body like an electric current, “Trust me, I’ll find this plenty fulfilling.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you wonder if he’ll catch onto your hesitation—your desperation to be able to reciprocate your impending pleasure, but his double entendre doesn’t go over your head.

“Baby,” the softness of the pet name relaxes your shoulders, “Do you think I don’t find pleasure in sex with you?”

You shrug helplessly, “I just know you like it when I touch you.” Your hands in his hair. Shallow scratches along his shoulder blades.

Holding your chin between his index and his thumb, he guides your eyes to meet his own, “I’m going to fuck you, and while your arms are bound above your head, I’ll get a full look at the way you writhe beneath me.”

Butterflies swarm in your lower belly at his words, you have to hold back from panting in his lap.

“Fucking you is my pleasure,” he tells you, holding your face in place. “Watching you squirm below me,” he trails a finger from his free hand down your torso before letting it rest on the waistband of your shorts. “The way your cunt clenches around my cock and flutters after you come around me,” his voice deepens with want.

A pathetic moan escapes your lips at his words, causing you to clasp a hand over your mouth.

Spencer snatches your hand away, “Don’t do that. I want to hear all of the pretty little noises you make. I want you to tell me if you want me deeper or slower. I want to hear you.”

Nodding quickly, you feel more and more of your composure slip away as the damp sensation in your underwear grows. “Okay,” you breathe, keeping your eyes on his as you slide off of his lap.

He stands up, making quick work of his sweatpants before propping himself back up on the bed. Of your own volition, you lean back, letting your legs fall open as he climbs over you. You keep your eyes on him, minding the way his body moves above you, the way his cock peeks out from the waistband of his boxers.

From the moment his lips reach yours again, you know you’re a goner. Lifting your head from the pillows in order to tug at his bottom lip with your teeth, you savor the way he groans into your mouth.

In response, Spencer takes both of your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours one at a time and pinning them at either side of your head. He settles his hips in between yours, adding a torturous pressure at your core.

Slowly, your hips grind up into him, it’s a mainly reactive response—your body needs the friction, the relief. Ending your kiss, a low whine bubbles in your throat, “Do you think you’re ready?”

With your hands already pinned to the bed, you let your head bob in confirmation, “Yes.”

Your eyes follow his movements as he kneels between your legs, grabbing the rope from your nightstand before taking your wrists and crossing them one over the other. “It’s soft,” you observe about the material, you’d never actually put it on your wrists before, only touching it in the store with your fingertips.

“That’s why we picked this one,” Spencer reminds you; he had been the one to encourage a softer material, wanting to protect your skin from a rough, fibrous rope. “Tug on it,” he says, leaning back and inspecting the knot.

Tugging on your binds, all you’re capable of doing is pulling your body higher on the bed, and you yelp when Spencer grips your hips and pulls you back down to him. “It works,” you squeak, suddenly conscious of how you’re splayed out for him.

He hums lowly, the soft, sensual sound causing your hips to buck, “Good,” he murmurs, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You comply, blowing air out of your nostrils as he rests his head in the crook of your neck, leaving timid kisses down the column of your throat, an exorbitantly shy action for someone who had bound you to the bed.

His head continues to make its way down your body, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across your breasts, “You’re too tense,” he tells you, an echo of himself.

Mindfully, you take a deep breath, sinking your body into the mattress and looking down at him, the saliva on your chest shining in the lamplight—he was going to be the death of you. “I don’t know what to do with myself,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to do anything, baby,” he reminds you gently, “Let go. Let yourself feel it.” His thumb gently rubs circles over your hip bone, bunching up the fabric of your shorts beneath his fingerprints.

You look down at him, lying down between your legs, resting his cheek on the inside of your thigh. The lovelorn look in his eyes causes your chest to tighten, and you gasp at the sensation, your face warming as you remind yourself that he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Spencer hooks his fingers on the elastic of both your shorts and your underwear, pulling any remaining fabric off of your body with a deftness that threatens to take your breath away. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, nearly licking his lips at the sight of your wetness. “My pretty, pretty girl,” he continues, pressing tender kisses up your thigh, inching closer and closer to your core.

Peeling your eyes away, you can’t bear to watch the way he peers at you through his eyelashes as he lowers his mouth to your aching cunt. “Spence,” you breathe at the sensation of his tongue licking a broad stripe through your folds and pressing a gentle kiss to your clit.

He bows his head, snaking his arms around your thighs to hold them open, stopping you from closing your legs, and without the use of your arms and your legs, you’re defenseless against his relentless movements. His tongue peeking out of his mouth just enough to tease where you’re most sensitive, kitten licking your clit until you’re panting beneath him, desperate to lift your hips from the mattress, in need of more—so much more.

You pull on your restraints, and he doesn’t stop his movements. Instead, he changes the placement of his hands, using one to massage your thigh while the other finds a home between your legs, his index finger teasing your entrance. A pathetic whine escapes from your throat as you get one step closer to the relief that you so desperately need and the relocation of his hands allows you to rotate your hips, meeting his knuckles when his finger sinks into you with ease.

“So wet,” he whispers, coming up for air and reveling in the way your mouth gapes as he adds a second finger, “So wet for me, darling girl.”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod in acknowledgment as his head drops again, puckering his lips to gently suck on your clit as his fingers work their way in and out of you. The crude, wet sounds emanating from your pussy second in volume only to the breathy moans that continue to slip through your lips.

You imagine yourself reaching your hands down, weaving your fingers through his curls, and tugging on the tendrils in encouragement, but you recall his request to hear you. Since you can’t touch him, you gasp, a small knot forming in your lower belly as he continues thrusting his fingers in and out, “Oh, god,” you choke, looking down to see his hair falling in front of his forehead. “Spence,” you whimper, eyes screwing shut as you beg for your orgasm.

A curse slips from your lips while your back arches off of the mattress, the sheet sticking to your sweat-coated skin as your orgasm washes over you, sending volts of electricity through every extremity until you come down. Vaguely aware of how his fingers continue to move inside of you, the two phalanges curling in a way that makes you shudder.

Spencer tenderly shifts your body up, relieving some of the strain on your shoulders which had become a secondary concern while he had his head between your legs.

You pant helplessly at him, “Ah, ’s too much,” you tell him, walls clenching around his idle fingers as the aftershocks of your orgasm begin to ebb.

Immediately, he withdraws his fingers and brings both of his hands up, mindful not to get his slick-covered hand near your hair, “How are you doing?”

The check-in doesn’t come as a surprise to you, and he wouldn’t do anything until he manages to wrangle an answer out of you. His brown eyes study you with a sensual curiosity as your breathing balances out, switching from the breathlessness of your peak to the gasps of desperation as you find yourself wanting more. “Good,” you answer, “That was so— fuck.”

There was something to say about the effects that losing your sense of touch had on sex, the inability to distract yourself by touching Spencer kindly forcing you to focus on nothing else but how he was making you feel. Leaving you to absorb pleasure percutaneously—this was the kind of sex people start wars over. “Do you want more?”

“Please,” you respond, maybe a tad too quickly.

His responding chuckle does horrible things to your psyche, the butterflies in your stomach coming out of their brief hibernation to flutter through your insides, “What do you want, darling?”

You sigh, “You. I want you, baby, please.”

Spencer hums in response, ducking his head to leave slow, intentional kisses on your chest, enveloping your nipple in his mouth while he brings a hand up to even out the sensation on your chest. Releasing you with a wet pop, he looks up at you with lust-blown pupils, “You have me,” he assures you. “I’m right here, where do you want me?”

Embarrassingly, a high-pitched whine makes its way past your lips—he was going to make you beg for it, and you were going to do it. “In me,” your plea comes out faster than you can control, “Please fuck me, please please.”

He groans in response, “Your fucking manners are going to be the death of me,” he tells you, moving to slip his underwear off, leaving absolutely nothing in between you as he rests his cock in between your folds. “Such a good girl,” he coos.

It didn’t help that you were beginning to feel like you were going insane, waiting for him to finally slide inside of you, “Please,” you add for good measure, the butterflies in your stomach spinning as he moves his hand out of your line of sight, tapping the tip against your swollen clit before finally breaching your entrance.

With an almost startling gentleness, Spencer cranes his head down to press a kiss to your lips. Using his tongue to part your lips, kissing you deeply, you can taste yourself on him, the sensation causing a ripple effect, your walls clenching around his shaft as he sheathes himself inside of you. “I love you,” he mutters against your lips, pulling out of you as he starts to find a rhythm.

“I— ah,” you cry out when he snaps his hips into yours, “I love you too,” you breathe, your eyelids fluttering as he seemingly finds his rhythm.

Spencer takes your thigh in one hand, pushing it up to spread you wider for him as you meet his eyes, the steady rhythm eliciting nothing but a metronome of ah, ah, ahs out of you.

Dropping his head in the crook of your neck, your boyfriend moves his free hand to play with your clit, his thumb circling around the sensitive nub as he continues to fuck you. He moans into your ear, causing your hips to involuntarily lift from the mattress, meeting his thrusts as they start to grow messy.

“’m gonna come,” you tell him, leaning your head back as the rubber band in your abdomen snaps, the pulsing of your cunt only driving him closer and closer to his own orgasm.

His hips stutter against yours, the pacing that he had so perfectly set leaving as he loses himself, hot cum painting your insides as he slows to a complete stop, letting your leg fall to the side as he pulls out of you.

A low keening sound slides from your throat as Spencer skims his hand up your side, “Spence,” you mumble, relaxing into his gentle touches.

He hums against your skin, making his way up until he’s fully sitting next to you, reaching over your head to release your arms from their silken prison. Tenderly, he takes your wrists in his hands, bringing them down gradually so that you can have time to adjust. “Are you alright?”

Spencer’s voice was a very welcome sound, his thumbs gently kneading at the indent marks on your wrists. Your head bobs in response, reaching out for him to help you sit up. The dull ache in your shoulders gave you reason to lean into him, your back against his chest while his nimble fingers found a place on your bare skin, continuing their earlier motions, this time on your shoulders.

Reaching out a hand, you grab the top sheet and pull it snugly to your torso, “Cold?” Spencer asks, his voice no more than a whisper, he presses his lips to your shoulder. “Come on, angel, words,” he beckons, the movement of his lips on your skin causing goosebumps to form.

“Cold,” you confirm, the high of your orgasms vacating your body, leaving you dependent on Spencer for body heat.

Spencer kisses the crook of your neck, “Why don’t we get cleaned up and reconvene on the couch? We’ll watch a movie,” he offers thoughtfully. “We can order in for dinner,” he says, taking advantage of your pliant state and rocking back and forth.

You sigh in his arms, “Can I pick the movie?”

“If you let me pick dinner,” he replies, pulling a throw blanket from the end of the bed and laying it over your lap. “Are you still cold?” He murmurs, a tinge of concern creeping into his voice.

Shaking your head, you adjust yourself in his arms, the tingling in your shoulders beginning to subside, “I’m lukewarm now,” you offer, smiling dazedly up at him, “I’m okay.”

He presses a soft kiss to your hairline, “You did so well,” he praises, his words threatening to melt you.

“So,” you begin, “We’re keeping the rope?”

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lightseoul · 3 months ago

Note

16 please 👀

Congrats btw for your 2K milestone!! 🎉 WAHOO

number 16, coming right up! thank you for playing and for the congratulations, lovely <3 i hope this one makes you laugh!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

16. "I WANT TO GO HOME TO MY WIFE." (0.7k)

it’s probably by the tenth sigh of the night—not that anyone’s counting—that poor kaminari finally snaps.

“seriously, dude?”

bakugou, who’s seated across from him with kirishima and sero adjacent to the both of them, only lazily raises an eyebrow in question.

at that, the electric hero pouts. “at least try to pretend you’re having fun.”

a few feet ahead of them—the men collectively chose to be seated at the back of the small dive bar despite kaminari’s protests—the stand-up comedian currently doing a set cracks another joke. an undercurrent of laughter flows across the room, but none of the four contribute to that.

“sorry, denki,” sero starts, a not-so-apologetic expression plastered on his face. “i’m with bakugou on this one.”

the slim, ebony-haired man glances at the stage, “the jokes aren’t landing for me either.”

“aww, come on, you guys!” kirishima, the ever-unfailing saint that he is, pipes up with a borderline overcompensating grin. “let’s just stay for a while longer for denki, alright?”

sero shrugs in response, but turns in his seat toward the stage anyway. bakugou, on the other hand, only grumbles before reaching for his phone in his right pocket.

thumbing his password under the table, his fingers click on the messages app, then to his number one favorite contact.

for a second, he debates whether or not to shoot you a text. you were so excited to finally get started on that anime you’ve been meaning to watch, that you almost seemed like you didn’t care that he was leaving you home for the night to hang out with the guys.

biting on his lip, he absentmindedly goes through your last exchange before finally deciding fuck it.

while typing out a well-crafted message, his eyes dart between his screen to his friends then back down again, trying to seem inconspicuous.

the last thing he needs is for the bored tape hero to tease him with that annoying ass shit-eating grin of his.

reading through it one last time, bakugou finally presses the send button.

much to his delight, it doesn’t even take you a minute to reply.

(8:43 PM) baby 🧡: heey! i’m still watching—am on episode 5 now. hbu? aren’t you busy with the boys?

the smile he wasn’t aware he’s been sporting immediately drops when he’s reminded of the predicament he’s in. peering back up at the front, he has to fight the groan that threatens to bubble from his mouth when another performer goes up.

oh, well. at least you’re texting him right now.

he quickly types out his response.

(8:45 PM) me: Busy being fucking tortured. This is the worst night ever.

“yo, bro, who got you smiling like that?”

bakugou whips to glare at the culprit, who’s now wearing the very same shit-eating grin he’s just been thinking about avoiding a few moments ago.

pocketing his phone, bakugou snarls at the man. “shut the fuck up. all that doom-scrolling is rotting your fucking brain.”

“i think you getting the reference says something about you, too, bakubro,” kirishima offers from beside him.

bakugou shoots the redhead a menacing scowl, which the unbreakable hero accepts in stride.

“are you guys even listening?” comes kaminari’s whine.

“sorry, denks,” sero replies, before turning to regard the rest of the group. “i thought we agreed to stop doing these guys’ night outs? none of us are as good at planning get-togethers as mina.”

at that slightest bit of opening, bakugou takes the opportunity and moves to stand up, grabbing his wallet and car keys before inserting them in his back pocket, surprising the three men.

before any of them can say a single word, though, bakugou tries to shrug nonchalantly, muttering his simple explanation.

“what was that?” came sero’s teasing tone.

“i want to go home to my wife, idiot,” bakugou barks before he can stop himself.

at that, kaminari finally throws his hands up in defeat.

kirishima only shrugs himself, “that clicks.”

while the menace snickers. “simp.”

#i love LOVE writing the bakusquad #missing mina here but hopefully she makes an appearance in my other drabbles for this event!#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bkg #2k milestone drabble

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nerdy-novelist017 · 7 months ago

Text

The Ride (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Pt 2)

Wow, I truly didn't expect all the love for the last post! Thank you so so much! Here's a part two baked fresh just for you lovelies! ;)

( Also! I'm going to work on putting together a masterlist for my fics for him since I have so many ideas)

Ps. please send me requests for this man i'm going feral over here from all the possibilities

Part 1 here

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 1.9k

-Minor NSFW Content-

Summary- You thought getting on the bike would be the hardest part. Having to unwrap your legs from his waist and get off at the end of the night was significantly more difficult.

*******

Despite the fact that you knew there were multiple people surrounding you, all cheering, your eyes were glued to Benny’s form as he swung a leg over top of his bike. He kickstarted the motorcycle, the muscles in his thigh flexing through the faded pair of jeans he wore. The engine roared to life and it took everything in you not to jump back. Benny glanced over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes all but dared you to run away, to take it back and return to the safety of the car.

But some underlying competitive streak in you flared and you clenched your fists tightly. You approached his bike and he took your purse and Tupperware bowl, tucking them away in his back compartment. He leaned forward and awkwardly swung a leg over his bike, attempting to repeat his action as you mounted, but the movement caused your dress to slide up to reveal a generous view of your upper thigh. Blushing, you glanced at the onlookers who cheered and whistled at the sight, but Benny seemed to ignore them. Without looking, he reached back, his hand enveloping your thigh, sliding it higher so that your foot found the footrest. Heat instantly blossomed from the contact and you physically resisted clenching your knees tighter around him.

“Hang on tight, Little Bunny,” he murmured as he moved his hand to grab your arm, gently guiding it forward to wrap around his waist. He revved the engine and you tighten your grasp over his waist, eyes closed as the bike began to slowly roll forward over the grassy field. The cheers subsided into the wind that tugged gently at your hair. You’re going on an adventure, it seemed to say, but you refused to open your eyes.

Heart drumming in your chest, you hoped to spend the entire ride with your eyes screwed shut, pretending to be anywhere else, anywhere safer. But then the bumpy and uneven field soon turned to smooth blacktop as he maneuvered the two of you onto the backroad. You felt the bike increase in speed slightly and you dared to peek an eye open. Corn fields blurred as you sped by, the setting sun seeming to light the horizon with a brilliant show of deep oranges and purples. A gasp escaped your lips and you pressed yourself closer to him in a desperate measure to not fall off, hands flush against the curve of his abdomen.

He rode with one hand, you realized, and it painted a picture of a cowboy in your mind. Had this been the 1860s, Benny would have ridden his horse like this, a model of a true outlaw with his dangerous persona and ruggedly handsome appearance.

The world sped by, or rather you sped by the world as Benny drove down the center of the yellow lines. You couldn’t stop the squeal that escaped you as he leaned the bike to go around a turn. He took you down roads you’ve never been before, pointed out interesting things and places you’ve never seen. True to his word, he didn’t go very fast, never faster than the speed limit at least. But regardless, it was an adventure – both frightening and fun and your heart never seemed to return to its slower rhythm. Despite the fact that you've never ridden on a motorcycle before and the uncertainty of your next destination, there was strange sense of safety that invoked you as you breathed in Benny's scent, hands clasped tightly to him. As the sun completely dipped below the horizon and the temperature dropped, he finally asked you where you lived.

When he did eventually pull up to your house (hours later), the rumble of the motorcycle seemed to echo off the houses, disturbing the peaceful silence of your quiet neighborhood. He cut the engine and the toe of his boot kicked out the kickstand, shifting your combined weights to the side slightly and the air was once again filled with silence. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned back ever so slightly, his head turning to glance back at you over his shoulder.

He held an arm out for you as you awkwardly dismounted, heart pounding again. A strange sense of disappointment panged in your gut as the bottom of your heels made contact with the blacktop. You stood there before him, eyes now level with his as he remained seated casually on his bike. Keep driving, you wanted to tell him. Keep driving and let's find our way to the end of the world together. You wanted to hop back on the back and wrap your arms around his waist. You wanted to ride with him till the sun came up over the horizon, just this once, just because you’ve never stayed out till the sun came up. Your family would worry, your father would be pacing up and down the hallway just inside, but something in you longed to throw caution to the wind, to do something naughty.

You bit your lip as you broke eye contact with him and looked down to your feet. What were you thinking? You played life by the rules. You were a good girl, that’s what your parents called you. That’s what your teachers called you. That’s what you were raised to be. That’s all you knew how to be, what you were comfortable with. Benny . . . he made you uncomfortable. He filled your belly with butterflies, made your heart pump harder than normal, made the spot between your legs tingle. All things that dangerously threatened to upend the perfectly planned life you had. Trouble, plain and simple.

You got what you wanted – a ride home and a bit of excitement. You got close enough to the fire without getting burned, got to play a risky game for the evening. Now it was time for you to go back to your routine life. That perfectly . . . boring life.

“Thank you . . . for the ride,” you said softly, the adrenaline of the adventure smothering into ashes.

He nodded and you watched as his cyan gaze moved from you to your house behind you. “You still live with your family?”

“Yeah,” you replied, heat touching your face. “Why?”

He looked back at you. “Just gotta know what kind of house you want after we’re married.”

“What?” you balked at him, stomach dropping like you just took a plunge off a bridge.

He smiled and leaned an arm forward, resting casually on his bike as if he didn’t just say something shockingly direct. He offered no help, just watched as you attempted to sputter a response.

“M–married? We . . . I don’t . . . even know you.” You breathed out a nervous laugh. You went for one ride with him! You had only had a handful of sentences exchanged between you, the majority of those spoken with a crowd cheering around you. Who did this guy think he was?

He shrugged as he slid his hands into the front pocket of his jacket and retrieved his pack of cigarettes. “We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.”

Your eyes widened at his audacity. “I’m not marrying you!”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” He looked amused as he flipped open his lighter, the flame casting his face in an orange glow as he lit one of his cigarettes. Your protests wavered slightly as you watched his hands cup around the flame in an effort to protect from the wind and his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the cigarette tucked between his lips. A phantasm of his hands cupping your breasts, his tall frame hovering above you, lips pressing softly against your collarbone tainted your mind and you took a step back to put physical distance between you and this man.

Swallowing thickly, you continued, “Well, I don’t even know your last name–”

“Cross.”

“–And I don’t even know if I like you!”

“I think you like me,” he said confidently and you snapped your jaw shut at the accusation. “Why else would you let me drive you home?”

“W–what if I just used you to get me home?” you countered quickly.

“Did you use me, Bunny?” he drew out the sentence with an almost painfully seductive smile. You furrowed your brow, irritation flooding your veins. He was quick, you’d give him that.

Benny studied the way your lips pursed and he wondered if that was something you did while you were angry or if it was your way of finding another excuse. He wanted to spend the rest of his life finding the answers to your facial expressions, the meaning behind your almost undetectable quirks he was discovering with each minute spent in your company. And my god, those those lips . . . his eyes fell down to those soft lips of yours, fascinated by how he wanted to feel them wrapped around his—

“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Cross,” your voice brought him back to reality as you reached forward and grabbed your purse and empty Tupperware bowl from his bike. “But I–I have no intentions on marrying you. In fact, I doubt I’ll ever see you again.”

“Hmm, okay,” he feigned being hurt by your words. “Whatever you say, kid.”

You shot him a frustrated look. “What’s with all the nicknames?”

He held up his arms in mock surrender. “You don’t like ‘em?”

"I don't think they're very accurate."

He raised his brows at you, unconvinced.

“Yeah? Well, I got a nickname for you.” you retorted.

“And what’s that?” He played along to your game.

“Trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Mh-hm.” You nodded and lifted your free hand to brush the wind-whipped hair from your eyes.

He shrugged and spoke around the cigarette in his mouth. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. You think I’m trouble, Bunny?”

An exasperated sigh left your lips and Benny felt a swell of pride at the reaction. This was fun, teasing you like this. The blush tainting your face, a clear sign of your flustered reaction, made his heartbeat quicken.

“Goodnight, Benny,” you said a little firmer as you turned and walked up the sidewalk to your house.

“Goodnight, Bunny,” Benny called out as he watched the sway of your hips as you climbed the front steps. You shot him one last look over the curve of your shoulder before you opened the front door and slipped inside. Benny sat on his bike outside your house, his mind reeling as he finished his cigarette. He hadn’t felt this excited in a long time and hadn't felt this kind of adrenaline since his first ride. This was a new kind of ride, Benny realized. Something exhilarating and arousing gripped his heart when he looked at you in your pretty little dress with your innocently wide eyes and pouty lip. The primal instinct of taking you in his arms and laying you down onto your shared bed, his body shielding you from the rest of the world played in his mind the movie. He wanted to grab your hand and show you just how exciting life could be with him. Not to change you, he’d make sure your integrity was protected, but to broaden your horizon.

And maybe it made him selfish, but Benny's never had anything as good as you in his life and because of that, he wanted to be your guide throughout every adventure going forward.

#I have no clue how motorcycles work #let’s pretend it makes sense #the bikeriders #Benny x Bunny #benny x reader #benny cross x reader #benny cross x you #austin butler #austin butler x reader #x reader #imagine #fluff #tom hardy #the bikeriders x you

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bioblsm · 7 months ago

Text

WHAT DOES THEIR CAMERA ROLL LOOK LIKE?

❀ ꒰warnings꒱. boothill backstory spoilers, not proofread ಥ_ಥ

𖧷 characters. jing yuan, blade, dr ratio, ruan mei, aventurine, sunday, boothill

☆彡 notes. aventurine 🤝 boothill — being some of the most gay ass mfs i’ve seen in a hyv game (apart from bronya and seele) seriously their flamboyance still gives me whiplash…anyways this has been on my mind for months now but i’ve never gotten around to writing it!!! >_<

JING YUAN 𐚁 景元

[◉"] 2,304 photos, 83 videos

⌖ if you scroll really fast down or up his gallery, all you’ll actually manage to see is splotches of pink, blonde and silver

⌖ everything ranges from cute candid shots of yanqing (he takes multiple if yanqing’s fallen asleep while on duty), to sneaky pictures of fu xuan as she’s working where he’s in the foreground doing peace signs — the final picture of course being her looking at the camera lense directly to glare up at him

⌖ reaching weekends when he’s slightly a little more free or allows himself a small break to stroll around town, his camera roll is either filled with pictures of food he’s eaten or swords that yanqing may or not definitely ask about that he’s now more inclined to buy as he’s seen them in person (he’s a boy dad who loves spoiling his child, alright?)

⌖ the large majority of his photos unfortunately are work related, only really the recent ones being deleted from his gallery to clear up some space

⌖ however, while his photos are preoccupied with either his two kids or random scrolls with messy and rushed handwriting, each video is of you; jing yuan thinks a picture would belittle your beauty too much.

⌖ he needs something a little more real, a little more active and animated to help him quell the chirping loneliness that creeps up on his heart whenever you’re away from him for a prolonged period of time; if he’s feeling particularly mischievous he might sneak a quick but blurry picture of himself to send to you ♡

BLADE 𐚁 刃

[◉"] 9 photos, 2 videos

⌖shit is BARREN. literally a complete EMPTY VOID. if you snatched his phone somehow you’d assume he just got it despite him not having changed it ever since he received one

⌖ perhaps on the occasion you’ll find a cameo picture from one of the stellaron hunters as his phone is left unoccupied and someone decided to blast his entire gallery with their face (silverwolf specifically just hacks into his phone to keep putting random screenshots he’s never taken in his gallery to make him believe he’s taken them)

⌖ maybe sometimes he’ll screenshot different ways to die or health clinic locations he can avoid when he’s fortunately bleeding out but otherwise? nothing.

⌖ if you’re a massive yapper and love sending him pictures, he won’t go out of his way to download them for later usage (whatever that may be…) but he also won’t go out of his way to delete it if it’s accidentally automatically downloaded on his phone — maybe elios intended for it to be there?

⌖ it’s quite nice having a reminder of his significant other where he doesn’t have to actively listen to their voice… that’s a little exaggerative; but he loves just mapping out the features in your face, it helps him sleep just the slightest bit better with no ailment if he’s able to trace your features like a constellation on his blank, dark wall

DR RATIO 𐚁 真理医生

[◉"] 1000 photos, 100 videos

⌖ call it a form of ocd, but he NEEDS to have a decent ratio (i didn’t even mean for this to be a pun i’m so sorry) of his photos to videos; he doesn’t care if it’s 10:1, 2:1 1:5, he needs something that’s at least somewhat pleasing to the eyes

⌖ ratio immediately deleted anything he doesn’t need or thinks he won’t find use in for at the very least the month (this includes every single cameo shot aventurine or you have taken of yourselves on his phone without his permission, which by the way, he didn’t hesitate to scold you two for)

⌖ maybe if he’s feeling particularly loving (when is he ever?) he’ll allow ONE picture to stay.

⌖ his camera roll is purely filled with test results, written exams, student emails he needs to read over, things concerning the guild or the ipc and secret purchases of ducks he’s made (he’s not ashamed, he just doesn’t want you to know he’s buying ducks that are bigger in size every time so he can fill your shared bathroom)

⌖ realistically, maintaining such a perfect ratio of photos:videos is rather impossible unless you’ve got impeccable timing with things you save and delete so, in order to bypass this, ratio made a photo library to help serve as a base number of sorts

⌖ that photo library is of course a secret and locked haven filled with pictures and videos of you, none of which you can even recall taking. all of them hold at least some sort of significance to the both of you, but the ones that dr ratio loves the most is the ones that are just natural

⌖ the ones that show you being yourself, whether it’s where you’re cuddled up near a blanket reading something with a leg hiked up over the sheets or where you’re sleeping with your mouth wide open because you’re sick and unable to breathe through your nose properly; he loves it all

RUAN MEI 𐚁 阮•梅

[◉"] 505 photos, 28 videos

⌖ she tries to keep it as neat as possible; that means no sneaky pics taken of her by you, accidental blurry shots she’s taken (god forbid, those ones are immediately scrapped and done anew especially if related to an experiment of hers) thought that doesn’t mean she clears it in the regular

⌖ ruan mei actively saves any photo you send her, sometimes she’ll even screenshot the chat itself if she finds herself clutching at her heart as she swoons over a few lines of flirting that apparently you couldn’t hold yourself back from due to how much you missed her

⌖ she’s not someone really sentimental so despite having photos of her little cake-cat hybrids, she rarely ever rechecks them unless the trailblazer sent another report on their status to match

⌖ honestly her memory is impeccable to the point she doesn’t even need screenshot reminders of things like dates and experiments saved (would it even be called machine reductionist to call her a walking computer model at this point?) therefore, anything she saves that’s work or science related probably has more intricacies that she can account for

⌖ her gallery is a little boring otherwise. for someone of her morally grey standards you’d expect at least something worth mentioning, maybe even something dumb like a secret recipe she uses to make the sweetest (anti-truth serum…) pastries but no— nothing.

yet the reason for that is very blatant; not even her beloved has the privilege to witness her mendacity.

AVENTURINE 𐚁 砂金

[◉"] 8,793 photos, 777 videos

⌖ it’s a complete and utter mess to say the very least; dr ratio refuses to so much as glance at it whenever he’s near and topaz just gets an ick:

“how do you even manage to find anything?”

“luck.”

⌖ his photos range from absurd, to sweet to egotistical. things that remind him of you such as random rocks he finds, alcoholic beverages that have the same colour scheme of an outfit you wore the night before, an animal he saw that he swears if reincarnation was real would so be you

⌖ he has a specific library for just solely screenshots based off your chats, most of them including a significant amount of “i love yous” and goodbyes that promised a little something more when you met up next; everything that aventurine utterly cherished and craved

⌖ …and then the rest was either him showing the background of him photobombing others, pictures he took to send to you (or one of the ipc members to piss them off, sometimes even the trailblazer for a cheeky laugh) and on the even more popular occasion, all his extraordinary wins whether it be in poker, pool or uno

⌖ compared to his photos, his videos are slightly more interesting. a near 50/50 split that ranged between him telling dumbass jokes to piss off his coworkers, recordings of the back of dr ratio’s and or topaz’s head just for the future laughs (he likes the reminder that he does actually have friends and they aren’t just deliberate hallucinations born of loneliness).

⌖ but of course, all his “favourited” videos involve you somehow. sometimes it’s just a slip of your name while he’s sneakily recording a meeting, him telling you he misses you or vice versa, other times it’s just when he feels like he has a home. you snuggled up on his chest, hands intertwined together as your breathing nearly synchronises with him…moments where he feels as though he could forget the trademark imprinted onto his neck.

SUNDAY 𐚁 星期日

[◉"] 777 photos, 111 videos

⌖ now as much as i want to say “oh it’s all you! he has a special folder for you <3” i unfortunately can’t.

⌖ it’s almost most definitely videos of robin’s concerts, solo shows, videos he stolen off of audience members with good seats when he wasn’t available to personally hide in the crowd…a lot of the photos are also the same way; robin’s promotional pictures, screenshots from her recent advertisements and negative hate comments or news stories that he’s going to personally deal with later

⌖ that doesn’t mean he values or priorities you over his sister, absolutely not. you two are the only people in his life who he would unironically take down the skies and survive utter torment for if it meant your voices were the last things he heard as bellowing winds sliced past his eardrums to tune the world out in order to hear his own final breath

⌖ he tries his best not to be sentimental or nostalgic, as he’s been told as he grew up into the bright and maybe just slightly tragic and guilt-infested man he is today, those things in his eyes are an innate weakness of humanity. clinging onto something thats not tangible anymore.

⌖ but he can’t help but hold on to every video you send him. every picture of you smiling, laughing, every text of you saying i love yous, quoting love songs to him or showing him pictures where you jokingly said “that’s us” (did he tilt his head a few times when you kept sending animals to him with that particular correspondent message? perhaps, but it never made him blind to the intentions).

BOOTHILL 𐚁 波提欧

[◉"] 12,113 photos, 191 videos

⌖ he truly doesn’t gaf (give a fork) about how messy it is, all the things that are genuinely important are already locked and loaded into his noggin’, there’s no point in being frugal with the space he’s been given on a little cellular device

⌖ you wouldn’t believe it, but he rarely uses it unless it’s for emergencies. there’s plenty of trouble that comes around when you’re a galaxy ranger, which means having a constant tracking device on you like a phone that you update daily is a stupidly bad idea; which is precisely why his photo gallery is a mess

⌖ he quite literally can’t go in and clear it out otherwise it risks giving out sensitive information.

⌖ not applicable to you, that is. in boothill’s eyes, you’re an “emergency”. if you’ve texted him, it’s obvious you want his attention, which potentially means you could be in danger and he has to rush to the rescue like the flamboyant cowboy he is (no he absolutely knows you don’t need help, but there’s always that nagging “what if” factor, you know?)

⌖ he inwardly blesses whoever invented screenshotting because it would be an understatement to say that little as half of his gallery is littered with you. he’s just a bit of a boomer when it comes to technology like this, despite being a whole walking charging port himself ehem, so a lot of the pictures he has saved of you that you sent over whenever he cutely pleaded;

“missing ya, send me a lil’ somethin’ wont you?”

unfortunately are uncropped and framed with the outline of whatever messaging app you’re on.

⌖ if he lets you scroll up far back enough, maybe you’ll get to see just a glimpse of how similar his adoptive daughter’s smile was to his

#id be willing to shove a fork in him if it meant getting an electric current directly from him 😍😍#cue boothill and me kissing while mumbling but we’re both boys🥺🥺#hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x gn!reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai x reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #dr ratio x reader #ratio x reader #veritas x reader #ruan mei x reader #aventurine x reader #sunday x reader #boothill x reader

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moonstruckme · 15 days ago

Note

Pookie! I need you to write me something pretty please :)

Can you write Remus comforting a reader with an anxiety disorder when someone told them "there's nothing to be anxious about. You just want attention" ??? Pretty please?? Love you pookieeeeeee

Thanks for requesting!

cw: mean girl stuff, social anxiety

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 929 words

“Shh.” Remus holds you close to his chest, his hand moving up and down your arm now that your crying has slowed. “It’s okay. It’s just us, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo, croakily. You’re glad you can’t see your boyfriend’s face, for fear you’d die of embarrassment otherwise. The looming insecurity of your day stands over you like a grim reaper.

You arrived home from a friend’s birthday dinner to find Remus sitting on the couch, already marking the page of his book as he turned to you with a soft smile.

“Hi, sweetheart. How was it?”

You replied, through a laugh that turned into a sob halfway through, “Not great.”

The dinner had been an event of foreboding for you since your invite. You’d been determined to be a good friend by not bailing, but actually going had confirmed your worst fears; it was loud, crowded, filled with people you didn’t know and didn’t fit with. Your outfit wasn’t right, the menu was daunting, and conversation swirled all around you about things you weren’t a part of. The fallout was basically inevitable.

You perhaps waited too long to excuse yourself. You were sweating buckets and breathing around a lump by the time you did, whispering an explanation to your friend before locking yourself into a bathroom stall to talk yourself down. You’re sure she didn’t mean anything by telling the people sitting closest to her why you were gone—you don’t think she’d do it to gossip, and she’s never talked down to you about that sort of thing, at least not to your face—but by the time you returned one of her friends—a stranger to you, who’s name you can’t even remember—had formulated a fairly decisive opinion and dubbed you an attention seeker.

You stayed only a little longer after that. Just long enough to avoid attracting more attention. And you worked yourself up well enough on the way home that all it took was one innocent question from Remus to send you crumpling into his arms.

You’ve tried to steel yourself more than once, but any attempts at stoicism have been foiled by your boyfriend’s tender looks and whispered placations, which only make you cry harder. If you’re an attention seeker, Remus is your holy grail. Self loathing sits lodged in your throat like a stone.

“Whose friend was it, again?” Remus asks, stroking your arm gently.

You take a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t mean it’s your friend’s fault, sweetheart,” Remus says. He’s all softness and patience, better than you could ever deserve. “I just thought you might talk to her, if you want to. She ought to know her friend is going around saying cruel things.”

“She was there.” Your throat tightens at the memory.

“Oh. Then I don’t suppose you need to say anything; I’m sure she’s already very upset for you.”

You try to laugh, frustrated with yourself when it only seems to spur another wave of tears. “Rem. You’re biased.”

“What?” Remus sounds genuinely surprised. “You don’t think she’s angry with that other girl?”

“She’s her friend.”

“So are you.” His arms tighten around you protectively, chin bumping your head. “I may be biased, but the other girl was clearly in the wrong. There’s no excuse for the way she acted.”

A dozen rebuttals fly about your head, but you keep your mouth shut. You don’t have the energy to argue. Unfortunately, Remus hears your argument in the silence anyway.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “no one puts themselves through what you do for attention. You don’t choose to feel that way.”

You hunch your back, tucking your head underneath his chin. “I do get attention for it, though.”

“That doesn’t mean you want it.”

“But I—”

“Do you want it?” You can’t see Remus, but you hear the hardened edge to his tone. “Did you like it, when that girl called attention to you in the middle of the dinner?”

Your voice smalls. “No.”

“Right.” The gentleness returns. Remus puts his lips to your head. “I know you didn’t, dovey. So don’t torment yourself, please. She doesn’t know anything about you.”

You push your lips together. He lets you chew on your next words for a while, his thumb swiping softly back and forth over your upper arm, the sleeve of your top shifting slightly with the motion.

“What if…” You gnaw the inside of your cheek. Remus waits. “What if everyone thinks that?”

“Mm. Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think most people would. Surely not anyone who knows you, or anyone worth being around.” He takes a breath, thinking. “You can’t always control what people think. I know you say I’m biased, but anyone who thinks something like that really isn’t worth thinking about at all. You’ve got enough going through that head of yours, yeah?” He kisses your hair fondly.

“I guess so,” you admit.

“Yeah,” Remus decides. He pulls away to see your face, pushing hair away from your tacky cheeks. “I’d say so.”

You wonder if you look as horrendously in love as you feel. You think you must, because your boyfriend’s expression softens impossibly further as he turns his head to give you a proper kiss. You feel raw but comforted, and suddenly, totally exhausted.

“Let the bullies worry about themselves.” Remus gives you a tender look. “I’ll worry about you.”

You let a small smile tilt your lips. “And what am I left to worry about?”

“Nothing,” he says solemnly. “Think you can manage that?”

“Nope.”

“Mm. Well, try.”

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everyonewooeverywhere · 1 year ago

Text

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ farmhand!mingyu x farmer's daughter!reader

note ✭ this is very much inspired by the mingyu pictured above. (also i don't mention it explicitly, but girly's family is lowkey rich)

synopsis ✭ when your dad hires a hot new farm hand, you can't keep your hands off of him.

content/genre ✭ smut (18+ mdni)

word count ✭ 2.9k

warnings ✭ smut, mingyu and reader are horny af, outside sex (no one else sees them though), no prep, overall horny shenanigans i guess 🤷‍♀️, alcohol consumption, tipsy sex (they're not depicted as drunk, but they did have a couple drinks)

✭✭✭✭

Every time your father hired a new farmhand, they were always the same. While they never disappointed in the build department (they were always jacked, but that was kind of a requirement of the job), but they all looked identical. They wore the same brown scuffed boots. They had their hair in the same floppy cut with the same dirty blonde color.

For a couple of summers through your teens, it had been fun. Your father would hire him after the final school bell rang for the summer. You’d introduce yourself to him when your father was nowhere in sight, and you’d spend the rest of the summer sneaking around with him and having your fun. When summer finally ended and school began, you’d bid him farewell and never speak to him again, and your father was none the wiser.

And it was fun! The first two times. Then every summer turned the same, and every single farm hand looked indistinguishable from the last with no discernible personality whatsoever.

So, having just finished your second year of university, you were expecting more of the same. You’d have a gander, but you certainly weren’t expecting much from whoever your dad decided to hire this summer.

“God, why couldn’t you have invited me to stay over at your house this summer? I’d take whatever hunk your dad decided to keep,” your best friend from school, Jennifer, whined over the phone as you pulled your car up the long driveway to your house.

“I did invite you, but you’re spending you’re leaving today for Spain, remember?”

“Yes, but y/n!” she whined again, “I need more muscly men in my life. This would be the perfect opportunity.”

“You’re gonna be in Spain for two months. I’m sure you’ll find at least one man muscular enough to fit your standard.”

“Yeah, whatever. You better have fun with this man without me.”

“Like I told you earlier, they’re so fucking boring. It’s not gonna happen.”

You put your car in park and began to gather up your purse and phone when you glanced up out the windshield to see probably the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life walking out your front door and toward your car. It was as if your severe doubts had summoned him.

Ever the chatterbox, Jennifer kept talking, “Well I’m just saying maybe you should keep an open mind. You never know what could happen. One magical night in the woods and you could be locked down for life. It’s just–”

“Jennie shut the fuck up.”

“Woah,” she seemed mildly offended, “sorry?”

“He’s hot Jennie. Like really hot. Not even a ten. Probably a twelve.”

“Ugh, you lucky bitch! I told you to keep an open mind,” you could hear her mother yelling at her in the background, “Oh shit. Girl, I have to go, but send pics! Please! I need to see the hunk you’re railing this summer.”

“Yeah, of course,” you mumbled while she hung up on you.

This man was really throwing you for a loop. Just based on appearance alone you could tell he was not the type of guy your dad usually hired. First and foremost, he was massive. Well over 6 feet tall and far more muscular than any guy you’d ever seen (and that was saying something), and the skin-tight black t-shirt he was wearing did nothing to hide it. His hair was dark and cropped, a far cry from the endless supply of shaggy blonde hairstyles you’d seen over the years.

The cherry on top was when, after watching you stumble out of the car, he’d asked, “Where’s your luggage? I thought I’d help you carry it inside.”

“Oh,” you let out an awkward laugh, “It’s in the trunk. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he followed you around the back of your car and popped open the trunk, “I’m Mingyu by the way.” He stuck out a hand for you to shake it.

You grabbed the hand and he shook it with a firm squeeze. Holy fuck he has nice hands. “Y/n. It’s great to meet you Mingyu.”

There was no hiding the way you gawked at the way his muscles flexed when he carried your stuff inside.

✭✭✭✭

The idea of returning to your old ways was honestly exciting for you. Last night over Facetime Jennifer had gotten the whole rundown of your brief interaction with Mingyu. You fawned over his muscles, his cute lisp and the way he’d been such a gentleman to help you carry your luggage after what you assumed was a long day of work.

She’d found his Instagram of course and found out that he was indeed just as attractive as you’d described (and he had cute friends too).

This morning you felt more than ready to kick off what you predicted to be a great summer. And you weren’t starting slow either. You knew the routine of your father’s farmhands enough to know that Mingyu would start the day mowing the lawn around your house. He’d usually start later on Saturdays (today), too. Meaning that if you got out there by 10 am, he’d probably still be working his way around the lawn. Hopeful by the pool.

Which, by complete coincidence, is where you were. Laid out in your favorite bikini by the water. The dark sunglasses covering your eyes meant that your eyes were completely hidden, but it was obvious where you were looking.

Not far from the pool, you could see Mingyu pushing the lawn mower through the grass of your backyard. The tight black t-shirt from yesterday was no more. Instead, he wore a white tank top that left his arms completely exposed. He glanced over at you a couple of times, but he never let his gaze linger long enough for you.

You watched him from your laid-out position in your pool chair for a good fifteen minutes before he disappeared into the shed, presumably to put the lawnmower away. While he was inside, you took a moment to stand and dip your toes in the water thoroughly enjoying the coolness of the water. It was nice, you had to admit, but you’d have to save that for later because, while you were distracted by the water, Mingyu had made his way to the fence that separated your pool from the rest of the yard.

It was only when he cleared his throat that you noticed him standing there, leaning against the fence smiling at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you normally spend your mornings checking out your dad’s employees?” God his voice.

You stepped out of the pool, “Only when I think they’re worth my time.” You slid your sunglasses off your face and onto the top of your head as you approached the fence where Mingyu was standing.

“Charming. I’m assuming he hasn’t the slightest idea what you get up to, then?”

You laughed, “Of course not. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“So…” you brushed his forearm with the tips of your fingers, “What time do you get done?” You knew the answer of course, but it felt polite to ask.

“Seven thirty. Why? Hoping to get me alone?” He smirked

“I wouldn’t mind it.” You bit your lip as you no-so-subtly checked him out for the millionth time, “Meet me behind the shed at seven forty-five, ok? Don’t be late. I’ll bring booze.”

✭✭✭✭

Part of you wondered if he’d be there when you snuck out of your house at eight-fifteen. Yes, you were late, but that was part of the game. Your parents always went to bed early, and you were an adult. So getting out of the house unnoticed was no issue at all. If your dad noticed the six-pack missing from the garage fridge, you could just tell him you drank it or you could feign complete innocence.

The weather was still warm despite it being completely dark outside, so your athletic shorts and oversized tee did just fine. You’d contemplated wearing a skirt but ultimately decided against it because you didn’t want him to think you’d give it up that easily. Even though you were already struggling greatly to contain your excitement.

He could hear the clinking of the glass beer bottles as you made your way to the shed through the freshly cut yard. As much as Mingyu would love to deny it, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you since this morning. Something about the way you were laid out in the sun this morning had left a permanent imprint on his mind. The secrecy of the situation was also incredibly appealing. It turned him on more than he’d like to admit, messing around with his boss’s incredibly hot daughter.

Mingyu wasn’t an idiot. He knew you were taking your sweet time on purpose. You’d made him wait half an hour just to see if he’d wait around for you that long. You wanted to see how bad he wanted it, and clearly, he wanted it pretty bad because you found him sitting on the bench behind the shed staring up at the stars.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

He laughed, “Sure you are.” He held out a hand.

You passed him a bottle as you sat down next to him.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind, but it seems you just enjoy the idea of making people wait for you.”

“Maybe,” you turned so your knees just barely brushed his thigh, “But you waited for me didn’t you?”

“Hey, maybe I just wanted free beer.” He gestured to the bottle in his hand.

“I know for a fact my dad pays you enough for you to afford your own beer.”

He laughed and leaned his head back against the shed, giving you a full view of his neck. You couldn’t help but imagine kissing his neck, leaving plenty of marks in your wake. “He sure does. It’s one of the many benefits.”

“What else do you like about the job?” You were genuinely curious about what was so appealing about doing nothing but manual labor for an entire summer. Even if the paycheck was really good.

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Gets me off my ass. Gives me something to do with my hands.”

“Oh? You good with your hands?”

“You just don’t let up do you?” He really did enjoy how insistent you were despite your attempts to make him pine after you by making him wait for you so long.

“Not unless I’m asked to.”

You ended up talking with Mingyu for two hours. The two of you drank and talked about your lives, school, home, past flings, and relationships. By the time you two of you had finished off the six-pack you’d brought out, you felt as if you’d been out there forever.

At some point, you’d put your legs over his lap. He caressed one of your calves with one hand while you played with the fingers of his other hand.

As much as you’d enjoyed this little conversation, the more you drank, the hotter he got, and you were hardly holding it together anymore. With every move of his hand on your calf, you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter.

You took the hand that was already in yours and placed it on your cheek, “Mingyu…” you whined looking up at him.

“What, baby?” his thumb stroked your cheek.

You straddled his lap, sitting back on his thighs and moving down his neck and to his chest, “can we stop talking for a little bit?”

“Oh?” he questioned, lightly placing his hand on your lower back under your shirt, “What do you suppose we do instead?”

“Can I kiss you?” You asked leaning further into him so that your chests were touching.

“You can do whatever you want, baby.”

That was all the confirmation you needed to lean completely into him and kiss him. The kiss was long and more passionate than any kiss you’d experienced from your past summer flings. His hands were on your ass, pulling you to hover over his crotch where you could obviously tell he was hard. And that would have made you smug if you hadn’t been sitting in your own arousal for at least an hour.

You kissed down his neck just like you had previously imagined. He let out a deep moan with every mark and bite you made. You had failed to realize that one of his hands had left your ass until you felt a hand brush over your completely clothed pussy.

“Baby, as much as I love these cute little shorts, can I take them off of you?”

Nodding furiously, you leaned back, pulled yourself off of his lap and pulled off your shorts and shirt, setting them on the bench beside him. Of course, you weren’t wearing a bra, something Mingyu had noticed almost immediately when you’d sat down beside him. Before you made your way back to his lap, you reached for the hem of that stupid, useless white tank top that covered virtually nothing. You pulled it over his head with ease.

“Wow–” you whispered.

He laughed and pulled you back into his lap, “As flattered as I am,” he ran a hand up your side, “I could say the same thing about you.”

Before you could even think about how to respond Mingyu’s face was in your chest, feverishly placing kisses on your tits. He grabbed one with his hand and rolled the nipple between his fingers.

You gripped onto his hair and moaned softly. Your hips rolled over his clothed dick multiple times before he finally shucked off his jeans which had become uncomfortably tight.

“Can I please fuck you now?” he asked.

“Please,” you begged completely forgoing the chance to tease him for his politeness.

You pulled down the waistband of his boxers and grabbed him. Running a thumb over the tip, you pulled his cock out and pumped it a couple of times. “God, baby. You better hurry up.”

He slid your panties to the side and ran a finger between your folds, “you sure you don’t want me to prep you?”

You shook your head. So much for making him wait. “I’ll be ok. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

He nodded and reached to grab a condom from his pocket. Of course, he’d come prepared. When he failed to open it fast enough, you snatched it out of his hands and ripped it open with your own teeth. You rolled it onto him after what felt like an agonizingly long amount of time.

He positioned himself at your entrance and slid himself into you with relative ease. You threw your head back when he bottomed out. You covered your mouth in an attempt to keep yourself at least a little quiet.

“F-fuck, Mingyu!”

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he grunted out, “I’m gonna need you to move, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded and gripped onto his shoulder. As you started bouncing up and down on his cock, he buried his face back in your chest, kissing and biting at your tits, collarbone, and neck. He left plenty of marks on your chest that were identical to the ones you’d left on his neck, maybe even darker. You had brought your own hand to your clit. Desperately trying to find your release.

“Oh god Gyu, I’m so close,” you grabbed onto his hair.

He hissed from the stinging in his scalp, “Me too, angel, me too.” His face was in your neck when you’d finally reached your climax, and he followed immediately after.

You both sat there, chests heaving, for a couple of minutes, saying nothing.

“Wow,” was all he could say as he pulled you off his lap and helped you put your clothes back on, tossing the condom into the trash bin beside the bench. You made a mental note to take the trash out before your dad came out here tomorrow.

You laughed breathily, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him. Your hands found their way to his chest instinctively. “Can I see you tomorrow night?”

“Oh, was that not enough for you?”

“God, no, that was perfect. But I wanna take care of you for real next time.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I have a truck,” he nodded toward the red pickup truck in your driveway, “I can drive it down to the creek. The bed of the truck is actually pretty comfy when you put blankets and pillows down.”

Laughing, you said, “You want to fuck me in the woods.” He shook his head, “I wanna eat you out in the woods.”

God, this was gonna be a fun summer.

✭✭✭✭

“Girl, what!? It’s only been a day?” Jennifer’s voice rang through the phone. “Was it good?’

“For outside bench sex? Yeah, it was great. We’re seeing each other tomorrow night.”

She groaned, “Ugh, you lucky bitch. I’m so jealous.”

“What? No Spanish hunks?”

She shook her head, “not yet. But I’m hopeful!”

“Do you still want updates, or are you gonna explode from jealousy?”

“No! Please keep me updated. I’m living vicariously through you.”

You laughed, “God you’re insufferable.”

“I know!” She batted her eyelashes at you, “You will keep me updated though, right.”

“Of course, how could I not.”

✭✭✭✭

thank you for reading! i knocked this shit out in two days (and you can probably tell 👀), but i'm genuinely surprised with myself.

anyway hope you enjoyed. reblog and like if you did! love hearing your thoughts

mwah~

#seventeen smut #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #kim mingyu smut #seventeen x reader #18+ mdni #mdni #everyonewooeverywhere #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dj's work #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ mingyu #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ smut

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seeingivy · 1 month ago

Note

sukuna and “ we have to stop meeting like this” plssss

we have to stop meeting like this x ryomen sukuna

**part of my tortured poets concert event

“we have to stop meeting like this.”

sukuna can tell when he’s in trouble.

he’s seen the look hundreds of times – when he used to talk too loudly during lectures in college, when he’s late to meetings at work, from his brother when he misses his nephew’s basketball games – to the point where he’s able to pinpoint it down to the expression.

narrowed eyes. furrowed eyebrows. a pursed expression.

and sukuna can evaluate that, at the very least, he’s not in trouble with you, because you have none of the three, despite the fact that he’s most definitely earned it at this point. a testament to your overwhelmingly large well of patience. if sukuna’s bruised eye isn’t betraying him, he’s almost convinced that he sees a whisper of a smile on your face.

sukuna readjusts himself in the bed, shifting awkwardly from how small the stretcher is, as you make your way over to his side and pull the shiny blue latex gloves over your hands.

“how else am i going to see you, doc?” he asks.

you roll your eyes.

you’re not particularly fond of downtown los angeles.

there’s too many people – bustling in the streets, clogging up the sidewalk – to the point where you feel like you see hundreds of people every single day. and while the initial thought of moving was exciting, of the unknown, you very quickly realize that you detest it.

you work in an emergency department that houses almost hundreds of patients everyday. strangers going in and out, coworkers cycling through to the point where you can barely remember anyone's name, and it’s a severely stark culture shock from the ten manned hospital you used to work at out in the suburbs. the same few patients you saw every few months.

nothing is consistent in los angeles. except for the promise of a local bar owner, by the name of ryomen sukuna, who always tumbles in around the holidays with some type of injury.

halloween. new years eve. thanksgiving. a broken arm, dislocated shoulder, a viral infection.

“you know, i almost thought you weren’t coming.” you joke.

“and miss out on valentine’s day with you?” he asks.

you reach forward, fingers light on the side of the face as you guide him to look straight at you, so you can assess the damage. there’s a deep cut on the side of his forehead, superficial, accompanied by bruising around the soft warmth of his eyes.

and while his pretty face is intact, his arm evidently isn’t. there’s a deep gash, one that makes him wince loudly as you touch the bruised skin around it. you narrow your eyes at him, before craning your neck over your shoulder and whistling.

“yuuta.”

“yes, dr. l/n?”

you give him a polite smile.

“can you get me a suture kit please?” you ask.

he gives you a polite nod, quickly scurrying away towards the supply closet, as you turn back to sukuna.

“don’t make that kid do my stitches.”

“why not? that kid has to learn, you know.”

“well, he can learn on someone else, for fuck’s sake.” he mutters.

sukuna leans forward, giving you a bright grin, and whispering so quietly it sends a warm shiver down your spine.

“you’ve got a special touch, doc. i’m only going to give you permission to patch me up.”

you narrow your eyes at him.

“will you really say no if i make him do it?” you ask.

he gives you a nod.

“plus, that poor kid has been staring at that girl with the green hair the entire time. you should let them play hooky.”

“i should let my residents play hooky?” you deadpan.

sukuna shrugs.

“where’s your sense of romance?” he asks.

you cross your arms over your chest, as yuuta sets the suture kit down on the counter and reaches for the gloves. you raise your hand in the air, gesturing for him to stop, and note that you’ll slightly regret this gesture in a few hours when you have to do the paperwork.

“no need, yuuta.”

he gives you a frown.

“i don’t mind, boss. you should take a break.” he offers.

you shake your head at him.

“you should go into my office and go to the desk on the left. there’s a box of chocolates that someone gifted me in my top left drawer this morning that you should share with dr. zenin.” you note.

yuuta’s eyes go wide.

“what do you mean?” he asks.

“everyone can see that you’re hopelessly pining over maki. including my patient, who has very graciously convinced me to let you be a romantic. get out of my face before i change my mind.” you respond, making your best attempts at a stern voice.

yuuta flickers his eyes in between you and sukuna, an unmistakably delighted look on his face, as he lightly taps on the door on his way out. you turn back to sukuna, who now has his eyes narrowed at you as you open up the suture kit.

“you’re telling me there’s other people that give you gifts?” he asks.

you scoff.

“you give me gifts?” you asks.

“the pleasure of my company at your workplace. on every calendar holiday, mind you.”

you roll your eyes as you clean up the area around his skin, pulling out the silk material for his stitches. sukuna’s well versed in your stitching techniques, and with a pain tolerance so high, it only takes a few minutes.

“what did you do this time?” you ask.

“occupational hazard. who gave you the chocolates?”

you scoff.

“where do you work? the mma boxing ring?” you ask.

“do you think i’m fit enough for that? more fit than the dumbass who gave you the chocolates?” he asks, a wide grin spreading across his face.

you shrug.

“evidently not. you can barely…

you pause to lift the chart left on the table, yuuta’s messy notes scribbled on the top, before you look back to glare at him.

“...take down a christmas tree at the bar without injuring yourself. looks like you’re irritatingly possessive too.” you state.

sukuna places his hand on his chest.

“i told you to take it down earlier when suguru was still in town.” you note.

“in my defense, i was protecting my beloved nephew, yuuji, from injury. he crawled underneath and almost got trampled.” he exaggerates.

you give him a smile.

“heroic.” you deadpan.

sukuna gives you a smile, before lifting his hand up to cup the side of your cheek, the touch warm as he rubs a circle into your cheek. you lean into the feeling as sukuna reaches back and fixes the flyaways to the back of your ear, before you return to stitching up his arm.

“i’m starting to think you’re injuring yourself on purpose just to spend time with me, ryo.” you murmur.

“would that be wrong, baby?” he asks.

you roll your eyes.

“wait for me to come home, dumbass. i’m literally off in five hours.”

sukuna rolls his eyes right back at you, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. he retreats as you set your forceps down, reaching for the roller bandage as you wrap it around his arm. you secure it with a piece of tape at the end, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder to signal you’re done.

sukuna interlocks his fingers with yours, lifting your hand to press your fingers to his lips.

“thanks, doc.” he murmurs, tone uncharacteristically soft.

you can’t help but sigh – the aching feeling of seeing couples doting over each other all day hitting you in full force, that you’re spending your first valentine’s day away from him – as you reach forward and run your hands through his hair.

“be careful. i’m wrapping you in bubble wrap next time.” you warm, reaching forward to lean your head against his shoulder.

sukuna welcomes the touch, with three warm kisses spread between your forehead and your hairline, as he shows you the three pictures of the little valentine’s day card that yuuji made for you that’s waiting at home.

you grant him twenty minutes – twenty minutes before you tear yourself from his side to go process his discharge paperwork – and send him on his way. you can’t help but sink into the chair the second you see his pink hair dart out the doors, as you type the last of his notes into the chart.

“did the boyfriend enjoy the chocolates?”

satoru’s hovering over your shoulder, a bright smile on his face, as he expectantly waits for an answer. you lean back in your chair, heaving a great sigh as you eye the clock.

“he was here, got injured taking down the christmas tree at the bar. and the boyfriend insisted i give them up for okkotsu and zenin. they’re probably kissing in my office for all i know.”

satoru gives you a polite tap on the head, lightly ruffling your hair, before pulling up the chair at your side.

“well, you should be flattered. sukuna’s so dedicated to spending time with you. so romantic of himself to injure himself just to come down here.”

you scoff in response.

“dedicated to being a dumbass is what he is.”

satoru shakes his head.

“i think he’s just a big fan of getting doted on. being cared for, patched up by you, and all that.”

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liliavanrougelover · 9 months ago

Text

Would the TWST boys wake up to your alarm?

Summary: Would the TWST boys wake up to your alarm and how would they react to it?

Characters: All NRC students (-Ortho)

Warnings: none(?) (please correct me if I'm wrong)

A/N: I'm working on the Riddle SMAU, but it's taking longer than I expected. Enjoy these silly head cannons while you wait.

Riddle Rosehearts:

Yes and he’s grateful for it. His mother made him wake himself up. She didn’t allow him to get an alarm clock and just expected him to wake up, and that’s not exactly an easy thing to do. While he’s happy, he is used to waking up earlier than you. He probably gets up at 5:30- 6 am, I could never. He would either set up an alarm on his phone or ask if you could set one on your phone. If you set one for him on your phone, he would be grateful, but if you didn’t, he would understand. On the mornings where he wants to sleep in, he would turn off his alarm and let yours wake him up.

Trey Clover:

Yes. He would wake up to your alarm, but he doesn’t. Why? Because he has his own alarm. His alarm is set to the same time as yours because he’s not willing to get up at the crack of dawn. If you sleep through your alarm, he’ll wake you up with breakfast in bed. He’ll make sure he knows what you like for breakfast and he’ll make sure to make it perfect for you. He likes making breakfast for you so much that you may find your alarm has been silenced.

Cater Diamond:

Yes and it upsets him. He groans, flops himself on top of you and tells you to turn it off. If you do, he’ll nuzzle into you and fall back asleep. If you don’t he’ll climb over you and turn it off himself. If you want him to wake up, you’ll have to wake him up yourself. He has made a few magicam posts about your alarm. “Their alarm is the only thing I dislike about them.” -The first post Cater made when you first slept over. He tells you to turn the sound down or you’re never sleeping over again. The ideal volume is none. He’s asking you to delete it.

Ace Trappola:

It takes at least 3 alarms to wake him up and if you have that, he’ll be upset. He doesn’t like waking up and when he wakes up from an alarm? He’s not happy. He’ll reach over you and try to turn your alarm off while sleepily complaining. You can’t even understand what he’s saying because his words are all slurred and quiet. Once he’s fully awake, he’ll make complaints that you can understand.

Deuce Spade:

It takes 2 alarms to wake him and he’d be glad if you had that. He’s slept in more than he likes to admit so he’s very glad that your alarms wake him up. He’ll be a bit confused at first and ask you what that noise is. You’ll have to remind him to get out of bed or he’ll just sit there trying not to fall asleep again. He’s happy your alarms wake him up and he lets you know.

Leona Kingscholar:

It takes 5 alarms to wake him up and he hopes to the sevens you don’t have that much. If you do have that many alarms, he’ll be pissed. He’ll straight up tell you to delete it. He’ll make you delete it. If you don’t then he’ll send you back to your dorm. If you’re really adamant about waking up, he’ll get Ruggie to wake you up.

Ruggie Bucchi:

It helps him wake up. He’s used to waking up early to get him and his grandma breakfast so he naturally wakes up early. If your alarm is natural volume (not too loud, not too quiet) he’s glad that it helps him. If it’s loud, it’ll scare him. He grew up in a pretty cut-throat environment and he’s used to something trying to attack him. Please, turn your alarm down for him. If it helps you wake up, he’ll wake you up himself. Just please turn it down or turn it off. His poor heart can’t take it.

Jack Howl:

He wakes up earlier than you do. The first thing he does when he wakes up is go for a jog so he doesn’t hear your alarm. He doesn’t even know you have one. When he gets back after his jog and you’re still asleep, he’ll wake you up and offer to make you breakfast. It’s just bland cereal and milk though so if that’s not what you like, make your own.

Azul Ashengrotto:

He wakes up early. It’s what a good business person does. He’s very tired when he does though. He’s groggy and he’s trying to keep his eyes open. But, you see, he grew up in the Coral Sea. The Coral Sea is known to be a very dangerous place. Jade has said that it’s very cut-throat, so Azul has gotten attacked (probably) more than once. He hears your alarm and is sent into a full blown panic. He’s fully awake now. He shakes you awake and tells you that something’s attacking. You have to turn off your alarm and explain it to him. He eventually gets used to it. Remember to be patient with him when he wakes you up the moment your alarm goes off.

Jade Leech:

Jade has his own alarm. He wakes up really early but is still groggy. He’s thankful to have your alarm wake him up as well. He would wake up from his alarm and just kinda sit up in bed and stare at the wall, and then your alarm goes off and he finally gets out of bed. He’s especially grateful if you wake up from your alarm so he has someone to talk to while getting ready. (And he totally won’t convince you to wake up Floyd for him /s).

Floyd Leech:

Oh no. You need a new phone. The alarm goes off and Floyd lunges at it and crushes your phone. And when you get mad at him, he blames you. He tells you that you should’ve turned it off before it woke him up (Like he didn’t destroy it the second it went off). He’ll buy you a new phone if you can make him feel better after being woken up like that. Maybe turn off your alarm when you sleep over again.

Kalim Al-Asim:

He doesn’t have an alarm. He has people to wake him up so he never needed an alarm. He’ll wake up when your alarm goes off and thinks someone’s calling you. He’ll just nuzzle into your arm and murmur about someone calling you. When you tell him it’s your alarm, he’s confused. He thought everyone got woken up by other people. Whenever he hears your alarm go off, he hurries to turn it off so he can continue cuddling with you.

Jamil Viper:

He has his own alarm, but sometimes it’s best if he doesn’t wake up to it. His alarm goes off super early, like 5 am early. With how much he does, he’ll sometimes sleep through it. The first time you slept over, he slept through his alarm, but woke up to yours and he assumes someone changed the time his alarm goes off. Even though he claims that he hates sleeping through his alarm, sometimes he’ll turn it off before going to bed so he can wake up with you.

Vil Schoenheit:

He also has an alarm that goes off earlier than yours. He’ll be in his bathroom doing early morning skincare when he hears your alarm go off. He waits a few minutes before returning to see if you woke up. If you didn’t, he’ll wake you up and tell you that you should wake up the moment your alarm goes off. If you did, he’ll ask how you slept and tell you to brush your teeth, take a shower, etc. etc. (If your alarm is super loud, he’ll ask about your mental health).

Rook Hunt:

Rook is the lightest sleeper in the school. It’s his hunting instincts. In fact, if you asked him, he’d say he never truly feels like he’s asleep (He says it more theatrically). So, technically, no. Your alarm doesn’t wake him up, because he wasn’t asleep. He’ll tell you how beautiful your alarm sounds. It could be set to a tornado warning sound and he’ll still think it’s beautiful (just like you). If you don’t wake up from your alarm, he’ll continue to lay in bed with you. You don’t move, he won’t move.

Epel Felmier:

Your alarm wakes him up and he’s grumpy. It doesn’t matter what wakes him up, he’ll be grumpy. He needs coffee. He wakes up and just curls himself around you. If you insist on getting up, he insists you bring him coffee. If you make him get up, he’ll groan and complain, but get up anyway.

Idia Shroud:

He has his own alarm. He calls it “Ortho”. He’s used to Ortho coming and waking him up, so when your alarm goes off, and wakes him up, he’s confused. Was that his phone? Is someone calling him? Oh sevens, he hopes not. When he realizes it’s your alarm, he calms down. He had a mini panic attack when he thought someone was calling him. If you didn’t wake up from it, he just pokes you and if that doesn’t wake you up, he just lays back down.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus doesn’t know what an alarm is. Your alarm goes off and he shoots up in bed ready to attack whatever broke in (At least it woke him up?). You just have to sleepily explain what an alarm is. Every morning he forgets and still thinks something or someone broke in. Give him a bit of time to let it sink in. He’ll get used to it, eventually.

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia has his own alarm. Five to be exact. None of them wake him up. So, why would your alarm be any different? Lilia is a heavy sleeper, especially if he spent the night playing video games. The only way to make sure he gets up is to drag him out of bed. He thanks you for getting him up and offers to make you breakfast as a “thank you”.

Silver Vanrouge:

It doesn’t wake him up. His own alarms don’t wake him and neither does yours. I mean, a loud alarm would wake him, but he’d also rush to grab his sword because he thinks someone’s attacking. You’re gonna have to wake him yourself. Just shake him awake and tell him to wake up. He apologizes for making you wake him up, and it’s best to just accept it. You can try and tell him it isn’t his fault, but he’ll keep insisting until you “forgive” him (there's nothing to forgive).

Sebek Zigvolt:

He wakes up the moment it goes off. He's up and ready to fight. He looks at your phone, sees that it’s an alarm and asks what’s happening. Just like with Malleus, you have to explain what an alarm is. He doesn’t approve. What do you mean you can’t wake up on your own accord? He thought that was just Silver. He offers to wake you up in place of your alarm. The offer is not as nice as it sounds. He essentially yells in your ear to wake up. The alarm is better.

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atlafan · 2 months ago

Text

candy

summary: harry needs to learn how to use his mouth better, so he goes to see someone who can help him with just that words: 7.9K warnings: sex work, oral (giving and receiving) a/n: not proofread I the song candy by cameo inspired this, def recommend listening because it's so good I if you like what you read here, please consider joining my patreon for access to exclusive fics not posted on tumblr I i haven't posted fic on here in a while. Please, please, please reblog, leave notes in the tags, and/or send me asks!!

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

Harry was…embarrassed, to say the least. But he supposes places and services like these exist for a reason, so he shouldn’t be ashamed for going. Plus, if he boiled it down, he’s going for purely academic purposes. He needs help with something, and he’s going straight to the source to become a pro.

Taking a deep breath, Harry opens the door to the lobby of the building and goes straight to the elevator to the eighteenth floor. He takes his phone out to look at the code he was instructed to punch into the keypad on the door, and then he’s buzzed in, able to check in at reception.

“Um, hi.” He says just above a whisper to the woman behind the semi-circle desk.

“Good afternoon, sir.” She smiled warmly. “How may I help you?”

“I have an appointment at 4PM with, uh,” he looks down at his phone, “is her name really Candy?”

“No.” She chuckles. “But all of the girls have stage names, so to speak. It’s for extra security. Please, have a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here.” She gestures to the waiting area where a few other men are waiting. God, this is mortifying, he thinks.

Harry sits down and keeps his eyes locked on his lap, not wanting to make eye-contact with any of the other guys there.

“Mr. S.?” He hears the woman from behind the desk say. “You can head down to room ten.” She gestures to the hallway and Harry gets up to go, grateful just his initial was used and not his actual name. He needs privacy just the same as these women.

When he finds room ten, he punches in the same code into the keypad and goes inside. The room is dimly lit. It looks like a large bedroom, a master suite. There’s a king-sized bed, but also a loveseat, three-seater couch, and a bureau. He also spies what looks like a bathroom. Wow, nothing’s even happened yet, and Harry’s already realizing that this is going to be worth every penny.

“Hey, baby.” Candy comes out of the bathroom dressed in a black, silk teddy dress and heels. She’s wearing thigh-high stockings as well. “Can I take your jacket for you?” Harry nods at that and unbuttons his suit jacket, shimmying it off and handing it to Candy. She makes a show of walking over to the small closet and hangs it up on a hanger before coming back to him. “This is your first time here, isn’t it.” It’s not a question, but Harry still nods. “You don’t need to be nervous, baby. You booked me for three hours, so we have all the time in the world to get comfortable. Do you want something to drink?” She gestures to the bar cart on the other side of the room.

“No, thank you.”

“Alright.”

“And I don’t want you to have one either.”

“Then I won’t.” She smiles. “Do you want to sit on the bed, the couch…?”

“The couch.” He decides, and they both go sit on it. Candy tucks her feet under her bum and props her head on her fist, resting her elbow on the back of the couch. “You’re very,” his eyes drift down to her cleavage, then back up to her face, “pretty.”

“Well, thank you, baby.” She gives him a beaming smile. “You’re a sight for sore eyes yourself.” She laughs. “I have to do this with a lot of guys I’m not particularly attracted to. I got a little excited when I saw you were assigned to me today.”

“That’s kind of you.” He blushes. “They make you have sex with guys you normally wouldn’t say yes to?”

“I mean, no one makes me do anything. There’s about a dozen different secret buttons around this room for me to press to call for security. No one gives us any trouble here, but you should know, there’s no funny business.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything without your permission.”

“So, why don’t you tell me what you want, baby? How can I make you feel good? I can suck you off, let you bend me over the bed, or-“

“I want to go down on you.” He blurts out, and it takes her off guard.

“Come again?”

“I want to go down on you.” He repeats, a little slower this time. “That’s all.”

“Are you serious?”

“Do guys not normally go down on you?”

“No, some do, but most guys are here to take care of their own needs, mine don’t usually matter. Not that I mind. I have to use so much lube to get even remotely wet for some of these guys. I’m thankful that a lot of them don’t even ask to go down on me.”

“Oh.” He looks away for a moment, then back to her. “So, this is weird…”

“Nah, everyone has their kinks and fetishes. If you like going down on women, then-“

“I need practice at it.” His cheeks heat for the millionth time that day. “I’m not very good at it, not confident, and I can tell when I’m with a woman, or someone with a vagina, that…well, I get the tap a lot.”

“The tap?”

“You know,” he taps the top of one of his shoulders, “when someone gives you the tap to cut it out and get on with it. I’m confident with my cock, lots of orgasms have been had on my cock, but I know that’s not always what a woman wants, and I care so much about getting a woman off, but it’s so awkward to have to keep asking, ‘do you like that’, or, ‘is that good’. So, I just need someone to practice on so I can get better at it, and then feel more confident when I’m having relations with someone.”

“You’re telling me you’ve tried to go down on women, and they haven’t told you how to do it?”

“Some try, and then they just get frustrated, and then I get frustrated. And…I’m not all that confident with my fingers either. Sometimes I can make it happen, and other times I can’t. I feel like making a woman come during foreplay is really important. It helps them relax, gets them more into it, and then I feel better, which means I can perform better.”

“So, you booked me for three hours so I can help you get better at eating someone out, and that’s all you want to do?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I’ll probably come in my pants from doing it. I get off knowing I’m getting someone else off. So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll probably just strip down to my underthings, so I don’t ruin my pants.”

“Baby, I see people naked every day, of course it’s okay with me.”

“Do you call every guy baby?”

“I…what?”

“I don’t want to be called what you call everyone else. It feels impersonal. How am I your baby already? We just met.”

“Well, are you a precious thing.” She smooths his hair back from his forehead. “What would you like to be called? A lot of guys don’t use their real names, same as me.”

“I’d rather be called by my name. Is that okay?”

“Yes, and don’t worry, you have my discretion. We all sign NDA’s when we take on new clients.”

“That’s good to know.” Harry sighs with relief. “My job…I’m one of the faces of my company.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He shrugs.

“Did you ask any of your friends how they approach things? Or, like, have you watched lesbian porn? It’s still exaggerated, but no one knows how to go down on a woman more than another woman, in my opinion.”

“I was too embarrassed to ask my friends. We don’t talk about things like this. They only brag about the good stuff, no one talks about their weaknesses. And I have watched…all kinds of porn, and as helpful as the visuals are, I learn much better by doing.”

“Okay.” Candy stands and claps her hands together. “Let’s get comfortable on the bed. I think we should act out what you usually do when you’re getting ready to sleep with someone. Kiss me, touch me, do whatever you usually do with a woman.”

Harry nods and stands up. “My name’s Harry.”

“Hi, Harry.” She smooths her hands up his chest. “Can I loosen your tie for you?”

“Yes.” He watches her nimble fingers work the knot and slides it off his collar. She takes the material between her thumb and index finger.

“This is quality material.”

“I don’t fuck around with my clothes.” He smirks, letting some personality shine through, and she makes an impressed face. He takes the tie from her and gently places it to hang on the back of the couch. He brings his hand up and tucks some hair behind Candy’s ear, a little unsure of how to start. “So, we can kiss? You want to do this really?”

“Yes, Harry, I do.”

Hearing his name on her lips sends a zip of electricity through his body. He leans in and brushes his Cupid’s bow against hers, then takes her top lip between his own. He gives it a gentle suck, and revels in the way she kisses him back. She keeps it slow, going at his pace. His hands cup her jaw as he licks into her mouth. Candy moans lowly, melting into him.

They stand there like that for a while, just the sounds of their lips smacking, their breaths huffing, and the spit being swapped between them filling the room. Harry presses his pelvis against Candy’s, and she squeaks, immediately putting a hand over his erection to palm it. He snatches her wrist and shakes his head no.

“But, you’re hard.”

“That’s not what I want from you.” He brings her knuckles up to his lips, kissing on them, and then up her arm and to her neck.

“Oh, fuck.” She moans breathlessly, clutching at the hair on the back of his head to keep him where he is. “I love being bitten.”

Harry whimpers into her, nipping at her tender skin a little harder. Her other hand flies to his back, clutching at the material of his dress shirt. Her knees nearly buckle when his teeth nip at her earlobe. He walks her back towards the bed, and they topple on top of it. Harry wedges his thigh between Candy’s and grinds it in hard.

Candy is absolutely perplexed. Surely this Harry guy is joking because from kissing alone, she can’t imagine him not knowing what to do with her other set of lips. He’s insanely good at this part of things.

His teeth drag along her collarbones, and his hand hovers over one of her breasts. “Can I touch you here?” He asks.

“Yes.” She presses her hand over his, squeezing. “Kiss me here too.”

Harry nods and sucks on her nipple through the silk material of her teddy. She lets out a loud moan, and Harry moves to sit up. Unbuckling his belt, he shimmies out of his pants, leaving his boxer-briefs on, and undoes his dress shirt, taking that, along with his white t-shirt, off, then gets his mouth back on Candy’s.

“Jesus, you’re ripped.” She says, smoothing her hands over every hard ridge of his abdomen. “And your tattoos…so sexy.”

“Has everything been okay so far?”

“Better than okay. You’re a really good kisser.”

“I’m gonna work my way down now.” He tells her, kissing down her silk covered body. He pushes the material up to bunch around her hips. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

“I’m aware.”

“Don’t women like being teased over them?”

“Some do, and some don’t. I personally don’t like it, so I don’t usually wear any panties under my teddies.

“Right, I need to remember not everyone is the same.” He says more to himself. “Okay, walk me through it.”

“Just do what you normally do, and I’ll correct you if need be.”

Harry nods and spreads Candy’s lips apart. She’s glistening, and it goes right to his cock because she literally just told him she needs lube for most of her clients, and she clearly doesn’t need any for him. He leans in and-

“I’m gonna stop you right there. This is where you should be teasing me.” She props herself up on her elbows. “Kiss on my inner thighs, blow cool air over me. I should be quivering and pulsing for you.”

Harry kisses from Candy’s inner left knee, and down, down, down, blows cool air over her sex, and then kisses up her other inner thigh. He sucks bruise after bruise into her, and she puts one of her legs over his shoulder, pulling him in by digging her heel into his back.

“I’m ready now, want it.”

“And should I be quick to give it to you, or should I keep teasing?”

“Keep teasing but give me your fingers first.” He raises a hand to her, and she takes two fingers into her mouth. She takes them down deep until she’s spitting up, soaking them. “Slide them through my folds.”

Harry almost blew his load right then and there. He brings his fingers down and slides them up through Candy’s folds. She spreads her legs wider and uses her own fingers to pull her outer lips up and apart so he can see her clit.

“I know where the clitoris is.” He rolls his eyes.

“Apparently you don’t if you’re getting the tap, as you called it.” She smirks. “Just take a second to look at it. It’s throbbing for you, Harry, all swollen and full of blood. It wants your tongue, your hot mouth, so badly.”

“Fuck.” He leans in and licks over it with the flat of his tongue.

“Good, do that again.” And he does, he gives it long licks over and over again. “Now, spit on it, watch it slide down my slit.” She watches him do it. “Okay, now do what you usually do.”

It felt good, at first. Candy liked the way Harry’s tongue swirled around her clit, but before she could sink into it, he licked into her cunt and curled his tongue, which also felt good, but again, by the time it was really starting to do something for her, he dragged his tongue back up to her clit. Normally, this would be edging, but this isn’t fun edging. She thinks that Harry is unaware of what he’s doing.

“Stop.” She tells him, and he does. “I see the problem.”

“How bad was it?”

“It wasn’t terrible, but you keep changing it up too quickly. It’s not a race.”

“I know that.”

“Then why do you keep moving from my clit to my hole every two seconds? You’re not giving me enough time to enjoy it while it’s happening. You gotta pick one and stick with it. What do you feel more confident with, tonguing my clit or my hole?”

“I…” He sits back and blushes. “I guess this is the part where I’m a little selfish and greedy. I feel more confident working the clit with my mouth, but I really like to taste and suck on the pussy.”

“Harry,” she chuckles, “you’re allowed to be selfish and greedy. All of that is going towards pleasuring your partner. And that doesn’t mean you can’t still do both, you just need to listen to your partner a little. See what they like, get them off, then go be gluttonous and have your feast.”

“Okay.” He nods. “How do you like it, then?”

“Don’t worry about that-“

“Candy, I really want to make you come.”

“Alright.” She nods and lays back. “I need constant stimulation to my clit, and I need fingers inside me. Get me off that way, and then you can suck on my pussy.” Harry smiles softly and dives back in, wrapping his lips around Candy’s clit. “That’s good, while you suck with your mouth, use your tongue to swirl around my clit…oh, fuck, yeah, just like that.” She reaches to brush a few stray curls back off his forehead. “And look up at me, watch me go through the motions.” His eyes flit up to hers, and her hips buck towards his mouth. “Such pretty green eyes, Harry.”

He moans and slides his middle finger inside of her. She’s so wet, and it’s driving him crazy. He ruts into the mattress, so desperate to taste everything she’s giving him. But he wants to do this right, so he focuses on her clit.

“I need two.” Harry slips a second finger inside her. “Good, pump them in and out slowly, let’s build up to things. And it’s also okay to give your mouth a break, it’s all part of the teasing.” He pops off her and watches his fingers go in and out of her tight hole. “Spit on it, keep it messy.” Harry spits onto her clit. “Now suck it back into your mouth and flick that tongue against my clit.”

He’s a good listener, open to constructive feedback, so he does as told. He’s rewarded when he feels Candy tighten around her fingers. Harry thrusts them deep inside, keeping them there as he curls them to pet against that spongey bump. Candy gasps and props herself up on her elbows as she watches Harry. Her mouth falls open and she starts rocking against him, moving her hips along with his fingers. A man hasn’t found her g-spot in ages, if ever.

“Like that, j-just like that, Harry.” She bites into her bottom lip, and he looks up at her as his tongue licks her clit in tight circles. The sound of her wetness is driving Harry crazy, but he pushes his urge to taste her down. This is about Candy right now. “Oh, wow. Wow, wow, wow, wow.” Her head falls back, and her hips raise. Her back arches, and she starts moaning out loudly, uncontrollably. “Don’t stop, Harry. Fuck, please, please, please, please! Ah, ah, ah!”

When Candy comes, she snaps her legs closed around Harry’s wrist, and nearly snaps it from the way she twitches and moves. She grabs the base of his wrist and moves it so he’ll keep fucking his fingers into her through the aftershocks. She moans gutturally one more time before falling limply against the bed.

Harry slowly pulls his fingers out of her and sucks on them. He looks down at Candy’s drenched core and lifts her thighs over his shoulders before licking inside.

“Oh!” She gasps and tugs on his hair, not to get him to stop, though. Harry moans as he drinks her in. “S-spread my cheeks and lick my other hole too.” His eyes light up, like he’s just been given a golden ticket. In a matter of seconds, he’s flipping Candy onto her stomach and pulling her up by her hips so he can spread her ass and lick her puckered hole properly. “Fuck, Harry, that’s so good. You can smack my ass too, if you want.” She jolts forward when his large hand comes down hard on her cheek. “Fuck me with your fingers from behind, really beat them into me.”

This time, Harry fucks her with three fingers, and he does it rapidly as he continues eating her peach.

“Harry, I…I think I’m gonna…” she doesn’t get to finish her sentence. The wave of relief crashes over her and she gushes. Harry’s fingers slide out, and slap against her clit quickly, keeping the mess flowing. “Fucking hell.” Her chest heaves as she moves to lay on her back. Harry lays down next to her.

“So, all of that was good?”

“It was very good.” She pats at his chest. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve come so hard.” She turns her head to look at him. “Did you end up blowing in your underwear?”

“Yeah.” He smiles sheepishly. “It was hard not to.”

“Damn, I would have gladly sucked you off after all that.”

“I’ll get hard again.” He waves her off. “We’re not done yet.”

“Right, you still have me for a couple more hours. Did you want to fuck now?” She turns on her side to face him fully, and he mirrors her, resting his hand on her hip, rubbing her skin affectionately with his thumb.

“No, I want you to sit on my face so I can practice that way. One time with you facing me, and another with you facing away.”

“Okay, just…I need a minute.”

“Sure, take your time.” He smiles softly, keeping his hand on her hip. “You probably hear this all the time, but you have a beautiful body.”

“I do hear that a lot, but it feels more genuine coming from a nice guy like you.” She chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “Whoever you’re practicing all this for is going to be a lucky girl.”

The air in the room feels tense for a beat.

“Okay, we’ll start off with me facing you.” Candy says. “This way is all about the woman. Then, we’ll do it with me facing away from you and I’ll suck you off at the same time. It’s good to practice staying focused on your girl’s pleasure while she’s pleasuring you.”

“That sounds good.” He lays back, a little nervous. “There’re so many different ways to do this. Like, should I just stick my tongue out flat and let you grind against it? Should I just suck on your clit? Should I have you rub against my nose while you ride my tongue?”

“You’re over thinking it, Harry. It’s up to the girl you’re fucking to set how she wants it. Personally, I’d love it if you put your tongue up inside me. I’ll rub my own clit.”

“What should I do with my hands?”

“You can squeeze and smack my ass, rub my rim.”

“Fuck.” He murmurs. “Get on me, now.”

Candy swings her leg over Harry’s face and hovers over him for a moment. She squeaks when he pulls her down. He licks up inside her slowly, letting her adjust to the muscle, then he pulls her down even more until she’s fully seated on top of him. She spits onto her fingers and lazily rubs her clit as she grinds down on his tongue. Harry curls it and flicks it inside her, moaning at the taste. His large hands squeeze her ass, giving her a few swats before spreading her apart and rubbing the pad of his thumb around her rom.

“Ah, fuck.” Her head tips back and free hand buries in his hair. “You can put your thumb in, if you want.” Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He gently works his thumb into her tight hole. “Yeah, just like that.” She moves her hips in slow circles, reveling in the way Harry’s moaning and groaning underneath her. She’s soaked and he’s slurping on her. “I…I think I’m getting close already, wow.” This never happens. It usually takes her a while to start feeling that familiar tingle at the base of her spine, but she’s rubbing her clit faster and moving on Harry’s tongue faster, and then she’s screaming. “Shit, Harry!” She yanks roughly on his hair as she comes, and she comes hard. She goes to move off him, but he keeps her seated, mumbling something against her. “What?” She asks breathlessly.

“M'not done yet.” He says, briefly coming up for air before diving back in. He sucks her clit with one last pop, then pets her ass. “Okay, you can turn around now.”

Candy swivels around and leans forward, pressing her hands into the mattress between Harry’s legs.

“There’s a few ways to do this, but I can’t stress this enough, everyone is different, so I’m going to tell you how I like it.”

“Okay.” He presses a kiss to one of her cheeks, and it makes her face sizzle. Why did he have to be so cute. “Tell me how you like it.”

“Fuck me from behind with your fingers, bury your face in my ass, and use your free hand to rub my clit.” She slips her hand into his briefs to pull his cock out. “How do you like your blow jobs?”

“Sloppy, don’t…don’t be pretty about it.”

Candy responds by spitting on the tip and taking it into her mouth. Harry’s mouth falls open, loving the way her hot mouth feels on him. But he has a mission to accomplish. He’s working on building a tolerance. He runs his fingers between her wet folds before slipping them inside. From there, he does exactly how she told him: his mouth works her ass, his fingers pound into her g-spot, and his free hand rubs her clit.

“Ohhhh, shit, Harry.” She gasps around his cock, choking a little. She pulls all the way off and jerks him.

“Candy.” He moans. “Did I find it, sweetheart?”

“Yes, you did, yes, yes, yes!” She moves back against him to meet his thrusts, then gets her mouth back on him. She takes him down her throat, gagging around him, and using that spit to jerk him a little faster.

Their bodies are so in sync. They’re both wet and drippy for the other, both spurring the other on. The second Harry feels Candy spasming around his fingers, he lets himself come, and Candy swallows all of it, sucking him dry before rolling off onto her back.

“Holy shit.” She breathes.

“Yeah.” He gives her ankle a fond squeeze as his chest heaves. “You’re something else.”

“You’re unreal.”

“You taste really good.”

“So do you.” She turns her head to look at the clock on the wall. “You have me for hour and a half. What do you feel like doing?”

“We just did all of that in thirty minutes?” He sits up. “That was really fast.”

“Yes, it was.” She giggles. “But it was good.”

“Come here, come sit in my lap.” Candy does so, wrapping her legs around his waist. “You’re so beautiful.” He runs his thumb over her bottom lip.

“And you’re sweet.” She hugs him, resting her face in the crook of his neck. “How come you booked me up for the rest of my shift?”

“Because I could.”

“Oooh, well, aren’t you special.” She pulls back and smirks at him. “You know, most of the people that come here are wealthy, so that doesn’t impress me.”

“I wasn’t trying to. You asked me a question, and I gave you an honest answer. I don’t like doing these types of things with people and then leaving immediately after. I needed extra time for this.” He lets himself fall back, keeping her to lay mostly on top of him.

“Oh.” She snuggles into him. “Well, I rarely get to cuddle, so this is fine by me.”

“Do you like this line of work? I’ve always admired sex workers. This isn’t an easy job at all. It takes a lot of courage and bravery.”

“Thank you for saying that. I’m one of the luckier ones. I’m not on drugs, can’t be because they do regular blood tests. I have a salary, a retirement account, and other benefits. It could be a lot worse.”

“Do you also provide escort services?”

“No. Some girls do, but I don’t. I like to keep everything related to this job in this room.”

“Is this all you do for work, or is this a side hustle?”

“Nope, full time, hence being a salaried worker.

“Oh, duh.” He chuckles, then reaches for one of the throw blankets to drape over them. “So, how’d you end up here?”

“Most of us are all a thin line away from being homeless. My job let me go when COVID first happened. You can only stay on unemployment for so long. All these companies say no one wants to work, but no one wants to hire either. And, I’m sorry, but I’m not settling. I should be paid enough that I shouldn’t need a side hustle. One of my friends who ended up having a sugar daddy told me about this place. I started out part-time, just to pay some bills, but they told me some people wanted repeat appointments, then I was getting regulars, then I was getting paid more. It all sort of just fell into place, and I didn’t look back.”

“What were you doing for work beforehand?”

“I was a backend coder for a major financial firm. They got rid of the entire department and contracted out their cyber needs from a company that specialized in that because it made more sense fiscally.” She rolls her eyes. “It was for the best, I hated it.”

“And you love this?”

“Honestly, I like it a lot better than sitting behind three monitors all day, five days a week. I’ve actually gotten in better shape from having sex full time. Do I have to fake it for most guys, yeah, but none of them are mean to me. They just want someone to make them feel special for a little while, and I’ve found that I like having the power and ability to do that.”

“You have more control over your own life.”

“Exactly.” She looks up at him. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I…sort of own an airline company.”

“How do you sort of own an airline?”

“I’m a nepo baby.” He smiles sheepishly. “My father stepped down a few years ago so I could move up while he was still around. I’m lucky and fortunate, so I try not to complain about things too much. So many people have it far worse than I do.”

“Wait a second…Harry S…” She sits up and scrambles away from him. “You’re Harry Styles!”

“Is that a bad thing?” He sits up. “Shit, please don’t tell me you’ve fucked my dad.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. But you have fucked one of my friends. You used to date Jennifer Harris, right?”

“Yeah, years ago.”

“Fuck! And now I have to keep this insane secret from her. She’d be so pissed off, Harry, like, you have no idea.”

“If you’re such good friends with her, then hoe come we’ve never met prior to this?”

“I didn’t become friends with her until after you two parted ways. She told me so much about your relationship. She never mentioned anything about you being bad in bed, though.”

“I never said I was bad in bed either, I just needed some help getting better at one aspect of it.” He gets off the bed and starts pulling his clothes back on. “How, uh, how is she? I know she got married a year or so ago.”

“She’s doing well. Her and her husband are a great couple. They’re trying for a baby.”

“I’m glad she found someone that could give her the attention she deserves. I wasn’t very good at that. I also wasn’t ready to settle down, and she was. How did you two become friends?”

“She owns the lingerie store I buy stuff from.”

“Ohhhh, right.” He nods, zipping his pants and buttoning his shirt. “That makes sense. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You clearly didn’t know it was me. You didn’t look at any pictures from when she and I were together?”

“Your hair was longer! And you weren’t as, I don’t know, beefy.”

“Thank you?” He questions with a smirk. “Is this going to be a problem? Because I’d like to be able to come back and see you again.” He makes his way over to her and tilts her head up by curling his finger under her chin.

“But…why? You did so well today.”

“I wanna see if it’s just as good for a repeat performance. And then I’d need to come back again after that to test out some of the other things I do during sex so I can get an honest review.” He leans down and brings his lips to the shell of her ear, “And I just know you’re dying to know what it’ll feel like to have my cock deep inside you.”

“Jesus Christ.” She clutches at his shoulders. “You’re going to put me in a very difficult situation.”

“You can say no to my appointment requests, but I’d be very disappointed if you did.” He pecks her lips. “I know you want to see me again.” He pecks her lops again, a little longer this time. “Hm? Wanna see me again, Candy?” He takes her bottom lip between his and he cups her jaw, licking into her mouth. She moans against him. Before she has a chance to really kiss him back, he pulls away. “God, I’d love to spit right into this pretty mouth.”

“You can.”

“Next time, I will.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. I’ll come back soon.”

Harry leaves the room, walks down the hall, and out of the suite. The second he’s back down on the street, he sucks in a breath and turns into the alley to try and calm himself down. He’s never that confident and forward with women. But she brought something out of him. When she mentioned Jennifer…it made something snap. He fucking hates Jennifer. So, if he inadvertently makes her suffer by having sex with her good friend, then so be it. Because Candy isn’t someone that Harry is going to be able to stay away from. Not after they shared something so wonderfully intimate.

Harry thought he’d be able to book another appointment to see Candy again way sooner, but his jaw hangs open as he looks at her availability on the app. Since he’s come in once, he’s been invited into the company’s app so he can book meetings on his own.

Two weeks. Candy doesn’t have another opening for two entire weeks. He grumbled to himself and books her entire evening on the first day he sees she’s free. And for good measure, he books out a couple other appointments so he’s not left scrambling. And for each one, he maxes out the five hour limit.

One time with this woman and he’s already pussy whipped!

The two weeks are torture. He’s jittery and agitated at work. Running it off in the gym does very little for him.

But finally, the day has come to see her again. Harry goes after work and follows the sale procedures, only this time, he’s not at all embarrassed. When his name is called, he all but sprints to Candy’s door and punches in the code. He doesn’t see her right away, but then, there she is, coming out of the bathroom in a red, silk teddy. She gives him a soft, almost shy, smile.

Harry closes the distance between them, cups her jaw, and kisses her deeply. It takes her by surprise, but it’s a welcomed one.

“Mm.” He pulls away and looks down at her before kissing her again. “Missed these lips.”

“I’m sorry I was so busy.” She circles around him to take his suit jacket off, sauntering to the closet to hang it up. “I have a few snowbirds, and they all decided to basically come see me at once before they all go back to Florida or whatever.”

“You fuck guys that much older than you?”

“Mhmm.” She loosens his tie and gives it a tug to slip it off, placing it on the back of one of the chairs. “It’s no so bad.” Her eyes find his. “Let’s talk about you. How have you been?” She leads him to the couch so they can sit and chat.

“Work’s been stressful, but it sort of always is. I had to hire a couple of corporate level people, that’s never fun.”

“What’d they do to deserve being fired?”

“They were sexually harassing a few interns, thinking they could get away with it.” He scoffs. “They thought wrong, let me tell you. I survey just about all of the security footage daily, and I saw the same two idiots bothering these young women who could be their daughters, and so I had HR get involved, and I fired them both without severance pay. Which means they’ll probably try to sue for wrongful termination, thinking it’s all hearsay, but they don’t know about the footage, so joke’s on them.”

“And the interns, how are they?”

“I think they’ll be alright. I spoke with all of them and apologized profusely. I told them that behavior like that didn’t trickle down from me, and that I take it all very seriously. They’re all continuing with their internships, which is good. I would have felt terrible if they couldn’t get credit for this.”

“Wow, I think you’re the first ethical CEO in corporate history.”

“There’s nothing ethical about capitalism.” He says lowly, shaking his head. Candy’s hand gripped his knee and she moaned.

“Don’t stop, I’m close.” She pops an eye open, and they both burst into a fit of giggles. “Handsome, kind, and self aware? Damn, you’re the whole package.”

“I’ve thought about you a lot over these last two weeks.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I made sure to book out some other appointments in advance.”

“I saw that.”

“Does it bother you that I book the longest blocks I can?”

“Nah, I get paid the same amount no matter how many appointments I have a week.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Last time, you mentioned that you wanted to show me how you do other things…”

“I want your honest feedback. Can we go lay on the bed for a bit?”

“Of course.” They both climb onto the bed and Harry pulls Candy to rest her head on his chest. “I like your cologne.” She mutters.

“Thank you.” He murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed. “Would it be weird if we took a quick catnap?”

“Not weird at all. I’ll set a timer for thirty minutes. Take your clothes off, we can get under the covers.”

When all is said and done, Harry turns Candy onto her side so he can spoon her. He wedges a leg between hers and sighs contently. A nap after a long day with a beautiful woman in his arms feels almost as good as when he had his tongue inside her pussy. Almost.

“Oh, God! You’re so good at this, fuck!” Candy moans out as Harry eats her from behind. She reaches behind herself to grip his hair and keep him close. “I’m almost there, don’t stop!” It’s not often Candy gets to have a genuine orgasm while being with her clients, so she’s taking full advantage. “Fuck!” She collapses to the bed after coming, and Harry trails kisses up her spine and along her shoulders. “You seriously have nothing to worry about. No notes.” She says as she catches her breath once Harry lets her roll onto her back.

“Good.” He smiles. “There’s something else I want to do today.” He tugs the front of her teddy down, exposing her breasts. He licks over one of her nipples, and Candy gasps. “Does this actually feel good?” He gives the sides of her breast to further pucker her nipple for him to flick his tongue over.

“Yes.” She threads her fingers into his hair as he takes more into his mouth, sucking roughly. A long moan escapes her. He travels to the other and does the same thing. “Can I please have your cock inside me?”

“No.” He sits up and pulls the teddy completely off her body, leaving her bare. “I want to eat you again.” He gets on his belly between her legs, wraps his arms around her thighs, and off he goes.

“You’re killing me.” She whines, throwing her forearm over her eyes. Harry slips two of his fingers inside of her, and she sighs with relief.

“Better?”

“Want your cock.” She sits up on her elbows. “Why won’t you give it to me?”

“Because I don’t have to.”

“You’re a sadist, you know that? You come off all timid and shy, but all of that hides a devious side to you.”

“A sadist wouldn’t let you come at all.” He kitten licks her clit before sucking it between his lips. “Is that how you want it to be?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I just need…more.” He slips a third finger inside of her. “More.”

“I don’t think your little pussy could handle it.” He lets her legs go and crawls up her body, slotting his mouth over hers. His fingers are still inside her. He starts pumping them shallowly and lets the heel of palm beat into her clit. “God, listen to you. So fucking wet for me. Do you get this wet for your other clients?”

“No, never!” She whimpers. “I usually need to use lube.”

“Poor thing.” He pouts down at her. “Can feel you squeezing around me, are you getting close?”

“Yes.”

“Are you gonna come? Gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

“Oh, fuck!” Her hips move upward and then she’s coming. She twitches around his wrist a few times before he pulls his fingers out. He sucks them into his mouth and moans.

“Do you call yourself Candy because you know you taste like it?”

“Stop.” She chuckles. “Pussy does not taste sweet.”

“Yours does.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, then looks down at the painful bulge in his briefs. “Would you mind, uh, sucking me off?” A blush creeps over his cheeks.

Candy smiles and grabs a pillow to kneel on before getting off the bed. She spreads Harry’s legs and pulls his briefs down. He leans back on his hands and lets her get to work how she wants. His head rolls back the first time she swallows around him. He’s in absolute heaven, and from the sounds of her moans, it’s safe to say she is too.

Every meeting started the same. Candy would take Harry’s suit jacket and loosen his tie. Then, they’d sit on the couch, and slowly move to the bed as they talked. Sometimes Harry wanted a quick nap, and other times he was ready to start right away. He still hadn’t properly fucked her, but he’s fucked her with several dildos and vibrators. He wanted to work on those skills just the same. He even fucked a plug in and out of her ass.

They’d been going at it for at least two months at this point. He still didn’t know her real name, but he knew a ton of other things. He enjoyed talking with her, probably more than he should. Because when Harry goes out on a few different blind dates, he finds himself comparing every woman to Candy. The hollow look in their eyes while they smiled and nodded did nothing for him.

On this particular evening, Harry showed up with a bouquet of flowers for his girl.

“Harry, this was so thoughtful, thank you.”

“Can we talk for a minute?” He takes her hand, and they go to the couch. “I’ve tried going out with other women, and none of them are you. I know I don’t even know your real name, but…”

“Harry, I know where you’re going with this, and the answer is no. I’ve never accepted any sugar baby offers for a reason. At some point, you’ll get bored, kick me out, and then I’ll be shit out of luck. I don’t want a man directly paying my way. It would make me feel powerless and trapped.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask you, like, at all.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I wanted to know if I could take you out on a real date sometime, when you’re not on the clock as Candy.”

“I can’t do that either, Harry.” She puts her hand on his knee, giving it a squeeze. “I keep these worlds separate. Men can’t handle that I fuck other men, they always ask me to quit, and-“

“I would never ask you to do something like that. If you ever end up leaving this place, it should be because you want to.”

“Jennifer is my best friend.”

“She and I broke up ages ago. Pretend like she’s not a factor in this. Would you go out on a date with me?”

“I…” she bites into her bottom lip.

“If no really is your answer, I’ll respect it, and we can keep things as they are, but…I have to be honest with you…every time I’m around you, I get this feeling. And it’s only with you. I wanna know if you feel it too.”

“I feel very strongly for you, more so than I have for any other client.”

“I’m so taken with you, sweetheart.” He cups her cheek and runs the pad of his thumb along her skin. “I think about you all the time, from the second I wake up in the morning. Just the thought of you has me tossing and turning and has my eyes rolling back. You have this affect on me, and you fascinate me, and I want to know everything about you. You’re so sweet, you’ve completely stolen my appetite.”

“Fuck, Harry.” She moves to straddle his lap, and she wraps her arms around him. “I’m so wet right now.” She says lowly into his ear.

“Don’t.” He grips her chin. “Don’t try to distract me.”

“I was just being honest the same way you just were. You…you’d really be okay with me continuing to work here if we started up?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “You don’t get this turned on by any of your other clients, do you?”

“Nope, only by you.”

“Then I think I could learn to compartmentalize things. This is work, not play.”

“Exactly.”

“Would I still be able to come see you here?”

“Yes, but don’t go taking up all my open slots. That kind of possessiveness doesn’t turn me on.”

“Noted.” He smiles softly. “So, I was thinking, for our first date, I could bring you home with me some night, and I could cook for you.”

“You cook?”

“It relaxes me. I can make whatever you like.”

“I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me. That sounds nice.” She bites into her bottom up. “Say things go well, and we start dating regularly…what will you tell me people about me?”

“Whatever you’d want me to tell them. I can be as open or as private as you like. I’ll admit, I was embarrassed the first time I came here, but I’m finding that these types of places are way more common than I thought.”

“You could say we met at work. Not a total lie. When I’ve dated in the past, I usually tell the guy to tell others that I’m a masseuse.”

“Are you comfortable with that?”

“Yeah. It feels like the most accurate thing to say. I provide pleasure and relaxation.”

“You sure do.” He smirks. She rolls her eyes playfully at him. “Are you free tomorrow night for a date?”

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Great.” He trails kisses along her jaw line and nips at her earlobe. “Bring an overnight bag. I’m gonna give my cock tomorrow night, and if I do my job right, you won’t be able to walk afterwards.”

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #hs fic #candy fic

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milkteabinniechan · 2 months ago

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♡Dear Lover - Hyunjin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: fiancè Hyunjin x fem! reader

summary: Your parents have picked a husband for your sister and the two of them have been writing love letters back and forth for years before they meet on their wedding day. There is just one problem: you've been the one sending the letters to her future husband and now you're in love!

warnings: just fluff! some angst, drama, very soft hyunjin, lovesick reader

“Maybe start with why you were the one writing me the letters and not your sister?” Hyunjin’s nostrils flared as he spoke. But his tone wasn’t angry, just confused. You looked exactly how he pictured you from your letters. A softness about you that translated through your words.

“She asked me to. In the beginning, she didn’t want to write to you. So, she asked me to do it instead to make our parents happy.” You pulled at the hem of your shirt, twisting it this way and that while your eyes stayed fixed on the ground. “Please, don't be upset with her.”

Hyunjin stepped back for a moment. His eyes searched yours as the two of you finally locked onto one another. Eyes that he had pictured late at night. A face he had only seen in his dreams. Everything he had said in the letter was true. He was in love, just not with your sister. But the wedding was planned, the invitations sent out.

It was springtime when the letters first began. You remember the sound of birds chirping outside your bedroom window when your parents made the announcement that your sister was to be wed on the year of her 21st birthday.

“But I don’t want to marry someone I’ve never met!” She screamed. You were only partially paying attention. You were no longer the focus of your parents' attention. You were twenty-four now and practically a spinster. Your sister was going to have her wedding the very next spring. One year. She had one year to comply and accept what was happening.

“We’ve already failed with your older sister, we will not fail with you.” Your father boomed. His fat finger pointed sternly at you.

While your little sister protested for a few weeks, she ultimately agreed upon the marriage if she could at least see who she was to be betrothed to. But letters are all his family would agree to. A stern, traditional family that negotiated the terms of advised letters to be written once a week for one year until the wedding day. Meetings were held in secret by the patriarchs of the two families. Hands were shook and large cigars were smoked in celebration of the upcoming union. Then one cool spring night, your sister came knocking at your door with a favor to ask.

“You’re a writer. Just write the letters for me and make me sound good okay?” She begged, her hands folding together while her eyes pleaded with you.

Reluctantly you agreed. One week after the other, you tried your best to sound like your sister. You wrote about her interests instead of your own. You included her favorite color and her favorite kind of food. But somewhere down the line, you slipped. Hyunjin had written about a favorite book of yours – Little Women. He had written paragraphs discussing the different characters and the depth of their description and diversity from one another. He had gushed about the writing style and the eloquent use of simile and metaphors. And your heart fluttered, fluttered and flipped in a way that was new and exciting. Your next letter was completely you. It was your voice, your thoughts, your ideas. The words just flowed out of you like wine and you would feel almost drunk by the time you signed your sister’s name at the bottom.

Hyunjin would soon write about more personal subjects; his fears and insecurities. Of which you felt a kinship with. You would respond with words of comfort and love, thanking him for being so open and vulnerable with you. You would tell him about a beautiful sunset you saw or the lovely sound that snow made when you take a step early in the morning. Hyunjin would tell you how ready he was to hear that sound. How eager he was to hold you, to hear your laugh and touch your lips at last-

When everything was said and done, you knew the exact moment that things had gone too far. You had said “I love you” in your final letter before the wedding. Hyunjin had responded that he was on his way and that he “loved you more that there were stars in the sky.”

You held that last letter tightly in your hands as the all black town car pulled into the driveway of your family home. You would see him, finally see him, and he would see you. Only you would be a shadow cast behind your sister. Hyunjin could never know that those words were not hers. He would marry her and you would go back to your life before. As Hyunjin slowly stepped out of the car, the sunlight shone through his hair like a beacon. His forearm flexed as he gripped the car door and closed it behind him. He stood still for a moment, his eyes flicking between you and your sister until his gaze finally landed on you. Your sister hastily stepped in front of you and introduced herself. Hyunjin shook his head for a second to break the stare between the two of you before smiling warmly at your sister. He held her tightly, his long arms sweeping around her waist and pulling her close to his chest.

“I am so happy to meet you in person, my love!” He exclaimed, his hand coming up to cradle your sister’s face.

Dinner was a complete blur. The clanking sound of silverware and glasses swirled around your ears while your mind drifted further and further from the dining room. The voices of your family were distant, just an echo of a sound as you attempted to keep your food down. After dinner, Hyunjin and your sister snuck off somewhere in the house to be alone. You made your way up to your room and lied on your bed, willing your brain to erase the last year so the heaviness in your chest would subside.

“Fine! Okay? I didn’t write those stupid letters! But that doesn’t mean anything, right?” your sister shouted from the other side of the wall. You stayed in bed and made your way to the wall that divided your two rooms to see if you could hear anything. “She’s a loser! You don’t want her!” Your sister screamed.

“If she is the one that wrote all those letters, then I do. I do want her.”

Your heart dropped. You moved your head away from the wall and turned to face your bedroom door as you heard footsteps approach.

“Please, don’t be upset with her.”

“I’m not upset with her.” Hyunjin took a step closer, closing the gap between the two of you. “You look just as I imagined.” He whispered, his breath brushing softly against your neck.

Your breath hitched as he moved closer. Your hands move instinctively to his waist. Your hips coming into contact with his as his hands move down your back and come to rest at your sides. He leans into your ear and speaks in a low tone. A secret shared just between the two of you. Something intimate that nothing in this world could penetrate. “You’re the one I want to marry. You’re the bride I have been waiting for.”

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streetlamp-amber · 4 months ago

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the common cold

batfamily x batmom!reader

word count: 2.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

REQUEST: “hi I love your writing so much. You can totally ignore this but id like to request batmom/batfam where maybe Dick and Jason get sick and batmom takes care of them and then she gets sick and Bruce has to take care of her this can be before or after the baby is born. And b obviously doesn't want to get sick so he wears a mask and gloves when he has to be around her.” NOTES: this is set less than a year after first kicks but you don’t need to read it first to read this one. also this is your reminder that the covid pandemic is not over and to please start wearing a mask again in public spaces to protect yourself and others from catching a very disabling and very deadly virus!!

It all started in Dick’s classroom.

It also didn’t help that a common cold was not considered serious enough for the kids to miss out on school. So, naturally, the virus spread through the students and Dick ended up bringing it back home to the Manor. It didn’t take more than two days for Jason to catch it too.

You refused to send your boys off to school no matter what the rules were. You were still on maternity leave – being Bruce Wayne’s wife had many perks, one of them being a one year long maternity leave with no complaints from your boss and the guarantee that you would have your job back once it’s over – so you spent the entirety of your days nursing your boys back to health. Your four month old baby girl Alice had been moved to Alfred’s wing where he was taking great care of her until the virus was no longer a threat. Bruce, ever so protective of those he loves most, didn’t want to risk the two most vulnerable people in the house to catch the boys’ cold and so you reluctantly agreed that, for the time being, it was better to have your baby quarantined away from you. You still made sure to visit the two every day, once you had showered and changed your clothes, but you couldn't wait for this to be over and have your baby back in your wing of the Manor.

Dick and Jason were two different people when sick. Where your oldest had no problem with remaining in bed, doing nothing but reading or watching television series on the iPad, the other one absolutely hated being confined to his room and being forced to rest.

“But Ma! I’m fine-d!” Jason nasally cried out exasperatedly, all dressed up for school and with his backpack hoisted on his shoulders.

You tried your hardest not to chuckle at the fact this was straight out of an episode of Friends. “When you put a ‘d’ at the end of ‘fine’, you're not fine,” you told your son, leaning on his doorway with your arms crossed over your chest.

“But staying in bed is sooo boring!” He continued complaining. He would've said more but a series of cute little sneezes interrupted him.

“You know, kids usually would kill to have days off from school and here you are, actually wanting to go back to school,” you laughed as you walked in his bedroom and sat down at the foot of his bed.

“I’m missing the big dodgeball tournament,” Jason pouted, crossing his small arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry Jaybird, but you’re in no shape to play dodgeball,” you told him, moving his dark hair away from his forehead and putting the back of your hand against it. “At least you don't seem to have a fever, which is better than your brother.”

Jason deepened his little pout on his lips and you sighed. “Tell you what, I’m gonna go check on Dick and then you and I can play board games once you’re back in bed and dressed in clean pajamas, how's that sound?” You suggested, hoping to lift his mood a little bit.

He reluctantly nodded his head and that was a good enough answer for you.

You left his room and went across the hall to Dick’s bedroom. “Hey bubs, how are you feeling?” You asked him from the door.

Dick looked over at you with his glazed eyes from his iPad and lifted his right arm, making a thumbs up but lowering his hand so that the thumb was laying horizontally in the air, halfway up and halfway down. A pitiful sigh blew out of your lips as you walked in his room and you sat next to where his body was curled in his bed to check his temperature. You handed him the thermometer from his bedside drawer and after holding the stick under his tongue for a few seconds, he gave it back to you.

“Well at least your fever has gone down a little,” you told him as you put back the device on the bedside drawer. “Keep on resting and continue drinking lots of water, I’ll be in Jay’s room trying to keep him occupied until lunch so knock on the wall if you need anything and I’ll be able to hear you,” you said while softly running your fingers in his hair, making him close his eyes as he appreciated the soothing feeling.

“Thanks Mom,” he groggily said and pressed play on whatever show he was watching on his iPad to pass time.

It wasn’t until a week later that the boys had fought off the cold and were good to go back to school, much to your contentment. You loved them with all of your heart, but you missed having your baby girl around you.

You woke up on Saturday, feeling off. You had a pounding headache, your throat was scratchy and your nose was clogged. “No. No, no, no,” you whined nasally. It was established yesterday that Dick and Jason were no longer sick, Alice was supposed to come back in your side of the manor today, but it looked like you had caught the boys’ virus.

A soft knock at your bedroom door drew you out of your sorrow. It wasn’t until your husband, still in his pajamas and holding your daughter in his arms, that you realised his side of the bed was unoccupied. “Someone couldn’t wait to see her Mommy,” he sang, wiggling Alice around in slow movements and making her giggle loudly.

Expecting you to smile and hold out your arms for the baby, Bruce was surprised that you burst out in tears instead.

“Don’t come closer, I caught the boys’ cold,” you hurriedly said before he walked further in your bedroom. You grabbed a tissue from your bedside table and dried your tears then blew your nose.

Bruce’s face morphed into a sad frown. “I’m sorry sweetheart. You just stay in bed, I’ll bring this missy back to Alfred and I’ll take care of you,” your husband told you, taking control of the situation like he so easily did as Batman.

You nodded your head and more tears fell out of your eyes as Bruce left with Alice. You just wanted your daughter by your side and it pained you that not only were you gonna be separated from her for longer, but this time you could not go see her throughout the day like you did for the week prior.

About five minutes later, Bruce was opening the door to your shared bedroom again, this time with an N95 mask wrapped around his head and latex gloves on his hands. Your eyes were round with surprise when Dick and Jason followed behind him, KN95 masks on their faces as they weren’t big fans of the head strap.

“What are you two doing here?” You asked your sons before a short coughing fit rattled you.

“Dad told us you’re sick and we want to help him take care of you like you took care of us,” Dick answered as he stopped next to Bruce at your bedside while Jason climbed on the bed and sat crossed legs next to you.

Tears blurred your vision once again and you grabbed both of your boys’ hands. You wanted to hug them and press kisses all over their heads, to shower them with all the love and affection you held for them, but you settled for hand holding to not reinfect them. “I’m so lucky to have the sweetest, most caring boys in all of Gotham,” you told them, your emotions bleeding through your voice.

Jason couldn’t help himself and hugged you with his small arms wrapped around your middle, nuzzling his head to your body. “Don’t cry Ma,” he said and it took everything in you not to sob at the sound of his small voice.

Jason was a Mama’s boy through and through. You were the first person he warmed up to when he joined your family, you were the only one he listened to whenever he was having a tantrum, you were the one he would wake up in the night to soothe him after he had a nightmare. He hated to see you in pain, he hated being away from you (the thirty hours you spent in labour were Alfred’s thirty longest hours of his life, even as Dick tried to help him entertain Jason while they waited for you at home) and he would burn down anyone who dared make you cry.

“Alright boys, let's give Mom some room so I can get a few tests done and make sure it’s nothing too serious,” Bruce gently ordered your sons, who complied without protest.

“Bruce, it’s just a cold,” you whined at your overprotective husband. “I didn’t protect myself while taking care of the boys and caught their bug, it’s nothing serious.”

“Like you always tell me darling, mieux vaut prévenir que guérir,” Bruce replied and you grumpily huffed, knowing he was right.

“What does that mean?” Jason asked curiously. It fascinated him that both you and Bruce could speak more than just English and he was oh so eager to learn all the languages you spoke.

“It's the french equivalent of better safe than sorry,” your husband explained as he got out a thermometer from the medical bag he brought with him from the Batcave.

Bruce got to work, running down a series of few tests to make sure you really only had a cold, as your sons observed him. You then came to a realisation that made you chuckle, prompting all three boys to look at you with interrogation points in their eyes.

“It’s just funny how, usually, I’m the one with the medical bag, cleaning your bruises and stitching you up after patrol,” you explained and you saw the corners of Bruce’s eyes narrow, knowing there was a small smile behind his N95 mask.

“Well, it's good to get out of the routine every once in a while,” he said as he started putting away all the material he had gotten out of the medical bag, “but let’s not make this a habit.”

You scoffed, or more like managed to scoff as a coughing fit took over your body at the same time. “That’s rich coming from the guy I’ve been stitching up every night for the last ten years.”

Bruce glared at you, unamused by your comment, as the boys giggled behind their masks.

“Mom might be sick but she’s sound enough to still be sassy to Dad,” Dick remarked to his brother.

Your husband rolled his eyes, exasperated, and decided to ignore what had just happened. “You’ve only got a cold, so just drink–”

“Drink lots of water, keep myself warm, chicken broth, chicken broth, chicken broth,” you interrupted him. “I know what to do Bruce, I’m a mother who spent the last week taking care of her sick kids,” you told him, slightly annoyed.

“Except that now I don’t want you to do anything. I’m the one taking care of you darling,” Bruce softly said, not affected by your mood. “I’m gonna go start a pot of chicken broth. Boys, help your mother get comfortable and stack some pillows behind her,” he ordered around your sons as he slipped out of your bedroom, medical bag in hand.

You stayed silent and unmoving for a few seconds, waiting for the creak of the second stair from the top (that you refused to get fixed) under Bruce’s weight, to spring into action. “Dick, I need you to go to Alfred’s wing and ask him to make some chicken broth,” you quickly whispered, making your now thirteen year old pause in his action of retrieving some pillows for you. “I love your dad, but that man can not cook. At all,” you explained. “So I need you to go wash yourself quickly, change your clothes, run to Alfred’s wing and ask him to make some chicken broth that you will bring to me incognito. Capiche?”

Dick nodded his head, taking your request as seriously as a Robin mission.

“Oh and while you’re over there, play a little with your sister, make sure she hasn’t forgotten who you are,” you tried to joke although your heart twisted a little. You really hated flu season and you hated being separated from your daughter even more.

“Don’t worry Mom, I was already planning to,” Dick told you, the corner of his blue eyes narrowing as he smiled behind his mask. “We’ll even facetime you so you can talk to her,” he added as he opened the door.

Your eyes filled with tears, you hadn’t even thought of doing that in the first place. “Thank you bubs,” you smiled tearily at him before he left the room.

“Mama, do you want me to put some of the sticky cream on your chest?” Jason asked you when he judged the stack of pillows behind you was good enough.

“The VapoRub?” You clarified and your son nodded his head. “Yeah, it’ll help clear my airways. Do you know where it is?”

Jason shook his head ‘no’ so you instructed him which drawer in the bathroom he needed to rummage through to find the little jar and he left your room with determination to complete his own mission.

Now that you were alone, you laid down a little lower under the duvet, leaning your head back on the mountain of pillows behind you as you let out an exhausted sigh. You just hoped to get through this cold as fast as possible.

To your surprise, Bruce walking back in your shared bedroom interrupted your little moment.

“Oh darling, don’t cry. What is it?” He asked you in a coo as he came to sit next to you on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m not crying,” you quickly denied even though you knew your eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“But you were about to,” he countered and you couldn’t argue with that.

“Aren’t you supposed to be making chicken broth?” You avoided his question with one of your own.

“Saw Dick in fresh new clothes walking in the direction of Alfred’s wing,” he explained, “and you and I both know cooking is not my forte,” he finished with a light joke.

“It’s the thought that matters, honey,” you placed your hand over his that rested on your bed, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

“Yeah but now I’m feeling pretty useless,” Bruce sighed out, staring at your hands.

“Well, you can make yourself useful by checking in on Jason who was supposed to be back with the jar of VapoRub by now,” you said.

“That’s because you keep one billion things in those drawers,” he chuckled and you hit his shoulder with a soft punch.

“Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir,” you argued, repeating what he told you earlier.

Bruce shook his head from left to right. “Alright, I’ll go check on our little bird,” he said and stood up. “Anything else you want me to bring?” He asked you as he neared the door.

“A cup of the Cold 911 tea blend please and thank you,” you answered while reaching for a tissue to blow your nose with.

“A warm cup of tea for my sick wife, coming right up,” he confirmed and disappeared in the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“When you say it like that, it sounds like I’m terminally ill!” You retorted loud enough for him to hear you, judging by Bruce’s laugh that echoed along the wood panelled walls of the second floor.

You ended up being sick for no more than three days, much to your enjoyment and relief, and spent the next two weeks glued to your daughter Alice, refusing to let her go after spending that much time away from her. Alfred loved to joke about your boys’ love being the secret remedy to your speedy recovery, and he wasn’t entirely wrong when he said that, but Bruce staying at home for those three days to take care of you, even taking a break from his Batman patrols to be by your side at night, was the mystery ingredient to cure your common cold.

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seungfl0wer · 5 months ago

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Jeongin As Your Boyfriend

Contains Smut 🩷

-🩵

•I feel like he’s very nervous, especially at first.

•Constantly checking on you making sure anything he does is ok.

•Like kissing. He’s gonna ask you if “it’s ok” to kiss you.

•Because he’s afraid of making you uncomfortable.

•When y’all get past that phase he’s still asking sometimes however he goes for it more often than not.

•He’s not super big into skin ship.

•However that does not mean he’s not ever gonna touch you of course.

•Holding hands is his favorite.

•Or wrapping his arms around you in a back hug.

•He’s not into PDA so if you try to kiss him around the others.

•He’s gonna turn bright red.

•He’s very reserved in my opinion.

•I feel like since he likes fashion so much he’d honestly like those couple outfits.

•Not the “I love my boyfriend” shirts.

•But like same color shirts and stuff just simple cute couple fits.

•Will have you in his OOTD’s especially when y’all matching.

•Absolutely loves seeing you in his clothes too.

•Ugh it just melts him. Finds it so endearing.

•Has a playlist of songs that remind him of you.

•Loves taking you to different places with him so you can experience them with him.

•Teases you of course.

•However he’s very mindful and sometimes can overthink what he says.

•He’s just afraid of hurting your feelings.

•Cuddles.

•Like I said he’s not a big touchy person however.

•When you’re sleeping he’s pulling you so close.

•Tells you all the time how it’s hard to sleep without you.

•Sings trots songs for you.

•Likes karaoke dates a lot too.

•Will definitely send you pictures of their concepts before it’s out.

•He can’t keep things from you.

•It’s really hard for him to keep secrets even if it’s something like a present or surprise.

•He just tells you everything so it’s hard for him not to tell you these exciting things.

•Clumsy.

•You joke how you need to put him in a bubble.

•Or bubble wrap the house at least.

•He loves taking pictures of you too.

•Changes his background so much cause he takes such cute pictures of you.

•No matter how long y’all date for he’s still smiling when he sees your name pop up on his phone.

•Even old and grey he’s still all giddy with you cause he loves you.

•I feel like after he lets his wall down he falls really hard.

•His love is so very genuine.

•He’s just a soft guy under those fox eyes, whose only mission is to make you smile.

•To make you happy and to feel loved and he’ll always be there to do so.

︵‿︵‿୨Smut Below୧‿︵‿︵

•Again this man’s still a bit nervous.

•He lets you take the lead a lot.

•But when he gets comfortable you’ll see the real jeongin.

•He’s very much a switch.

•Loves when you take care of him.

•Calling him your “Sweet baby” makes him go crazy.

•Whimpers so much when he’s like this.

•”I’ve been so good for you please-“

•Morning blow jobs to wake him up.

•Lazy morning sex too.

•You’re still half asleep when he’s pushing himself between your legs.

•His head in the crook of your neck whimpering how he “needs you so much”

•When you respond he’s losing it.

•Lubing you up before pushing into your sweetness.

•On the other hand he can be very aggressive.

•A lot of the times it’s when he’s stressed.

•He’ll have you face down as up as he pounds deep into you.

•Those big beautiful hands leaving hand prints on your ass.

•Loves sneaking you into the dorms.

•Telling you how you “have to stay quiet”

•Gets off on the thought of the others hearing how good he’s making you feel.

•Also those hands I mentioned?

•The way he pushes them into your sweet hole it just-

•He curls them so perfectly hitting every sweet spot.

•He knows how much you like his pretty hands.

•Teases you about how you fall apart on them.

•Aftercare is a lot for him.

•He is always concerned he hurt you or pushed you too far.

•Constant “are you ok?”

•Runs to grab you towels, snacks and drinks.

•Just wants to make sure you’re completely ok.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something

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aemondsbabe · 1 year ago

Text

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

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

🖤 my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?”

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.”

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home.

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well.

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it.

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement.

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was.

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk.

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it.

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face.

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you.

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings.

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly.

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does.

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin.

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks.

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor.

“A… A great victory, master!”

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare.

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?”

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you.

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall.

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded.

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –”

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately.

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always!

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything.

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts.

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.”

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow.

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours.

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad.

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer.

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet.

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone.

A kindness, even now.

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly.

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.”

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head.

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers.

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot.

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter.

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace.

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow.

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.”

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.”

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them.

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way.

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill.

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again.

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?”

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip.

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his.

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same.

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you.

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers.

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples.

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm.

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold.

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine.

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking.

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives.

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason.

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his.

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm.

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend.

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine.

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her.

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion.

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore.

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now.

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again.

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you.

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say.

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly.

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close.

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew.

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips.

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you.

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else.

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet.

He loves you, in his way.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

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