#something something idk they pulled her out of that headspace

[skoulsons]

“You think I’m afraid to die?”

“I think you want it.”

Something something Lincoln’s death hurt Daisy so much and rid of her of any form of caring about her mental of physical health. She dipped into depression and some tendencies, perhaps, and thought that distancing herself was the answer

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much if she was apart from them for a while. Only it’s her family and they couldn’t forget her even if they tried.

Simmons finds her and patches up her bullet wound. Elena supplies her pills, but reminds her on the bus that Coulson cares. May talking with her on the bus and reminding her that Coulson cares. Mack and Fitz talking to her as well, Mack borderline crying because he just wanted her to come home. Fitz angry and yelling, but because he missed her. Because he felt like she turned her back on them despite them being a family

And Coulson. Not pushing her at all. Daisy asking him if he had anything else to say, as he always managed to have a quip or something else to add

But all he has, all he believes she needs in that moment, is “I’m just glad you’re safe”

And all of those encounters with her family. All of those moments and words that stick in her mind. They bring her back home. She tells Coulson (albeit trying to be indirect and failing) “there are a… few things I’ve missed”

[0mg-bird]

Lover’s Rock~ S. Reid

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Spencer isn’t the only one that stands out in the crowd, but maybe that’s a good thing, because that’s what leads him to you.

Warnings: I didn’t really proof read, I’ll do it later lol. 18+ content towards the end. Um Reid is such a dweeb and adorable???? Fluff, mentions of alcohol and embarrassment. Reader is so twee (can we bring twee back or no?) idk she makes questionable fashion choices.

Really, this wasn’t your thing.

The bar scene, the club dresses all the girls where, the high heels and the whole game of cat and mouse that all the guys want to play. But you’re here, you made an effort to appease your best friends who claim you have no social life.

The entire night so far, they watched you strike out with the guys they motioned over because in their mind, you’re desperate and lonely and lame.

Okay, maybe that’s more of your headspace than theirs, but they’ve been offering you pity glances this whole time.

You’ve made a decision a while ago that maybe there was no romance out there for you. You were just born with some aspect that made normal, sane guys physically run away, and maybe that’s fine. You were really good on your own. And it never did feel right when you had a guy, if it didn’t feel like the movies, it wasn’t worth it.

Right?

Okay, maybe you should settle, at some point, you’ll be too old to marry and you’ll just keep working, with no real life and take care of Shelly, your goldfish. Maybe it won’t be perfect, but it’ll be someone to share things with.

You let out a huff and watch the ice melt in your drink, not bothering to smile when your friend tells you to brighten up.

Normally, you’re a ray of sunshine, but something about getting rejected four consecutive times is raining on your parade.

An entire bar full of happy people in their element, and it’s just you, sticking out like a sore thumb, especially when your friends go dance with a few guys they hit it off with.

Too busy looking at the buckle on the ankle strap of your heel, you are sinking somewhere in your mind, to a place where you aren’t listening to cheap song lyrics of and realizing that table is stickier than you thought.

“Where’s Reid?”

“Reid.”

“Spencer!” Penelope smacks his shoulder, pulling him from the trance of his eyes on the book pages.

He looks up from the corner booth, seeing his team has returned with drinks.

“Are you seriously reading right now?” Morgan criticizes, placing a beer in front of the younger agent.

Spencer doesn’t know why he does this, beer tastes like a plowed hay field in his opinion. But he takes the drink in gratitude and before he can explain that he was just trying to finish the Russian publishing of ‘Crime and Punishment’, Morgan rips the book from his hands and tosses it to Emily for safe keeping.

“I- what was that for?” Spencer questions with a unjust squeak, feeling rather sad.

“Look around, kid, do you see how many fine ladies are here? You don’t need to be sitting here with your nose between the pages of Little Women.” Morgan states as a matter of fact.

“Yeah, nobody puts baby in the corner.” Penelope agrees.

With an airy scoff, Spencer looks to the other members for help, but they all seem to side with Derek.

He gains a defeated frown.

Spencer didn’t want to be here in the first place, now he’s being forced out into the public to socialize. There has to be a law against this, he knows there’s not because he knows everything, but he is certainly going to try and create one.

“Oh come on, Spence, why don’t you try to get a date?” JJ asks, meaning well, but the laugh that comes from Emily makes him want to recoil.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” Morgan offers, pulling him from the booth seat.

“Yeah, that never really works well when you try to be my wingman, you usually end up with all the phone numbers.” Spencer claims, pressing his lips into a line.

But like some mock savior, Morgan stands behind Reid as they wait by the bar.

“What about her?” Morgan would point out.

To which Reid would respond with some variation of ‘she’s too much’ or ‘she definitely has a boyfriend three times my size’.

After fifteen minutes of this back and forth, Morgan is seriously regretting he forced the hermit out of his shell.

And that’s when a rowdy group finally leaves and clears the path of vision to you.

Still sat at a high table with one leg crossed over the other, you wiggle your foot as you doodle on a drink napkin.

Reid misses whatever Morgan says, and in that air of silence, the agent follows the vision.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Derek chuckles, clapping Reid on the shoulder. “She’s pretty. Go talk to her.”

“What?” Reid looks away. “No, no, I don’t want to disturb her.”

You let out a very bored sigh.

Derek’s brows furrow. “I know you’re some boy genius but you really are dumb sometimes. Everything about that girl is screaming ‘put me outa my misery’.”

Spencer tilts his head slightly, watching you rub your eye and then frown at the way you smudged your already smudged eye liner.

“Okay, maybe you’re right.” He nods. “But…what do I say?”

Derek grins. “Compliment her, ask if she wants another drink, strike up a conversation. It’s easy, man.”

Spencer gets an uneasy feeling in him, but he still braves through it. “Easy for you, maybe.” He mumbles before running a hand through his hair and takes a step towards you.

“Go get her, tiger!” Morgan encourages.

When he returns to the team with the happy news, Penelope asks if Spencer’s gonna do good.

“Oh, definitely not, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t trip over his own feet on the way over there.” Derek answers, laughing.

But Spencer makes it to you without a stumble, yet his whole plan leaves his mind when he gets to you.

You’re gorgeous, too pretty for him.

“Nice legs.”

Did he just say that?

You look up at him upon hearing his voice, your wide eyes confused.

“I’m sorry?” You question, not sure if you heard this stranger correctly.

He’s a rather handsome stranger.

“No- I mean I like your legs- tights! Not your legs, you have nice legs of course but that’s not- your tights are nice- cool! Different?”

Oh god, he should just walk away now. He’s already messed this whole thing up and surely you think he’s an idiot.

While he’s got an embarrassed look on his face, you look down at the red lace tights you wear under your skirt, something your friends questioned as a fashion choice.

“You really like them?” You ask, voice soft to his ears.

He stops his rambling.

“Yeah, of course I do, I think they’re cool.” He smiles softly.

You can’t help but grin bashfully.

“Every guy I’ve talked to tonight thought they were a little weird, but that’s okay, I kinda like weird.” You admit, watching as he shakes his head.

“People say my socks are weird all the time, don’t feel bad.” He comforts, pulling the material of his pants up so you can see his mismatched socks with funky colors and prints on them.

“Those are cool.” Your approval eases him, giving him just enough reassurance that you aren’t going to scream for help in the next two minutes.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid- sorry, force of habit, uh, just Spencer. I-I’m Spencer.” He introduces with the smallest of wave.

Still smiling more than you have the entire night, you greet him. He repeats your name like it has some special meaning, and you’ve never loved the sound of it more.

“I was going to get a drink, what are you having?” He asks, looking at your sweating glass. “Vodka soda? Cherry sour?”

You blush. “It’s actually a shirley temple…I just ate all the cherries out of it already.”

Without hesitation, he nods. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

He leaves you at your table, and then your brief moment of sunshine is clouded once more by doubt. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he drugs your drink and then you wake up in an alley somewhere, missing your wallet and phone and your tights that he thinks are so cool?

This was a bad idea. Dating isn’t for you. He seemed so nice and he’s so attractive but that should have been your first red flag and-

Oh. He’s coming back.

With two shirley temples.

He places them on the table and waits for you to grab one, then he grabs the other and takes a sip.

“You mind if I sit?” He asks.

Feeling a little silly for assuming he was out to maim you, you nod.

“I seriously doubt my friends remember I’m over here, so feel free to stay.” You joke at your expense.

He sits across from you, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his team who make it very obvious that they’re staring.

You study his profile, a shaggy haircut that falls across his forehead, all tousled in an effortless way. His jaw line is defined, round brown eyes that flick back to you. When he catches you looking, he grins once more.

It’s never been so…easy, having a ‘get to know you’ conversation. Questions come without second thoughts, you find yourself laughing, actually laughing.

Playing with your straw, you try to calm your facial expressions, your cheeks are starting to hurt from beaming so much.

“So, Dr. Reid, huh?” You ask, making him let out a small huff of embarrassment.

“That’s what the PhD’s say, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling really dorky about his immense amount of education.

It’s not dorky to you. Every guy you’ve talked to tonight dropped out of community college because ‘it didn’t align with their career paths’ of selling protein smoothies or working in some ‘underground’ record store.

But here Spencer is, explaining he’s on the behavioral analysis unit for the FBI and he tells you about all the degrees he has. All you can think about as he talks of universities and the academy is, knowledge is such a sexy look on a guy. Sure, you’ve never really liked the underachieving stoners, but usually you’ve been with guys who seem to say “you like school?” when you talk about working towards your Masters degree.

“Wow.” Is all you can say for a moment, clearly shocked and, well, impressed. “I really wasn’t expecting that.”

“That’s what most people say.” He nods, picking the cherry in his drink out by the stem and offering it to you.

By your thankful eyes batting up at him, he’s tempted on going behind the bar and bringing you all the maraschino cherries they have. He quickly turns the conversation around to focus on you so he can focus on something other than the stained color on your lips.

“What about you? What do you do?” He asks.

Compared to his job, yours seems too normal, too mundane. You almost want to avoid the question, never once have you been unsatisfied with your career but now you can’t help it. What if Spencer doesn’t like you because you don’t work for NASA?

That’s ridiculous, because to Spencer, your job makes his adoration grow.

“Oh, I’m just a teacher.” You say, fiddling with a stem in your mouth.

Spencer gains a soft smile. “You could never just be a teacher, teacher’s are important. Well, unless you’re a sucky teacher.”

His joke earns a bubbly giggle and he decides he’d like to hear that sound forever. It’s moments like this that he’s glad to have an eidetic memory.

“I don’t think I’m a sucky teacher so that’s good, my students seem to like me.” You state, pushing your hair behind your ear and dropping the knotted stem onto a napkin.

Spencer finds himself leaning a little closer, body naturally gravitating to your pull. “What do you teach?” He asks.

“I work for my schools gifted children program, so I basically teach kid geniuses advanced core curriculum because they’ve tested out of their normal classes.” You chuckle, oblivious to the way Spencer’s heart warms.

He remains quiet for a bit too long, just staring at you with an honest look, one that makes you feel like you’re turned inside out and bared for him. The panic rises again, you think you must have said something to ruin it.

“I know it’s nothing special-” You begin to say.

“No.” He interrupts, a sure tone. “I-I think it’s great. Really, that’s not an easy job.”

Deep breath out, you’re put at ease.

“I constantly have imposter syndrome, these kids are twelve and bringing up philosophies and mathematical formulas I have to go home and study because I haven’t even learned them yet. Honestly, sometimes I don’t even think they need me there.” You joke lightly, half meaning it but masking that slight insecurity by finishing off your drink.

“They need you.” Spencer assures, an expression showing he’s never been more sure of something. “Believe me, you’re probably the only person they see in a school day that understands them.”

Brows creased, you shake your head, holding his rather intimidating gaze for such puppy dog eyes.

“What makes you so sure?” You question.

Spencer takes in a breath. “Because I know what it’s like to be twelve years old and telling a grown adult about Fermat’s Last Theorem.”

Sometimes, the world has a funny way of putting two people together. For years, you’ve wandered through life and on a random Friday night, feeling a little flushed from the Summer air, here is Spencer Reid, the man of your dreams.

Your friends left some time ago after you assured them you were fine to be left at the place you were just complaining about being. You don’t mind being left with Spencer, in fact, you’re dreading the time you have to go home because it means this moment is over.

“I really would like to live in New York.” You exclaim, somehow have fallen into the rabbit hole of dreams for the future.

“New York’s really cool!” He agrees. “Did you know that they have a homicide rate of 4.48 percent right now? It’s been declining since the nineties.”

You must make some sort of surprised face because his eyes go wide and he quickly tried to recover his odd statement.

“Sorry, my job isn’t really full of happy statistics. But mostly we just find dead prostitutes in alleys in New York.”

His blushed cheeks make your heart flutter in its beats.

“I’m glad I’m not a prostitute.” You giggle, making him chew his bottom lip for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re not either.”

By the time the team gets their coats back on with the intention of heading home, they look across the room to see their quirky doctor friend is partaking in very friendly body language.

“Oh my god, look at him.” Emily laughs. “He’s finally using that big IQ of his.”

Penelope, who comes to hold onto Morgan’s arm, grins rather proudly. “It’s like a butterfly finally coming out of its cocoon. It’s…beautiful, actually.”

Derek laughs down at her. “I think that last long island ice tea was a bad idea. Come on, baby, let’s get you home.”

“Good luck, my fine friend.” She calls in the general direction of you and Spencer, but the two of you don’t notice.

JJ ties her hair up and starts to take a few steps forward.

“Where are you going?” Penelope questions.

“To let him know we’re leaving?”

“No!” The team seems to exclaim, all shouting that she cannot disturb the moment Spencer worked rather hard to get to.

She just holds her hands up in defense, then follows after Emily as they leave the bar.

Spencer of course notices the way Prentiss leaves him with an encouraging thumbs up. It makes his get a little bashful, but he nods a goodbye and watches the door shut once more. His attention is brought back to his hand on the table, well, more to the way your pinky brushes against his. You continue to talk about mutual interests and what your apartment in New York would look like, a slight ramble to you that shows you’re very aware of the slight contact.

With some kind of placebo courage he can’t even blame on alcohol, he lets his fingers crawl between yours like that’s where they belong.

The team would definitely laugh at this teenage display, but to the both of you, it’s the perfect amount of reassurance, soft enough to not be too scary.

The attraction is there, Spencer forces himself to profile it just so his negative thoughts can’t prove him wrong. You’re smiling at every word, your eyes seem to stay dilated and focused on his, and he isn’t sure if you even realize the way your heel brushes his ankle every so often.

His profile, often never wrong, is what helps him reach across the slight space to tuck your hair behind your ear so casually as he tells you about his minuscule music taste.

After a few flirty comments, you force yourself yo look away from him just so you can het your breathing under control. Upon this action, you read the watch on his wrist and a frown sets on your lipstick stained lips.

“I should go home before it’s too late to walk.” You sigh, not wanting this moment to end.

He nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Those round eyes he’s starting to really adore look up at him and you chew your lip, almost like you’re waiting for him to do something. Say something.

It takes him entirely too long to figure out what to do. Morgan would be ashamed.

“C-Can I walk you home?” He asks in a rush and in eagerness.

You nod like that’s the best idea you’ve ever heard.

That’s how it leads to you leaning against him like it’s something you do often, walking in step as you ramble on and on about what you have to do to get your classroom ready for the new school year. He listens without annoyance like most guys would, then tells you about books he has that he thinks you might enjoy, books he could part with so you could give them to the students whose reading levels are above what the school provides.

He’s so caring and considerate, making sure he walks closest to the street, lets you be off in your own world and makes sure you don’t run into anything as you constantly gaze up at him. All the way to your building and up the stairs to your apartment door, the two of you are as comfortable with each other like two old friends would be.

That’s what makes your head spin. You just met Spencer and already feel like he’s been in your life for hundreds of years.

You pull your keys from your purse, you unlock the door but don’t make a move to open it.

“I’m really, really, happy that I met you.” You whisper to him as he slightly crowds your space in the door way.

“I am too.” He agrees, heart beating a little faster as your hand presses gently to his chest.

Don’t be crazy, you just met her, she doesn’t want a stranger trying to kiss her, tell her good night, call her tomorrow, maybe you can plan for something next weekend-

His thoughts don’t stand a chance when you wrap your fingers around his tie and gently tug him to your lips.

It’s smooth and warm and has your eyes shutting and your lungs exhaling. His gentle hand cradles your face while the other flexes against your hip.

It just feels so…

So right.

With the slight tilt of your head, the goodnight kiss deepens, you’re molded against him.

His lips part, coaxing yours to do the same, and the feeling of your tongue against his has you slightly teetering backwards. You lean against the door for support, hands roaming into his hair.

You’ve been wanting to run your hands through it all night.

He’s desperate in his movements, like he’s a starved man and you’re enjoying every second of it. His thumb runs over your jaw, you’re pushing away any space between you.

When you decide you’re going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, you pull away, sucking your bottom lip to savor the taste. Spencer still holds your face in his large hands and matches your shallow pants.

It’s all so much. You’re hot, brain a little foggy, but still so sure of this situation.

And you soon find yourself saying something you’ve never ever said after just meeting a guy.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Spencer seriously thinks he misheard you.

“Yeah- yes. Yes, I do.” He nods.

A laugh escapes your lips, one he swallows up as he embraces you once more, trying to help you open the door. His arm around your waist makes sure you don’t stumble and fall as the two of you finally get inside.

He looks around the space. “I like your apartment, it’s nice.”

“Thank you.” You mumble against his lips, pulling at your jean jacket and tossing it to the couch.

It’s dark, causing you to back into a side table. The both of you laugh, but neither of you bother to reach for the light switch.

You guid him towards your bedroom, pushing him through the ajar door. The open window leaves the room painted in a low light, the breeze is cool as you clumsily fall onto the mattress with him.

“I never do this.” You state, a huff leaving your lips as he rolls you onto your back.

“I don’t either.” He agrees, mouth wandering down your jaw to your neck.

You fiddling hands make a home in his hair. “Like I really don’t do this. I don’t even go to bars, let alone take home strange men- not that you’re strange. But don’t think I am a casual hookup girl, because I’m not, I just- there’s a connection, right? I’m not alone in this?”

He pulls away, looking down at you with a loopy grin. “You’re rambling, that’s a sign of nervousness.”

“I am nervous!” You exclaim with a breathy laugh. “You’re just…you’re really great.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip. “You’re really great too.” He whispers. “But we don’t have to do anything.”

“No!” You say a little too boldly. “I mean, no, no I want this. Do you want this?”

With a nod, he assures you. “I want this too.”

Maybe you should be more shy and self conscious about this, but when he’s being so kind, all your nervousness leaves. The two of you stumble through the awkward bits with laughter and jokes, and it makes you realize that something so serious doesn’t have to be so uniform.

Really, you’re having more fun than you’ve ever had.

“Spencer?” You gasp, dangerously close to falling off the bed at how the two of you have rolled around.

“Yeah?” He asks, head buried in your neck, trying not to get too ahead of himself as he continues his deep pace between your legs.

“You’re kinda pulling my hair.”

Immediately he moves his hand, apologetic.

Hands dragging up his chest, you try to shimmy away from the mattress ledge. Spencer notices the tragedy that’s about to strike, opting to back off of you completely so you can readjust.

You gasp at the loss of contact. “A little warning next time would be appreciated.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He stammers, gripping you in a feverish way, mouth back to yours.

You don’t exactly know how you ended up on top, but you look at him slightly frightened eyes.

“Is this a no?” He questions, only concerned with making you comfortable.

He’s the complete opposite of selfish, he proved that the second he started you off with his tongue against your core.

“No, not if you like this? I just…I don’t know if I’m good at this.”

He nods in understanding. “Okay, no problem.”

You protest as he goes to move you. “Can I try? Will-will you help me?”

God, he could marry you.

“Yeah, of course sweetheart.” He whispers, kissing you gently.

The butterflies in your stomach are all twitter pated.

Or maybe you’re just extremely turned on.

Spencer is a great teacher, it’s you who jumps the gun at things.

“There you go, angel, slow.” He breathes in your ear, finger tips pressing into your hips as you slowly push down, letting his tip enter you. “Just go really slow, okay?”

You try to do as he says, easing him into you slowly, but by some urge to rush satisfaction, you sink all the way onto him without warning.

“Fuck! That wasn’t slow.” He grits, a hoarse moan escaping from the back of his throat, his grip on you almost bruising.

“S-sorry.” You try to say, but the sheer pressure you feel at this sudden angle has you shuddering and crying out softly. “I’m an overachiever.” You try to joke.

“Holy shit, you want an A+ or something?” He chuckles, trying to calm himself down, running through mathematical formulas in his head so he doesn’t finish just like this.

“Spence, I need- it’s a lot, I need-” You whine out, not having the heart to feel embarrassed for sounding so needy.

“I know, I know. Fuck, do you have any idea how good you feel?” He questions, swallowing hard as he guides your hips forward slightly.

“I can’t really think at all when you’re sitting in my cervix right now.” You claim, quickly overwhelmed by pleasure as you find a rhythm against him.

Sucking on your throat, he mutters something you don’t care to listen to.

“This is- is it supposed to be this good?” You moan, trying not to dig your finger nails into his shoulders.

“I think we just fit perfectly.”

With each movement, you become more comfortable and confident, soon that friendly softness is replaced by lustful roughness. Through it all, Spencer remains caring, even when you tell him he can be a little rough with you.

Never in your sex life have you wanted more and more, even when it finishes.

Even after the two of you can’t find the strength to pull any more orgasms from each other, you lay beside each other, Spencer hasn’t bothered to pull out of you yet, perhaps he’s too spent.

“So.” You clear your throat, tracing his features. “How do you want to play this?”

He hums, dragging his fingers up and down your side. “What do you mean?”

“Guys usually leave after this stuff, right?”

His brows furrow, anxiety comes to ripple through him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Staring at his tired eyes, you shake your head. “No, I want you to stay. Forever. I’m thinking about chaining you to the headboard.”

He chuckles. “I’ll save you the effort, I will gladly stay.”

A sweet smile is returned to him.

At some point, the two of you clean up and fall asleep the second the sheets are pulled over you.

Spencer is convinced it’s all a dream until he wakes up to the sun warm over his skin. He rubs his blurry eyes and rolls over in the bed that is not his, met with your bare back. Slowly, he reaches for you, kissing your shoulder to rouse you.

His phone, still in the pocket of his discarded pants, rings again and again, forcing him to retrieve it in his boxers.

Of course it’s Hotch.

Of course he needs to get to the office. On a Saturday. After the night he just had.

“I should call the authorities, there’s a cute intruder in my room.” Your sleepy voice says from bed. “Oh wait…you are the authorities.”

He likes the way you can make yourself giggle.

“I have bad news.” He says, tracking down his clothes. “My boss just called me in.”

He hates the frown you have.

“That’s a very unfortunate thing.” You nod.

He buttons his pants, then slides his shirt on as he comes to your bedside.

“I should get going so I can go home and change.”

His warm hand presses to your cheek.

You turn to kiss his palm. “Is this goodbye?”

“No. Definitely no.” He assures. “I’ll call when I can, okay? Maybe we can get dinner or something?”

You could sigh heavenly at the way he’s just so dreamy.

“That sounds nice. I’d kiss you but I might have morning breath.” You smile.

He kisses you anyway.

And after leaving the team waiting in the round table room, he appears refreshed and in a very good mood.

He takes his seat, all eyes on him.

“Sorry I’m late, good morning.” He clears his throat.

“Good morning indeed.” Morgan chuckles, sliding him a cup of coffee.

“You okay, Reid?” Rossi asks, eyeing the agent.

“I’m great.” He smiles.

“Is that a hickey?” JJ exclaims, reveling in the way he quickly grabs for his neck, only to realize she’s joking.

“Real mature.” He mutters, knowing the entire day is going to be jokes made at his expense.

He doesn’t mind though, not when he knows his reward for all of this is you.

[leesromanova]

dust collected on my pinned up hair

pairing: natasha x reader

warnings: angst, hurt reader, happy/hurt/guilty nat, idk they're both hurting, marrige, cursing, self-criticism, lots of feelings. (i’m sorry)

synopsis: you go on your usual coffee run and bump into your ex, who if it wasn’t for the mutual break up, would have been the one.

a/n: i love angst lol. blame my over active imagination and taylor swift. thank you all for continuing to support and read my works <3

to put y’all in the mood i recommend listening to ↴

The line seemed endless. Bodies upon, bodies of caffeine addicts waiting to be serviced.

The energy of a busy New York coffee shop at 8am was truly a sight to see for any newbie to the city—thank god, you were accustomed to the rude grogginess of the baristas and the lines to wait for your wanted—no, needed, yet still overpriced coffee.

You hear the door open again as a small bell atop of the frame is triggered by the entering customer. The chill breeze of the city winter rips through the space, making you shiver and wrap your coat around yourself a bit tighter. Cool air creeping through the fibers of the winter coat you were sporting made you need that coffee a bit more urgently.

“Next in line!” the line moved as you pulled out your phone and took a step forward. You scroll through your notifications, looking for anything you had missed in your previous peak, before feeling a tap on your shoulder. Your first reaction is to look up with a rather hostile look in your eyes at whoever intruded your non-social, pre-caffeine headspace.

“Natasha?” your eyebrows crinkle at the sight of the woman in front of you. Her smile genuine as she looks down at you.

“Hi, stranger” she says, the raspy voice bringing back memories of a not-so-forgotten time in your past. She moves her arm around you to pull you into a side hug, you accept it—a bit stiffly and pull away, taking in her appearance.

She looked professional yet still casual and comfortable, a combination that always suited her quite well—at least the version you had gotten to know in your past. Her red locks in a neat braid that swept across her head and onto her shoulder, a few framing strands left out on the sides. Her eyes were more worn on the sides—the start of crows feet present besides her lashes.

Her eyes were the same, still the same shade of captivating green.

“How are you? How have you been?” she asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. Her voice coming out a bit rougher than how you remembered. Maybe it was caused by the cold air or, maybe it was just the other way the few years had affected her.

You look down and pocket your phone, “I’ve been okay, just y’know…holding up,” you watch as the person ahead of you steps forward, prompting the both of you to move up and fill the gap. You shift to the side, and make room for the redhead to stand beside you. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, stirring up memories of the past.

“How about you? What have you been up to, besides finding ways to cut-in-line at random coffee shops?” she lets out a huff of air as she turns to look at you “I was leaving when saw you…so I decided I should come and say hi," she looks at you with an amused expression.

you smile and hum in acceptance, letting her continue. She takes a breath before starting, "I've been okay—for the most part. Just trying to keep up with what life throws at me." She smiles and puts her hands in her pockets. You wonder if they were just as rough as how you remembered, or if they’d grown more calloused with time.

"Are you cold?" you ask, still looking at her now-concealed hands. She turns to look at you, you meet her eyes, and she lifts a brow "I've told you before how we Russians don't get cold," she says before continuing "that’s something you should've remembered." her voice carries as the last words enter your ears and without thinking you respond.

"I remember lots of things."

You feel the energy around you both change as the words leave your lips and you cringe as you watch her body visibly stiffen. Your brutally honest word choice must’ve reminded her of the reason why it had been so long since the two of you spoke.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

Sometime in the past 2 years

“Natasha… I just can’t do this anymore.” The words choke in your throat as you pace in front of her in the living room of your shared apartment. Every step you take feels like it’s pulling you further from everything you once wanted, but you can't stop yourself. You can barely breathe, the emotion inside you holding your lungs down. Your eyes move to look at Natasha, and everything inside you screams to hold on.

“I’ve always been here for you,” you continue, voice cracking. “Always. I kept waiting, hoping you’d open up to me, just like I did for you, bare an-and vulnerable.” Your voice cracks making you take a steadying breath before continuing, pointing a shaking finger toward her. “I put my heart on the line, expecting the same... but I never got it. And when you finally did open up... I was there. I loved you through the dark days, the lonely nights. I stayed, Natasha. I stayed through everything, and I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.” Your words spill out like a dam breaking, but the anger, the frustration, the heartbreak—none of it makes the pain go away.

You want to somehow make it work, to find the missing piece that would make her open up fully. You wanted this to work more than anything. But the hard truth is, you don’t know just how much more you can keep giving without receiving the same in return. You’ve poured so much of yourself into this relationship—your love, your patience, your vulnerability—but now it feels like you’re just…empty. Every night you lie awake, hoping that tomorrow will be the day she finally opens up to you the way you’ve been opening up to her, and every day feels like another unanswered question, an in-life purgatory you can’t escape.

Your fingernails find their way into the flesh of your palms, the sharpness grounding you, but it doesn’t help.

Her heart tears in two as she watches you like this, feeling like a failure. She feels it deep inside—your hurt, your exhaustion, the years of unspoken emotions—and she knows, with crushing certainty, that no matter how much she loves you, she can’t undo the damage. You’re the one person who has always been there, who’s loved her unconditionally, who’s been so patient, so willing to fight for the relationship. She’s failed you. It wasn’t enough. Nothing she did was enough. She loved you—God, she loved you so much—but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to give you the one thing you needed most: her whole heart. Every single time you reached out, she recoiled, afraid that if she gave you more of herself, she’d lose herself in the process. She knew loving you would mean taking the risk of loosing herself within the beauty that was to love just as hard as you did. 

She doesn’t know how to love you the way you need.

She lifts her head, eyes red, blurry with unshed tears, and glances at your hands, fingers still digging into your skin like you're trying to hold yourself together, as the nails cut through the layers of flesh on your palms. The pieces of yourself feeling like they're falling through your fingers like water. She hurts seeing you like this, she knew you did it to feel control in moments where you felt that control slip away—she’d had been trying to help you stop it, to show you that hurting yourself wouldn't heal anything, but now, she feels just as lost. She feels herself drowning in guilt. 

She’s the one who’s made you feel like this, hasn’t she? 

A warm, trembling hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you out of the darkness of your thoughts along with herself–trying to claw her way out of her guilt. Her touch is gentle, almost too gentle, as if she’s afraid you’ll break if she holds on too tight. She guides your fingers away from your skin, but the ache in your chest only deepens. She’s trying to fix you–to help you, not acknowledging that she needed it as well. And neither of you knew how to do it.

What’s the hell is wrong with me? 

The question cuts deeper than anything she’s ever felt. 

Why can’t I just give her what she needs? 

I love her. 

I love her so much. 

Why isn’t that enough?

“I feel horrible,” she whispers, her voice thick with tears. When you meet her eyes, they’re filled with more pain than you’ve ever seen in them. It tears through you. You wanted to help her, to make her feel loved and safe, but all you've done is hurt her. You've made her feel like she's failing, like she’s not enough, and the guilt is suffocating. She wants to tell you how much she loves you, wants to apologize, to make it better, but she knows deep down that no amount of apologies can fix the damage done. 

You swallow, but your throat is tight, your chest heavier than it’s ever been. "You’re right. You always did the right things. You said the right words. You showed me you loved me, but… I couldn’t see it. I didn’t feel it the way I needed to, and I hate myself for that. I hate that I couldn't be enough for you, Natasha." Your voice breaks at the end, a sound that rips through you, as if you're breaking apart inside. Not enough for her to give you her all. “I’m so sorry. So sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough.” Making her feel like she hadn’t been giving you enough because she couldn’t give you want you wanted—craved. The sudden realization makes you heave as you reel about you both hurting each other unwillingly—how could something so good turn into something so hurtful?

The weight of your own apology hangs in the air, suffocating, because you don't know how to fix this anymore. You don’t know how to make her stop feeling like she’s a failure when all she’s ever done is try. 

Her heart shatters as you speak. She sees the pure hurt in your eyes, feels the way you’re pulling away from her. it crushes her to know she's the one that hurt you, the one that made you feel as if you weren't enough. Every word you say is a reminder that she’s failed. She’s tried so hard to be the person you need, to show you how much she loves you, but every time she’s gotten close to letting herself go the crippling fear of falling too deep holding her back. 

“I wish I could change,” she says, voice barely audible, but you hear the depth of her regret in every word. She places her hand over her heart, almost as if trying to stop the pulsating ache there. “I don’t want you to suffer with my shit anymore. I don’t want to drag you through this anymore… but I don’t know how to fix me.” She looks at you, her tears falling freely now. “I hate that I can't give you everything you need. I hate that I couldn't be the person you deserved."

You feel every ounce of her guilt like a physical blow, and it’s suffocating. You wish there was something you could say to make her feel better, but the truth is, you're not sure if you even deserve to make her feel better right now. You've failed her too, in so many ways.

Maybe I’m not enough for her. Maybe I never was. 

The thought stings, like a shock against your skin. You can’t help but feel that maybe you’ve failed, that you’re the real reason things fell apart, not Natasha. But as you look at the redhead, her guilt hanging heavy in the air, you realize there’s not just one person to blame, there’s not only one person responsible for this. You’ve both been afraid. Afraid of fully trusting, of letting the walls down completely, of letting each other in.

And now? Now, it feels like it’s too late.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” she says, her voice cracking. “You deserve so much better than me. You deserve someone who can love you with everything they have, without holding back... and I’m not her. I can't be that person." Her eyes search yours, desperate for some sign, some glimmer of hope, but all she finds is a reflection of her own pain.

Staring at her tear-streaked face, the realization hits you like a punch to the gut: it’s not going to happen. It’s not because you haven’t tried, and it’s not because she doesn’t love you—she does, so much, and you can see it in her eyes. But love isn’t enough. 

I can’t keep waiting for something that’s never going to come. 

I can’t keep hurting like this. 

You’re shaking now, but it’s not from anger. It’s from the unbearable truth that lingers in the space between you. The love you had, the connection you both tried so hard  to hold onto, is slipping away, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

“I think…” you can barely get the words out, but they’re there, hanging in the air like the inevitable. "I think you’re right." Your voice cracks, your heart shattering with the weight of those words. You’ve known for so long, deep down, that this was coming. The back and forth, the exhaustion, the constant battle to make her open up, to make her let you in—it was destroying both of you, and it would never change. The months of fighting—wanting her to open up, to show you the real her, nothing was working as it should be. You had been fighting against something inevitable.

You run your thumb over her knuckles, trying to find comfort in the familiar motion, but it feels hollow now. “We’ve tried, Natalia,” you whisper, your heart breaking with every syllable. “We’ve tried to make this work, but I can’t keep pretending it’s going to be okay. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I don’t want you to hurt for me anymore.”

Her tears fall harder now, as if the weight of your decision has broken something inside of her. You both sit there, silently, broken and exhausted from a love that was never enough. Neither of you knows how to fix what’s been destroyed. As she looks at you, so broken, so utterly lost, she feels like she’s watching her own heart crack in two.

You both sit in silence as the sounds of the city bleed into the apartment and circle the two of you.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

“Next!” the barista’s tired voice carries through the space of the café, and makes you both turn to reach the counter. Your cheeks warm and tinged a shade of red at your earlier admission.

“Uh, can I get an iced blond vanilla late, with an extra pump of vanilla, and sweet foam with Carmel drizzle on top?” you order and look over at the redhead who was diligently staring at the side of your face.

She wondered how you hadn’t changed. Time seemed to have left you untouched. While she felt it’s weight etched into her face and mind—you were still the same. With the same coffee order, at the same coffee shop, the same you.

“W-would you like anything?” you ask, stuttering at the gaze she held.

“I’m okay,” she turns to the barista, “That’ll be all.” she completes your order out of habit as you pull out your card to pay.

the barista asks for your name and you both utter a thanks to the young woman, who doesn’t return the pleasantry as you both walk off to the side. The silence, between you both not unwanted, but definitely heightening your anxiety at the unexpected meeting.

You were not dressed to be seeing your ex at a coffee shop.

“Would you like to sit?” you clear your throat and ask, finding a table with two chairs. She smiles and looks at her watch. “Yeah—yeah, I got enough time” she says, sitting down beside you and looking out at the busy streets of the city that never sleeps.

She loved it here, her time in other continents and cities made her realize just how at home the city lights and sirens made her feel, just how at home the people in her life made her feel.

The light of the rising sun reflects off of the glass windows of tall buildings and illuminate her face. Her nose had stayed the same, the feature being something you loved about her even if she said she hated it from time to time. She turns and catches you staring. You to look away and clear your throat as she smiles warmly. She always liked that about you, so attentive to everyone around you.

Stop staring. You mentally kicked yourself for being caught.

“Y’know…you still order your coffee as if you hate the taste of it.” she teases, her hands motioning to the receipt that outlined the specific order you gave. A smile grows as you turn to look at her and laugh softly at her face of accusation. “I swear, you get the sugariest thing on the menu.” she continues, making you laugh a little louder.

Your laugh was the same–she noticed, your smile the same, but your eyes now held a few winkles at the sides as the joy spread over your face. She smiles at you then and leans back in the uncushioned, tall stool.

You roll your eyes and remove your gloves, “hey, before you tease just know you traumatized me with your coffee order,” she looks at you questioningly, making you lean in “Nat, you order a black coffee with like two sugars and call that a coffee order.” she laughs, her cheeks tinting a wonderful shade of red as she answers “It’s a legitimate coffee order y/n, that’s why they make me pay and why I made you try it.” her voice raspy as ever as it leaves her lips. “Oh yeah, trust me I know. I can still feel it on my taste buds and recoil every time I think about it.” she looks at your now very serious expression with a raised brow, and you both break into a shared cackle.

As the laughter settles, you both look at each other. Familiarity and warmth returning to your veins, you missed her. Sure, it had been more than enough time for you to get over her, but you never truly did. Everyone told you it was time to move on, but you never did, hoping, praying, manifesting that maybe one day you could fix things and reunite with the love of your life.

You went out with people, met other singles, dated—but no one made you feel what she did.

"So, how’s work?" you ask, your fingers nervously fiddling with the paper wrapping of a straw that was left on the table by some other customer. She glances down at your hands, noticing how your nails are no longer bitten or ragged, your palms free of the crescent-shaped marks that used to linger there. She smiles softly, noticing how you'd managed to break those anxious habits.

"It’s been good," she replies, her voice warm. "We got some new teammates in—I'm sure you saw it on the news." She looks into your eyes, smiling as she sees the familiar focus in your gaze. That hadn't changed either.

You nod and smile back, leaning in as she continues. "One of them is named Wanda. She's brilliant—you'd love her. Amazing sense of humor, and the best style. I know you’ve always been into fashion."

You chuckle softly, the memory of how you used to carefully pick out your outfits coming back. "That’s nice. So, you and her are close?" you ask, your voice lighter than you feel. It's easy to fall back into the rhythm with her. Conversations with her never felt draining, never like you were just filling silence. At least, it didn’t, not before everything went wrong.

"Yeah," she says, smiling shyly, but her eyes drop to her hands. And that's when you see it. The ring.

The world seems to blur for a moment as your eyes lock onto the silver band adorning her finger. Simple, yet undeniably there. Your mind races, struggling to catch up, focusing on the details—an engraving, some flowers, maybe lilies? You remember how she always loved those.

The sound of her voice cuts through your thoughts. "Y/N?"

You snap back to reality, but it feels like your heart is still racing. You blink, meeting her gaze. The concern in her eyes is unmistakable, but it's not for you. She's moved on.

“Order for y/n!” the barista yells, and you turn, smiling tightly at Nat before getting up to retrieve your coffee.

God, how had you not seen it before? Was it always there? How long ago did she become so open? So willing to let someone in, that she’d actually gotten married?

The questions hit you like a wave, crashing over your mind with unbeatable force.

You make yourself look away, desperate to regain control of your thoughts. You tuck some hair behind your ear, trying to ground yourself, and take a long sip of your cold drink, the ice crunching between your teeth. It does nothing to ease the nausea building in your stomach.

“I—uh, I was looking at your wedding band,” you mutter, feeling the words slip out awkwardly. Your gaze drifts back to her fingers, the ring glinting in the sunlight. She follows your stare, quietly adjusting her hand, almost as if she’s waiting for this moment to land.

“Oh, um… yeah," she clears her throat, her voice sounding a little tighter than before. "Me and Wanda... we, uh... I proposed a few months ago,” she adds, looking down at the ring, tracing the engravings with her fingers. Finally, she meets your eyes, and for a brief second, it feels like everything you thought you knew about her is slipping away. This wasn’t the Natasha who used to laugh at your bad jokes, or the one who whispered your name in the quiet of your shared apartment, the one who whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you laid naked in bed after you’d had sex. No, this was a version of her you did not know.

“Oh.” The word barely leaves your mouth as you nod slowly, but it’s enough to echo in the silence between you two. It’s all you can manage, the word feeling too small, insignificant.

What else could you say?

You want to bury your face in your hands.

God, Y/N, think of something better. Say something better.

The words feel hollow, useless, as they form in your mind. The words don’t feel like your own. They feel forced, clumsy, like you’re trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through your fingers. You hate how it feels. You hate how she feels like a stranger to you now, someone you don’t know anymore, someone who has moved on without you.

"Congratulations," you finally say, the words coming out flat, lifeless. Your smile feels too tight, too forced. You can feel it pulling at the corners of your lips as your body instinctively turns inward, the discomfort sharp and heavy.

Congratulations? Are you fucking serious?

She notices, of course—how could she not? Her eyes flicker with concern, watching as your posture shifts, your guard rising. But it’s too late. You’re already pulling away.

What the hell did I just say?

The self-criticism is almost suffocating.

Congratulations?

You want to slap your forehead, but you settle for simply glancing up at her. Her gaze is locked onto you now, intense and unwavering. It’s like she’s trying to reach you through the growing distance between you two, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve lost her... that you never really had her.

The sound of the coffee shop fade as your own internal dialogue takes over, mocking you.

You’re pathetic, it whispers.

You haven’t moved on.

You never really let go.

You glance around the coffee shop. There’s a woman in the corner smiling at her boyfriend—no husband, the wedding ring sparkling as she holds his cheek, a group of tourists chatting loudly about going to watch some play on Broadway, someone in the backline swiping through their phone, you can see the TikTok home screen from your place in the corner of the café.

But you can’t hear them. All you hear is the hollow beat of your own heart, pounding painfully in your chest, as if it knows that this moment is the end of something—something you still thought was possible.

It feels like you’re drowning, surrounded by noise, by life moving forward, while you’re stuck here in this tiny moment, unable to breathe.

Her eyes flicker with concern, noticing how your posture shifts, how you stiffen at the words that should have felt normal, casual. But they don’t. They can’t.

There’s nothing casual about this.

Nothing normal.

Not when your heart is bleeding under the weight of a past you can’t shake, a future you never thought you’d face.

You try to steady yourself, but you can feel the walls you’ve built around your emotions crumbling.

She’s married, Y/N. She’s married. Get over it.

But you can’t.

You feel a pang of guilt. Natasha’s gaze is warm, but there’s an ache in her eyes too—something that makes your heart hurt in a different way. She’s trying. She’s not the woman you left behind. But then again, neither are you. Neither is she.

Her hand rests, trembling, on the table now. She wants to reach out to you, but she’s scared of pushing too hard. You can see it in her eyes—she’s uncertain. She’s terrified of what you might say. Terrified of making it worse. Her fingertips brush against the edge of the table, hesitant, before pulling away. She’s probably wondering if she’s done the right thing. Wondering if she was wrong to move on, to make this decision without you, without this—whatever you two were. She watches you, her gaze softening as if she wants to comfort you, but she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t even know where to begin. She could try to reach for you, but she knows it might make things worse.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asks softly, her voice trembling slightly. She’s staring at you now, as if trying to understand what’s happening inside your head, but you don’t have an answer for her. You don’t even have an answer for yourself.

The silence stretches between you two, heavy with unspoken words, as the noise of the coffee shop crashes around you both, a stark reminder that the world keeps moving. And in it, Natasha is moving forward, and you... you’re left behind.

She regrets it. She regrets this—this distance. This moment. She wants to take it all back. To fix this. To fix you. But she can’t.

The weight of the regret hits her, and she breathes out a slow, steadying breath, her hand trembling on the table. She can feel it too, the unbearable tension between you both, the space that feels like a chasm even though you’re only inches apart.

But you—you’re the one who’s drowning, trying to keep your head above the weight of the memory and the feeling that you were never enough.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, almost too quietly to hear. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like this.” Her voice cracks, and she looks away for a second, almost as if she can’t stand seeing you like this, can’t bear the thought of how much she’s hurt you.

But the truth is, she’s already lost you.

And she’s the one who will never be able to move on.

Her words cut deeper than she knows, because you can’t help but wonder—does she really not know? Has she been so caught up in her own life that she hasn’t seen how much this is tearing you apart? Or is it just that she’s moved on, and this is all just… a part of the past to her?

The thought makes your chest tighten. Your breath feels shallow, and you find yourself squeezing your cold drink harder, trying to steady the storm inside. You swallow, but it feels like there’s a lump lodged in your throat, blocking any response. You want to scream, to tell her everything, to make her understand how much it hurts to see her here, happy, with someone else. But the words are gone—lost in the space between your need to cry and the reality of the life she’s chosen without you.

“Why?” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and desperate and hurt. You didn’t mean to ask it—didn’t want to ask it—but you can’t help it. You need to know.

Natasha’s heart aches at the sound of your voice, the fragility in it. For a moment, she feels as though the floor beneath her might give way. She had hoped—hoped—that you would be okay. That this wouldn’t hurt so much. But the pain is evident, like a raw wound, and it’s impossible to ignore.

Her face crumbles for a moment, and she looks away, as if she’s searching for the right words, for something that might make this hurt less. But there are no words that can make this better. No words that can undo the last few years.

she feels a lump in her throat, the wounds she'd covered, gashes shed mended, all coming undone in this moment.

“I don’t know,” Natasha whispers. “I really don’t know. I thought I could give you what you needed, but… I couldn’t. And I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed me to be.”

Her voice cracks as she says it, and she feels herself breaking inside. She knows you’re hurting, but she’s not sure what she can do to make this right. She had tried—tried so hard—to be what you needed, but she failed. And it kills her that she couldn’t give you the love and stability you deserved. The love she thought she could offer, the love that now feels so distant and ungraspable.

Your heart aches. It’s a contradiction, isn’t it? The way she sounds so guilty, and yet you know deep down that she’s not really sorry for her life—she’s sorry for the fact that she hurt you in the process of living it.

Her words feel hollow to her, and as they leave her lips, she wonders if she’s just prolonging the pain for both of you. She swallows hard, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her ring again. It’s such a small, insignificant gesture, but in this moment, it feels like the biggest thing in the world. It feels like a symbol of everything she’s lost. A symbol of a promise she made to someone else, a promise she can’t go back on.

She wants to reach for you again, but she knows better now. She knows that you’ve already made up your mind—that you’ve already closed the door on what could have been. The door that used to swing open so easily for her, but now only feels heavy and locked.

You look at her, your gaze raw, and for a second, you think you might say something else. You might beg her to take it all back. To come back. But you know you can’t. You know you have to let this go. You feel a deep ache in your chest as you realize that this is the end. The finality of it settles in, and you can’t hold on any longer.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and pull back from the table, your hands folding into your lap as you gather yourself. It’s almost like you’re physically trying to close yourself off, to shield the part of you that still hopes and longs for something that no longer exists.

“Maybe... maybe you were never what I needed either,” you mutter quietly, more to yourself than to her. The words taste bitter on your tongue, and you wish you could take them back as soon as they leave. But it’s true. Somewhere along the way, you lost her. And maybe, just maybe, you lost yourself in the process.

The words hit Natasha like a slap, but it’s the truth. She’s never been able to give you what you needed, and that realization settles like stone in her stomach. She opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something—something to fix it, to undo the damage—but the words die in her throat. They would only make things worse, only deepen the wound between you both.

She doesn’t speak. She can’t. She just watches you, helpless, as you turn away from her, the finality of your departure cutting into her chest like a knife.

You shake your head, unable to meet her gaze. The tears you’ve been holding back for so long feel close now, threatening to spill over. You can’t let them. You won’t. Not here, not in front of her, not when everything feels like it’s already slipping through your fingers.

“I should go,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. It’s not a demand, it’s not even a decision—it’s just the only thing you can bring yourself to say. You push your chair back, standing up slowly, feeling like your legs might give out beneath you. You feel empty, but in a way, that emptiness is almost worse than the pain.

Her eyes follow you, and Natasha doesn’t try to stop you. She doesn’t ask you to stay. Her hands are folded in her lap, and she’s left with the sense that, somehow, she’s failed you, failed the both of you. She doesn’t think she could stand to watch you walk away again. The understanding in her eyes is quiet, gentle. She knows this is the end.

As you turn to walk away, you hear her raspy voice one last time. “Y/N… I still care about you.”

You stop for a moment, the weight of her words pressing down on you. You want to say something back—anything—but you know it wouldn’t change things. It wouldn’t fix anything.

You don’t respond. Instead, you walk. One foot in front of the other as you push open the door of the coffee shop, the cold New York air hitting your face like a slap. It’s sharp, biting, but somehow, it’s exactly what you need. You step into the busy street, the noise and the rush of people washing over you, but all you can hear is the silence of her absence. Is this it? You think. It has to be.

You keep walking, trying to put one foot in front of the other, but every step feels heavier than the last. You don’t know how you’re supposed to move forward—to move past her. You don’t know if you ever will.

After all, it’s never over.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

a/n: YAYY!! i was so excited to start writing this fic, it’s my drafts since October so i’m happy it’s finally out. i hope you all liked it! it was my first time writing angst and i’m very proud of it, if you guys have any constructive criticism pls give it politely:)

ps: i’m excited to see everyone’s reactions to it, please do share how you feel afterwards <3

[hoseoksluna]

BLUR | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 17k

summary: one encounter with both of the males heals you enough that you don't become anything but joy.

pinterest board: blur

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, marking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, cuckold kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, daddy kink, punishment, nipple play, oc gets triggered, face riding, ass play, male masturbation, multiple orgasms, use of butt plug, raw sex, cum eating, clit rubbing

note: i want to thank oc. i've always wanted to pinch jungkook's nose and i got to do that through her. LMFAOFSJLDKFS ANYWAYS—this is the LAST part of the steam series, whoop whoop. finally. this took me so fucking long to write and idk if it even makes sense, which is why i need you guys to let me know everything that you're thinking, feeling, hating, loving. I NEED IT. so pls, send me asks. spam me. thank you. ENJOY READINGGGGG. ₊˚⊹♡

A thin layer of sweat coats your hairline. And inside your skull, momentarily, there aren’t any thoughts—none, whatsoever. They have been swept aside as the feverish evening wind carries your boyfriend’s words through the aroused energy pulsating around your naked form. Around Jungkook’s, too. 

Yoongi is still the only one fully dressed. And, adamantly, he’s taken the role of a watcher, shifting the dynamic in such a frantic way that the sole impulse that you find opening within you like buds of tree flowers is to obey. To submit to the role, externalize one that will fit it. To play along like he did, when he caught onto your scheme. 

Even though you don’t know how to particularly go about it. 

And when Yoongi walks over to the armchair in his living room, plops down on it, angles his head slightly to look at you and waves a hand towards the couch across from him, inviting you to sit, your nescience claws at you. Brutally. 

You don’t know if there are any shadows thickening in his headspace because you deem there must be a reason behind his sudden decision to turn things around. He’s been okay with every practice done so far in the playtime—he validated all of them, was in charge the whole time until he gave that control over to Jungkook. You can’t help but worry if there perhaps isn’t a catch. 

And the lower your disquiet sinks inside your gut, the higher your distrust of yourself springs, lodging in your throat. You’re not sure anymore if you’re right about anything. What if there is something you’ve done that you completely overlooked in the middle of your pleasure? In the middle of Jungkook’s pleasure? 

Once you exchange a heavily-charged look with the puppy, you hope to find a hint in the tenderness of his eyes that would help you figure it out. Though, the more you deepen the scrutiny, the more you’re met with absolute blankness. 

He’s as clueless as you. 

Bewildered, mostly, that Yoongi let him have the upper hand. 

Your finger itches to hook around his, but you only angle your head in the direction of the living room, dubious to listen to your body, intentionally wary. You make the first move and you don’t sit down on the couch like Yoongi motioned you. No, you sink your knees into the space beside his on the armchair, the leather creaking beneath you. Wrap your arms around his shoulders. Study the depth of his gaze as he focuses it on your face, looking for the hint, for anything that would lead you to it. Bury your fingers into his night-tinged hair the way he likes it, the way you like to do it, too. Pull it a little to make known to him that you’re bubbling with uncertainty. 

Yoongi merely watches you, borrowing his friend’s stoicism. 

You click your tongue, disliking it. “Yoongi,” you drawl out, cupping the sides of his neck, willing his attention to be more of an intimate sort. Just you and him. You need to talk to him about this. Need a peace of mind in order for you to enjoy this. In order to please him in the process as well. 

He turns his head behind him, though. To check the whereabouts of his friend. And when you follow the same direction, you discover that his dining space is empty. 

You don’t detect any panic in you. Perhaps it’s due to the fact Jungkook never abandoned you before. Or perhaps you’ve healed to the point that it doesn’t bother you anymore, no matter who does it. And what’s more, you think he probably went to pee. 

With two fingers on his jaw, you turn his attention back to you. Leave them there. His lips curl up as he tries to purse them, his stoicism fragmenting. Eyes gentle, moonbeams swimming. The sight is so endearing to you that your own mouth mirrors his, butterflies awoken, fluttering their wings in your tummy. This is the man you love. This is the man that’s yours. Yours, only. And you’re alone, intimately, cordially. Just like before. 

“Is something the matter, honey?” He tips his chin, irises dilated and looking up at you. Latches his hands onto the fleshiness of your thighs, just below your hip bones. 

With your inhale of breath, you muster as much courage as you can. “Have I done something wrong?” 

Perplexity writes itself on his softened face. Could it be—

“No, why do you think that, hm?” He narrows his eyes at you playfully, tapping his fingers on the side of your hips. You exhale a breath that loosens your worry a little bit and your mouth rounds. He leans in to peck it. “You’ve been perfect.” 

Have you? You’re not so sure—on the contrary, what you’re sure of is the fact you can better yourself. You have to, in order to make your worries dissipate all the way. 

And you can fulfill that if you know what role to play. 

“Tell me what to do.” 

One corner of his mouth tugs ever so slightly to the side and one brow quirks in confusion. “You’re about to get eaten up. Enjoy it—that’s what you are to do.” 

You sigh, realizing you should’ve worded it better. That’s precisely what you want to do—enjoy it, but you can’t risk getting lost again. Can’t risk getting submerged. You need him to tell you who you are to be in this new dynamic he established and you don’t want to hear that you should be yourself. If you relax your boundaries, you’ll step into a dangerous territory—and you’ve been there before. 

So has he. 

“Yoongi, no, I meant—”

He squeezes your muscles. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here, you hear me?” he murmurs, one hand coming up to your hair and curling it behind your ear. And it’s these words that unwittingly, little by little, drive you to drop your own hand, your guard and your worries. The fact that he doesn’t even want to hear your better wording, too, because he understood you the first time. It guides you to think it’s not worth speaking out, not when he evidently knows better. 

And it feels nice. To have someone intelligent enough that they know. To have someone care enough that they don’t let you immerse yourself in doubts because they know the type of shit your thoughts consist of sometimes. He remembers everything you unraveled during the therapy sessions. And that feels nice. More than nice. 

Your mouth rounds again and you repeat it after him. To acknowledge yourself with it. To swallow it so it streams down your body, where its meaning can unfurl. “You’re here.” Your voice is subdued, unsure, the words foreign on your tongue. You knit your brows while you taste them, unable to identify the flavor. That is until you realize it could offend him. You relax your features right away. 

But Yoongi merely watches you with a sympathetic look, one that makes you feel terrible for reacting the way you did.

Not for long, though. 

“I know I’ve made a mistake in the past, but that’s not happening again. I’m not leaving you on your own this time,” he says and you realize that is precisely what you needed to hear, what your body needed to consume first in order to recognize the flavor of his reassurance. You caress his face in deep emotion and you try again. 

“You’re here.” It’s a mere silken sound for only the both of you to hear, but it matters—it’s enough, it’s perfect. In the distance, you hear a shuffling of feet in the kitchen, the song of the wind gaining momentum, inclining to listen to the expression of love between you—to be a witness of the right thing being done at last. And you can taste the sweetest wine of the ripest of grapes, spiced with the most vibrant of roses. You can taste home; his stability you can lean on. 

Yoongi smiles in your grasp, noting the way the words sounded different—more secure. The moonbeams liquify in his waterline. “That’s right. And because I’m here, I’m not letting history repeat itself.” He pinches your cheek, knocking your head back and forth with the well-meaning, ferocious movement. Erases completely the lingering presence of the guard and fears you’ve dropped. You laugh, softly, relieved—so fucking relieved. Joy fills your empty body, energizing you, roses rising in you. Your roses, the ones you know, fraternizing with the unknown flowers that Jungkook planted in you. And you discern that it’s you who’s in your comfort zone, in your safety zone. The males have stepped inside theirs and now you have. You inhale fresh air in your new lungs, exhale your relief. “Say it. So I know you understand.” 

“You’re here and you’re not letting history repeat itself.” Beautiful, beautiful words—beautiful consolation and kindness. A pillar of the most exceptional magnificence. Mentally, you rest against it, rest your enfeebled, exhausted body of all your needless worries and false thoughts. 

You didn’t do anything wrong. Didn’t make a mistake. Though, if it weren’t for the weak moment, you wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t have gotten the comfort you didn’t know you needed.  

So peculiar, the newness. It dawns on you that it should’ve been like this in the beginning. Healthy conversations, reassurance. Why hadn’t you done this? Why did you jump headlong, bringing along such darkness of—

You close your eyes fleetingly to shut down those thoughts. Forgetting is taking place. Newness is here. Old is gone. Like the verity that he’s here, you repeat it to yourself again and again in your heart. You can’t change what’s happened. You can only move on with the eternal perception that you’ve changed, that you’ve learned. And that’s enough. 

You brush your thumb upon the column of his neck. Back and forth, like he did with your cheek. Thankful for him. “You’re here and you’re not letting history repeat itself.” 

Yoongi isn’t puzzled you whispered it to yourself again. In fact, he embraces it. Kisses you tenderly, deeply to seal those words. They spread roots in you. Rake through the earth so the roses, the flowers can grow healthily, happily, luminously. You feel them lean into the satin touch of the butterflies that elongate their dusty wings before they curl the membranes around their radiant petals, forming a protection circle.  A dose of healing you didn’t expect to receive. Not from him, not now—not now when you’re about to be eaten out by his friend. 

It’s so surreal to you. To feel protected like that. To feel safe. Safe to now roam freely in your undiscovered sexuality because you have someone to look out for you, to possibly guide you back if you lose your way. The stability that envelopes you—you can’t bear it; it’s too good to be true. And when you take a deep breath and those roses tremble with excitement in you, in the circle, there’s nothing left for you to do but to accept it because it’s so strong, because it’s unyielding. You couldn’t move it even if you tried. It won’t let you—it’s here to stay. Here to be alongside your boyfriend, protecting you as you venture out on your perverted adventure. 

You’ve worked hard to get to this point. And now you get to reap what you’ve sown. 

Yoongi grins after the long kiss, proudness emanating out of him and you feel like weeping. You’ve done the right thing, for the very first time. “That’s my good girl.” 

The praise does something to you. Stirs you violently, magnifies the intensity of the flapping of the butterfly wings in you. Sends back feeling to the ache between your legs, propped against the linen of Yoongi’s pants. Throbbing, slapping, memories of what has been done to your pussy—you’re a meadow of wildflowers and you’re ready to be pleasured again, however you register a matter that pulls you away from this notion for a moment. 

There’s no catch. 

Because Yoongi created a new realm for both you and Jungkook with his sense of safety and comfort, there’s nothing for you to fret about. There’s no role for you to play. And, furthermore, who you are meant to be upon this ground is who you’ve been throughout the whole trajectory of your relationship. 

A good girl. 

Only this time it’s entirely different. 

You didn’t want to be yourself because, if anything were to backfire, you thought you’d have the responsibility for it. In addition to that, you thought the normalcy of your sexual life was a no-gone zone for Jungkook, which is why you’ve been racking your brain, trying to come up with ways you could differ it, so Yoongi wouldn’t get jealous. 

But things changed so drastically that because Yoongi took control, now you don’t have to be in charge of that. You’re not the artist, you’re not choosing colors for the palette. Yoongi is. 

There’s still one more thing that doesn’t add up. And you voice it out. “If you’re not letting history repeat itself, though, why are you letting Jungkook be in control?” 

Yoongi grabs your hands and holds them. “I’m letting him be in control of how he does what I tell him to do. I’m in control of the whole situation, honey.” 

You suck in a breath. To protect himself, he won’t make the same mistake again; that’s just the person Yoongi is. He’s allowed Jungkook to have the freedom of a bird in the pleasure he wants you to receive from him, but he won’t hesitate to ensnare him if he runs up against something he doesn’t like.

You find that immensely, immensely attractive. 

Hot. 

The pillar of stability, the warmth of reassurance, the absolute fucking boss—that’s your man. You lid your eyes, swearing, leaning forward to suck onto his lip, kissing him with utter desperation and he lets you. Lets you kiss him. Lets you show him how much you liked that. Growls when your hand creeps to his neglected, clothed length and squeezes it. Hums when you feel him up until you find his tight balls. Responds to your touch—bucks his hips so you focus on them more and you go mad. Interminably, mad. 

And when you swirl your tongue around his, you feel a cold, wet hand on your back. 

The magnet to your madness. The healer stands by the side of the armchair with a dew-sprinkled face and there’s a feigned, playful jealousy that you feel when you regard him, for the only dew you want on his face is one that’s your own. He washed up in the bathroom—you reckon he did it to cool his desperation, to cool the sweat of arousal that lines his skin, much like yours. You note that it didn’t work, at least not fully, because when you roam your gaze down, you discover he’s still painfully hard. Much like your boyfriend. 

You wrap your hand around him and the forbidden, exhilarating feeling of having two cocks in your grasp is too brief for your liking because Jungkook pulls your hand away again. Holds it and leads you towards the couch. You frown at him with a puckish smile, but while he tugs you away, you steal a kiss from Yoongi. A hard, quick kiss that makes him twitch—something that you get to feel before Jungkook grabs you by your pits and throws you on the couch. 

You let out a string of giggles, loving the feeling of being manhandled; loving the feeling of Jungkook being in desperate need to eat you out. Your face heats up, your body following suit, the ache between your legs worsening. Yoongi smirks, validating your enjoyment and he adjusts in his seat, which you think is dismal. You don’t want him to be neglected. You want him to be pleasured, too.

The words tumble out of you before you can think them over. “Can you touch yourself for me, baby?” 

Yoongi licks his lips. Pauses before he responds. Tortures you like he tortured Jungkook. You spread your legs to provoke him, giving him a show of the shine on your folds. It’s enough for him to palm himself briefly, as if he lost control for a split second. He takes his hand away and places it back on the armrest. “I’ll consider it.” 

The boss at play. You swear, closing your legs to squeeze them, to give yourself some sort of relief from the ache you feel. Butterflies go rampant in your tummy, but despite the buzzing tension, you feel content, safe and utterly elated. Happy. 

You expect Jungkook to say something, though he merely props a knee on the leather of the couch and spreads your legs how he wants them. He doesn’t lift them, only parts them as far as they can go. You go to grab his length again because you feel a certain magnetic pulling to it, but he catches your hand in time. 

“Behave.” He presses your hand firmly to emphasize his scolding before he lets go. Such a stark contrast to the playtime of before. You remember how he wanted you to do the complete opposite. To misbehave. Your body heats up even more, the fire compulsing your hips to sway, asking for attention. 

Another set of words tumble out of you unwittingly and you place your hands under your thighs. “I’m sorry.” 

The surprise that floods Jungkook’s features is overwhelming to you and in response, you grin, coyly. He strokes the adorable fat of your cheek. “Good girl. That’s what I like to hear.” 

You purse your lips and before the fire of that praise can lick your whole body, Yoongi speaks up, too. “Good job, honey. You learned your lesson so well.” 

Shock comes first, then fire—vibrant blue fire that scorches you whole. You blush, deeply, squeezing the leather of the couch—the praise and the validation from both males so profuse, so profound that you can’t take it. You hide your widening grin beneath your palms. “Stop,” you drawl, the sound muffled and soft, even though you don’t want them to do anything of the sort. 

Jungkook coos, pulls your wrist away, uncovering your rosy, glowy face. Then, he pets your head, fingers sinking into your hair. He forces you to look at him, to see the smile of endearment that bathes his face in light, but he does it so gently that you purr, his hold so stimulating, so titillating—his countenance so lovely, so darkly angelic. Eyes crinkled but still round, still so tender. “Who taught you to have such good manners, huh?” 

You swipe your tongue along the top arc of your lip, his gaze flicks to it and and the answer thrums in your belly warmly like a sip of a good wine. It doesn’t unnerve you, doesn’t make you afraid. In fact, it’s so tranquil and so right that you relish every syllable. “Both of you did.” 

The rays from the light side penetrate the dark one and healing takes place. Healing that you never thought you’d ever be a witness to. You know that the act of forgetting was supposed to fully sink in all three of you, but your words diverged its path. You swallow warmth and you swallow relief, watch as Yoongi gets up from his seat and mirrors Jungkook’s position, one knee on the leather, hand under your jaw. A soft set of tears rush in at the attention and the realization of what’s actually happening, and when the healer sees them, he lets go of your hair and brushes his thumb across your brow, hand spread across the side of your face. You lean into his palm, so terribly emotional, and when Yoongi plants a delicate kiss on your cheek, your chin begins to quiver. He felt it, too. Felt the gravity of those words that now dulcify his intention to make things right this time. And he kisses you again, prolongs the peck, as if to thank you for your goodness. 

When Yoongi lifts his head and bores his mellow gaze into you, it is the same relief that you’ve swallowed that you see saturating his face in effulgence. At last, it has come for him, has come to live in him. At last, it’s here. 

You’ve done it, all three of you. Healed from the pain. 

Jungkook knits his brows at the sight of the first tear plopping down onto your skin as if it physically pained him to see you cry. And before you can register the movement, he swipes the liquid emotion away and kisses the residue of it, as if it were fate itself that wrote it was meant to pour down on the right side of your face—for Jungkook to collect, for it to seep into his fingerprint. 

So much love. The air is thick with it. Your lungs tremble as you take a deep breath. The wind billows in and out, but doesn’t carry it off—intertwines its translucent body with it instead, bringing in a fresh gust of briskness into the atmosphere. No more tears stream down your cheeks; you smile at both of the males—the healer and the boss. 

Yoongi remains standing beside you. Takes your hand in his. Says a myriad of silent words of great importance that you cannot decipher as he exchanges a look with Jungkook, who merely nods at them in plain understanding. You don’t have to wonder long what was behind it. Jungkook turns your jawline to him and kisses you softly. Doesn’t let go. Prolongs the kiss until he whimpers onto your mouth, softened, too, by the healing that occurred. No tongue, just the warmed silver of his lip ring, the smooth tenderness of his mouth and the most affectionate emotion exuded into the kiss. 

The pop of the withdrawal is all you hear. You keep your eyes closed. Feel him take that kiss onto your neck, your collarbone, to your sternum. Feel the tightening of your boyfriend’s grip around your hand as Jungkook drags his lips down your tummy, where the healing vibrates and he says hello to it with his tongue, makes it feel safe. Feel the tightening compulsion to watch him as he does it and you obey your body. 

Jungkook is kneeling before you. Brows furrowed, expression so terribly serious as he understands how significant this part of you is. Sinks his whimpers into your skin while he sucks it and it’s only when you run your fingers through his silky hair that he looks up at you. And the sight of his wet eyes breaks you. 

He’s as emotional as you. 

Your throat constricts. If it weren’t for him, none of this lively beauty would take place—and if it weren’t for Yoongi, too. It is their work of art and you’re the one doused in colors of most resplendence. And you tell them, your body urges you to, while you squeeze Yoongi’s hand and caress Jungkook’s hair. “I’m so grateful for you both.” 

The healer whimpers again, letting go of your skin, leaving behind a purple memory of this heartfelt loveliness. His tears don’t escape the confinement of his waterline—he blinks them away. Blinks them even more rapidly when Yoongi places a hand on Jungkook’s bare shoulder and he gapes at him in disbelief—in disbelief that his closest friend is touching him with such gentleness after everything. You don’t allow yourself to think of the past, of the last violent touch that you saw, but you can’t help the emotion rushing in your eyes. You let go of Yoongi’s hand to clasp the one on Jungkook’s shoulder, deepening the love. 

And you press a loud, exaggerated kiss on Jungkook’s forehead to make him laugh—like he did that one time by talking about his worm. To distract him, if there are perhaps any overbearing thoughts in his mind. 

Now his disbelief is directed towards you. Mouth parted, wrinkles between his brows. You burst into laughter and it triggers his. Yoongi’s, too. It’s your breasts that bounce now and none of the pairs of eyes flick to it, fixed still on the glamorous gracefulness that blossoms out from your face. Jungkook shakes his head, cheeks awash with redness, irises glinting with a spark you’ve never seen before, and you consider your job done. He tells you to lay back down, but his grin lingers. 

Yoongi takes your hand back in his and you perceive that he needs it, that he needs to hold you. You smile at him, fluttering your lashes, blowing him an air kiss, and he nudges his nose against yours to remind you to enjoy this. You begin to prepare yourself, taking a deep breath—

It hitches in your throat harshly. Jungkook kitten licks your clit with deep pressure, just once, lifting his head to watch your reaction. The reverberation of the pleasure causes you to moan and he smirks at you—what’s worse, he winks at you, so terribly smug that he coaxed such sound like that by one lick and it makes you tremble, needing more. He can see it, but he tortures you, keeping his hands on your thighs. 

And when Yoongi reaches behind himself and sinks your headband with yellow kitty ears into Jungkook’s hair, you’re done for. You must’ve left it there when you were doing your makeup. Jungkook doesn’t acknowledge it, however. Too drunk by his first proper taste of you to do so, glossy eyes transfixed by that flesh of yours. 

It suits him so well that you coo at him, grasping his neck to pull him back to your cunt, but he doesn’t let you. Your heart begins to thump with hard beats and you grow desperate, whining, looking at Yoongi to make him do something. 

He merely smiles at you. “Be patient.” 

At his words, Jungkook lifts your legs and begins to focus on the back of your thigh, marking it, groaning against your skin, inhaling your mango scent. He roams his tongue all over and you whine louder, finding it so unfair that you have to wait for it, that he reinforces your neediness by those hard kisses and sucks, by his sounds, breaths and control. You grind your hips, the ache between your legs made unbearable by your helplessness and Yoongi stops you by placing his hand on your lower belly. 

“Did I not tell you to be patient? Be good,” Yoongi scolds, lowly, rubbing the place in slow circles. Your whine is bratty, but you nod your head, pouting, halting all your movements, becoming still like the wind that has come to stay and observe the unfolding of your daydream. 

At your submission, Yoongi creeps a finger to your wet clit, testing you. Doesn’t do anything beyond that and once he sees you’re well-behaved, he plunges the same finger into your mouth, giving you a taste of Jungkook’s saliva. You mewl, sucking it. The healer watches the act in deep thought, your skin in his mouth, and you’re certain an idea flashes in his mind. 

Jungkook straightens to his full height, proving you right and the feeling is utterly gratifying. Reaches behind him and grabs the tall glass filled with water that you never noticed he put on the coffee table. Yoongi withdraws his digit and inspects his friend’s doing with curiosity. Jungkook takes a small sip of it without taking his gaze off of you, tips it to your mouth right after and you realize he did it more so it wouldn’t overflow, as you take a well-needed sip of your own, rather than to refresh himself. That is until he does something that completely shocks you, ripping away your delightful proudness of being proven right. 

It is something between a yelp and a moan when the coldness of the water drops onto the skin of your chest, scattering it with tiny, pellucid pearls that almost pool by your violent heart. The demo before the full game; your breathing gains as much speed as the throbbing in your clit. Jungkook inclines the glass again, holds it as a longer, thicker trail trickles down your body—from the middle of your breasts, across your tummy until it reaches your cunt. And the contact of the liquid with the hotness of your swollen seashell? You groan, rolling your body. So much that you slap your hands down on the leather, gripping it with all your might, needing something stable to hold onto, to release your pent-up desperation. 

Amused, Jungkook sets the glass down and kneels back down. Licks a long, torturous stripe from your clit up to those pearls, following the path he mapped out while zeroing his stare into yours. You part your mouth, your madness closing around you again, puffing out short breaths and subdued, desperate moans and when Jungkook closes his lips over your neck and begins to suck, you turn your head towards Yoongi and roll your eyes back. Struggle to keep them open as you feel that muscle of his tracing patterns on the sensitive skin and Yoongi knows. He knows how good it is for you and he kisses you like he means it, mimicking what his friend is doing around your tongue. 

Your sounds grow in volume. Your desperation, too, in intensity. 

“Please.” 

Jungkook emerges from your neck but wraps a hand around it, nonetheless. Is as close to you as your breath, his nose bumping into yours. He squeezes your column firmly before he curtly turns your jawline away from Yoongi. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat under his forearm, if he can feel how desperate she is for him, too—in a way you don’t understand. “Please what?” 

He opens your mouth wider and spits. 

Shock comes first like a thunderbolt, spreading across your veins, paralyzing your body. Then it blurs into a tumultuous arousal that seizes you whole, that makes you beg for more. No one has ever spat in your mouth, not even Yoongi. You’ve never liked it in porn, but experiencing it first-hand gives it another meaning. The dominance, the absolute film of lustfulness caking his face, the estimable seriousness that wafts off of him. He’s turned you into a boneless putty, his putty, and you want him to do it again. 

“Spit in my mouth again, please—please.” 

Jungkook grunts. Shadows surround your vision as you narrow your eyes in sheer pleasure at his sound, biting your lip to cage in your worsening desire for him—but he saves your lip, pulls it away from your teeth and opens your mouth wide. You ogle him as he sloshes his saliva in his mouth above you before he taps your tongue, signalizing you to stick it out for him. Once you listen, he spits hard onto the muscle that waited for it. You moan, satisfied, swallowing it right away and showing him. 

He pokes his own tongue in his inner cheek, fire blazing in his as equally narrowed eyes, the act of spitting in your mouth making him beyond fucked out. You can sense it deep in your core and your obsession with it grows. 

“You’re filthy, but so good. It’s making me lose my fucking mind,” he says, hazily, fingers squeezing your throat for a heartbeat. The momentary lack of oxygen gives you a perfect demonstration of his words and the moans you let out are so breathy, so choked out that he takes your madness and makes it his own—loosening his grip and kissing you nastily, licking into your mouth, both hands traveling south to your breasts and kneading them harshly, pressing your nipples between his fingers. 

And when you utter the words rising vehemently in your throat, he takes the demonstration to otherworldly levels. “Thank you, Daddy.” 

Jungkook cocks his head at you and drags his teeth painfully across his bottom lip, swearing. His eyes darken, at last. Thrill sizzles beneath your skin and you feel an upsurge of adrenaline, the aftertaste of the title so sweet, so delicious on your tongue. “As if you didn’t deserve it already, I’m gonna take you to heaven for that.” 

You laugh softly, brushing your fingers through his hair, anticipation joining the adrenaline. “You like me calling you that?” 

He hums his agreement and you don’t feel Yoongi, you don’t even feel his hand; your vision, surroundings, persona blurring so rapidly. “Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good. All you have to do is come for him as many times as you can. Thank him that way. Is that clear?” 

You shiver at the use of third person. Never thought you’d find it as alluring as you do. Brush your thumb across his brow like he does it to you. He coos, kissing your hand, sinking his body lower. Touched by the gesture. “Yes, Daddy. That won’t be too difficult for me to do.”

Jungkook gives you a smile that envelops you in an aura, where it’s just you and him. You don’t have the brain cells, nor the will, the desire to stop it. “That’s a good girl. On her best behavior for us.” 

It wakes you up and the feeling of Yoongi’s grip on your hand returns, the circle of the aura withering. Disappointment descends in your gut, one that is soon forgotten when Jungkook sucks your clit into his mouth. 

The squeak you let out would be embarrassing if you weren’t so out of your mind, but the confidence it came out with, the seductiveness and beauty—Jungkook shows you how much he liked the sound by humming against your sensitivity, the appreciation smothering every fiber and nerve ending of your body, hoisting you up towards the canopy of clouds. He swirls his tongue around the flesh, sucking deeper before he opens his mouth wider and licks you all over, closing his eyes and moaning, reveling in the feeling of you, the scent of you and the warmth of you. He toys with your lips, chuckling in delight when he acknowledges himself with them, burying his mouth completely in them, kissing them, caressing them with the puffiness of his pillows. 

He’s pussydrunk—and the sight of it intoxicates you just the same. 

And then he pauses. Kisses your clit. The peck so ardently earnest that he sucks it in the process. Does it again and again until he tinges your femininity in the faintest, daintiest, most dreamiest tone of red, prettier than any flowers you’ve ever seen—so akin to the wash of color scattering along his cheekbones. Then, he rubs his face in you, vigorously, moaning against you so intensely that your sounds become one. 

Raising his head, features drenched in your dew—just like you wanted it—his chain taps your cunt in long staccatos. The pleasure is so dizzying, along with his looks, that you feebly jump at every contact. It reminds you, vividly, of the spanks you like so much. “Pussy so fucking wet and pretty for me. I’m gonna destroy you.” 

It’s only at this time that you hear Yoongi smug but quietly laugh. He draws close to your ear and his hardened breath steals your attention from his friend’s praise. “He makes me wanna taste you, too, and make you come repeatedly on my tongue. Fuck, honey. I want that so bad.” 

You mewl, about to burst at the seams, unable to take the double relish given to you from both men. Yoongi latches his mouth onto your neck, causing your eyes to roll back, and it sparks up some kind of competition in Jungkook, for when he dives back in—you scream. 

The flicks of his tongue are so brutal that your lungs heave. You take many breaths but you can’t catch them, the heat from Yoongi’s kisses and the rapidness of Jungkook’s movement numbing your body to the point that you’re rendered powerless. 

Jungkook alternates between fast flicks and long swipes from your entrance to your bundle of nerves, parting your lips so he can have easy access. And being spread like that, attended to by two males that you have strong attachment to, the kitty ears bobbing up and down as Jungkook devours you—your orgasm chases you down, the knot in your lower belly pulled so taut that it takes a mere heartbeat for it to snap completely. 

And when you come, Jungkook laps you up, grunting in insatiable need for more. Your body violently shudders, but he keeps going, widening his swirls of tongue around your clit before he rubs it with the tip of his nose and—

He begins to fuck you with his tongue. 

You don’t feel anything. Not your heartbeat, not your struggling lungs—just the hard jabs of his tongue inside your hole, pushing you closer and closer to paradise. Not heaven, you’ve been there, but to something beyond. A paradise of the warmest color and sunlight, swaying trees and a pool of the most refreshing water. 

And Yoongi’s noise of joy is the bird that flies past in that place, dipping to its reflection. “Daddy’s so good he’s giving it to you better than I ever did.”

It’s those words that make you come again. 

He laughs, fondles your nipples, holds you steady as Jungkook prolongs your orgasm by strenuously sucking your clit and you sob hard, tingling all over, senses gone, everything gone. You feel so lightweight, so airy, dopamine and oxytocin making your head all fucked up. Happy, satisfied. 

Jungkook withdraws, kissing your clit one last time, licking it slowly. “You came so hard for Daddy, well done,” he praises, mouth wet, face as colorful as the meadow of flowers in you, gleaming iridescently. “But I’m not done with you.” 

You moan, wanting more, badly. Take him by the neck with both hands and draw him closer to you, the chain stimulating your breasts. You kiss him hungrily and the taste of your dew causes you to let out such obscene sound that Jungkook and Yoongi growl simultaneously. Dulciness, with a hint of piquancy that makes you even hornier—the slipperiness of his mouth making it worse. “I want to ride your face. Please, please, let me.” 

Jungkook smiles at you, pecking your lips, faintly. Cocks his brow at Yoongi. “You’re gonna give the princess what she wants?” 

Your eyes follow the sharp line of his jaw and you bite your lip. Don’t think twice about taking that skin into your mouth, licking it over, watching as Jungkook closes his eyes at the contact. Musk, the forest, wood—you carry your still lingering hunger and unravel it upon the spot beneath that strong jaw, devouring that scent of his, aware of how his breath lodges in his throat. You mimic what he did to your clit there, enjoying every second of it, enjoying his reaction as he hums and thumbs your clit, waiting for Yoongi’s approval. 

And you quicken it by begging for it, squeaking little sounds, beckoned by that slow motion of his digit. “Please, Yoongi. I want it so bad.” 

Badly enough that you force your head away and look at him. As much as you thought there would be puzzlement to his face, what you detect is far more sinister. His smirking mouth tells you that he is simply pleased with the way you’re begging, with the way he gets to torture you. And not just you, but Jungkook as well. Ego high—his control at full play. You don’t blame him, not at all. It must be delicious to him in the middle of all this healing. 

“Ride him well, make me proud.” 

The joy springs in you so fast, but you don’t have the time to take in it. Yoongi gets up from the couch and you apprehend that you were very, very wrong. 

You haven’t healed to the point that it doesn’t bother you when Yoongi leaves. 

Your panic is so enormous that you rise, your movement so rigid that Jungkook stumbles, his arm quick to wrap around your chest, pulling you back onto the leather beside him. And you don’t see the twist of his brows, the deep clefts of his dimples while he scowles. No, you watch your boyfriend’s back as he makes his way to the dining table, your heart expanding in your throat. 

“Tell her at least where the fuck you’re going,” Jungkook grumbles, ever the healer who senses your emotions and the fact he stood up for you like this makes you mouth merely round, your otherwise triggered trauma unsettling the rest of your feelings. 

Yoongi returns a moment later with the butt plug and lube in his hand and with a solemnly guilty face. Kisses the top of your head in apology, but it’s not enough. Not when you can’t hear your heartbeat. Not when you can’t swallow. Not when your mind is so numbed by the recurring panic that you cannot even hear your mind. 

“Don’t do that to me,” you whisper, but the words are firm, piercingly sharp, important and gravely, so much that Jungkook, with sticky hands by his sides, stills next to you. 

Yoongi cups your chin, a dominant gesture, but you glare at him—masculine strength being the last thing you need right now. You may have foolishly thought your healing was complete and as much as it knifes you to be proven wrong, it’s the fact you expected more from him that hurts the most, especially after he promised you he’d be here. But maybe it’s foolish altogether, to be in hidden demand of him to tell you of his whereabouts, notably when you never voiced it out for him, not once during the therapy sessions, not once during the course of this perverted adventure—the matter of the gravity of your abandonment issues. 

You point your anger at yourself and fall to a dark, dark abyss. 

And you pushed yourself there on your own because you were incapable of reminding yourself of Yoongi’s reassurance, mind too blurred, too fucked out to remember. 

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m still here. I never left you.” 

You nod because he’s right. “I know now. I didn’t remind myself. It’s my fault.” It’s as much of a surprise to your ears as it is to Yoongi’s. He widens his eyes at your honesty before tenderness swims past. “I’m really sensitive right now.” 

Jungkook rubs circles on your back with his thumb and you welcome his touch, his warm energy.  

Yoongi caresses your face. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. What we’re doing here is pretty overwhelming. But I’m here. I got you.” His words hold the same firmness that yours did and it’s difficult for you to grasp how they’re mending you, how they’re swooping that darkness in their arms and flinging it away from your reach. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing. Let me make it better for you, hm? You want me to make you feel better?” 

Emptiness plummets down your body, in place of the darkness and the anger, and the moonbeams in his eyes engulf it, filling it with its pale light. All you can do is nod, too weak to express any other form of affirmation. 

Yoongi kisses the place on your cheek beside your ear, slipping inside his words. “Good girl. The best. I’ll make you feel better. I’ll make you happy again, my love.” You sob at the pet name, at the tenderness, at the comforting feeling of Jungkook’s hand on your arm, pulling you back so you lean against his chest, participating in your healing. The round valley of his tattooed bicep nudges you in your cheek as he cages you in and you nuzzle your face into it, hooking both of your hands on his forearm. Musk, forest and wood suffusing your senses, along with a strong dose of safety. “That’s it, lean against him like that. Daddy will help you forget, too. Spread your legs for us.” 

You do as he says, needing what he’s promising you—needing it from them both. Maybe then, when it’s from such a vast source, will you get your full healing. 

Yoongi squirts a good amount of lube on his fingers, smearing it on your pussy. The coldness of it enlivens you and you lean your head back against the hardness of Jungkook’s chest, pressing your lips against his bulging muscles. And when Yoongi begins to massage your clit in slow circles, the healer tightens his hold around you, hand gripping your shoulders, the other one gliding down your tummy and staying there. Nipples pebbled against his forearm, breasts full and squished, your form safe, tucked, pleasured in the whole enormity that he is—you relax, giving yourself over to the delight of your boyfriend’s fingers. 

He sinks two of them inside you, stuffing you to the brim and pausing there. Jungkook sneaks his towards your bundle of nerves, resuming the circles, breaths hot against your scalp, gaining pleasure from pleasuring you, especially so when your healing is the primary goal behind it. 

And when Yoongi begins to fuck you, his hand drops from your shoulder and settles over your tit, pinching your nipple between the knuckles of his thumb and forefinger. You cry out and it drives your boyfriend to pump his digits harder—to the point that you can’t see the in and out motion, the pace so fast it becomes a blur. 

“Let go, honey, come on, let it go for us,” Yoongi murmurs, putting his whole body into his intention; you would move along with him, too, if Jungkook weren’t holding you so tightly. “You feel so good around my fingers. So tight, so wet. Such a good girl, getting what you deserve.” 

Jungkook quickens his circles, gruff groans muffled against your scalp. “You can do it, sweetheart. I know it feels good when we touch you like this.” 

Your body drips in sweat and only when Yoongi agrees, pistons his fingers faster into you do you fully let go. Your anger, your trauma, your darkness leaves you in the form of your dew and Yoongi collects it in his hand. Doesn’t stop fucking you, in fact encourages another one and you spill until your wetness overflows from his hand. Eyes rolling back, hips lifting, legs spreading even further apart. Both men praise you, but you can’t hear them—your senses silent. 

They come back to you when Yoongi licks his digits clean, swallowing your pain. Doesn’t waste time and turns you around, your sore, sensitive body colliding into Jungkook’s. And like him, he dives into your pussy, licking you clean, not having enough of your darkened taste. 

You’re so out of it that you can only focus on the brush of Jungkook’s hand down your hair and the overstimulation that seizes you, that you can’t do anything about other than take it. “Coming so well, so many times for us. You feel better?” 

You can’t answer his question, not when Yoongi begins to trace your tiny, virgin hole with his tongue, giving you a new kind of pleasure that you’ve never felt before. Your eyes whisk to the back of your head and Jungkook cradles it, understanding whooshing past his eyes—understanding that you can’t speak, not when you’re experiencing something so extensive. He smiles down at you, squishing your cheeks. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Fuck, you look so pretty.” 

Your choked out moans are enough of an affirmation for him. He coos. Then, a squirt of lube. A finger slowly going in. A gasp, a warm breath that Jungkook inhales, feeling it with you. The uncertainty in your eyes that he instantly smooths out. “You can take it. You’re such a good girl, why wouldn’t you be able to take it? Just relax. I got you.” He kisses your nose and you want to weep in joy, so overcome with it all. 

Per his reassurance, your round muscle relaxes and sucks him in. And when he begins to fuck you, you can’t contain your sounds. So lewd, so dirty, and Jungkook emboldens you by scrunching up his features, groaning with you, taking breaths with you. You give in, entirely, feel another orgasm coming, but Yoongi rips it away. Wants you to come around the thicker toy. 

The coldness of it makes you tremble, although the hunger both of the males awakened in you for it drives you to move your hips back, helping Yoongi insert it in. It takes a few tries, a few ins and outs before you welcome in it, before the fullness enthralls you so much that you become even needier, even more confident and seductive. 

Yoongi presents you to his friend, but each movement you make causes you to be more desperate than you’ve been the entire sultry night. Everything is heightened—every touch, every enjoyment of praise, every sliver of attention and all you want is to be fucked. Brutally, ravagedly fucked. 

To absorb the sight of you as you’re positioned on your hands and knees, Jungkook begins to make love on the skin of your behind with his tongue. You feel every word of apology compressed into it. For every bruise, for every red splodge, for every acute pain caused, no matter how much you enjoyed it in the moment. It’s just between you and him, shielded by the premise of desire stirred by your adorned tiny hole. And you keep it that way, whimpering for him sweetly, validating it for him. Tucking it safely into every chamber of your heart. 

Then, he strokes the flesh, replacing the bad memories with good ones—replacing the past with the present time. Lies down between your legs and pushes your hips down onto your face. 

And you ride him. His tongue, his nose. Fondle the kitty ears askew on his head. Let his moans envelop around those chambers of your heart, protecting them. Let his eyes seal your scorching, enchanting femininity with all its spirited confidence. And once he pacifies the grinding movement of your hips and takes control, palming your breasts, lips sucking your clit, tongue toying with it, you come in seconds that are not pathetic in nature, but outright exhilarating. 

You lean back against Yoongi, out of breath. He wraps his hand around your throat. “What do you want now, honey? You want to get fucked?” 

You hum, the idea clutching your body in tight excitement. “Yes. Badly. Please.” 

At your words, Jungkook begins to tug at his length and the needy movement reverberates throughout your entire body. You coo at him, enjoying the view and you get on your knees in front of the couch to watch him, inhaling his sounds like he did yours. 

“You want us to take turns? He stops, as if he was seconds away from coming, and you wrap your lips around him, letting him know how much you like the idea—at which he trembles, pulling you away. You grin at him in pure joy. “Like the sound of that?” 

“Fuck yes. Please. Both holes.”

Jungkook hisses, round, dark eyes rolling back for a split moment, losing himself—thumb swiping across your mouth once he comes back. “Daddy’s so fucking needy for you. Come here.” 

He manhandles you. Like a child he carries you to the dining space and bends you over the table. You turn your head to see where Yoongi is and he slowly swaggers towards you and Jungkook, popping his button open and pulling out his length. Tip red and painfully swollen, length long and hard—longer than you’ve ever seen it—balls tight. And when Jungkook begins to fuck you sluggishly with the butt plug, you grip the wood of the table with all your strength, fingertips white, and watch as it drives Yoongi to fuck his fist. 

The same fist he cups under your chin when he reaches you. “Spit.” 

And you do—at the same time that Jungkook forces out the silver toy, tongue immediately coming to whirl around the stretched muscle. Like before, as Jungkook fucks you there, Yoongi fucks his fist. The sounds that spill out of all three mouths are simultaneous, creating a harmony fitting just right for the paradise you find yourself in. It’s such a vigor that he eats your ass with—he does it much differently than Yoongi. Hungry and feral, he again buries his face in your ass, squeezing the flesh, before he drills the muscle with fast, strong jabs. You can’t see anything, the pleasure so intense, so darkly intense and heavily pressured that your vision remains perpetually in the back of your head. Your orgasm closes down upon you swiftly, at once, when he rubs your clit with all four fingers, not expecting it at all as no flashes danced across that night-doused canopy of nothingness before your eyes, no body heat nor pressure rose. Jungkook secures your release by slipping the butt plug back in, smacking his mouth in delight. You slump against the table, boneless. 

Jungkook takes your arms and pins them behind your back, angling the hot tip of his cock at your entrance. “You ready for this?” 

Your yes is but a tweet. 

Jungkook hums, breaths hard. “You want this cock?” 

This time, your yes is a louder screech, vibrating through the whole apartment. 

“Hm, I’m gonna stretch you out for him. Make your hole nice and big for all the cum we’ll dump you with. You’re gonna take it all like the good girl you are, aren’t you?” 

Both of your holes, your muscles, your organs clench at his words and you can’t halt the litany of vulgar words and agreement from pouring out. His grip around your intertwined forearms is deathly and when he fills you to the brim, tip kissing your cervix, walls stretching around his thick girth little by little and gives you a singular, hard stroke that shakes the table, you scream so loud that the sound echoes around the room, carrying it out into the feverish night. 

Your words are jumbled, a perfect mess, and it takes more than a few tries for you to get them out coherently. “You’re—you’re giving me all of it?” you ask, because if there’s more inches for you to take, you’ll die.  

Jungkook chuckles, darkly, lips at your ear, his body heat enveloping yours like a chunky blanket. Sneaks a hand to your hip bone. Sinks a little deeper until his pelvis touches yours, his heat spreading into all of your pores. You gasp. “I’m giving you every.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Inch.” Thrust. “And it’s all yours, sweetheart.”

You’re breathless, weak, and it’s a slow crescendo, the way he begins to roll his hips, the way he straightens and the fresh wind goes for the imprint of sweat of your and his origin on your back, cooling it, though he rips the briskness away almost instantaneously, repeating his hard stroke, the table banging against the wall. Doesn’t give you the time to prepare. 

“Can you take it?” he asks, along with that dark chuckle again. Your hands begins to tingle due to the way he’s gripping your wrists, your blood at a standstill. “Can you take us both, huh?” 

Brutal thrust. Just what you wanted. He takes you by the throat and presses you against his chest, kissing you with such vulgarity that you moan into his mouth, the fullness you feel only heightening it. He grinds in response, hands descending to your breasts, kneading them, pinching both of your nipples between his knuckles and thumbs. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You whine. 

He withdraws, then. Motions over to Yoongi. The loss disappoints you. 

A man of his word, Jungkook stretched you enough for Yoongi to easily slip inside you to the hilt. You expect him to give you a few strokes before giving you over to his friend, and you prop your hands on the table to ready yourself for it, for Yoongi’s hunger as he’s the only one who hasn’t felt any pleasure over the course of the adventure. 

But Yoongi only grips himself and pulls out. 

A thicker length. To the brim. A slender one. And they repeat it until all you can hear is the madness of their aroused laughter, their grunts and their pants. Hands all over you. The feeling is so overwhelming that everything becomes a blur. You don’t know whose hand is touching you, whose mouth is kissing you, whose cock is drilling you, senses ascending to a place beyond the paradise—

And then you feel both of their tips toying with your abused hole, acting, feignedly—drawing in and out, never fully penetrating. 

A short-lived moment that causes you to forget who you are. 

“Oh, god,” you drawl, slumping against the wood, helpless. They continue to take turns in fucking you fluidly, the symphony of your slick so loud, so filthy to your ears. You’re numb to the point that you don’t peep a sound, disoriented and so adrift in the place beyond paradise that they took you to. 

Jungkook takes control once he hears your call for help. Begins to piston his length inside you rapidly until stars take shape across your vision, wrapping a forearm around your neck similarly to the way he did in the middle of your healing, digging crescent moons into your shoulder. Stops your head from knocking back and forth furiously. You feel his sweat drip down his pelvis—and with each hard thrust, its pearls jump over to your skin, trickling down your trembling legs. The pressure in your core is but a heartbeat away from bursting. You sense it—and you sense it vehemently. 

“Are you gonna come around my cock or around his, hm? Whose is it gonna be, sweetheart?” 

Your body answers him for you, your walls tightening around him so resolutely that Jungkook stills, whimpering onto your neck. You come so hard that there is absolutely nothing else that you hear but that whiny sound—and all you can see is the stars gaining vibrant colors to their pointed shapes, various, various colors that blind you. Colors that, like you, get dumped with hot, ivory, thick cum. 

Your orgasm triggered his. 

You mewl like a little kitty cat, so pleased that he came in you, so pleased that you felt it, that you felt the twitching of his cock. Pleased that when you gape at him, you can see how spent he is, content and illuminated like those stars. 

You want to lick him up. You want to taste that glow on your tongue. 

His cum drips out of you when you turn around. Jungkook collects it with two of his fingers and pumps it back inside you. The look you give him is almost predatory, so awfully fierce that he grows faintly timid, post-nut clarity cocooning him in a soft aura, bringing his puppy nature back to him. 

You sit back down on the table and spread your legs for your boyfriend, but your gaze remains fixed on him. Blindly, you reach for Yoongi’s hand, drawing him closer, and he happily obliges your silent command. Lines himself up at your entrance and pumps Jungkook’s cum deeper into you. 

You let the puppy see the exhilaration springing up your body, tugging the corners of your mouth to each side. The glint in your eyes. The pure joy that you feel. Then, the falling of that expression as it blends into a depiction of your pleasure—furrowed brows, pout, narrowed lids. You don’t take your eyes off of him. Not even for a second. 

In fact, you curl your fingers in beckoning. And when he comes to you, you lick a stripe of the sweat coating his defined abdomen, tongue rolling around the valley of his hard muscle. Kiss the skin before you suck it into your mouth, moaning when Yoongi goes all in—fucking you with all of his energy. The taste of his glow only betters the experience, but you don’t think you can come again. You enjoy it, nonetheless. 

And when you turn your attention to your boyfriend, deeming he deserves it—Jungkook steals it in typical fashion. “Feels good?” Light, much bigger than yours, covering his eyes. You nod, humming, girlishly so—the sound pitched. “You’re gonna come again? For him?” 

You consider it an impossible task, but for him you’ll do anything. “I’ll try.” 

Jungkook makes a sound of approval, leans in and kisses you gently. Yoongi turns your chin to him and as soon as your lips touch his, you feel his cock twitch. Unlike Jungkook, he fucks you through his orgasm, groaning loudly into your mouth and you reach to the place, where you’re connected and squeeze his balls, wanting his cum, needing it.

And when Yoongi emerges from his bliss, he smiles at you, breathing out a soft laugh. Features relaxed, drowsy. You give him a smile, too, the same tiredness engulfing you. 

Slinking out of you, you discover he came so vastly that his male essence trickles out of you. You graze a finger across your slit and you gather so much of it that as you take your hand towards your mouth, it plops onto your stomach. You giggle, high on the hormones released through your body, high on the happy males watching you, high on life—high on rightness. The joy doesn’t even let you wrap your lips around your finger, adamant on showing them how well they gratified you by keeping them stretched in a dopey grin. 

They’re so endeared by you that the same expression graces their faces. Exchanging a single glance, they start at once—picking you up like a child. Yoongi by your legs, Jungkook by your pits and it’s him, the healer, who leads the way to the bathroom, walking backwards hurriedly. 

Though promptly, when putting you down, your legs are so sore, so weakened that if it weren’t for their arms, you’d fall onto the tiles. Giggles and obscenities are swallowed by the crooning sound of the streaming hot water in the shower and you sigh so deeply once it touches your skin. It alleviates the ache of your muscles, alleviates the throbbing memory of the last time you were under that burning cascade—especially when Yoongi twists your body, making you face Jungkook; especially when he says the words that quicken your heartbeat. 

“Wash her clean.” 

Making things right. Erasing that afternoon that ended in blood and bruises. 

The wet, puppy eyes you give to Jungkook are enough for him to do as Yoongi says, mirroring your mien, greatly affected by the permission, by the act of something so forbidden untangling its inextricable knot. It happened so suddenly that he doesn’t truly believe he’s allowed to do it, hands shaking by his sides, clenched into fists. It is only when Yoongi begins to shampoo your hair that he’s spurred to do something. 

And you help him. With a thudding heart and tight emotion lodged in your throat, you hand him your favorite almond-scented body wash. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you when he spreads the aroma on your sternum. Doesn’t blink once, doesn’t let his eyes wander south to your body—as if it was sacred, as if it was not meant to be looked at with lust in this intimate scenario. 

And you don’t feel fire when the heat of his hands glides down your neck, your shoulders and your arms. You feel something else entirely, something you can’t really pinpoint. Something holy, something so immensely heavenly. Maybe it’s brought about by the fact that he doesn’t touch your intimate parts—not your breasts, not your vulva. The only time he comes near to it is when he leads you into his chest and carefully, while peeking down, tries to pull out the forgotten toy. You sense Yoongi’s hands on your backside, watching over, and the feeling of being rid of it is so uncomfortable that you cringe against his pec, squeezing him hard, hugging him with everything in you. Jungkook makes gentle sounds for you, encouraging you and it relaxes your body enough that it lets go of the toy. 

Grabbing your shoulders, he studies your emotions. Sees only your same old tiredness and he pecks you, descending onto the tiled floor to cleanse you of your stickiness. Isn’t grossed out by the male essence that isn’t his. Kisses your trembling muscles on the apex of your thigh. Cradles your foot, massages it. The other one, too. 

And when Yoongi rinses out your shampoo and the bubbles of your almond body wash, Jungkook tells him, gravely, “Wash her where she needs it.”

You’re so touched by the fact he doesn’t dare to lay a hand there in a non-sexual environment that it doesn’t leave any space for shock to come through. Your finger itches to hook around his, but you take one step further—you slide your hand into his. And like a child, you let yourself be washed in between your legs as Jungkook, like a father, watches over it. 

Once you’re clean, the males take their turns. You observe the bubbles, the white foam, their veined hands gliding along their glistening bodies and, alternating, you touch them, helping them in a way. Touch the love bruise upon Jungkook’s abdomen; touch the indistinct happy trail on Yoongi’s. Rinse them off. 

Needing to be held, you guide Jungkook’s hands to your waist and fold your arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, but both males think differently. Squishing you in the middle of them, they hug each other, each head buried in each crook of your neck. You feel their hearts beat as one and it nearly lulls you to sleep, its healing beauty soothing you to the point that your lids become heavier. And the three of you stand there, in a cozy, homely embrace, until coldness wraps around you, too. 

They let you do your thing on your own. 

Once you come out of the shower, Yoongi kisses you and asks you if he should bring you any clothes. You merely shake your head and he leaves it at that, following Jungkook out of the bathroom. 

You lather your body in your mango butter in your aloneness. Blowdry your hair. Do your skincare. Note that there aren’t any thoughts in your brain, just deep, content silence swimming around with happy hormones. You’re so grateful for it that you could weep. 

To bed, you wear your newest purchase. A pink lacy camisole with matching bodycon shorts. You slide your feet into your fluffy slippers and as you make your way into the living room, you hope with all your heart that Jungkook hasn’t left. You haven’t exchanged many words after the sex and because of that, you knife yourself with the expectation to find only Yoongi lounging around in the sitting area. 

Midwalk, you bind it all into a loose braid. Don’t use a tie to seal it. Merely flip your hair back—with the futile wish it would untangle. 

And it does when you find the males smoking on the balcony with the door wide open. Jungkook, fully dressed in the outfit he came in. Yoongi, wearing his pants. You let out a quiet breath of relief, stooping to the ground to pick up your robe and the cheese ball, a dreadful twinge in your lower body alarming you. And then, you notice that someone folded your little sheer outfit neatly on the chair. 

“I wasn’t able to touch her after you,” you hear Yoongi say, the wholeness of the starry night plating his low pitch. You still your breathing, the perplexity from his words forcing you to whisk your head in his direction. “All I saw was my shortcomings… and—and I didn’t know how to please her anymore because you showed her new things. I felt less than. Unable to be the right person for her sexually.” 

Your heart shrinks so much it pains you. Yoongi never told you these things during the therapy sessions. He mainly spoke about the sexual moments at the cabin, but never about the ones after, never about what truly bothered him on his healing journey. He bottled it up. Your throat fills with bile. 

“Has what we did tonight changed that?” Jungkook asks, shoulders tense. “We practically did the same things and she was more than pleased.” 

Your heart grows back to its full size at the positive mention of you. You rise to your full form, flinging the cheese ball into its empty bowl before folding your robe. Your ears perk in waiting for his answer. 

“I think so.” The bile sinks back down, along with the pain coated with sadness. “I also think we should do this again.” 

Your mind doesn’t allow your body to exult, knowing the reason why he said it. 

He wants to either finish the hidden healing or… check if it has come to an end. 

The tension doesn’t ease in Jungkook’s shoulders. “Only if you work hard and focus on her. I’m not consenting to this if you only touch her with me being present.”

Silence in your heart—a skipped beat. You don’t want to hear any more of that conversation. You put away your robe and grab the dishes, washing them in the sink. 

No matter how much dish soap you use, you can’t scrub away the healer’s magic off of your hands. It pelts under your skin, to and fro, over and over as you repeat his words in your mind. Gives strength to your fingers as you hold the unusually heavy plates and bowls, the tiredness a hefty burden on your shoulders, weighing you down. 

Such a good man. You’re so grateful to know such an extraordinary being like him. A good friend, the best you could wish for Yoongi. A good lover, too—

“I think it’s way bigger and deeper, this relationship and how I feel about it. I can’t help it—” Jungkook’s voice no longer a far-off murmuring, he halts his words at the sight of you. Calls your name. “I thought you were asleep already.” 

You turn off the tap water, ignoring the question in your body about the incomplete sentence he uttered while being under the impression you were beyond hearing distance. Think you’ve learned and come about plenty enough of things tonight. You want to go to bed. With both of them. 

You don’t say your reasoning behind why you’re here. Deem it’s pointless. “Let’s go to bed.” 

You reach out your hand for him, but it is only the wind that encases your palm. You drop it. 

A chaos of shoulds and desires swarms in him. You can see it, vividly. “I should go home.” 

You’re having your way, you don’t care. “No. Stay.” 

Jungkook calls your name again. Yoongi licks his lips, smiling, fondly. Walks towards you and grabs your hand, leading you towards the bedroom. The puppy stays fixed on his feet, not comprehending that you want him to sleep in Yoongi’s bed and not on the couch. 

You raise your hand again for him. “Come, you’re sleeping with us.” 

Jungkook has gone commando under his jeans. You eye the sliver of minimal hair on his pelvis and before you can ogle his worm, he cups himself. 

Unabashedly, you click your tongue in disappointment, even though the recollection of your private decision to have his boxers as a keepsake, approved by him, suffuses your exhausted body in delight. 

You get under the sheets, right in the middle, watching as Yoongi hands him his gray sweatpants to wear, holding your breath when Jungkook turns around and you gain a perfect view of his round, toned ass. 

You’re certain that man will be the death of you. 

Yoongi crawls into the bed, nuzzling into the crooks of your body that he knows well, cuddling to your arm. You hear him inhale the scent of your shampoo. “You smell so good.” 

You stroke his forearm with your fingernails, transfixed by the way the waistband of the forbidden pants hangs low on Jungkook’s hips, by his slow, seductive walk that you don’t particularly think he’s doing on purpose. That’s just what makes him him, which worsens it all. 

In similar fashion, he lays down beside you, but he doesn’t turn to his side as your boyfriend has done. No, like you, he rests on his back, hands by his body, touching you without meaning to. His warmth environs you, but you notice that a good half of his body isn’t covered by the sheets. You fix it right away, tucking him in—tucking the fabric right under his chin. 

He gives you a strange look that makes you giggle. “You want me to burn?” 

Oh, men and their body heat. You’ll never grow tired of it—it’ll forevermore fascinate you. 

You shush him. “Sleep.” Pinch his nose, deepening his funny scowl. “Goodnight, sweet dreams.” 

Yoongi begins to purr beside you and you know he’s halfway on his journey to dreamland. You lay back down, hip to hip with both males, hands on your tummy, your eyes languidly fluttering closed.

A hand on your thigh. You open them fleetingly, surprised at the contact, before they close on their own.

“I’ve missed his purring,” Jungkook whispers, thumb brushing across your smooth skin. Just once. “Haven’t heard it in a while. It’s better than brown noise.” 

You laugh, softly, agreeing with him in your heart. Submit to the call of your own dreamland and you turn to your side, facing Yoongi, propping the back of your hand under your chin. 

But then Jungkook folds into your form. 

Mirrors your position. Arm around you, hand relaxed on the mattress an inch away from your tummy. 

It makes you feel funny. It makes you wild, your body gaining the tiniest tendril of energy. You curse him, mentally, although you don’t mean a single word. 

You feel his gentle breath fanning the nape of your neck. Along with it arrives the need for him to touch you. You purse your lips, burying your head deeper into the pillow in effort to shake that off and focus on relaxing your body—

“Hyung?” 

He hums in response. You curse him, too. 

“She didn’t come when you fucked her.” 

Your eyes fly open. The audacity this man has—

Tense, tense nothingness. It thrums uncomfortably under your skin. 

“Lemme make it right.” 

Radio silence in your heart, its profound waves shaking through your entire body, tearing off its drowsiness. 

“Okay, Jungkookie.” 

Your gasp is so minimal, yet Jungkook feels it. He presses his palm against your stomach, pulling you closer to him. Yoongi turns to his other side, as if giving you the privacy for what Jungkook wants to do to you. 

Reposing halfway on his back, halfway on his side, he maneuvers your form to mirror his position. And for the longest time, you both just lay there while Jungkook brushes his fingers along your clothed body. Back and forth, in circles, in peculiar patterns that soothe you. You thought you’d fall asleep this way, but the touches keep your body awake, promising it things in a silent language that it so evidently wants. 

And it isn’t until Yoongi begins to snore that you perceive Jungkook waited until he entered his deep slumber. The breath you let out is loud, absorbed by your boyfriend’s much bigger ones, but it makes Jungkook hold your jaw steady as he draws his lips close to your ear. 

“I didn’t like that he used you,” he whispers and his words fill your body with something foreign, something that drives your brows to knit, your muscles to clench, for butterflies to stir awake, although you disagree with him. Yoongi didn’t use you. You don’t really think he did. When you motioned him to take his turn, you expected to come again, but your body was so spent that it wasn’t able to do so, which is completely okay in your opinion. “If I fuck a girl and I come first before she does, I don’t stop until she creams all around me. Even if it hurts.” 

You remember him pushing you away when you wanted to keep going after he orgasmed. “You don’t like to be overstimulated, though.”

He snickers again, softly and lowly. “And yet I don’t stop.” Both hands on your tummy, he glides them down, towards your hips, towards your thighs before he drags them back up. Lifts up your camisole this time around, getting a feel of your skin. Rubs circles. “I want to make you come like you deserved to. Can I?”

“I came a lot of times. I don’t know if I can.” 

Jungkook caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, angling your jaw towards him. “We can try and see if you can.” 

We. He kisses your cheek and you pout in his hand. Brain turned off, too numb by all the orgasms, the attention and the affection you’ve received, you take the other one and slide it beneath your shorts. Feel an onrush of freshness in your lungs when he whimpers at the contact of your lips with the pads of his fingers and you move your hips back against him, gaining another sound of similar nature that willingly tempts your madness to return to you. 

He’s hard. 

You grind your backside against his thick imprint, loving the feeling of it, loving the soft noises he makes as if he was trying to stifle them, but you were making it awfully difficult for him to do so. 

“Don’t do that or I’ll cum in Yoongi’s pants.” 

Your laugh is feral. Quiet, gentle. An oxymoron that could only belong to his name. To his art. The idea of him coming in your boyfriend’s pants drenches you and he gasps once he discovers it, teasing your entrance. 

“You want me to come like this?” he asks and you hum your agreement, his fingers ascending to your clit, stroking it in slow, slow circles. His breath hardens in tandem with yours and he swears. “But I don’t and you will listen to me.” 

He pulls out his hand and you whine, catching his wrist, bringing it back where it belongs. On your clothed, now swollen clit. You grind your hips with more fervor, just to work him up, just because you enjoy it and he fists the material of your shorts, stimulating you with the seam, dominating you through and through. 

You merely beam at him, illuminating the room, fisting his cock. “Don’t stretch out my new shorts.”

“Don’t provoke me and we’ll reach an understanding,” he retorts, swirling his tongue around the bone of your jaw before he kisses it. Responding to it, you grind your pelvis back, angling your hips so his cock fits just right in between your cheeks. He tuts in disapproval, shifts a little bit more to his side nonetheless, pulling you flush to his body. “No, other way sweetheart. Grind your pussy against it.” You try it, placing your hand on top of his, unsure and he helps you, guiding your hips with his, grinding upwards, as if he was fucking you. You mewl at the pleasure permeating your veins and with his free hand, he clamps your mouth shut. “Yes, that’s it.” He tightens his hold on your shorts, hoisting it higher. “Feels so good like this, doesn’t it?” You nod, your noises loud, only slightly muffled by his clammy hand. He shushes you, breath hot against your ear. “You gotta be quiet. We don’t wanna wake Yoongi up, do we?” You shake your head ‘no’, squeezing your hold on his hand. Jungkook lets go of your shorts and slides beneath them again, fingers spreading your new arousal on your clit. You squeak again, terribly sensitive and turned on, bound in his arms. “I told you to be quiet. Do you know what happens to girls who don’t listen?” 

You’re glad to hear he didn’t add “to me”, for some deranged reason and for that, you don’t peep a sound. 

“They get punished,” he answers for you and you can’t stop the moan from escaping your throat, the idea of getting punished by him again making you utterly, utterly delirious. 

He strains his fingers around your mouth until it hurts, but that’s not the reason why you draw it away. You do it so you can speak. “Teach me a lesson, please. I need it.” 

You wish you could see his reaction, but the darkness keeps it to itself. You can only hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes—and you can feel the twitch of his cock against you that divulges to you that he’s gone mad just the same. 

While silence takes place, he drags your shorts down to your thighs, the tight cotton preventing you from spreading your legs. He moves you so you lay on your back and from this position, you sense Yoongi’s body heat and the lift and fall of his chest, though he still remains facing you with his back. Jungkook lifts your camisole until your breasts are exposed. And then, he props the back of your head on his bicep, clamping your mouth back shut. He looks down at you and you can only slightly make out his features. The glint of his lip ring irradiates him. Mercifully. 

You want to kiss him so bad. 

“How does Yoongi punish you, hm?” 

The question shocks you, coaxes out a string of your arousal to drop down your clenched thighs. Whilst he waits for your answer, he grazes his palm down your sternum, your stomach, your mound. Leaves it there. 

It’s your body that responds out of its own will, not your brain. You can’t, for the life of you, think. He allows you to speak. “With his words. His cock. And… with pussy spanks.” 

Jungkook hums. Puts the covers out, revealing you to himself. “Show me how he spanks you.” Your hand trembles as he lifts it. He brushes his thumb across your knuckles while he places it on your cunt, taking control of that expression of nerves. Wraps the other hand around your throat. 

When your fingers collide with your clit, you hiss in sensitivity. Decide you will only show him this way. You can’t take any more. “Like this. Gently, but firmly. So it doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t like to cause me pain.” 

He exchanges your hand with his and spanks you. With bigger firmness than Yoongi ever used. You arch your back, not expecting it with your dumb brain. He pinches your right nipple between his knuckle and thumb, making you moan softly, not having enough and enveloping it with his mouth, sucking briefly before he swirls his tongue around the nub. Your wetness rushes out, along with your noises that you’re just so incapable of stopping. You grip his hair on the back of his head and in response he flicks the muscle. Your hips buck, asking for attention. 

Jungkook withdraws, stares you dead in the eye. “I’m punishing you for making a sound and yet you do as you please?” 

You swear, eyes wide. “I’m sorry.” 

He spanks your clit. “Sorry what?” 

Remembrance flashes through your mind. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” 

“Hm, that’s right.” He rubs your clit rapidly. Spanks it again. Your moans come out in strained breaths. “That was for the curse word. Say you’re sorry.”

But then, you can’t help but mewl at his fatherliness. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” 

He pecks you, deeply. For the title, for your good manners or perhaps to silence you—you don’t know. “How sorry?” 

His fingers find your clit again, strumming it, lips moving against you in a passionate kiss. Your brain malfunctions. “So sorry,” you whisper onto his mouth, gripping his hair.  

He spanks you, softly, for pleasure, then continues. “You won’t say it again?” 

“No.”

A sound of approval. “Good girl.” He sinks his middle finger inside you as far as your restrain allows him, fucking you slowly. The pressure of delight begins to build in you. “One more?” 

“Yes, please, Daddy.” 

Ring finger joins in, instantly. “Such a good girl. I love hearing you say that.” He jackhammers into you a few times before he stills, thumbing your clit. The fullness, the stimulation on your most needy part—it’s enough to make you come and you feel it chasing you again, nearing and nearing. “I want to fuck you like this with my fingers and have that toy on your clit. The one we used the last time. Keep the setting low, so it wouldn’t wake him up.” 

A curse word rises on your tongue, but with the last brain cell you have—you swallow it down. You’re tiptoeing before the edge, knot tight in your tummy, pressure so enormous, and you tell him. “I’m gonna come.” 

He lifts his thumb. “Hold it.” 

You panic, faintly, standing still before the edge, face to face with your orgasm, close, terribly close. “I can’t.” 

Jungkook shifts. “You will.” Bends you in half while keeping his fingers inside you, mouth latching onto your soaked cunt. 

Takes control of your orgasm as he begins to toy with it, building it little by little with sluggish circles on your clit with the tip of his tongue. Then, he wraps his lips around it, nibbling on it and resumes the movement of his fingers, fucking you steadily. 

The pleasure is so new, so different that you feel as though you’re levitating in heavenly places. You grind your hips against him, meeting him, but briefly. When he sucks your clit, he stills your motions and spreads shakes across your entire body. “Come for Daddy, sweetheart.” 

He flicks his tongue—and you do. You come so violently for him that you grip his hair with all your might, surprised that he isn’t wincing in pain. And he doesn’t stop. 

He keeps going until all that’s left of you is nothing but the cordiality of your high and those shudders, licking you up, devouring all that you’re giving him, wet fingers spread on the back of your thighs. 

Then, he sets your legs down, straddles you and kisses you nastily. Makes you taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue and he enjoys the principle of it all. Enjoys giving back to you what you leaked for him. “I could have you come on my tongue all night.” He pecks you, swirls his tongue around yours. “You kept quiet through it all. Good girl. You learn so well.” 

You’re speechless, satisfied, sensing something approaching you that you fail to understand. Something bigger than attachment, but smaller than feelings. Connected to his healing gift or perhaps invented from it. Something that’s smack dab in the middle, growing in you, and you submit to it, unafraid of it. 

A certain desire fraternizes with it. You push at his shoulder, wanting him on his back. As if he senses what it is, he stays put. Solid as a rock. In both ways. 

But you’ll have your own. 

You tug the waistband of Yoongi’s sweats down his hips and grasp him in your hand, spreading his thick arousal down his length. Jungkook’s breath shakes, but his words don’t. “When did I tell you you could do that?”

You grab him with both hands, squeezing him. He hisses, muscles bulging along his arms on either side of you. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Can I?”

He coos. “Only because you’re so well-mannered.” Nods at you. “Keep going. Make your Daddy feel good.” Your Daddy. The fire it sparks in you, you put its wholeness into your movement—jerking him off, twisting your wrists, using all of your strength. “Hands off.” He spits on his head, the trail long and delicious to your eyes and you’re quick, you’re desperate, to resume and make him come, ache pressing down on your pussy all over again. 

The slickness, his stifled noises, the snug warmth—you understand all of a sudden how he’s able to feel your pleasure because you’re experiencing it. You are pleasured because you’re pleasuring him. But still, you want more. You press him against your clit. “Fuck my hands like this, please.” 

He repositions your hands. Slides them lower on his length, so his tip can stimulate your bundle of nerves. And when he begins to thrust, you’re transfixed. 

By the roll of his hips, the clenching of his abdominal muscles, the evident delight overwhelming his body. You can’t take your eyes off of him. Especially not when he lets his guttural vocality loose. 

You smile. “You should be quiet.” 

He laughs down at you, softly. It vibrates in your core. He kisses you, humming into your mouth. “You’re right, but it feels so good like this. Doesn’t it feel good on your pussy?” 

You nod, biting his lip, angling your head and devouring his mouth, plagued by his arousal, by his pleasure, by his response to your little slyness. He fucks your hands faster, gliding across your clit, not lasting for a moment longer. He shoots out his hot cum onto your tummy, cock twitching in your hands, his noises muffled by your mouth. 

And he remains there. Even as he fingers you so fast that you come in seconds. Even as he takes those drenched digits, collects his male essence and plunges them into your mouth. “‘Atta girl. So good for me.” 

He cleans your folds and thighs with his tongue. Dresses you, like a child. Fixes your camisole. Puts the covers back on you and spoons you. 

Yoongi remains soundly asleep. You succumb to slumber faster than you came but before you do, it’s Jungkook’s words that lead you to that dreamland. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

In the morning, you wake up first. And the sight you see is so profoundly beautiful that you take a moment to gape at it, folding it into your heart. 

Jungkook drools in his sleep. Celestial countenance, tousled hair in all directions, broad chest lifting and falling in absolute tranquility. He twists his features for a split second, as if he was dreaming about something uncomfortable and you’re so affected by it that you look away. 

Turn your gaze to your boyfriend instead. 

Still snoring, mouth parted. Ebony hair brushed back, exposing his forehead. The corners of his lips tug up and stay and you think angels must be playing with him in his dreams. You kiss his arm, crawling back, painfully, until your feet hit the floor. 

You take a long, long shower. Practice your gratitude, recollecting last night’s events and words spoken by Jungkook that weren’t as private as he thought. Hearing them, they were too fresh to be consumed, but now that you think about them—your own smile finds your lips and you agree with him in your heart. You can’t let him walk away after this. Can’t let him return to his normal life that exists without you, not when you’re something along the lines of attached to him. Hell, you can’t return to your own normal life without him. Without his touch, without his celestiality. Without his attentiveness and healing gift. 

This has to be a continuous relationship. 

Jungkook was the one who called it that way and it feels right. Even as you taste it on your tongue, it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever swallowed. It fills your body with verve, one that you deem is essential at this point. One that you will need every single day from now on. 

You have to talk about this with Yoongi. The idea doesn’t scare you, despite the fact you can’t really picture his reaction. Can’t imagine which way it will gravitate towards—whether to light or to dark. You don’t mind at all, in fact you look forward to it and you wash your body with greater care than you ever handled it with before. 

With a face mask on, you take your cosmetic bag and do your makeup in the living room. The sunlight spills in, kissing your ebullient mien, and you imprint its red marks with a touch of blush across your cheeks, its lovely color with glitter on your eyelids and you finish the job with a few brushes of mascara upon your lashes and a singular swipe of a glimmering lip gloss on your lips. 

It is only then that Jungkook appears in front of you. 

“He still sleeps like a bear.” 

You’re so happy to see him that it manifests on your face. 

“Don’t try to wake him up or you’ll get eaten.” 

Placing your cosmetic bag on his lap, he sits beside you. “I wouldn’t dare.” Examines your face for a good moment. “Why are you putting this on? You don’t need it.” 

 “I enjoy it,” you say, watching fondly as he takes out each makeup product and scans them. Once he comes across your tiny tubes of glitter of various shades, light flickers in his eyes. Your heart does the same thing. And a somersault right after.

“You wear glitter?” 

You nod, a precious, girlish smile stretching your glossy mouth. “I’m wearing it right now.” You close your eyes for him, letting him see the small sparkles, resplendent of the sun. He praises you, the word ‘pretty’ embracing you tightly in all its snug simplicity, forcing your eyes open. A brighter spark shines in his irises. You brim with the yearning to doll up his eyes to match it and, having your way as always, you steal the tubes from him. “Which one do you want?” 

He doesn’t even fight you. As a matter of fact, he’s already decided. Doesn’t waste a second to reply. “The silver one.” 

Excitedly, you quiver all over. Dab the applicator on the back of your hand and lift your sight to catch him smiling cutely at you like the puppy he is. Your hand itches to ruffle his hair. Grab his cheek and bite into it. Go for his nose next. 

Whirling the pad of your finger on the splatter of glitter, you hover it above his lids. “Close your eyes.” 

He listens, immediately. You pat the imitation of his glint across that soft skin, but you focus on that beautiful, pouty smile of his. Think you’ll save his lips for last and savor them as you eat them. 

You swipe your finger for more and adorn his other eye. Take the rest and speckle it on the highest points of his cheekbones—this time with his attention all on you. 

You lean back to observe your artwork and find that something is missing. You know right away what it is. 

You dab the applicator on his cupid’s bow and drag it down his collarbones. Take care of that first before you move over to his lips. You blend it there with utmost care and he lets you, zeroining his gaze into yours. Deep, but gentle. Loving. 

To finish it, you kiss him. And it’s not because you were driven by your emotions or by that stare of his. You do it because you want to. Kiss him again, so the highlight is perfectly blended. 

He’s puzzled when you draw away, but you’re not unnerved by it. You’re firm and stable in your decisions, happy in the outcome, any hints of repercussions or doubts far, far away from you. In another world, in another galaxy. It has long forgotten your name and you’re glad for it. 

“We shouldn’t do this.” 

There he goes with ‘we’ again. It makes you weak. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” you say, soothingness coating your voice, penetrating his negative emotion to the point that he relaxes. Before he can say anything, you continue. “I heard what you said last night. To Yoongi. That this relationship is way bigger and deeper.” Surprise and timidity bleeds into the glitter on his face and he’s unable to look you in the eye. You grab his palm, holding it with both of your hands in your lap. “I agree with you. I feel it, too. This wasn’t just a one time thing. I don’t think it was ever meant to be just for one night.”

There’s rawness to your words that make him reciprocate your eye contact. He gnaws at his lips, as if to eat away his nerves. You squeeze his hand harder and are about to continue, but the creak on the hardwood floors stops you. 

Yoongi. With his wrinkled face and puffy, but awake eyes. In a pair of boxers and nothing else. You stand up to your feet, dropping Jungkook’s hand, and you go to meet him halfway, but you don’t make it far. The soreness between your legs won’t let you.

He grins at you, wrapping his arms around you. “Can’t walk?” His taunt is loving and scrunch your face at him. “Good morning, honey.” 

You kiss his bare chest. “Good morning.”

Yoongi moves over to Jungkook and places a hand on his shoulder. “Sleep well?” 

Wet softness in his eyes. “The best sleep of my life.” 

“So, I want two boyfriends.” 

While Yoongi made coffee for all three of you, you were more than happy to make breakfast. Scrambled eggs on avocado toast—one that Jungkook chokes on upon hearing your words and one that flings out of Yoongi’s mouth because he bursts into a violent laughter. 

You laugh along with him—so hard that tears well in your eyes, slapping your palm down repeatedly on the round wooden table. Yoongi mirrors your movement on Jungkook’s back as he fights for his life, red in the face, eyes wide. 

“What did you say?” the puppy croaks out, bewildered, letting go of his bread and you feel terribly bad for him, for shocking him so enormously. 

The decision came upon you suddenly while you cooked. Easy, smooth. Appeared on your heart that sprang it up to your mind. Gave it pros and cons—good friendship, good sex, good time; Yoongi might get jealous and/or possessive, nothing else. It made sense to you, grazed your attachment ever so sweetly. How else would you keep last night continuous? Even Yoongi went around the matter when he talked Jungkook’s head off, asking him if he’d been with other people after you. 

Boyfriend simply means that. No other people—just you and Yoongi. 

You weren’t going to keep it to yourself. Even if there was a risk of it going downhill. 

It’s not relief that you feel upon hearing Yoongi laugh—it’s a river of liberation, concocted with absolute joy, coursing in your bloodstream. He woke up in a good mood. Woke up happy. And you fold that fact into your heart, hoping it stays for a long time. 

“Eat your toast, silly,” you say, smiling, eyes crinkled. Take a bite of your own. Happy that Yoongi is happy, happy that you’re eating your favorite fruit, sitting again at the table with your two favorite people. “You heard me.”

“Oh, fuck,” is all Jungkook says, whisking his eyes to Yoongi, who’s chuckling, bending down to pick up the piece of toast he was in the middle of chewing. 

You look at him, too, waiting for his response. 

Yoongi brushes his hair back, a lazy smile on his mouth. “I think it’s a fantastic idea.” 

You grin so hard that your cheeks hurt. The river in you speeds its stream. “Thank you,” you exclaim, rubbing his arm, quivering with excitement. “I say we mess around and have a good time. We can go on dates.” 

Jungkook relaxes a little bit, furrowing his brows as he chews on his toast. 

“She wanted two cocks, don’t tell me you didn’t expect this,” Yoongi says to his friend, patting your thigh. “I did.” 

Perhaps that’s why he had such a hard time in all of this. He knew it was inevitable—and he worked his way through it until he ended here. Fine with it. Healed. 

“When did that happen?” you ask, sliding your hand down to his. 

“When I decided the first time I was gonna give it to you. Then, again when I promised you we were gonna make this work,” he says and you pout at him, so grateful, so touched. He squeezes your thigh, looking at Jungkook. “I can see your questions all over your face. Out with them.” 

Jungkook has finished his toast, brows still furrowed as he swallows. He leans back in his chair, manspreading, hands intertwining behind his head. Pokes a tongue in his cheek, smirking. “Don’t kill me for this, but,” he starts, showing his teeth. “Do I get to have her to myself? Without you? And vice versa?”

Your heart beats ferociously in your chest. Yoongi pauses for a moment, thinking about it. He let him do it last night, he let him have you to himself, though under different circumstances. You figure what Jungkook meant is whether he can fuck you without asking for permission and the idea exhilarates you. 

And the vice versa part. Jungkook is one sly—

“It won’t be instant, but we’ll work hard. Work our way through it until we’re all comfortable and happy,” Yoongi finally says and you kiss his hand.

You’re so overwhelmed with joy that your blood buzzes. 

Jungkook nods. “Of course, I understand.” 

“Is this something you want?” Yoongi directs the question at you and you nod. 

“Yes, once you’re ready.”

Silence settles like fine dust. You finish your toast quietly and as soon as you’re done, you deem Yoongi should know about what happened in the late hours. “We didn’t fuck last night. While you slept. It didn’t even cross my mind and I wouldn’t do it unless I had your… blessing.” 

Yoongi cackles at your choice of word. “Good girl,” he praises. “You’ll get your blessing soon. I promise.” 

You look at him for a long time and you wonder if there’s anything he wouldn’t do for you. 

“So, it’s settled, then,” Jungkook says and places a hand on the table, opens it for you. You grab it and he squeezes you. “Let’s celebrate.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two, READ part three

[tinylilacbun]

hiii! idk if you’re requests are open but I was wondering if you could do a daddy wade x little girl reader (i can already hear him call her peanut!)where she skins her knee playing but tries to hide it from him and when he finds out she tells him she wanted to regenerate like her daddy🥹

Just like you

Pairing: daddy!wade x little!reader

Warnings: age regression, fluff, hurt knee, tiny mention of blood, comfort

As a little with a mercenary as a caregiver who's often gone during the day you know how to keep yourself entertained without getting bored, sometimes watching too much cartoons than you were allowed but other than that you were a good peanut.

Another day with Wade being gone and about to earn some money, with the promise to be there for movie night, you were busy playing to make the time go faster.

Looking through your toy chest you pull out a cape, giggling in delight you quickly fasten it around your neck. You also grab two stuffies to play with, rushing to the living room.

Wade was a hero in your eyes, obviously. He doesn't exactly tells you what happens exactly during his jobs, just snippets and not any gory details for obvious reasons, but nonetheless he's your hero. That's why you love to pretend you are a hero yourself.

As you keep playing that you're rescuing your hostage stuffed bunny from a cat you run around the living room, jumping up and down the couch you lose your balance and fall knees first onto the hardwood floor with a yelp.

You sit on the floor, pouting at your now bloody knees and hesitantly touch one and wince at the sting. "Owie..."

But you don't start crying. Your daddy doesn't cry either, he sucks it up and keeps going with the knowledge that he will regenerate in no time. So, with a huff you get up and continue playing as if nothing happened.

A while later you are sitting on the couch watching a cartoon as you hear the front door unlocking and Wade steps inside, still wearing his suit and carries a bag of takeaway.

"Daddy's home!" He loudly announces himself. "That'll never get old." He walks over to the counter that separates the kitchen from the living area to set down the bag and takes off his mask as well.

The second his hands are free you quickly get up and run into his awaiting arms. "Missed you daddy."

He smiles, picking you up by your thighs and kisses the tip of your nose. "I missed you too, peanut. Bet you had more fun than me. You didn't start our movie night without me, did you?"

"Nooo, I could neva! Waited jus' for you." You giggle, eyeing the bag of food your stomach growls. "What's this?"

"I got your favorite takeout." He says, chuckling at the way you're almost drooling at the sight. "Get settled on the couch and I'll be there in a minute, 'kay?"

You nod enthusiastically, rushing back to your previous spot when Wade set you back on the ground.

Soon enough he got changed into something comfortable and you both are eating your dinner on the couch while he tells you about today's job, making sure it's appropriate for your current headspace.

When you finish eating and Wade has put on the movie you got to choose this week you get more comfortable.

Wade sits back down next to you, grabbing a fluffy blanket to cover you both but stops when he gets a glimpse of your knees. "Peanut, what's this?"

"Huh? Oh, that happened when I was playing hero. S'okay, jus' hurts a little!" You shrug it off with a smile.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" He sighs.

"Wanted to be like you daddy." You mumble, looking down at your hands.

His eyes soften at that, a small smile replacing his frown. "Like me?"

"Mhm, wanted to regenerate like you 'cause is so cool!"

"Oh peanut, you're too sweet for this world. Wait here, I'll be right back."

Sure enough he comes back with a pack of hello kitty bandaids, kneeling down beside the couch and quickly unwrapping two of them, placing them carefully on your knees. "There, all patched up. You're still just like me, y'know? You just need a little longer to regenerate than me and that's okay."

"Really?" You ask a little uncertainty, tilting your head.

"Oh, hell yeah. You're just as cool as me and that means we deserve this." He pulls out two lollipops and you squeal, instantly reaching out for it. "Let me unwrap it first."

He settles back down next to you, letting you snuggle into his side before taking the wrapping off and handing you your treat.

He wraps an arm around you, kissing your head. "You'll always be my cool peanut."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✧˖°

Taglist

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For everything:

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[jarofstyles]

Can you do a bit of arrogant or idk like…. Mean dom Harry teasing you while you suck him off? That would be so good

Oooo… yes I can.

Patreon

——

“Said to stick your tongue out.” Harry mumbled, holding her hair in a makeshift ponytail with one hand while the other handled his cock. Y/N’s eyes shifted from the dribble of precum on his tip to his eyes, the dark gaze making her want to shiver. “Or did your pretty little head empty out once you saw my cock?”

Harry had an affinity to be the biggest asshole in the world, but Y/N simply couldn’t stop seeing him. Spending her Saturday half annoyed at him as he teased her and make her irritated when they were with her friends -she refuses to say his because she was there first, damn it!- only to end up in his living room on her knees, burning slightly from the carpet underneath. He sat on his armchair, pants pulled to his knees and his cock glistening in her spit from when she had greedily taken him into her mouth. Without asking, of course.

“Hm?” A tug of the hair made her fuzzy vision clear, lips shaped in an ‘o’ before she laid her tongue out flat. Sometimes, time moved slower when she got into this headspace. The good thing about Harry, though, was he wasn’t ever an ass after sex. He had morals, surprisingly, and liked to indulge in this. This was the only time they weren’t at each other’s throats. “Look at that. Baby’s got a brain after all.” His sarcastic coo damped her, her poor panties a waste of fabric at this point.

As much as she hated his arrogance in most scenarios, seeing him like this was something else entirely. Broad, smug, controlled. He likes to watch her submit in the only way she would ever allow. His hand stroked his length a few times in front of her face, that all knowing smirk on his raspberry lips making her want to squirm.

“Y’know, you just had to ruin it. Had to ruin my plans by being greedy. Was planning on kissing on you a bit, getting you in my lap and make you cum on my thigh. Filthy little thing you are, you like working for it but… no.” He sighed, rubbing his thumb over the drippy slit of his prick. “No, you apparently are too cock starved from my two weeks away, had to take it down your throat. Couldn’t even do that correctly today either, coughed around it and making a mess before I asked for it.” He shook his head in disappointment, tilting her head further back and tapping the head of his cock over the flat of her tongue.

“Could have just asked. Begged, really. But instead, you got on your knees and took my cock into your slutty little mouth.” He rubbed himself over the wet muscle, groaning lowly as he watched the filthy sight. “Think I didn’t know you’ve been gagging for it all night? Think I didn’t see you shift around and squeeze your thighs when I sat next to you? Pretend to hate me but really, you hate that you can’t just climb on my lap and sit on my cock whenever you want.” He rambled sometimes, a talker during sex, but when Y/N got to have him she didn’t care. Her brain did indeed like to shut off.

“Go ahead. Close those lips around it and suck, but I’m in charge. You want me to fuck your mouth?” His request for consent never wavered, despite her previous discussions of being fine with it. Y/N didn’t have it in her to speak, whining and nodding frantically as she scooted closer on her knees. That was one of her favorite things. Being useful, watching that polished control he has fray around the edges. The release.

“Course you do. Should have known.” he paused for a moment. “You know how to get me to stop.” Gripping her locks, he pushed her down onto his cock. Ignoring the gagging, he used his hand to push her mouth down on him, the wet, nasty sound of her throat being fucked filling his otherwise silent living room. His thighs were spread a bit, his black jeans bunched under his knees as he used her. The silk of her throat and the hot spit dribbling down to his balls, he never had anything better.

“There you go, mama. That’s all you need to calm that fiery temper down, hm? Need my cock in that hot little mouth.” He hissed, pulling her up slightly so her sucking focused on the tip. Tears went down her cheeks from the gagging, but the smear of black mascara down her skin only added to his favorite vision. “Could treat you so, so nice, but you hate that. You want me to use you as a whore, and I aim to please.” He pulled his cock from her mouth, hushing her as she let out a whine. It was true. It weirded her out when he had tried to be gentle during sex.

“Christ… if only our friends knew about you. If they knew that you love to get on your knees for me, after bitching about me all day long. How you beg for me to stuff that sweet little cunt full. Mm, or that ass.” It had been twice, the first times you’d ever done anal but good god, did you like it. Harry was surprisingly gentle for that. “I’ve taken all your holes. So you can sit there and complain that m’an ass, that I’m mean, that I piss you off… but always remember that you’ll end up begging for it at the end of the night.”

[babiestbubbles]

Jason Todd Agere HCS

The first of many, icl. I am possessed by DC demons, I have SO MANY thoughts abt them, pls pls pls hmu w/ Prompts, I am dying to write about these little bat boys

Primarily, if not exclusively, regresses when under the influence. The man is so repressed and afraid of his regression that the one of the only ways he can properly slip into his headspace is when he's drunk/high/etc.

Experiences a LOT of impure regression. Sometimes it's little imperceptible things like accidents after nightmares, so at first he brushes it off as a trauma response (which, technically it is but he doesn’t know that yet) or just a lack of bodily control that comes with revival. It slowly evolves into deep, complete regressive episodes when faced with heavy injury, fear toxin, or when he's home and safe after mission.

To expand on the previous point, he has enough control to keep from slipping during fights/high adrenaline situations, but the second his mind and body register genuine safety (ie. arrival at one of his personal/hidden safe houses or Roy's/a close friend's) he plummets into littlespace.

His close friends aren't overly jarred by it, Jason's always been a little softer, a little more sensitive after rough mission. He always meticulously checks them all over first, only allowing them to give him the same treatment once he's certain all immediate needs have been attended to. It's not their place to judge if over the months that softness has evolved from wordless whimpers and silent tears to soft babbles and tiny acts of self soothing.

If digging through his duffle and shoving a familiar stuffed bear into his arms keeps him from wiggling and whining as they attend to his wounds, just as he did theirs not 5 minutes earlier, who are they to look a gift in it's mouth? It's not like rougher, in-field Jason would take to being patched up all that better.

The process would be laced with fussing all the same, whimpers swapped for strings of curses and flinches traded for Jason brashly pulling away, insisting he could do it better himself. At least this way they can be sure his reactions are signs of genuine pain and discomfort rather than scorn and judgment for their first aid abilities.

He would genuinely rather die again then let any of his family know about his regression and makes it an active point to hide it from them, even at the expense of his health and wellbeing.

Idk much abt Steph but I think she, if anyone, would be the only one to pick up on it. I also think she's the best person of the bats to figure it out, because unlike the others who would confront him about it head on and probably scare him off, I think Steph would soft-launch her awareness of Jason’s regression.

It wouldn't be baby-talk and piles of presents. It would be keeping a few spare kids items in her pouches, a tiny teddybear, a pacifier, lollipops. Things she could easily brush off as occupational necessities.

He has almost NO gear on his own. He has the bear Talia gave him when he was first looking after him. (Before she'd thrown him into the pit back when his mind was too frazzled to recognize or comprehend most of his surroundings. When all he could rely on was his senses for comfort. She picked up on this quickly, flooding the boy with soft scents of cinnamon and nutmeg, cardamom tea, fluffy teddy bears and blankets.)

Aside from the bear all he has is a teether, a busted up old thing. It had water in it at some point, he'd found it in the clearance aisle of a Duane Reade, cheap enough to justify to himself. He'd muttered something about it being good to have for keeping toddlers quiet.

It' hadn't lasted a night in the package before he was gnawing at it, suckling on it, finally satiating the desire to nurse his thumb that he refused to indulge.

The teether had made it all of two weeks before he'd worn it out, busting it amidst a particularly bad crying fit. It only made him cry harder, and while he knew logically he should’ve tossed it the second it broke but he couldn't bear to part with his only other comfort item, and he knew he didn't have the stomach to try replacing it.

That it's for nowwww, pls gimme other characters to do!! I love writing abt them, I could honestly do another dump of just Jason hcs, I have so many thoughts about these little bat boys

Obligatory self-promo for my DC agere discord server

https://discord.gg/QwtaNKMq

Join it! Come harass me for fics, hcs, and drabbles personally ‼️ /silly

[forthelostones]

𝚙𝚝.𝚝𝚠𝚘 ; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆

⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡

synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby (eventually), mini slowburn, suggestive language, jealousy, nora & mel & ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parental death, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.

an: hi everyone, waaaa thanks for all the follows! i appreciate you all sooo soo much. this is something i just thought of idk, maybe a series who knows! i am thinking abt putting this on ao3 too!

(no y/n)

wc: 4.3k

pt one.

Alarm. Dress. Meet Abby. Go. Today was a lecture day and although long, at least you got to sleep in a little this morning. The only thing is Abby is always locked in and there’s no way to get her out of that headspace. She doesn’t take unnecessary breaks or doodles, she is virtually a perfect student. But you sit beside her scrolling through your notes, unamused. 

Abby’s head is downwards, with her braid falling over her shoulder, focused on the presentation. Her hand moves quickly as she writes all the details down, while you type mindlessly. You notice how her bulging veins dress her hand peak-a-booing out of her cardigan. The way she gripped her pen enhanced the greenish threads under her skin as she drew diagrams and large title cards. Why was everything about her attractive, you thought. Mel was sitting next to you with her laptop open, scrolling on Pinterest, mumbling. Her clique of girls speak in what they think is a hushed whisper, but it's just a poor attempt. You feel your lips forming to sh them. 

“Hey.” Abby snaps, holding direct eye contact with Mel. 

Mel looks over her screen with disgust, like she just wished death upon her. But that lasts only a minute before they start up again and Abby sighs, slamming her pen on the desk which causes your professor to turn and look in your direction. 

“Ladies, let’s focus.” She said. 

At the 30-minute break, Abby stormed out of the lecture hall and you followed behind like a lost puppy. She stood in the hallway with her hands above her head, inhaling and exhaling with her eyes closed, counting silently. She rolled her shoulders back and finally looked to find your eyes. Which calmed her for a moment — seeing you there.  

“Y’know what pisses me off about that Mel?” 

She said her name like a swear word.

You were taken aback at the anger bubbling inside of her. Her calm demeanor was all you knew, she avoided conflict, never raised her voice but seeing her like this pang in your heart unlike anything else. 

“She only acts like that because she doesn’t have the mental capacity to comprehend what’s going on. Not everyone can just throw their life away, some of us actually have to work for what we want.”

Her eyes were wide, her fists curled, and her lips tight. You walk over to her and just wrap your arms around her. She was reluctant to reciprocate but eventually did — give into you, and fell into your arms. Her hands linger on your lower back, tugging you.

“They don't understand.” Her voice cracked. 

You knew what this was about, it was about her dad. You saw how reluctant she was to go into detail about him last night. She just changed the subject. You didn’t know what illness he passed away from, if any, she wouldn’t go that far. 

“Abby, I know. They don’t.” You reply pulling away sooner than you both would like. 

She composed herself and peered at your welcoming eyes and she suddenly forgot where she stood. In the middle of a high-traffic hallway, filled with the rustling of scrubs. Her hands came up onto your shoulders and she nodded her head. “You’re right and I can’t fault them for that, can I?” 

The rest of class was incredibly quiet. 

As you both stood at the entryway of your apartments you felt like you wanted to spend more time with her. Just because. You slid your key into the lock and swatted the thoughts away. “Dummy?” She asked.

“There’s a party today, uh, some sorority thing. I don’t really know anyone else going—“

“Yes, yea absolutely.”  

You smiled at her and then closed your door with excitement, maybe too much? 

Abby wasn’t sure what came over her, after overhearing the other nursing students she thought it would be nice to go out, since it had been three years. That text from Nora was burning her phone, flames encased it so brightly that she didn’t go on her phone all day.

After pouring a glass of wine and stripping to get in the shower she stood in the mirror examining her body. Checking her back out, quads, and glutes… she didn’t know why but looking at herself was so invigorating. She pulled her phone out and snapped a photo, forearm covering her chest, gently flexing. Her eyes brightly admired her frame and debated sending it to Nora. She had never taken a nude photo before let alone sent it to someone. She shook her head reaching into the shower, turning the knob, and throwing that thought aside. 

When she was showering all she could think about was your embrace earlier. It was unusual for her to be held — well have human contact at all. She wasn’t one for physical touch, but in that moment she yearned for more. She wet her hair and paused, rekindling the memory in her mind, how you smelled, your warmth, and how she felt — safe. 

She didn’t want to admit it to you this morning but she stayed up last night after you left. She replayed the quick events as she rinsed her hair, visualizing sections of your face behind her eyelids. 

As she was on her last full body rinse, there you stood on the other side of her apartment door knocking, slightly startling her. 

“Wait!” She hollered from the bathroom. 

Quickly wrapping herself in her white towel, wet feet trailing to the front door, she peeped out the hole to see you nervously awaiting her arrival. “Hi, oh shit. You were showering, right. Sorry. I just, I should’ve texted you, but if you wanted to get ready at mine you can.” You said casually. 

Abby felt your eyes flick toward her collarbones, making her pull the towel taut. 

“Yea perfect, leave the door open for me ‘kay?” 

After closing the door Abby became self-conscious instantly. Her sopping hair clinging to her wet face made her feel strange, especially with your lingering eyes. Abby wasn’t the type to rush but she wanted to be closer to you as quickly as she could. She blew her hair dry, finished her wine, and got dressed in twenty minutes, already walking through your front door. 

She had never actually ever seen your apartment in its full glory. It was cluttered by her standards, decorated by yours. “Hey Dummy, it’s me.” 

You peered your head out of your bedroom and welcomed her to help you pick an outfit. You sighed at Abby fully dressed, all ready to go, and completely misunderstanding the concept of getting ready together. 

“So, I was thinking of this combo.” You say, breaking her wandering eyes from your unpolished bedroom. 

Abby looked at your dress, long sleeve, black number, comfortable and easy. She imagined you in it and it made her tense as her mind began to wonder. 

“That’s pretty.” She replied eagerly. 

You were in your silk robe that wasn’t very well at hiding what was underneath, she became flush and attempted to focus on the stitching on the dress or something. But when you bent over to reach for the next item you laid out on your bed she fought herself to look away. Your skin was freshly moisturized and the scent filled her nose so instinctively making her nostrils twitch with pleasure.

“I think so too, but I also have this. I used to wear this a lot, I don’t know. Should I try them on for you?”

You showed her a dark brown number with a swoop back, flowing out at the knee in a wing-like manner. She thought about how high up the hem of the bottom was and blinked her eyes vigorously, unsure if this was a dream or not. She said no words but just nodded her head. 

“Okay, let me change, there’s tequila on top of the fridge.” 

Abby pulled her hands into her carpenter-style jacket and retrieved the liquor. She took the bottle, no glasses, and waited for you at your dining table. Her forehead was misty with beads of sweat looking for an escape, she felt sheepish at how turned on she got from looking at your body. What the fuck is wrong with me, she thought. 

You walk out in the black dress and look at her eyelids lifting at the fabric hugging your body. She brings her hand to her chin as you do a spin for her and then pose. Abby watches you walk towards her in what she swears is slow motion, and straightens her back as her eyes drift up and down your body. She looked completely hypnotized by you. You reach for the bottle, removing the cap in a swift motion and then bringing it to your lips. Abby latched onto each of your movements. In her comatose state, she made it a mission to let it be known at that moment that she was yours. Her thick eyelashes hung heavy as she watched you move your hand to her chin, lifting it and pouring a shot directly into her throat. As her lips came to a close you swiped her chin. 

“I like this dress a lot.” She said, now having an excuse to peer down at your body. 

“Me too,” you smiled. “Let me show you the brown one.” 

She couldn’t refuse the pleasure of watching your ass switch as you went to change. She took another pour into her mouth and shook off the heat coming from her core and throat. You threw your arms up and spun again. 

“I like both but the black one, it’s— it’s really pretty.” 

“So, I’ll wear that one then.”

Abby felt a light bubble form in her stomach from your willingness to listen to her and do as you’re told. She watched your hips sway into your bedroom, just moments after she realized her jaw was set like a rock, wide open, admiring your ass. 

Abby held all the doors open for you as you exited the apartment building, which rendered small thank you’s from under your breath. The sound of your boots clattering against the pavement filled both, you and Abby’s ears, prying at the silence in the air. She looked exceptionally clean tonight, most days you don’t see her outside of her uniform but today, you were really mesmerized by her. You questioned if it was the drinks you consumed or just her sweet scent enticing you. 

Her black boxy tee was blanketed in a woody sage perfume, just nipping above the hem of her dark-washed denim that was slouching below her hips, exposing the skin around her navel.

“I haven’t been to a party in a while,” she sighed. 

You smiled at hearing her voice within the stillness. 

“Me too, I’m glad you invited me.” You reply. She peers over to you with a bewitching smirk that makes your cheeks hot. 

“To be honest, I wouldn’t have wanted to go with anyone else.” She says matter-of-factly, not knowing how sweet her words sound. You think of a reply, but nothing seems good enough at the moment.

You both slip side glances at each other as the moon shimmered on your skin. You kept tucking your hands in your hair and adjusting accordingly. In this moment, you became conscious of how close you two were huddled together. Occasionally her knuckles would tickle yours and she’d hum a sorry, but you couldn’t help to indulge in the brief moments of her touch. 

The house party was secluded, the bass of the shitty music vibrating the outside of the porch that was sprinkled with stoners and nicotine rats. Abby grabs your wrist to guide you up the steps sees your dress ride up your bottom and gently tugs it down, following behind you. Your mind buzzed with the image of her hand drifting further. 

You pull open the jagged screen door and inhale the miles of smoke trailing outside. You look over your shoulder to see Abby retreat into her turtle shell and instantly become turned off. You reach for her hand and clasp it, to which she refuses and intertwines them, tying her clammy hand into yours. Your palm pushes wet bodies to find a corner worth standing in. The house was crumbling under the music and clabbering feet. 

Abby saw you were struggling to plow your way through the crowd so she took the lead. Her eyes were like darts, locking in on the target. She used her elbow as a driving force, the pull of her weight had you tripping over your feet. You ended up at steps going towards the basement, florescent with colored lights. The vibe was mellow and not as many people were here. After hitting the last step, you feel the release of compression from Abby’s hand, and you casually cross your arms. 

“You good?” She asks, hand softly grazing your hip as she leans in. 

All you can muster is a nod. 

The room was surprisingly cold, the old basement that had been decorated in FSL graffiti and memorabilia. In the corner was Mel and her friends from class who instantly spotted you and Abby like a sore thumb. Sitting on the couch were two women, legs laid on top of each other, sharing a dab pen. The brooding brunette peered over at you and you swore you could hear her voice by the look coming from her eyes. Abby taps your shoulder and gestures to all your classmates who are now loudly offering drink service. Mel lifts a bottle of flavorless vodka to Abby’s lips, pouring it into her mouth, while nursing her open jaw. 

“Good job, Anderson.” She practically moans. You’re unsure if she’s being condescending or flirtatious, either way, you become uncomfortable.

Mel was in a mini skirt and a tube top, both white and pristine. Her hair was pinned back and tied in a low bun, embellished with a pink silk bow. Her makeup was simple but flagrant, enhancing her features so beautifully and highlighting her predator eyes on Abby. 

Suddenly, after handing you both a shot, Mel’s perfectly polished fingernails were gripping Abby’s strong shoulder. Massaging it and laughing as if she hasn’t been an asshole to her for almost four years. Obliviously, Abby just continued to collect shots from Mel, being drawn into every string pouring out of her mouth. You follow shortly behind but are left out of the conversation, standing behind Abby, watching like the Secret Service. Mel’s hand slowly creeps down towards Abby’s back, under her jacket, and now making some joke about our professor, throwing her head back and forth, then setting it on her shoulder, rubbing her. 

You glance over to the couch to see the cat-like woman sizing you up. She waves her pen in front of her face like a dangling carrot. You strut towards her and she pats the couch and you swear you see dust fly into the air. She brings the pen up to her lips and lets the smoke brush her bottom lip. Her hand comes to rest on your thigh and then blinks narrowly at you. 

“Why haven’t I seen you before.” You whisper in her ear. 

She waits to pull away, allowing the pattering of your breath to trill against her skin. 

“Don’t know,” her hand slides upwards. “What’s your major?” 

“Nursing.” 

Her arm was colored with an interesting tattoo that you find yourself tracing. Her hand came up to the curve of your ass. “Smart girl, so if I get an injury say… here,” She brings her mouth to graze your neck, then places a soft kiss. “Then you’d help me out?” 

Her lips flick against your ear lobe which makes you shift under yourself. 

“I certainly can.” 

In the midst of the ever-present tension, Abby walks over with her pinky wrapped around Mel’s, a smile, unapologetically flashing gums and teeth. “Coming to dance with us?” She asks. 

“Yea we can come.” Your new companion replies. 

Abby smiles stiffly at her, then dashes her eyes back at you, saying your name, and then lets go of her connection to Mel. 

“Sure, be up in a minute. Get us some beers?” You smirked. 

Even under the lights, you can see how flush Abby became. Mel dragged her off, their hands back in love. You look back at your partner, cup her chin, and follow shortly behind. 

Abby stood in the corner with Mel waving her hips against the beats of the song. She held three bottles of beer by the neck in her large hands. You two caught each other’s eyes and for a moment you could see her grin. Once you join them in their designated area, your date retrieves the bottles from Abby and sips behind you, wrapping her hand on your waist. 

“I love this dress?” Her voice vibrating against your damp skin. 

Her hand kept running over the smoothest parts of your body, gripping, pinching, — drinking you in. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Ellie.” 

Abby came over to you and asked if were you okay to which you replied with a nod. Ellie was pushing her pelvis against your ass, gyrating desperately. Her hands became sticky with desire, practically bending you over, forcing you to arch your back. 

Mel pulled Abby into her sphere and tacked her arms around her neck, tossing her head wildly, and making Abby slide her free hand on her lower back. Mel’s eyes were glossy with a feminine ache, the same one you had. You stood confused watching it all play out and Abby went along with her. Something boiled inside you, lust or jealousy, you didn’t know. It distracted you so much you didn’t realize Ellie’s lips pressed on your nape. 

You turn to her and she latched her lips onto your neck, tattooed hand cupping your ass, dipping you back as she fused with you. It felt so good to be wanted like this, you felt your eyelids flutter and you could've sworn you smelt Abby’s shampoo. You could feel Ellie’s hands widen, and you could see the shimmering blonde locks under the flashing lights, and the formation of Abby’s name on your bitten lips.

“What?” Ellie pulled away in a half-hearted laugh. 

“Hm? Did I say something?” You yelled. 

Ellie couldn’t stop peering at your mouth, then glancing upwards, then down again. As she closed her eyes and moved inward, a shove from behind you interrupted your connection. Ellie yells at them but all you see is Abby locking lips with Mel, her hands full of her ass and Mel’s knees buckling. You see how Abby casually slides her tongue inside her mouth, and Mel accepts it like it’s hers. 

Ellie bucks up to the guy who pushes you. His beer split on his shirt, hair soaked in sweat, mouth sloppy, and hollering slurs at her. Abby looks over at the situation and notices you in the midst of it all and pulls you away. 

Her lips were bright and wet as she looped her arm into yours and put you behind her. You bring your hands up to her shoulders and tug at her when you see Mel searching for Abby in the crowd. Abby’s steps stuttered as you led her out of the house. It was like being released from a chokehold as the fresh wind smacked your face. You guide her down the steps and she smiles, teeth on display and eyes wedged into her cheeks. 

“Abs?” 

“Hmm… fuck me. I’m drunk.” 

Her voice was resonant, sexy. 

She stumbles over to you and dangles her wrists off your waist, face-to-face. Although drunk, she had no issue flashing you a playful gaze. You analyze her soft face and stare at the tip of her nose, then her lips, and back to her eyes. You break out of your tipsy and notice how fidgety her hands are, causing your panties to dampen.  

“You think you can handle me?” 

“Wha— what do you mean?” You choke. 

She reaches into her coat pocket and dangles her keys, which you take for safekeeping. Thoughtlessly, her hands return and cascade towards your ass, fingers brushing your dress fabric. You stay like this for a moment, relishing her touch. 

“Let me get you home Anderson.” 

She tried her best and pick her feet up off the ground and not wash her shoes against the concrete. You held her by her waist, looping through her outer arm, hoisting her up, which wasn’t an easy feat. The puffs of her breath filled the air in front of you and you couldn’t believe you were carrying her home. 

You walk her through her apartment and lay her out on her bed, turning on her lights. She groans loudly, pressing her palm against her temples, “No, turn it off. Open the blinds.” 

She sounded so sweet, totally different from her persona at the house party. So you comply, the moon was full in the sky, cascading over the room like the sun, illuminating her face. Abby sat up lazily and attempted to remove her shoe, but all she could do was giggle at her failure. You sat the the edge of the bed and unlaced them, placing them across the room. She manages to remove her jacket alone, but you insist on tucking your fingertips under her shirt and pulling it upwards. The static made her fly-aways stand up, which you naturally brushed downwards. She observed you as you then moved to unbutton her pants. The beats in your chest were obnoxious in your ears — you were sure Abby could hear it too. The only noise in the room was the huffing of her breathing, which was two touches away from becoming moans. Abby sat before you, legs spread, dangling off the edge in her nude bra and matching lace panties. Her dainty underwear in contrast to her toned body filled that cave in your belly. She brushed her hands through her hair, rolled her neck, and fell back on the bed. 

You ran in the kitchen and filled a glass with water, leaving it at her bedside. She was now under her sheets, admiring you. 

“I’ll come check on you in the morning.” 

A heavy pause floated above your heads. 

“Wanna just… s—?” / “I’m gonna go.” 

You both speak simultaneously, you freeze, curious if you let her repeat herself, but you don’t. 

“Okay.” She smiled weakly. 

“If you need me just knock. ‘Night Abby.” 

You peeled your dress off and tossed your shoes and underwear on your living room floor. Your naked body glistened with goosebumps, making your nipples harden. They became so sensitive, begging for touch, and suddenly you wished you didn’t leave Abby alone. You fall into your bed that was plush with warmth, ruffling the sheets under you. Your mind painted images of Abby’s hands slipping under your dress, pushing aside your panties, and sticking her fingers in your slick that she was responsible for. 

Your hands trailed to your aching core, surprising you with how wet you stayed all night. You roll your arousal-covered clit languidly, imaging Abby. The picture of her partially nude body flashed clearly, making you sweat. Once you build up the courage to slip your fingers in you groan her name. Abby. Letting her name levitate in the air as the sloshing noise between your legs increases. 

The Saturday sun broke through the curtains of your bedroom, revealing the state you left yourself in, nakedly aroused. A soft pattering was rhythmic at the door, which spooked you. Your back is now erect, and you don’t care to remember how or why you were this nude in bed, you just reach for the nearest t-shirt and cover your top half as you open the door. Abby was grinning, a smile as bright as the sun, holding two coffee mugs. She had ditched her matching attire for red and black plaid pajama pants, with an old college top that was worn from time. You undo the chain lock and let her in, kicking aside your dirtied clothes. 

Even hungover, she still looked beautiful. 

“Good morning.” 

You were slightly upset that Abby woke you up this early on a weekend, especially looking this good. You run to the bathroom and see the caked makeup on your face and wash it fresh. You lead her to your room where you ruffled through your dresser for a clean pair of underwear. Abby shot her eyes to the ground as you lifted your shirt to slip them on. You accepted the coffee from her hands and sat on your bed, curdled in the corner. 

“Thanks.” You squint. 

“I woke up feeling like shit.” 

“You had a night.” 

Just for a moment you had forgotten the Mel fiasco, but quickly remembered. 

“I did?” 

“You and Mel…” You allude. 

Her face falls into her palm, “Oh no,” 

You force a giggle but you hated seeing it. 

“Full tongue.” 

“Fuck. I really — I don't really know why or how that happened.” 

“She got you drunk, kept feeding you drinks… hands all over you.” 

“But it’s Mel! It’s Mel, she hates me.” 

“Hmmm.” 

She stares. 

“There you go with that again.”

“What?” 

“The hmmm stuff.” 

“You’re just hard to understand sometimes Abby.” 

“Maybe I’m not meant to be understood.” She smirked, watching your face contort with agitation. 

She leans against your headboard and just stares at you. 

“Did I do anything else?” Her voice suddenly capricious. 

You shook your head in reply as you sipped. 

“I just didn’t know she liked girls.” 

“Abby, she doesn’t.” 

She pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Glad nothing further happened. Right?” 

“Nope. I mean unless something happened just as I put you to bed.” Her eyes lit up at this news, something ignited in her, mostly gratified. You drink more and feel your body tensing up under her lens. 

“Put me to bed?” Her fingers find her ridges in your sheets, the same way they did to your dress, and smooth them out. You shudder remembering her drunken touch. Her eyes glaze over with a sharp look, almost as if she remembered too.

[xtrashmammalstefx]

All Shook Up! (An Austin Butler x Reader SMUT!)

WARNING: SMUT, LANGUAGE, minors dni

Notes: SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKA! I know I've been gone for a while but in all fairness this summer just sucked balls and I'm just now getting back in the proper headspace to write/post. Idk what I'll write next but I promise there will be more stories coming. Anywhore I'll shut up now. Enjoy!!

PS: This is technically a sequel to Chaos Monster & Her English Gent but I think it can be read on its own. Okay shutting up for real now.

Sometimes my heart can be the stupidest piece of shit ever. It’s been weeks since that day in Callum’s dressing room, and only days since filming wrapped for the season. Callum’s been blowing up my phone constantly and Austin was now home for the time being until he had to go film his next project.

The day my heart fucked me over was one of those miraculous days when both Austin and I had the day off. Austin was spending it reading a new script, while I was just doing my best to relax.

Hello darling.

I chuckled and answered back.

Hey.

Bored already?

No.

I’m just missing my special girl is all.

I rolled my eyes just as the next text came through.

Send me a pic?

Doesn’t necessarily have to be sexual.

I just wanna see your pretty face.

“What you laughin’ at Priscilla?” Austin asked distracting me from my phone. He was in the arm chair looking at me; his script laying on his lap.

“Nothin. Just your boy being a fucking idiot,” I semi-lied. Austin still didn’t know about Callum and me...and if I was being honest I wasn’t too sure about Callum and me either. I’ve been accused of being too hasty with other things before and a part of me feared I was being to hasty with this too. Needing immediate distraction I raised my phone (camera on) and aimed it at Austin. “Smile baby.”

Austin looked up from his script and smiled without questioning it. I took the photo and sent it to Callum. “Do I even want to know what you’re doin’ over there babe?”

“Callum asked for a pic, but as you can see I currently look like shit,” I motioned at my messy bun (didn’t exactly feel like brushing out my hair that day), make-upless face, and bespectacled eyes.

“Darlin’ I hate to break it to you but never since I have known you have you looked like shit,” Austin said. Just then another message came through.

Sexy but you know that’s not what

I meant.

“Why does he want a pic anyway?” Austin asked.

I shrugged. “I think he just misses our stupid faces.

“Mm… I think it might be more than that sweetheart,” Austin said tossing his script onto the coffee table. “I saw the way he kept lookin’ at you on set. He looked at you like you were the finest piece of meat this side of the Atlantic. Which ain’t totally off base if I say so myself.” I scoffed at the idea but Austin continued to look serious. “You’re the most beautiful girl I know. It’s a shame that you don’t see it because I see it very clearly.”

I sighed and tossed my phone onto the coffee table before getting up and darting towards Austin. I sat down on his lap and cuddled into him. Austin chuckled deeply and wrapped his arms around me. Austin always gives the best hugs. “We really need to have more days like this.”

“Like what?” Austin asked resting his cheek on my head.

“Like this. Just you and me...like we’re the only ones in the world. Like nothing else matters as long as we’re both here, together, for forever…” It was then I felt Austin’s lips pressed themselves on my forehead.

“You’re already my whole world Y/N,” he muttered.

“And you’re mine,” I whispered pressing my lips against his cheek. It was something I had done many times throughout our friendship but this time… it felt different. This time he trembled at my touch. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Just all shook up I guess.”

“You fuckin’ dork,” I laughed before he was suddenly pulling me in. His lips enveloped mine sending a tingle up my spine. I know I should’ve pulled away...told him about Callum and hoped for the best but… I don’t know. For some reason I just… I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.

But I guess something else wanted it to end.

Ding dong.

Austin pulled back and sighed. “That would be our UberEats.” He carried me back to the sofa and sat me down before going to answer the door. Normally Austin would gladly cook for us but we both agreed that on that day we were feeling exceptionally lazy.

We didn’t really say anything as we had our Thai dinner. Just snuck glances at each other every now and then. At one point I think it became a little too much for him to handle for he swiped the box of Mango Sticky Rice I had started to dig in to. “Give it back.”

“Hell nah, not until you get talkin’.” Austin said continuing to hold the rice hostage.

“I am talking,” I said. “Give. It. Back.”

“Or. What? Sugar.” He smirked pushing my final button. I dropped my chopsticks and pounced on him.

“Fucking give me the rice!” I snapped at him trying to reach for my rice which he now held above his head.

“Not until we talk about what happened earlier,” he said.

“God dammit Austin, it wasn’t rocket science, it should be obvious why we―.”

“Stop…”

“What? I thought you wanted me to…”

“No, I mean stop grindin’ on me,” he said making me realize that as I had been trying to get my rice back, I was simultaneous rubbing myself on his clothed crotch causing him to stiffen.

“Okay, needless to say that is your fault,” I said freezing on top of him.

“How the hell is that my fault?” he asked. “I didn’t ask you to grind on me.”

“No, but you stole my rice,” I pointed out before carefully standing up. “So… what now?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I know I want this, but I can’t decide for you,” he said before slowly standing up. “So until you know for sure if what you felt was as real as what I’ve been feelin’ every day since we met, I’m gonna have to handle this with a cold shower.”

He left the kitchen soon after leaving me be for a few minutes. I was suddenly not hungry for rice or anything on the table so after a moment I stood up and started towards my room needing to just collapse for a bit.

As I approached the door though, Austin left his room wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. “Oh, uh, sorry, I forgot my new body wash in the shopping bag.” He continued towards the bathroom and left his body wash on the counter before turning back to face me. “Is-uh-there something you wanna talk about?” He asked noticing my transfixed stare. He’d been spending his off time these last few months and his current off day to do a little extra working out for his new role and damn did it show. His abs were more defined, and his ass more perked and firm. “Y/N? You okay darlin’?”

“Uh-um-yeah,” I said. “I’m fine….I’m…” He approached me and placed his hand on my shoulder.

“You sure?” I was suddenly filled with a different, much stronger, hunger. It had me practically screaming inside while outside it only had me placing my hand on his chest. “Y/N?” I reached up and connected my lips with his. His body froze at my touch for only a moment before he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me back. He pressed me against the nearby wall and let his lips fall to my neck. As he kissed and suck on my flesh I reached down and yanked at his towel, making it fall to his feet. I wrapped my hand around his length and gasped at the feeling of his size. He wasn’t too long but girthy as holy fuck. I tugged on him gently earning a growl like sound in return. I chuckled.

“You really are all shook up aren’t you Elvis?”

“Oh fuck yeah I am Priscilla,” he said before placing his hands on my legs and picking me up. “Fuck yeah I am.” I wrapped my legs around him and let him carry me to my bed.

He laid us down and reached to pull off my shirt. He peppered kisses all over my body as he rid me of my lazy-day clothes. Once my panties were gone he placed my legs on his shoulders and brought his lips to my core. I moaned louder than I ever had, earning a chuckle from Austin before he continued to suck and lick me until I was nice and slick. “I wasn’t there yet you jerk,” I groaned as he climbed back up.

“Relax darlin’, I’m just getting started,” He smirked before reaching down and giving himself a tug before placing himself at my entrance. Just the feeling of it there made my body tremble. “Like it?” I nodded. “Want it inside you?” I nodded again. “Okay then…” He thrust his lips sliding the tip inside me.

“Holy fucking shit!” I hissed.

“So tight sugar,” he groaned pushing in further. Tears filled my eyes as he continued to stretch me. “I ain’t hurtin’ ya too bad am I?” I shook my head. “Good, I’ll try not to but feel free to hit me if I do.”

“Just fuck me already Aus,” I muttered. He leaned down and kissed me deeply before bottoming out and pulling back again. He kept his pace slow and gentle while I grew use to him. I pecked his lips and held him so our bodies were pressed together. As he continued moving inside me I snaked my hand down his back and squeezed his ass. I was right, it was pretty damn firm.

“God you drive wild,” Austin chuckled.

“How wild?” I asked.

“Want me to answer or would you rather I just―.” He thrust into me harder. “Show you.” He started moving his hips faster making my back arch.

“Oh fuck!” I screamed as he continued to thrust into me like his life depended on it. After a while he kissed me again and brought his lips to my ear.

“You wanna ride me?” I nodded eagerly. He wrapped his arms around me and flipped us over so that I was on top. I moved my hips rough and fast. It was like my whole being was just feral for him. “Holy shit you’re so fucking good at that.” Austin moaned thrusting up into me as I continued to ride him. As he did he brought his fingers to my clit and started rubbing me. That’s when the pressure began to build up inside me. “You gonna cum sugar?” I groaned and nodded. “That’s alright just come right on me. There you go baby.”

My whole body froze as a shiver ran down my spine. I was damn near screaming as I tightened around him, damn near squeezing the life out of his cock. I had just started coming down from my high, still partially blinded by the mind-blowing orgasm, when Austin wrapped his arms around me again and flipped us so I was on the bed once again.

“God you’re so fucking tight around me,” he groaned as he continued to thrust into me, only a little sloppier this time. “Gah fuck I’m gonna cum!” He moaned more and more as he started getting close. “Wuh-Where do you want it?”

“In...Inside...Inside me.” I said still breathless.

“You- You sure about that sugar?” He asked growing more and more spastic.

“Yes, god yes… fuck a baby into me Aus…” No sooner had I said that that I felt him twitch inside me. A rainbow of curses left his mouth as his body shuttered to a stop. He collapsed on top of me and gave me a final kiss on my now swollen lips.

“I fucking love you Y/N,” he said. “I love you more than words can say.”

I ran my fingers through his curls. “I love you too, Aus.”

He smiled and reached down to pull himself out of me. I hissed a bit when he did feeling a bit of a sting. “Sorry sugar.”

“It’s alright,” I assured him. He moved to lay down beside me and when he did I snuggled up to him. I fell asleep listening to the sound of his heart.

[oneforthemunny]

Oop Rockstar Eddie ANGST🤧🫢👀

Like I need Rockstar Eddie doing something NB that he thinks is a joke but actually really hurts her feelings but he doesn’t realize. (Like pre them dating and being seeious) Then she like distances herself like ghosts him and he’s like wtf. And idk what else BUT PLEASE I LIVE AND BREATHE ANGST

18+. mean!reader warning. got some smut to it, but i'm thinking it's set after 'dark shadows'

"You get that from your Mama, don't you, baby?" Eddie's wicked grin, salacious, curls tickling your cheeks, your chin from him hovering over you.

Your heart dropped, a skipped beat, sinking deep into the pit of your stomach. "What?"

"I can tell." Eddie growled, a hand sliding gently down the slope of your breast, fingers circling your nipples. "You share a lotta similarities, you know that?" Tongue rolling over his teeth, he pinches your nipple gently. "Definitely seen these before."

A rush of humiliation floods your system, pulling you right out of the scene. That sexy, sultry headspace gone, replaced with utter shame. You felt exposed, vulnerable on his bed, bile rising in your throat.

"Black." You spat, sucking in a deep breath through your nose, fighting down the tears that threatened to flood your waterline. Eddie's brows furrowed for a moment, still hovering over you.

"Black, Eddie." You sneered the safe word again, pulling against your restraints, tugging at the headboard. "Let me out of this."

"What?" Eddie's face fell slightly. "You alright? What's wrong?"

"Get me out." A complete one-eighty, a new side of you that Eddie hadn't experienced with you. Not your usual bratty fit, no this was... different.

Eddie's hands worked at the knots of his scarf, eyes flicking from you to the headboard back to you. "Are you alright?" Eddie's voice was soft, pulling your wrists gently from the ties. "Hey, what's wrong?"

You ignored him, rubbing your wrists for a moment, body turning away from him. "I'm going home."

"Wait," Eddie's voice was frantic, lacking that edge of coolness that it usually carried. "Wait, what's goin' on? Did I- Did I do something?"

You scoffed, a watery eye roll sending Eddie's own heart plummeting, matching yours in sinking disgust. "Did you do something?" You muttered bitterly.

"Did I?" Eddie asked again. "Hey, c'mon, just-just talk to me, alright-" His hand reached for your, softly brushing over your shoulder, only for you to shrug it off sharply.

"You're fucking weird, you know that?" You spat bitterly, body buzzing, burning and scorching with anger- with hurt.

"What?" Eddie's face dropped, taken aback by your change. "The fuck did I do?"

"Bringing up my mom when you're about to fuck me?" You scoffed, shaking your head. "That's fucking weird and perverted and-and, you're a fucking freak for that, Eddie. That's so fucking gross."

Eddie's face fell with realization. Of course, he'd brought up your mom. He knew it was a sore subject, a sensitive spot that you'd told him, finally opened up to him and he'd fucked it all. Ruined it in a moment of horny, lust driven blindness.

"Wait, wait," Eddie reached for you, legs swinging over the bed to stop you. "Hey, wait, please. I-I, fuck, I didn't mean it like that." He babbled anxiously. He hadn't felt like this in years, a blubbering fool struggling to find the right words, attached and trying to fix it.

Your eyes met his in a teary venomous glare, reaching for the doorknob. "Hey, please, I-I didn't- I wouldn't do that, alright? I was just-"

"-You know I told you that because I was trying to make you feel better." You sneered. Eddie flinched, he forgot how mean you could be. Years of practice, he supposed. "I didn't tell you that so you could just use it against me. Make yourself feel better. You're not going to do that to me."

"No, that's not," Eddie swallowed, grabbing the door as it swung open. "Please, c'mon, that's not what I was doing. I was- fuck, I don't know what I was doing. I just, I thought-"

"-You thought, what?" You spat furiously.

Eddie scrambled for words, stammering, cheeks heating furiously with embarrassment. "Yeah," Your lips tightened in a straight line. "That's what I thought." You pulled the door, stomping out through the marbled hallway.

"Wait! C'mon, just-just wait, please?" Eddie scrambled after you.

You ignored him, fumbling for your keys out of your purse, climbing in your car, tearing out of his driveway and leaving him standing on the porch, pacing with regret.

[kitten4sannie]

ᴄᴏʀᴘᴏʀᴀʟ ᴘᴜɴɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ

pairing: mommy! san x fem! reader

genre: smut

summary: a naughty student gets punished by her strict headmaster.

w.c: 4.4k

warnings: mean (ish) dom! san, sub! reader, pet names, praise, degradation, so much feminization (im not sorry), roleplaying, subspace (both reader and san occasionally refer to themselves in the third person), fingering, orgasm denial, pussy slapping, impact play, color system mention, nipple play (m receiving), spit kink (might’ve went overboard but oh well), foot play?? (he steps on her pussy idk), shoe humping??, oral (m recieving), deep-throating, facial, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: this is my contribution to the mommy! may event hosted by the lovely @whatudowhennooneseesyou <33 this was originally supposed to be something different and then i started to imagine san in a pencil skirt and yeah… here we are 🧎🏻‍♀️ if you were to take a drink of water every time i write ‘mommy’ you’d prob die of water poisoning kdshf. also this is just straight filth and i’m very proud of it :3

song rec: discipline by nine inch nails

Masterlist

➽───────────────❥

As you stood outside of your husband’s home office,  you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, settling into the headspace you wanted to enter. After a moment, you knocked on the door. Buzzing with anticipation, you quickly wiped your sweaty hands across your too-tiny pleated skirt, unconsciously pulling at one of your plain white thigh highs as well. It was finally the weekend and that meant you both could have fun and blow off some steam. Your usual go-to was to roleplay, but this time you were even more excited because you had finally convinced San that it would be so incredibly hot of him if he posed as the superintendent of a university. As a step further, you encouraged him to wear some of your clothes to play the part. He obliged, of course. San never missed an opportunity to feel pretty and powerful all at once. 

“Come in,” you heard a deep masculine voice come from inside the room, encouraging you to open it and gingerly make your way inside. 

As soon as you saw him, it felt like someone had punched the air out of you. San was standing there leaning against his work desk with his arms folded across his broad chest, clad in an itty bitty pencil skirt that was cinched around his tiny waist, translucent pantyhose that were held by garters near the upper thighs, a pair of sleek black heels that he usually kept inside his closet for special occasions such as this one, and a simple white button-up that was neatly tucked into said tiny waist. A few buttons were undone so that you could freely view the curve that was present in between his pronounced pecs. It made your mouth water. The final touch was a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, complete with a small chain that was connected to either side of them. He was breathtakingly gorgeous. You wanted nothing more than to just rip his clothes off and ride his dick into the next millennium, but you wanted to stay in character. 

“Do you know why I called you in here, Miss Y/N?” he asked, his tone short and curt, just like the skirt that clung to the shape of his hips. It rode up a bit when he pressed his ass down onto the surface of his desk.

You closed the door behind you and took a few small steps up to San, fiddling with your thumbs in a nervous manner and looking up at him with big doe eyes. “I dunno, Headmaster. I don’t remember doing anything wrong.” 

He scoffed, running his fingers through his parted raven hair, appearing a bit irritated. “Surely, you must have some sort of idea, don’t you?” When you simply stood there and pressed your thighs together, San grabbed the bottom of your chin and brought you closer, his fierce gaze boring into you, a playful smirk tugging at his pretty lips. “Or is that brain of yours preoccupied with something else? Something indecent, perhaps?”

“N-no, Headmaster,” you denied weakly, giving him a tiny shake of your head, only for his fingers to squeeze into your cheeks instead, squishing your face. 

“You’re a little liar, my dear.” San let go of your face and crossed one leg over the other, his skirt so high up now it made you wonder if he tucked his cock away. “Well, since you’re too prideful to admit the truth, I will tell it to you myself.” He looked you up and down, his eyes settling on the way your thin collared top didn’t do much to hide how hard your nipples were underneath it. “You’ve been a naughty girl,” he started, reaching over to run a thumb over one of your clothed buds, making you shiver underneath his touch. “And naughty girls deserve punishment.” 

“How are you going to punish me?” you asked, clear arousal seeping through your words, despite the feigned fear etched into your flushed features. 

San stood up from the desk and took a step to the side, his black heels pressing into the fuzzy carpet below. “Bend over the desk and you’ll find out, Miss Y/N.” 

Without a second of hesitation, you laid yourself down onto San’s desk and arched your back a bit, sticking your ass out in a tantalizing way. Turning your head back to meet his gaze, you jutted out your bottom lip, whining, “I swear I haven’t been a bad girl, Headmaster. I’m good, I promise.” 

“Then, what’s this, hm?” San questioned, lifting your skirt up to reveal the wet patch present on your panties, smacking his hand lightly against your clothed cunt and making you gasp. “You’re soaked, Miss Y/N. Only little sluts get wet for their Headmasters.” 

“I’m not a slut,” you whined again, pouting at your husband, all while you spread your legs apart further for him. 

“Oh, you’re right. My apologies.” San reached to the underside of your cunt and began aggressively rubbing it in an up and down motion with two thick fingers, his wedding band catching on your clit each time and drawing a few moans out of you. “Of course, you’re not a slut, darling.” He grabbed a tuft of your hair with his free hand and tugged your head back towards him, making your back arch painfully, his fingers still moving at a feverish pace against your clit, your arousal soaking through your panties. “You’re a whore. A filthy little whore that needs to be taught a lesson.” 

“Then teach me a lesson, Mommy,” you moaned out, your head suddenly being pushed and held down onto the surface of the table by San’s hand, his grip never faltering, your thighs already starting to tremble from the onset of your orgasm. You didn’t always mean to use his pet name during a more intense roleplay, but sometimes you simply couldn’t help it. 

San must’ve not minded too much either with the way he groaned behind you, suddenly sliding two digits past your panties and shoving them inside your needy hole in order to finger-fuck you as deep as he possibly could. “Yeah? Mommy should teach his naughty little girl a lesson, huh? You want my punishment, don’t you, you filthy slut?”

“Yes, Mommy…! Please punish me!” you cried out, your cunt beginning to pulse and clench around San’s fingers, moaning heavily with your face squished against the cool desk, your breath fogging up the surface of it. “I’m so close, so, so close…” 

Just as your breath hitched, San withdrew his fingers from your cunt and pulled your panties down until they reached your ankles, watching as your hole clenched around nothing but air and leaked arousal down your inner thighs. “What a pretty little cunt you have here, Miss Y/N…” He ran a finger down your slit to collect some of your wetness and popped it into his mouth to clean it off. “But I think I know of a way to make it look even prettier.” 

“You do, Headmaster?” you asked softly, looking back at him, your eyes glossy and slightly red. 

He gave you a soft, dimpled smile, knowing he was about to turn you into a mewling, begging mess in the next couple of minutes. “Yes, darling. Now, lay on your back and spread your legs for Mommy.” 

Whining at the complete loss of your high, you slowly lifted yourself off of the desk and turned around, laying back onto it but on your back this time, holding your legs underneath your knees and spreading your thighs open for him. “Like this, Mommy?” 

“Mm-hmm, just like that.” San sighed at your obedience as he reached past you and across the desk, pulling a thick black paddle out from one of the drawers. He stood at your side, running the paddle along your inner thigh, watching as goosebumps appeared on your skin underneath the cold leather material. He lightly tapped the edge of it against your hooded clit, chuckling at your tiny gasp. “I’m gonna play with this pretty little cunt of yours till it’s all red and puffy for me. Do you understand, babydoll?” 

You nodded as quickly as you could, squeezing your fingers into the flesh of your thighs. “Punish me how you want, Mommy. I’m a bad girl.” 

“Yeah, you are a bad girl,” he agreed huskily, reeling his hand back and smacking the paddle against your cunt so fiercely it made your entire body jolt. “Count for me, princess.” 

“One,” you croaked, not able to think about how much your cunt was already beginning to sting when San slammed the paddle down onto you again, the edge of it hitting your clit. “Two!” 

“Good girl.” San lifted the paddle to admire how red and shiny your folds already were, letting out a pleased hum. He leaned over and spat onto your clit, watching as his spit dripped down, before bringing the paddle back down onto you for a third time. 

“Three…” Smack. “F-four…” Smack. “Nnngh…five…” You closed your eyes for a moment, opening them back up and trying to blink away your hazy vision. 

Noticing how fucked out you were already starting to look, San kneaded your closest thigh with his fingers. “Color.” 

“Green,” you answered right away, smiling softly up at your husband. “Please, don’t hold back.” 

San chuckled a bit, tightening his grip around the handle of the paddle. Keeping his eyes on yours, he leaned down towards your pussy, sending another wad of spit onto your cunt, before continuing his abuse. 

Smack. “Six!” Smack. “Seven!” Smack. “Eight…!” 

“Oh my goddd…” you moaned breathily, lifting one of your feet up onto the desk so that the rest of your body could go comfortably lax. Now you were starting to leak like a broken faucet, your pussy so sensitive to the touch, if you just concentrated hard enough, you could probably cum without direct stimulation. 

“Oh, you dirty little painslut, you’re so wet,” San mused in a gravelly voice, fascinated with the amount of slick sliding down your puffy pussy, pressing the paddle onto you and moving it up and down to hear the sounds of your wetness. 

“Just for you, Sannie,” you sighed out, squeezing your thighs tighter, preparing yourself as San reeled his hand back for the ninth time and slammed the paddle directly onto your abused cunt. Instead of counting, you let out a choked moaning sound, tossing your head back onto the table. It hurt so, so good. You could hardly form a single coherent thought. 

“Mm, I didn’t hear a number,” San chided, sounding disappointed. He ran two fingers down your stinging, pulsing cunt, idly flicking your clit with his index finger. “Good girls can count, right?” 

“Yeah, I’m a good girl. I can count, I promise,” you reassured him out of desperation, blinking a tear away from how sensitive your clit was when he flicked it a few more times, watching as San tried to move his arm back further, but was unable to with how tight the material of his top was. 

Feeling restricted with his movements, San huffed, quickly unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and pulling it off, leaving him in his tight skirt and pantyhose. “That’s better. Now, where was I?” he spoke, mostly to himself, looking back at you and noticing your wide eyes and drooling mouth. “Does Mommy’s little slut have something to share?”

As heavenly as San’s abs looked pressing against his taut tan skin, you couldn’t rip your vision away from his plump pecs and cute pink nipples, wanting nothing more than to squeeze and suck on them until pretty sounds spilled out of your husband’s mouth. “Mommy, can I please suck on your tits? Pretty please? I promise I’ll keep taking my punishment.” 

San let out a gentle sigh, reaching down to sift his fingers through your slightly sweaty hair, caressing your cheek, then reaching behind your head to cup it, the paddle rubbing along your clit and making you exhale against his touch. “How can I say no to you?” He slowly brought you to his ample chest, chuckling softly at the sight of your clear excitement. “Go on, pretty girl. Make Mommy feel good.” 

Sighing as well, you wrapped your lips around one of San’s soft buds, sucking and licking at it until it grew hard and pressed against the flat of your tongue. Without hesitation, you brought your hand up and gingerly groped at his other pec, squishing and kneading it inside your palm like a kitten would. “Mmn…”

“Fuck, baby girl…” San practically melted into your touch, accidentally letting go of the paddle and cupping your pussy instead, starting to palm it eagerly, knowing your clit was getting proper attention with how swollen it felt against his skin. “Baby’s making Sannie feel so good…” he sighed out, not bothering to hold back a whine when you traded one nipple for the other, latching onto it and nibbling on it this time, knowing how much he loved to be toyed with. 

It was then that you felt your husband throbbing against your thigh, feeling yourself grow infinitely wetter just by knowing that his hard cock was trapped inside the confines of your borrowed skirt, the tip of it probably stuck inside the elastic waistband. It didn’t help that San spit onto his fingers and continued to abuse your clit, this time rubbing it side to side in a quick motion. “Sannieee, gonna cum,” you announced against San’s flushed, spit-covered nipple, before lapping at it like a melting ice cream cone and sending him into a deeper state of pleasure.

“Uh-uh, little…nnngh…whores don’t get to cum, unless Headmaster says so,” he replied shakily, wanting nothing more than to just give in to you, but knowing you didn’t want him to. He pulled you away from his chest, your shiny mouth connected to his perky bud by a string of saliva, reaching up to stick his thumb into your mouth and press down on your lower jaw. “Now, stick your tongue out.” 

“Want Headmaster’s spit.” Looking up at him with half-closed eyes, you stuck your tiny tongue out and let out a small ‘aah’, keeping your fingers busy by rubbing both of his nipples with your thumbs the same speed he rubbed your clit, flicking it as soon as he did it to you. 

Letting out an almost pornographic sounding moan from how overstimulated his chest was starting to feel, San drew a fair amount of saliva inside his mouth, before pursing his lips and letting it drip down onto your tongue in thick globs, groaning at the sight of your eyes starting to roll up underneath your glossy eyelids as you swallowed it down. As soon as your body began to convulse and your thighs trembled, San shook his head. “I thought I told you not to cum, kitten. What happened, huh?” 

“I-i couldn’t help it…It felt too good,” you panted out, going lax in his strong arms, trying to recover from your high after being teased for so long. Once San gently let go of you and took a step back, his hands on his hips, you sat up, looking up at him with a pout. “I’m sorryyyy.”

San smiled mischievously to himself, motioning to the floor with his head, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose. “On your knees, whore.”

Gulping, you slowly lowered yourself to the ground below him, spreading your knees apart for him as he lifted up one of his legs, giving you an upskirt view that made you pulse, before pressing his heel down onto your cunt, pushing and rubbing directly on your already swollen clit. “F-fuck, San…nnie….wanna cum…”

San licked his lips, digging his heel further down on your slick cunt, moving it in a way similar to how he would if he was trying to get something off the bottom of his heel. “If the little whore wants to cum so bad, then she’ll cum using Headmaster’s pretty heels, now won’t she?”

“Yes, I will! Anything you want, Headmaster.” Smiling perversely and letting out a shaky breath, you watched San slide his heel in between your legs, allowing you to sit your pulsing pussy down onto the sleek plastic. “Can I suck Mommy’s cock while I rub myself on your heels? I wanna taste you.” Seeing his brief apprehension, you pressed your cheek against the outline of his cock, rubbing against it through the soft material of his skirt. “Pretty please?”

San bit into his bottom lip, reaching behind his back to unzip the black skirt, letting it fall to the floor and revealing that he was wearing one of the newest pair of panties he had bought you a few weeks back. He had on your lacy set that had tiny heart cut outs throughout the lavender material, his veiny cock too long and hard to stay within them, instead only cupping his balls, his shiny, reddened tip exposed and dripping for your viewing pleasure. “Are you going to let Mommy throat-fuck you?”

“Mommy can use me all he wants,” you replied obediently, not even bothering to swallow all the saliva that had filled the inside of your mouth from looking at your husband’s soft curves being hugged tightly by your borrowed panties. Once you opened your mouth, San plugged it up with his thick length. You immediately got to work, hollowing your cheek and using your tongue to slide across the underside of his cock. Almost simultaneously, you began to move your hips in a fluid fashion, letting out muffled moans as you dragged yourself across his high heel. 

“Look at you. You're such a filthy little girl.” San groaned from the feeling of your moans vibrating onto his sensitive skin, slowly sliding his fingers past your hair on either side of your head and clutching it somewhat tightly. “Now, Mommy’s gonna use you like a cocksleeve, alright?” 

“Mm-hmm!” you encouraged him with a small nod of your head, running your hands up his muscular thighs, feeling the smooth nylon material underneath your fingertips. 

With his eyes barely open, San pushed himself past your tight throat and began thrusting harshly into it, short, desperate gasps and groans escaping his throat. “Yeahhh–oh, fuck, that’s it…” 

Tears began to run down your cheeks, San fucking your mouth so deeply, his pubic hair repeatedly tickled your nose, the vaguely bitter taste of his pre-cum continually dripping down your throat. “Mmmff…” was all you could verbalize, speeding up the movements of your hips and closing your thighs tightly, feeling your clit catch onto San’s heel over and over, knowing you were leaking all over it and the carpet below. 

When you began to massage San’s tight balls through the panties he was wearing, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. “Fuck, where do you want Mommy’s cum, kitten? You want it down your throat or on your slutty fucking face?” he asked in between exhales, slipping in and out of your throat a few more times, before he pulled out and slapped his twitching cock down onto your face, his pre-cum and your saliva trickling down along your heated skin. 

“My face, pleaseee, cum all over kitten’s face,” you babbled, so incredibly dick-drunk, you could barely form your words without slurring. Your cunt contracted around nothing, one second away from emptying your arousal all over yourself, still rutting against him with unapologetic desperation. 

San groaned heavily, blowing a few strands of his wet hair out of his eyes and fisting his cock as fast as he could, questioning in a deep, throaty voice, “Yeah? Are you gonna cum from Sannie spilling his load all over your pretty little face? Huh, baby?” When you whined instead of answering, he grabbed you by the hair and angled your head back further, pushing his cockhead against your cheek and smearing more of his pre cum onto your messy face. “Answer me, whore!” 

“Yes, Sannie, I’m gonna cum…! Give me your cum, please, please, please!” you cried out hoarsely, more tears spilling out of your half-closed eyes, grabbing onto San’s trembling hips and squeezing them, losing yourself completely when hot spurts of San’s cum began to land all over your face. 

“That’s a good girl, letting me paint your face like this,” San sighed, his lips forming a dimpled smile, his pretty brown eyes upturned with satisfaction. He lazily stroked himself, emptying the last bit of his load onto your tongue and tapping it for good measure. 

Before you could swallow, San wiped the cum from your face with two fingers and pushed them down onto your tongue. “You wanna taste?” he purred, rubbing his salty release around, encouraging you to close your lips around him and suck, cleaning them. 

“San, baby,” you murmured once you swallowed, your voice cracking slightly, legs trembling, trying to stand up but unable from how numb your lower half felt. 

“Oh, kitten, you made such a mess,” San cooed, smiling at the sight of your glistening thighs and bending down to lift you up from the ground before setting you down on the desk. “You’ve been so good for me…taking all of my punishment. Should I give you a reward now?” 

“Cock,” you replied softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “I want Mommy’s cock.” 

“Of course you do, you little cockslut.” San nipped at your bottom lip, making you moan. He pulled away and rubbed your thighs in small circles, admiring how puffy and red your pussy looked. “How do you want it?”

Scooting off of the desk, you smiled sheepishly up at him, twirling a lock of your hair. “I want you to bend me over your desk and pump me full of your cum.” 

Without a second of hesitation, San grabbed you by the hips and spun you around, pushing his hand down on your spine, making you lay flat against the mahogany table. “Filthy slut. You want me to abuse this little pussy even more than I have, huh?” 

“Yes, Headmaster.” You wiggled your ass back and forth, glancing back at him. “Make a mess of me.” 

San responded by lowering himself down, spitting directly onto your cunt and smacking it. He stood back up, chuckling at the gasp you let out, spitting again, this time into his hand and lubing up his cock, before slamming his hips forward into you, your greedy cunt swallowing him up completely. 

“Oh my god,” you hissed out, reaching forward and gripping the edge of the desk, trying to get used to the low burn you felt in between your legs, being stretched out by San’s thick length. “Fuck me, please. Please, Headmaster.” 

San began pumping himself into you with a fervor he didn’t know he had to offer, leaning his body over you in order to grab your wrists and pull them back behind you. “Like this, right?” he grunted out, the sounds of skin slapping and your heavy breaths filling the silence in the room. “Is this how a naughty girl like you wants to be used, Miss Y/N?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, a bit of drool falling past your lips, your upper half not even touching the table anymore with the way San was holding you and using you like his personal cocksleeve, his heavy cock pounding into you over and over, bringing you closer to the edge. 

“Lemme guess, you want to be creampied, don’t you?” San held your wrists with one hand so that he could slam his palm into your ass, groaning at the handprint he left behind. “Hm? You want my milk in your pretty little pussy, kitten?” 

“Y-esss…!” 

San tightened his grip around your wrists and tugged them in his direction, making your back arch painfully, allowing him to fuck into you at a deeper angle. “Oh, fuck, your pussy’s clenching around me, babydoll. Cum for me, fuck– squirt on my cock,” he growled, drilling himself into your g-spot until he made you squirt onto his cock. 

“So good, so good, it’s so goodddd,” you mewled, your wrists beginning to feel numb from how tight his grip was. Your legs trembled beneath you, feeling like jelly. You would’ve crumbled onto the floor like a ragdoll, but you couldn’t, at least not until your Mommy gave you what you wanted. 

After a few more pumps inside your slick, tight hole, San let go of your wrists and collapsed down onto your back, huffing and puffing into your ear. “Here it comes, you filthy little girl. Just for my baby…Oh, god, just for you.” He let out a long, drawn-out moan that sounded more like a whine, sloppily thrusting into you until his hot load shot out and coated your walls. 

You both laid there for a hot minute, trying to catch your breath and come down from your highs. San lifted himself off from you, only for your legs to finally give out, urging him to lift you up into his arms bride style. “Are you okay, pretty girl? I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?” 

“Not at all, San. You were perfect,” you chimed, reaching up to caress his sweaty cheek, admiring the rosy blush imprinted on his skin. 

San smiled at you and pressed his lips onto yours, only pulling away when he had to take a breath. 

“Headmaster?” 

“Yes, Miss Y/N?” he asked, nuzzling your cheek with his own. 

You hummed at the warmth of his skin on yours, giggling a bit, looking up at him, your eyes full of stars. “Can you teach me another lesson next weekend?” 

➽───────────────❥

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© kitten4sannie, 2023.

[luvrxbunny]

soft

pairing: post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Joel wants her, and she wants him. The bumpy story of how they got together!

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has hair that can get in her face, smoking (weed), drinking, lots of feelings, piv, unprotected sex, slight overstimulation, kinda subby Joel at the end (lmk if i forgot anything)

wc: 10.3k (idk how that happened im sorry)

a/n: I’m pretty proud of this one. ik its long but please just give her a chance!

It started with you and Joel both high and drunk out on the porch and he looked so beautiful. There was a perpetual smile on his face, laughing and even giggling at almost everything you said, folding himself over and leaning his head on you whenever he thought something was particularly funny and you couldn't control yourself.

The next time he leaned over you waited, watching, letting him calm back down but when he went to pull off of you, you pulled his head to yours. His breathing stopped short and it scared you until he groaned into your mouth. It was so many things, it was broken, grateful, desperate but savoring and you loved it. 

He placed his hand behind your head and held you in place as he pushed his lips further into yours. It almost hurt, the way he seemed to attempt to mold your face into one, but it was so perfect. When he pulled away you were out of breath, panting in his face as he did the same. You guys continued to exchange breaths as you scrutinized every aspect of his face.

Anxiety was clawing inside your stomach as you took him in, fearing that he may never let you ever again. His soft lips parted, and you watched his tongue slide into the indent on his bottom lip. You silently hoped he could taste your remnants on them as they froze, waiting for words to spill out. Only to be interrupted by Ellie slamming the front door open. 

“Can you guys fucking keep it down?! I have school, remember? You’re the one making me go!” She shouts at you both, directing the last part at Joel who was still staring at you. You were watching Ellie as she yelled but Joel’s silence brought your gaze back to him. You shouldn’t have because you feel like that’s when it happened. You swear you could see him blocking himself off from you, like a door was shutting in his eyes. He apologized to Ellie and said it was getting late. 

Now, usually, Joel insists on you sleeping on the couch, too worried to let you go home so inebriated but that night he sent you away. It was like he broke your heart. He shattered it and forced you to place the shards in your shoes as he pushed you away, pain shooting through your whole body with every step. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night, you thought things were over with Joel, and you’d lose touch with Ellie because it would be too painful to go over there.

Your paradise was ruined.

You couldn’t believe you had read the situation so wrong. You thought- worse case- he would tell you that you’re too young, that he just can’t be with you, for whatever reason. But the look in his eyes… the way he sent you home. It felt like he didn’t even care about you anymore. 

The next day you thought you had lost your mind. You were in a terrible headspace and decided to ditch your responsibilities. You were in bed, switching between sleeping and sobbing into your pillow. You felt horrible, you looked horrible and someone was knocking incessantly at your door. They would not leave, no matter how much time passed, no matter how loud you groaned. So you wrapped your blanket around you and very angrily made your way to the door. 

“Who the fu-” Your sentence is cut short in complete and utter shock.

It was Joel. 

You let the door swing open and walk back inside. You’re already climbing back into bed as you hear him shut the door behind him. “What do you want, Joel?”

 You’re lying down, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. In the corner of your eye, you can see him just standing there, his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Your head almost turns as you hear him take a deep breath, wishing you could see the way his chest puffs up and stretches whatever shirt he’s wearing. But you don't. He’s not someone you should be admiring like this, he’s someone you cannot be admiring like this. 

“Oh my god. Don’t just stand there you know I fucking hate that.” Your voice is so irritated, so hurt and cold but he scoffs.

Anger and embarrassment courses through you but you feel the bed dip anyway, it eases the feelings.

You can feel him right beneath your feet, so close you almost want to straighten your legs a bit more, just so you can press against him. But you don’t. 

“Okay, then don’t curse… Y'know I hate that.” His voice is painfully normal, like nothing happened, like he didn't break you. You want to laugh- or cry- at the absurdity. The thought that last night meant nothing to him, so little that he’s over here asking you things like ‘don’t curse’.

Who does he think he is? That he can treat me like shit and then ask such trivial things of me? No. Fuck him. 

“Fuck you, Joel. You’re a dick, get out.” He takes a deep breath and then is silent for a moment. You hoped and prayed that he had given up but to no avail. 

“No, honey. I’m supposed to find out why you’re not out workin’.” You scoff at him and dig yourself deeper into the blankets. “Ar- are ya sick or somethin’?” At this you turn to him, looking him dead in the eyes, asking ‘Are you fucking serious?’ but he can’t hold your gaze.

Oh! So he does remember.

You laugh humorlessly and fall back into bed where you lie in silence, for quite some time. Until his hand comes up to your ankle, resting so gently you know he’s holding it up. He’s probably still thinking over whether he should do it or not, unaware that he’s already touching you. 

“Can- Well, I- I- I know that- fuck.” He’s so angry when he says it, frustrated with himself for not having the right words.

He never knows the right thing to say, or how to convey how he feels. He’s so scared of losing you right now, but he doesn’t know how to tell you in a way that will have you asking no questions. He can’t have you asking him anything because he knows you’ll ask him things that he’s nowhere near ready to answer. “Can you just- Can you please?” 

You waited for him to say more, expecting it, but that was the end of the sentence. He wanted you to ‘just please’.

The way he says it though, you look over at him and he’s gazing into you, his eyes so piercing that you almost feel uncomfortable. It feels like he’s prying into you, willing you to open up for him to express himself without having to actually say anything to you. 

You sit up and glare back at him, softer than before but still hot with rage. “Please, what.” He shakes his head and looks away from you, into his lap instead as his hand fully settles on your ankle. He keeps huffing out breaths, like he’s going to say something but then decides against it. You’re almost irritated with the sound until he takes a breath and follows it with words. 

“You- I need for yesterday to have not happened.”

Fuck him.

You hadn’t even gotten over the first rejection, the lack of care he showed and now here he was rejecting you again. “You must- You gotta understand why it can’t happen. Why we-”

You were trying not to tremble as he rubbed his hand over his face, trying to keep himself calm in the face of the extreme stress the whole situation was putting on him. Tears were welling in your eyes as he spoke, despite you squeezing them shut to avoid this exact issue. But it hurt just as much as it did last night, maybe more. “We just can’t. Not- I need for things to go back to normal… f- for now at least…”

You’re breathing froze, eyes snapping open to look at Joel, who was still looking in his lap. His hand left your ankle to meet his other fidgeting one as you both sat in silence. You could see him peeking at you from the corner of his eye as subtly as he could as you thought over his words.

You felt like you were on a game show. Do you double down or just take what you have?

‘I need for yesterday to have not happened’

‘I need for things to go back to normal’

His words hurt.

‘F-for now at least’

But those words… made it worth it. 

You didn’t want to push him. You know how hard it must’ve been for him to even express the little bit he did. Along with that, the thought of him noticing you weren’t around and coming to check on you was making its way through your cloud of hate. 

“Y-you sent me away…” Your voice isn’t hard anymore. It isn't soft either, it was just weak. You can see Joel grimace at it, turning away from you so you couldn’t see him. “Wh- You- you always let me stay but- you just-” You stop talking, if you kept going you would’ve started sobbing again. 

“I couldn’t let you stay, honey. The- I didn’t- I don’t have enough self-control for something like that to happen an’... I’m leaving you in the guest room? No. I would’ve- had to have- I… No, I-” He breathes out in annoyance again and you yearn to comfort him. But you don’t.

He always gets too frustrated with himself, making it even harder for him to clear his head enough to say what he wants. “I wouldn’t have been able to leave you there. I would’ve had to do somethin’ and I- I don't think that’s a good idea.”

You’re not completely satisfied with the answer, you have more questions now than you did before but you managed to collect one piece of information.

Joel wants you.

It wasn’t a flat-out rejection more like a, ‘let's put a pin in that’ and you have enough faith in him to believe he wouldn’t string you along. So you sniffle, put your big boy pants on as you wipe your tears, and tap Joel on the shoulder, turning his gaze to you. You take a deep breath and speak.

“Yesterday’s events are forgotten.” You say it with a light smile but you’re betrayed by one stray tear as it rushes down your face. Joel’s expression crumbles at it, in so much pain, so heartbroken at the thought that he had caused it. Despite his feelings, he nods at you and gets up. “Get ready. You’re in the fields today, darlin’.” He hits the door frame with a grateful smile before walking away to let you get changed.

Leaving you in your hopeful sadness. 

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

Things were rocky at first. Neither of you were actually able to forget about ‘what happened’ as Joel so lovingly put it. You expected too much from him and he was still too cold toward you. For the first month, you guys were basically in an argument. It was as though the town couple, the gruff old man and the re-tamed angel, had broken up. 

Everyone knew that you were hooking up with Jared, he wouldn’t shut up about it. Joel and the townspeople had heard of his sexual conquests over and over since he arrived, before he set his sights on you.

When he first approached you, you had already gotten out of your ‘phase’ and were too captivated by Joel to entertain him for even a second. However, he was quite popular among the other town women, he was popular with women even before the outbreak so he couldn’t believe when you rejected him. Not that he was shocked, he fully did not believe you. In turn, he never stopped pursuing you… much like Gaston from Beauty and the Beast.

So when Joel broke you, you slipped back to how you were before him… You went to Jared. You don’t know if you were hoping he could put you back together or if you wanted him to help you cut Joel with the shards of your heart but the latter is what ended up happening. 

You wanted to cut it off with Jared the moment Joel found out. When Jared started parading around the town with you next to him as if you were genuinely interested. But you didn’t.

Instead, you kept seeing him for a few more weeks. You watched Joel avoid you like the plague, ducking out of every room you walked into, switching his jobs with people who had the worst ones just so he didn’t have to work with you. You enjoyed making him squirm, showing him that you could just move on if he’s not ready to step up. You were a highly sought-after woman, a piece of art who he wanted to keep in the garage until he found the right spot. No, you refuse. Until you came across him alone at the bar one night. 

He was obviously drunk, a beer in hand but his cheek on the table. There was a song playing that he was loosely singing along to. His other hand was in the air, waving his finger around like he was conducting an orchestra. You storm over to his booth. 

Watch him suddenly sober up and head home. Watch him suddenly remember some plans he made or something he forgot to do. Watch him just get up and leave me again. 

You sit down across from him and wait for him to notice you. You’re just watching him. His eyes are closed and his eyebrows furrow as he tries to hit each high note. He’s failing, not hitting them perfectly but still getting to an impressive pitch. It’s too endearing to see him like this, so open, unburdened.

You didn’t even know he could sing this well. Your anger and bitterness fades for the first time in weeks. Your head tilts and a soft smile invades your face, as if sensing this Joel finally opens his eyes. 

They’re so soft, probably because he thought he was alone, his guard is dropped. You’re waiting for them to go back up at the sight of you. But they stay so soft as he gasps gently. “Honey! Wha- When did you get ‘ere” His voice is softer too… not as rough and gruff as it usually is.��

He also doesn’t sound angry. After all he’s done to avoid you, you’d expect him to sound angry. You chalk it up to the alcohol. 

“I’ve been here. You just never noticed.” When your voice reaches Joel it's gentle, like how you’d speak to a child but not patronizing. He likes it. He swears he can feel your voice washing over him, running through his hair and caressing his cheek. He smiles at it, at you as a blush rises to his cheeks. 

“S-so you-” He looks down at the table, his eyes moving back and forth as he thinks. “Did you hear m-” You can’t help the laugh that slips out. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth but you’re still obviously smiling. “Oh.” That’s all he says as you let your laughs out. 

“I’m- Not laughing at you, Joel. I- I swear.” Laughs break up your sentence as Joel stares at the table. “Oh- I’m so sorry. God. You really didn’t notice me here! That’s what was so funny not your singing I swear.” You let out a little giggle at the end but Joel is frowning. 

“This s’why I don’ sing in front of no one.” He’s picking at the wood and grumbling to himself. You’d find it all incredibly annoying if it wasn’t Joel doing it. 

“Joel.” You’re stern but still gentle as you speak. “I told you it wasn’t your singing. The singing was great. I was so fucking impressed. I had no clue you could even sing like that.” You watch a smile creep onto his face as you praise his talent. He’s still looking at the table, wanting to stay angry but he can’t. Your smile widens the longer you watch him until he takes a swig of his beer. 

“Why are you so drunk?”

The words tumble out before you can stop them and Joel pauses mid-sip. He’s frozen like that before slamming it onto the table and looking at you. “ ‘M not drunk. ‘M not. But if I was…” He squints his eyes at you. “If I was- It’s probably cos the girl I want seems to want someone else.”

It feels like everything in the bar stops. Your breathing, your heart, the music, time, the world. Everything just stops. 

He got this drunk… over me?

He chuckles and finishes his beer as you sit there in shock. “Dunno why you’re doin’ all this. I know you knew. Jus’ thought-” He goes to take another sip and whines when there’s nothing. “Stupid fuckin-” He throws it across the room, astonishingly making it into the trash with a small mumble of ‘swish’. 

“Joel.” He turns back to you with a blank expression. “You never told me you liked me.” 

“Oh please.” His voice is mean, a bit sharp now. Your face contorts into one of disgust as he speaks. “You ain’t that dumb, honey. It was very heavily implied an’ you know it.” Your expression drops into a frown. His voice broke at the end, followed by a sniff and an aggressive rub from his sleeve over his nose. “B-but you’re still out there with fuckin’ Jared.” His voice shakes through the sentence, adding some anger at the end as you cringe at the sound of his name. You both were aware you didn’t have any honest feelings for Jared.

“Joel. You told me to pretend that… that night.” You look away from him, embarrassed at what should be a sweet memory. “You told me to pretend it never happened and then treated me like shit for no reason afterward. Certainly, you didn’t expect me to sit in that. There’s no way you thought I would tolerate it! So yeah, I went to get whatever affection I could, elsewhere since my best and main source ran fucking dry.” You can feel your anger towards him building back up as you speak, reliving the details of your guys’ downfall. It still hurt. 

“Certainly you didn’t- Why do you talk so damn proper?” He’s laughing to himself at his rendition of your voice but you’re nowhere near amused. You stand from your seat and look down at him, stopping his laughter instantly.

“Okay. Let’s talk about this when you’re sober, hmm? When you can be an adult? Stay on topic at least?” His brows furrow and his eyes leave yours. You stand there, waiting for him to respond but get nothing. “Cool, Joel. I’ll see you around then.” You sigh and turn away from him, disappointed.

The night had started so well, that you stupidly believed that you guys might be able to save your relationship. You should’ve known he was too drunk for the conversation but he shouldn’t have brought it up. If he knew he wouldn’t be able to have a serious conversation he shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. Now you’re both hurting all over again. He’s probably gonna grab another drink and you’re probably gonna go see Jared. 

“Please!” It’s frantic, desperate, and unsteady as it shoots out of his mouth. You freeze in your spot, halfway to the door and halfway from him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t wanna talk about it. Why fuckin’ would I? It hurts. You fuckin’— You hurt me… prancing around with that piece of shit- All I did was ask you to wait… just wait- for me to be ready to love you.”

You’re still standing in the middle of the room, facing the door. His voice was getting louder, closer as he spoke but you don’t turn. You could hear the emotion bleeding into his words, breaking his voice as he approached you. 

“But you- You couldn’t even wait for me! No. No, you had to go get— ah how’d ya put it? Affection elsewhere- fuck off. You coulda just said you needed something from me. I could’ve given you affection.” His voice softened after cursing at you. It only grows softer as he speaks. You can feel him behind you, maybe a few steps away but you don’t turn.

You don’t wanna see him, lose your edge, your nerve. “I- I would’ve given it to you if I knew, darlin’. I was tryna keep my distance, waitin’ for you to get over me and look! You did. I- I just wish you had told me, instead of havin’ t’hear it from fuckin’— fuckin’ Jared.”

His voice dies down for a moment and you turn around. His hair is everywhere, he must’ve been running his hands through it as he spoke. His eyes aren’t teary but they look like he could cry at any moment, he looks tired and his lips are bitten red.

“I would’ve understood. Or- Or maybe I wouldn’t’ve I dunno. I just wish you woulda said somethi-”

You’re kissing him.

Fuck.

You are kissing him. You didn't mean to. You have no clue how your lips got to his but they’re all over them. He’s groaning at you, pulling you in as you pull away.

“Fuck! I’ve got to stop doing that… jesus.” You’re looking at the ground as you wipe his slobber off your mouth. He’s silent, panting as he just stands there and your heart starts to race. 

It’s just like last time. Fuck. Why the fuck do I keep doing this shit.

Tears are already welling in your eyes and you decide to speak before he can send you away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that… I know you need time or whatever.” You pause, giving him room to say anything but he doesn't. You want to look up at him, see what he’s thinking, how he’s reacting. But you don’t. 

“Yeah… I’m gonna go.” You turn around and finish your walk to the exit. You grab the handle and stop. “I- I’m gonna cut things off with Jared…” You stay silent for a bit, trying to decide whether you should say your next words.  “I do need your affection though, Joel.” You rushed out the door after that.  

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

You just want to fuck him already. It’s been months now, of this back and forth. To be clear, you do still want him romantically, how could you not? This man, when his hair is fluffy and soft just like him. When you see his expression now light up when you walk into the room. When he builds you little trinkets in the shop, instead of doing the job he was assigned to. When he makes your favorite for dinner after finding out that you’re having a bad day. When he plans movie nights featuring your favorites that he could find on DVD. 

How could you not love him?

It scares you. The “situation-ship” you both were currently in started a few months ago. Actually… It started exactly four months and three weeks ago. There’s no point in pretending you haven’t kept track. Joel told you that he needed time. You would have never expected it to be this much time but you’ve grown to love and crave him over the months.

He listened to what you said at the bar that night. He’s been giving you so much affection it’s actually making the other women in the community quite jealous of you. He hasn’t kissed you yet but he kisses your cheek, your forehead, and- when he’s drunk or high enough- your neck. You don’t kiss him anymore. You’ve kissed his cheek a few times over the months, his head once when he was sick but other than that you try to keep to yourself. You’re still a bit traumatized from his first rejection, the way it played out, and everything. You’d rather just not risk it.  

You’re in the garden and he’s in the field. You’re planting flowers, pulling and re-planting vegetables while Joel is harvesting the wheat he planted four months ago and tilling the land for the new seeds. You keep looking over at him, you really can’t help it at this point. 

The sun is shining through his hair, making it a dark golden color with streaks of white running through it. His arms are smudged from handling the dirt all day and his biceps flex repeatedly as he picks the kernels off of the wheat and throws them into his basket. His eyebrows are creased and his eyes squinted to avoid the burning light of the sun and he keeps looking over at you. He really can’t help it at this point. 

You look so beautiful, sitting on your knees with your adorably mismatched gardening gloves. Your hair falls so angelically every time you lean forward to lead a new plant to its home. Every time you sit back up you use the back of your wrist to try and shove the hair from your face, sputtering out, trying to blow the hair away and it's so endearing. Your arms are dirty and he feels the incredibly odd urge to bathe you. He’s ready to love you. He’s so fucking ready but he has no clue— not even the slightest— as to how he should tell you. 

The current supervisor calls it a day and you almost fall face-first into the plants in your scramble to get to Joel. He’s taking off his gloves, flexing and stretching his fingers when he sees you rushing toward him with a huge smile he can’t help but mirror. “Hey, darlin’. You look so beautiful today.”

You freeze where you stand which luckily isn’t too far from Joel. He makes his way over to you, watching your expression. He loves it so much, he doesn’t understand how he never noticed it before. The way you always take a deep, shaking breath, your eyebrows go inward and you give him this look. He doesn’t understand it yet but it always makes him ache for you, makes him burn somewhere in the depths of his being to just be with you. He doesn’t know how long he can resist it. He doesn't want to. He doesn’t.

“I’m- I think I really- I just really wanna kiss you.” You snap out of your daze and your eyes focus on him, hopeful for a moment then a little dull. You turn your head, give him your cheek, close your eyes, and wait for the gentle kiss but nothing happens. You slowly open your eyes and look at him, he looks scared. “I wanna kiss you.”

You can hear your heart speed up, your breaths getting shorter and your thoughts more jumbled.

He wants to kiss me?

You’re confused for a moment, not understanding what brought this on. You’re eyes slip from his contact as you lose yourself in your thoughts, not realizing the silence you’re creating or the anxiety you’re causing. But Joel realizes, he’s sweating more than he has all day as he waits for you to say something, do something. He shifts his weight from foot to foot before giving up. “We don’t have to… I just- I wanted to…” He tries and fails to keep the sadness out of his voice.

His words strike fear in you and you reach out to grip his arm, hoping it’s enough to stop him from walking away. “Y-You wanna kiss me? On the… on the lips?” He’s surprised by your voice, it sounds far away, loose, and airy.

“I do.” It comes out with no hesitation, no stutters, no pause. You take a step closer to him and his expression twitches, his chest beginning to heave with anticipation. 

“I would really love that, Joel.” You’re staring up at him now, as best you can in the sun. You’re looking into his eyes, an excited, mischievous glint in your eyes, challenging him, daring him to do something. And he loses his nerve. 

“Oh! Okay. Thats… Thats good. I- I want you to come over later, alright? I’ll get us some weed and alcohol. You don’t need to bring snacks or nothin’ either jus- jus bring yourself, alright? Okay, see you then.” And with that, he walked off. His cheeks were absolutely burning. He couldn’t believe himself 

‘That's good’? What the fuck is wrong with you, Miller? Leaving that darlin’ girl standing in the sun like that? It just ain’t right, she’s so sweet on you and you fuckin’ know it. I gotta stop doin’ this to her…

You’re watching Joel walk away. A bit stunned by the whole interaction, confusion, and questions swarm your head the whole walk home. They stick with you in the shower and as you get ready to head over to Joel’s. They accompany you on the whole walkover as well.

Maybe he wants me to do something… I know people like it rough, so maybe he wants me to take charge? He doesn’t really seem the type. Does this mean he wants me now? Will he kiss me tonight? Is that why he invited me over? Are we gonna have sex? Oh god, I hope so. I’d treat him so well- or maybe I wouldn’t since everyone likes it rough. 

You’ve reached his block when you’re stopped by Susan; Joel’s biggest admirer. She places herself in front of you, blocking your path and forcing you to talk to her.  “Oh, he’s not in, hun.”

You take a calming breath and try not to roll your eyes at her. “Okay… Well, I’m gonna check, just in case.” You turn your steps and try to make your way around her only for her to place herself right back in your way. 

“I’m gonna be honest I- I don’ really get this whole thing with you an’ him. I just- I guess I don’ really see it… Do ya’ know what I mean?” You glare at her, ignoring her statement and waiting for her to just get out of your way. “I mean…” She steps closer to you. “I remember when you first got here…” 

You can feel shame and embarrassment curl in your stomach at the mention of your arrival. You weren’t in the best place, mentally, and you did a lot- a lot- of things that you wished you hadn’t, lots of men you wished you hadn’t. “Don’t be an ass, Susan.” She backs away from you, a sinister smile on her face and her hands in the air. 

“Hey! I’m” She laughs. “I’m jus sayin’... You were interested in a lot of different guys!” You start walking, refusing to listen to what she has to say. But the psycho bitch follows you. “I mean are you even sure that it’s him that you want? Weren’t you with Jared just a few months ago? I mean…” 

You’re speed-walking to Joel’s now. You’re only a house away when she hops in front of you again. “Hun! I told you he ain’t home! I’m just-” She sighs and lowers her head as you crane your neck, hoping and praying Joel had made his way to the porch by now. But he hasn’t. “If you just want a man I can set you up with some of my friends! Some people who are… Gosh! How do I say this without bein’ rude? Some people who are more in your… lane… league?” Your head whips back at her, fury raging in your eyes at her audacity. 

“Excuse me?” You question, low and threatening. “Well. Hun, c’mon now, don’t get all bent outta shape, I mean well! You and I both know Joel is too… hmm, well. He’s too good for you I guess.” You’re not staring at her, you’ve turned your head to the patch of sky you can see through the trees beside you, choosing to count the stars instead of listening to this shit. 

“I’d strongly disagree.” You can hear her gasp and spin around as a smile spreads over your face.

Joel. 

“Oh! I- I thought you weren’t home, sugar.” She tries to lean into him but he walks around her and grabs your arm, pulling you past her with a mumble of “Yeah. I know.”, ending the conversation. 

Joel doesn’t speak until he’s gotten you inside. “I dunno why you listen to that woman. She spews nothin’ but garbage.” You watch him dart from cupboard to cupboard to retrieve his lighter and a little joint you can tell he rolled because it’s dented in the middle. “She’s always saying some dumb shit. I fuckin’ hate it.” 

His eyebrows are furrowed and his face is hard as he lights it up. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him so angry. You watch the tension fall from his shoulders, his face relaxing as he inhales. You take your shoes off, still watching him as a small smile spreads over his face and he exhales. “Are you gonna share Joel?” You ask as he goes in for another hit. 

“Hey-  Be nice darlin’, it’s mine after all.” He teases while handing it to you. You push yourself up onto the counter, sitting next to where he’s leaning as you take a drag. 

“Yours schmours, you’ll be fine.” He giggles— giggles— at your statement, his hand coming up to cover his smile as he laughs. All you can see are his pretty brown eyes, the creases around them, and the way they almost shut while he laughs. You feel your heart race, bringing along that urge that has gotten you in trouble many times over. Your eyes flicker to his lips and you immediately avert your gaze, taking another hit to try and calm yourself. 

You wait for him to come back up from his designated, folded, laughing position and hold the joint out for him. You snort at the misshapen stick, causing you to choke on the smoke you were holding. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what you get for laughing. Mhm.” You’re coughing up a lung as he says this, making the situation worse because you cannot stop laughing at him. He continues his remarks after taking a hit, you’re still choking and laughing, and you hold an arm out to him. 

“Joel-” You cough. “Joel-” You laugh. “Joel, stop it. I’m- oh fuck.” You start coughing again in a way that has Joel turning to face you, amusement and a bit of concern on his face. “Oh my god, stop. I’m gonna die, don’t make me laugh- oh my god.” 

He’s beaming at you, proud that you find him so funny and the high really hitting him. You can tell, his eyes are a bit hazy and his eyebrows are raised for some reason. He walks towards you when your fit dies down, pushing himself between your legs with a dazed look on his face. He’s just staring at your thighs for a moment, his head turning from left to right so he can look at both of them before looking up at you. Your heart is thrumming out of your chest as you try to keep your expression neutral, maybe a bit inquisitive. He stares at your lips for a bit before you see his hand raising with the joint. He brings it to your lips and looks back up at your eyes, his eyebrows jump, prompting you to inhale. 

You take a long hit, trying to get as much smoke as you can, hoping it will calm you down. His eyes stay on yours, darkening as his breathing becomes a bit shallow. He pulls the joint away from your lips and puts it out right onto the counter before bringing his hand up to your cheek.

You haven’t exhaled yet, savoring the hit while he slowly brings your face to his. You’re watching his eyes, still on yours as he pulls you in. You begin to exhale, not wanting to hold the smoke in if he’s going to kiss you. That’s when he pushes your lips together. You try not to choke as he sucks the smoke out of your mouth and pulls away. You’re in a stupor as he grins at you and breathes your smoke out, re-lighting the fire in the pit of your stomach, the one that always seems to flare whenever he’s around.

“What’d ya think of that, huh? Good kiss or?” He’s wearing a smirk but his eyes are uncertain at your silence. You keep it up, not saying anything, just pulling him back in and smashing your lips into his. He accepts your kiss with a grunt from the force of it as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in. 

You’re gripping his hair like it's your lifeline, gripping his face like it’ll fall apart otherwise, it hurts a little but he’s fond of your eagerness. Your hands slide onto his shoulders and you dig your fingers into his skin brutally, pulling a wince from him. He separates your lips and strokes over your cheek with his thumb, admiring you. It's a soft, tender moment until you yank him by his belt loops, crashing him against the counter painfully to whisper in his ear. “I want you, Joel”

He smiles at this and kisses you again as you undo his belt. You remove it from the loops and let it drop to the ground so you can get to work on his button and zipper. You feel his lips stutter against yours and he pulls away, confused. “Not- not here, darlin’. ‘M not gonna do this in the kitchen.” He sounds a bit confused as he grips your hips and lifts you off of the counter and back onto the floor. They come back up to cradle your face again as he places a quick, soft kiss on your lips. “ ‘M gonna make love to you in my room, on my bed, baby.”

Make love..?

Confusion flows through your mind but you go along with him, assuming it’s just some outdated terminology. “Yeah? You gonna fuck me in your bed, Joel?” He is so shocked by your response. He doesn’t understand why you’re being so aggressive about it. He’s trying to be gentle, and loving but you seem to reject it. He gives you a brief but genuine smile before leading you to his room,

Your heart is racing as you follow Joel to his bedroom. This would be the first time you’ll be having sex with someone you care about, someone you love. You wondered if it would feel any different when he was shattering your hips with his own, would there still be that soft look of adoration in his eyes? You don’t see how the two could go together. 

You get to his room and he shuts the door quietly. “Can you stay still, honey?” He rolled his sleeves up, only halfway, showing off his thick forearms. He’s circling you as he questions you, holding eye contact and stopping in front of you. “I- I wanna undress you.”

Your throat feels like it’s closed. 

Undress me? Why would he want to- That doesn’t seem very time-efficient… Oh, but look at him. 

His eyes are silently and subconsciously begging you to let him. You let him. 

He takes a deep breath and his eyes rake down your body the moment you nod at him. He grabs your hips, pulling you to him with a boyish grin before running his fingers along the hem of your shirt. They tickle your skin softly as he brings them up, bunching the fabric before pulling it over your head. He looks right into your eyes as he does this. That soft look digs into your chest, it feels like you may explode. 

He only breaks away from your gaze to throw your shirt on a chair in the corner. He brings his empty hand to cup your cheek, stroking his thumb across your skin as a sort of apology for diverting his attention. He looks back at you with a smile so gentle you may melt. 

Your knees almost give out when he unbuttons your pants, he sticks his thumbs in the back of your waistband, leaning into you. He’s so close. He’s so close. He’s smirking like he knows you want to kiss him. He leans forward, licking his lips before abruptly ducking down, pulling your pants with him. 

You let out a surprised squeal that has him smiling up at you. Your hand comes up to bury itself in his hair before you realize it. You admire the softness of it, how fluffy it is. His eyes droop, getting a foggy, clouded look in them as he stares up at you. 

Make it good for him. Everyone likes it rough. 

You pull it, much harder than necessary, and watch his eyebrows crease in what you assume is arousal as he grunts again. He lifts from his kneeling position and kisses you, a little harder than he did before. 

His hands were running down your back, cupping your ass, and then stroking down your thighs. He’s breathing heavily against your face as his hands squeeze your inner thigh. They roam all over your body but never go where you want them, where you need them. 

“Okay, Joel. Enough I need you. I- I need you.” He smiles underneath his bitten lip as you push him away and gesture to his entire body. “Take them off… Off!” 

You’re basically ripping your undergarments off and running to him, unbuttoning his shirt for him as he takes off his pants. The moment your hands push his shirt open he’s kissing you instead. He walks you both onto the bed, tripping over his pants with a giggle before landing safely on the covers. You waste no time in climbing over him, whining out when his cock rubs along your soaked pussy. He lifts himself to try and kiss you but you’re not looking at him. You’re trying to push his dick into your soaking, aching pussy. 

“Shit- Damn. Fuck, honey.” He slams himself back onto the bed, his hands tighten around your hips as you position your legs beneath you and slam your hips onto him. It fucking burns. You’re wet and wanting but he’s huge, the stretch of his fat cock burns inside you as his tip jams itself into your cervix painfully. You bit off more than you can chew. Joel is grunting harshly beneath you so you power through, attempting to hide your grimace as you let out half-honest moans. 

“Fuck- No. No, no, stop, baby.” His hands force you down and hold you there, rendering you immobile as he sits up. You’re watching his abs clench as he sits up with no assistance but his pure muscle, your eyes only move to his face when he clears his throat. 

You’re embarrassed now, under the impression that you’ve done something wrong, something he didn’t like. You wouldn’t know what to do if that were the case… You were doing what you normally do… You don't know any special moves or anything like that. “Did- You didn’t like it..?”

You ask as timidly as possible, hoping he could hear it and would be gentle. 

“I- I mean I guess but it’s not what I want.” Confusion and a bit of anger flares inside you. How were you supposed to know what he wanted? 

“Okay well, what do you want then, Joel?” His brows furrow and he brings a hand up to caress your face again. 

“I want to make love to you. I told you that.”

There’s that fucking term again. 

“I don’t know what that means, Joel! Isn’t it the same as fucking? I don’t get it.” His brows unfurrow instantly, becoming soft and a bit upturned in what seemed to be concern. And to add insult to injury… you can feel him softening inside you. 

“What do you mean?” His voice is much softer than yours, but it frustrates you. You struggle not to roll your eyes at him. 

“I do not know what that means. I do not understand.” You talk slower than necessary, not actually explaining anything. You’re being a brat.

He tilts his head at you, giving a gut-wrenching, disappointed look. He kisses your cheeks and tells you to be nice, that he’s just trying to understand you.

“No… It’s not the same as fuckin’. It’s gentle and lovin’. It’s me takin’ my time with you, gettin’ you to open up for me.” You can feel his dick filling back up, stretching you out beautifully.

“It’s me learnin’ about what you like, showin’ you what I think you’d like, and getting you to cum around me and for me as long as I can. It’s more focused on- on love rather than lust.” He sighs quietly. “I’m- I’m bettin’ you’ve never had that though…” 

You hear sadness leak into his voice as he ends his sentence, watching you avert your gaze. He watches frustration and shame creep onto your face. “So what? I don’t even- I don’t think I even like it that way. Slow? It already takes me long enough to cum… I don’t need to be here for hours on end, Joel.”

He shakes his head at you sadly. “You would like it, baby.” He has one hand back on your hip as the other spreads out, his large hand spread over your back as he slowly flips you both over, resting you on the bed softly. “I- fuck, I know you’d love it, honey.”

His words resonate deep in your core, bringing a new wave of wetness to run over his cock. “Oh-” His hips stutter into yours as though he could feel the extra cream flowing over his dick. “Yeah, oh you’d- I think you’ll like it, darlin’”

He places you on the bed and finishes talking before kissing you and raising to straighten himself out. His hips thrust slowly into yours and fuck does it feel good. I mean of course it does, Joel is towing over you like a Greek god and his cock is sliding within your walls smoothly, stimulating every nerve it comes across. You start to buck your hips, impatient with the slow build of the pleasure. You wanted something explosive, something that will leave you heaving for breath and you cannot comprehend how you could possibly get there like this. 

Joel smiles, shakes his head at your agitation, and presses his hands down onto your sporadic hips, forcing them to stay on the bed. “No. Softly, baby. Be gentle with me, c’mon.” He continues his rhythm before, rocking into you with breathless pants. Your pleasure felt just out of reach and it was insanely maddening. “Calm down.” He tells you in a low, warning tone. You swear he can read your mind. 

“Tell me.” He leans down so his lips are right by your ear. He places a kiss on your temple and looks down at where the two of you connect, shoving his hair in your face. “Do you like this?” He keeps at his regular pace, the frustrating, agitating, insanely maddening pace. “Or… Do you-” He lets out a shuddering sigh right next to your ear, your eyes nearly rolling back at the faint sound. “Or do you like this?”

His pace changes into something indescribable. His hips are swiveling into yours and hitting eighteen different pleasure points at once. Your arms come up to grip his biceps, one instantly sliding down to his lower back to encourage him to keep it up.

“Oh-” You sound shocked and out of breath. “Oh. I like that one, Joel. This one. I like this one- please” His pace speeds up and he moans at the sound of your whimper. His attention is finally pulled from where you both meet and he’s looking right into your eyes.

This man and his fucking eye contact. 

It’s doing something to you… the way he’s looking at you. It’s burning into your stomach and has you clenching around him, pulling another ragged, angelic moan from his lips, hitting your lips directly due to his position. You lean up and kiss him as much as you can, most of your brain had shut off the moment he flipped you both over. 

He was hitting so deep inside you, a whole section that you didn't know existed. His cock is slowly sliding over every ridge in your pussy, his veins stimulating your sensitive walls. “Joel-” 

It slips out like a whimper as your moans release. You’re suddenly on 100% volume, unable to hold anything in. You never learned how. You thought you just didn’t moan against your own will, never having been in enough pleasure to let out authentic moans. 

Your hand comes from his lower back to slap over your mouth, desperately trying to hold all your noises in but Joel rips it away. “Don’t do- fuck you feel so fuckin’ good-“ His voice is shaking and breathless.

“Fuck, don’ cover up your- your moans, please. Fuck I wanna hear ‘em” He intertwines your fingers with his and holds your hand next to your head. He straightens himself as much as he can while keeping your fingers interlocked so he can grind into you more deliberately. He’s angling himself a million different ways until you convulse onto yourself. You try to hold in a scream as he fucks into… something. It’s almost painful, the way pleasure punches through your body with every thrust. 

“Yeah?- God fuckin’ dammit."

His hips stutter as you involuntarily suffocate his dick in your pussy. “Fuck- Is that it? Your special spot, honey? I got it dead on, huh?” He’s wearing an irritatingly calm smirk as he teases you. You, on the other hand, can barely breathe.

You’re clawing at anything you can get a hold of, his arms, the back of his neck, his back. You feel like you could cry- or throw up at the otherworldly pleasure Joel is forcing onto you. Your mouth is perpetually open, spewing out moans every other second. Your eyes keep rolling back into your head despite your attempts to look at Joel. You can’t even wrangle together enough thoughts to coherently explain how good it feels, how good he’s making you feel. “Jo- Joel. F-” You’re cut off with a whine as he pushes himself into you more forcefully.

“Joey, please- You’re right it’s s’much better. Shit- Joel!-” You let out a more devastating moan than you have all night, causing Joel to groan out in response. Your eyes open to look at him and he’s staring right at you, his eyes are something you’ve never seen, they’re dark and threatening, like a lion stalking its prey. But in this situation the lion is in love with the gazelle, it’s evident in his eyes, all over his face as he moans for you. 

“Of course ‘m r- right- Fuck, you’ve really got no clue how- how fuckin’-” His statement melts into a whimpering moan as he bends back down to moan into your ear. “You feel fuckin’ heavenly, darlin’.”

It creeps up on you out of fucking nowhere. A moan rips through your chest and destroying throat as you cum around him, his words pushing you to the edge. “Oh fu-uck. Yeah? S’that good, baby? Fuckin’- fuckin’ c-cumming all over my cock with no warning, love? Oh fuck me you’re s-so good, sweetheart.” 

His words fuel your world-demolishing, soul-shattering, mind fucking-ly amazing orgasm. You can feel the pleasure coursing through your veins like molten gold. Your entire body is vibrating, you’re lifting off the bed into an ethereal plane as Joel keeps thrusting into you, moaning soft praises in your ear as you gush all over his cock.

Your eyes are permanently in the back of your skull as your hand runs frantically all over his body, trying to find something to ground you, to keep you from flying away on the cloud of pleasure Joel was providing for you. 

He slows his thrusts in favor of you. Your moans had begun to get a bit desperate, all over the place, feverish and distraught as your pleasure bubbled over into overstimulation. Joel is kissing your neck softly, whispering even more soft words laced with love as your soul returns to your body with a broken whine of his name. He pulls his face out of your neck with a smile, his hips still thrusting into you slowly, just toeing the line of overstimulation. It has you losing your mind. You’re writhing against him as he smirks at you. “Do you want more? I can keep going, baby. I’ll go slow, soft, just like this.” 

He gets a bit breathy at the end, his free hand comes up to cup your face as the one holding yours tenses for a moment. His head drops onto your shoulder as most of his body collapses onto you.

He’s still thrusting into you gently as he groans out against your neck. “Fuck me. You’re turning me into a fuckin’ teenager again.” He grunts out a whine into your skin. “Can’t fuckin’ control shit. O-oh I wanna make you cum again, sweetheart.” His hips speed up as he rambles to you. You lean away from him a bit, forcing his head from your shoulder, and turn to look at him. 

He looks so wrecked. His lips are trembling, glossy, and red from all his biting. You didn't even notice. His eyes are on yours but they regularly lose focus, rolling into his head with a groan. “You’re makin’ me feel so fucking good, love. I just want you to feel as good- I wanna make you cum again.” He sounds more desperate than you could’ve ever imagined, your hand slides up the back of his neck and buries itself in his hair, scratching at his scalp softly, causing his eyes to cross lightly as he moans against you, hips stuttering. “Let me. Let me, let me. Let me pl-lease”

His unabashed begging has you clenching around him erratically, pulling a ruined groan from his lips. “M-make me cum again, Joel. C’mon, baby. I want-” He’s already moaning into your mouth as you speak, his hips fucking into you unsteadily. You’re already close from the intensity of the moment, Joel’s hand cradling your face, your hand in his hair. His head is resting against yours, forehead to forehead but his eyes are still open, piercing your soul and your heart with the love that's residing in them, it has your pussy clenching around him desperately. He’s moaning out shamelessly, loudly, and right into your face, into your mouth. 

“I’m gonna- I need you to c-cum. Holy sh-” You cut him off with a wet, searing kiss that’s mostly groans and whines into the mouth of the other. Your hips lift off the bed to buck into him softly, grinding your clit into the patch of curls that rests on his pelvis. He’s smiling at your movements, the contrast in how they were when he started with you.

“Y-yeah. Good, baby. Soft. Just l-like that, sweetheart. You’re so fuckin’ pure.” His eyes roll back into his head as your pussy begins to flutter around him. You can feel it this time, building inside you. The coil in your stomach tightens as you feel the angelic feeling inch back into your veins. Your hands grip his hair more desperately, pulling his ear to your lips as your orgasm begins to spill over. 

“I’m- I’m cumming, Joey.” You’re voice stabs into him. The high-pitched and desperate, shocked innocence in it has him twitching inside you. His pace is ruined the moment you utter those words into his ear. He can feel his eyes shoot to the back of his head as he falls into your shoulder again and starts to cum inside you. 

It’s more than heavenly, cumming at the same time as you. His cock is throbbing, shooting out thick, heavy, ropes of his cum inside you as your pussy pulses in time with him, milking him for everything he has. He can’t breathe, all the air has punched out of him as he tries to warn you that he’s cumming.

He wants to moan out for you, call your name over and over to hear you work yourself up into those whining moans you can’t help but let out. He gathers enough strength to push himself up and look at you. He feels like a whole new round of cum spews out of him at the sight. Your eyes are crossed as you moan out at the ceiling. He’s vaguely aware of the way your hand has twisted and tightened in his hair as you cum, your nails digging into his other hand.

He’s smiling through the second round of cum that pumps into you, deliriously happy with how hard he’s made you cum. You sound like you’re in the same situation as him, all the air suddenly gone from your lungs. You’re just letting out barely perceptible moans of his name on loop. 

His thighs shake as his dick finally stops pouring into you. He looks down at the ring of white sitting on the base of his dick and groans. He looks back up at you, wanting to show you the mess you’ve made on him but you’re still so far gone. Your pussy pulses around him arrhythmically as you mutter up at the ceiling, your hand stroking through his hair subconsciously. 

He’s able to come down before you. He pulls out and lays next to you, his head on your chest while he’s muttering those same, soft praises into your ear as your soul tries to find its way back to your body again. You follow the sound of his low praises, grounding you and pulling you back to reality. “-baby. I’m so in love with you. Thank you so fuckin’ much for waitin’ for me, I know it was hard, but I love you so fuckin’ much. You’re so incredible, so so incredible, baby. The best lady I know, the only lady I wanna know. You-” You have a faint, tired smile spreading across your face as he goes on, sounding more out of it than you feel.

“I love you so much, Joel.” You mean to say it softly, fondly but it comes out as something more like a sob. He gasps and looks up at you, that’s when you notice the tears that have escaped your eyes. “This is so embarrassing…” Your hands wipe at your escapee tears furiously as Joel watches you in shock.

“Hey,” He starts to wipe some of your tears away alongside you, although much more softly than your own hands. “ S’not embarrasin’.” He places an endearing kiss to your lips. “I think it’s so fuckin’ cute. The cutest things I’ve seen in years, honestly.” 

You giggle at his exaggeration and kiss his cheeks. “I’m bein’ serious, baby.” He’s giggling too now, placing kisses all over your face, stopping every tear that slips out with his lips.

“I love you so much, Joel.” You take a deep breath as his kisses slow. “It feels like my heart is being choked, squeezed, and like thrown around in my chest whenever I’m with you. I don’t even have the vocabulary to explain how much I feel for you.” 

His eyes are wide and a bit watery as you speak. One hand is on the top of your head, running over your hair as you speak while the other is on your him, his thumb stroking over the skin, sometimes lifting to draw specific patterns. “I wish I had a way to make you feel what I feel toward you, Joel. It’s so fucking much. I feel like it’s gonna explode and pour out of every orifice.” He chuckles and kisses you again, this one feels more emotional, more loving, grateful, and comforting. 

“There you go, talkin’ all proper again.” He kisses you again shortly. “I- I feel the same way darlin’. Except I know even less words to use to explain it to ‘ya. Fuck I- I fuckin’ I wish I could tell ‘ya. You- You feel like- like my whole existence. If that makes sense… No, no it doesn’t, does it? Damn. I- Shit.” You place a hand on his face and make him look at you. 

“You don’t have to say as many things as I did. You’ve already shown me that you love me through your actions… through this. I didn’t even know it could be like that, Joel. That it could- could feel that… good. I didn’t know it was a thing, and then you came in- with all your love and softness, and you showed me a whole new side of everything. I already know… is what I’m trying to say. I know you love me, Joel. I just hope you know that I love you.”

A single tear slips out of his baby cow eyes and he quickly wipes it away with a smile. “I- I know, baby. Trust me, I know.” He smiles wider and brighter than you’ve ever seen, he’s blinding you with its beauty before laying back down on the bed next to you. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you onto him. 

“You’re gonna stay, right? Sleep in here with me?” You shake your head disapointedly against his stomach.

“Obviously, I’m staying here, Joel.” The sigh of relief he lets out almost breaks your heart. You place a few kisses on his belly for reassurance. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He chuckles at your words and sounds far away, sleepy, adorable. “Okay… Good. Good, I want you to stay… ‘M gettin’ tired though, honey.” As if on cue, a yawn makes its way up and out of your mouth. “Yeah, me too. Goodnight, Joey.”

He sighs, and you can’t see it, but a smile splits his face the moment he hears the nickname. “G’night, my love.”

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist!

[redbleedingrose]

Girl Dad!Rhysand x Reader Headcanons

This male could pound me to town and I would say thank you.

A/N: Anyway, this Highkey sucks so I am so sorry. I feel like I have to ease back into writing, it has been so long since I have sat down and actually written something. It is all over the place and just not the best writing so I apologize for that. I just… my surgery rotation literally killed me. You can ask @augustinerose I was not in a good headspace. I feel like I am still recovering from that and idk… it just… I feel like it stole some part of me. I dunno, its hard to explain but it took out all the motivation I had towards writing. So easing back into things is gonna have to be the way to go. Again, I am so sorry, this is literally awful. I am gonna try to do some NSFW headcanons for girl dad!Rhys tomorrow if y’all would like. As always, a comment or reblog is much much appreciated. It always gives me the motivation and hope to continue writing.

Girl dad Rhysand is too good y’all I cannot.

Rhysand is one of the best girl dads out there.

He makes sure his baby girl and wife are taken care of to the fullest extent.

I am talking he wakes up in the middle of the night to take care of the babe, swaying her and humming Illyrian rhymes to her to calm her. He takes her out for flying, making sure to wrap her sensitive tiny wings in wool so that they can remain warm against the night court breeze whenever she is inconsolable, usually returning with her fast asleep, sucking on her tiny thumb with little grunts every so often.

The first month of the babe being home, he would sneak out of your bed just to lay down next to the crib so he could make sure that your darling babe was settled and comfortable.

He is a mother hen, glaring at Cassian for making too much noise when the babe is resting in his arms.

He likes to show her the constellations in the sky, pointing out each of the different stars and even using his powers to create mini galaxies above the crib. For her 5th birthday, he gifts her an actual star out of the sky, following the nickname, “my shining star.”

He adores her so much, there is nothing he wouldn’t do for her. She has him wrapped around her tiny fingers since the moment she grabbed onto his finger with her tiny fist. He loves reading stories to her, making sure that the nursery is filled with old children tales that are centuries old, first edition novels really, along with all of the new writings from the authors around each court. One sure fire way of calming down your babe whenever she is fussy is Rhys pulling out a book and resting back in the rocking chair with her in his arms, and reading to her the stories. He does all the different voices for different characters and even makes funny faces for your little girl to keep her entertained, and is the reason why your babe grows up to be an avid reader.

Rhysand always has the best clothes made for her. She is the best dressed babe in all of the courts, and grows up to be a fashion icon. Most of the clothes she wears are from Rhys’ mother who sewed them centuries before, just like she had for you.

He is the one to teach her how to fly, spending hours and hours, weeks and weeks away from his duties to spend some time with his favorite girl (besides you ofc) to teach her different skills. He teaches her self defense and different battle strategies, preparing her to become High Lady one day. He is patient and calm throughout the entire process, even when she throws tantrums or feels like giving up. He always knows exactly what to say, he knows exactly how to handle the situation by either giving her space or pushing her to keep going.

Your daughter loves to draw, and will often end up drawing on Rhysand’s arms and legs with a pink marker. He thinks it is the best artwork he has ever seen, and has gone as far as getting a drawing of a family of stars that she drew tattooed into left wrist.

At parties, he always makes sure to dance with her first. At first, he has her in his arms, twirling them both around while her little giggles and squeals resound against the music. Eventually, he has her standing on his shoes so he can guide the both of them, letting her grow with independence. Eventually, she learns the dance moves herself, and still to this day, they will be each others first dance.

Don’t even get me started on how girl dad Rhys takes care of you!!!!!

Literally the best husband and mate I am WEAK

This male screams self care. He wants to make sure that you are rested 24/7. No mate of his is going to be feeling exhausted. He has days where he schedules full body massages, facials, hair care treatments, manicures and pedicures. He has Morr meet you after so you can go browsing for new dresses, shoes, purses, jewelry. Whatever you wish for, it is already yours. You only need to stare for a second, and Morr is going inside to buy it, “Rhys told me to honey, you can talk to him, but honestly you deserve it” anytime you complain that she is spending too much on you.

When you come home, he has Az and Cass watching the babe for the night so he can take you out to dinner, or even just for an evening in. You cuddle up with the babe for a little while before he whisks you away into whatever extravagant things he has planned for you.

He loves having you in his lap during these free nights, one arm wrapped around your waist or hips while the other feeds you or plays with your hair, muttering to himself about how stunning you are, how lucky he is to have you, how much he adores you really.

I like to think you face each other in bed while he intertwines your legs and pulls you close into his chest, and you just get to talk about anything and everything. Any of his worries about the relations between other courts, any of his concerns regarding the night court, his desires to wanting to better the world for your daughter, he always feels like he can spill whatever he has on his mind to you in a way that he has never been able to before.

After your daughter is born, he often spends time telling her all of the things he thinks about while she lays on her belly and allows for her wings to flutter to build muscle strength.

Remember how I talked about your daughter being Rhys’ first dance? Well, you are his partner for every other dance, and always the last dance. Your poor babe is passed out in one of the chairs with Amren watching over her like a hawk, her hand patting the babes back (she has a soft spot for her, what can I say?) and you both dance and dance. Sometimes, he flys you up into the sky and dances with you among the stars, “they lie in witness to our love darling”

Again, this was terrible so thank you for sticking around if you actually read through this!

Edit: part 2

[squarebracketsmileyface]

can you tell us anything about Brian as a parent (buba, IIRC that's what his name would be)? you cannot convince me that Brian isn't the goofy/chill parent, (but not sitcom-esque bumbling idiot father) but i'd love to hear more about him from your perspective :D

YEAH! He's bubba :D

This got long so it's under the thingybobber

he's definitely the goofy/chill parent most of the time, though with the way I headcanon Tim, Brian is also the one who does most of the discipline with Birdie. He's the one who tells her off when she acts up, the one who has a much easier time saying no to her when she asks for something, the one who holds his ground on the consequences he's set for her. Like, idk in my head Tim is definitely someone who struggles massively with parenting sometimes because he's terrified that he's going to accidentally hurt Birdie, so he's a little too lenient with her. He's scared that if he tries to tell her off when she's done something wrong he'll end up shouting at her or something, stuff like that.

Like, if Birdie broke something Tim would immediately be trying to just replace it or fix it for her, yknow? Like, even if she broke it in anger not just accidentally. Before Brian comes back into their lives Birdie kinda got away with anything, because Tim was so scared that if he tried to tell her off or discipline her in any way he'd turn into a monster and hurt her somehow, or even that he'd send her away like his mum did to him. He's so scared of hurting her that he just doesn't know how to parent around it.

So when Brian comes back into his life and gets himself established as part of the family, he's the one who starts trying to help Tim figure out how to parent Birdie properly and be less scared that he'll hurt her along the way. At first Tim just wants to hand that stuff all over to Brian, he just can't stomach the idea of doing it himself, it terrifies him, so he lets Brian do it and just watches. And Brian is perfect at it. I mean, he's a teacher, he knows how to handle kids acting up, so when Birdie does he kneels down in front of her and takes her lil hands into his and just gently explains why she can't do or have something. Like, just, very softly, very quietly. He's not upset with her, not at all, he'd just like it if she could lower her voice a little, or he knows she wants X thing, but she can't right now, or would she like to go and do something else since she can't do X thing right now?

And over time of watching that Tim would get more comfortable with knowing that you can discipline a child without being cruel. So he starts copying Brian (with Brian hovering over his shoulder the whole time 'just in case' as Tim says) and Brian's so fucking proud because Tim's so much more confident and Birdie's definitely a lot less spoiled now lol.

Brian's still definitely the one who plays all the crazy games with Birdie though. Very silly, fun parent. Like, he's always down to play dress up or have tea parties or read a bedtime story or whatever. Tim is too, but Brian's just so much better at it, yknow? He always puts his all into it. If Birdie wants to play doctor Brian pulls out all the stops to be a patient on his death bed. If Birdie wants to go to the park and look for bugs Brian's gonna make sure they have everything they need, notebooks, pens, magnifying glasses, even one of those little pooter jars to suck insects into so they can look at them more easily. They'll spent the entire afternoon in the park with Brian's freewheel on looking for bugs and he'll listen so intently to everything Birdie tells him about the ones they catch.

Also back to Brian just being so much more fun to play with than Tim sometimes. It's definitely not that Tim doesn't also pull out all the stops when Birdie wants to play a game with him. It's just that sometimes he's able to get into the right headspace for it a lot better. (aka Tim might be a system and has no fucking idea, so sometimes there's actually a little fronting who is far better at playing make believe games etc)

But yeah, Brian's definitely the goofy chill parent and he will let Birdie get away with a lot, but when it comes down to it he can also be the responsible one. Tim is still responsible, he just has a much harder time enforcing boundaries with Birdie about what she is and isn't allowed to have and do at first because he's so scared of hurting her. But then Brian shows up and proves you can parent a child without being cruel to them :D

hooray for Brian, basically.

I love him.

[specialgradefckr]

Right now I’m just passing through cause I came across one of your fluffier fics, but I gotta say, I LOVE how fucked up your fucked up content is.

Idk why, but coming across something and then having a definitive moment of just “this was not meant for me” or “I’m gonna need to be in a very specific mindset for this” makes me feel good. I think it’s cause seeing people be unabashedly doing their own shit makes me happy, even if I don’t get it.

BUT ALSO, (the ones I did read as I was figuring out if I vibe or not) are so gd interesting especially the ones where Gojo has a twin! Cause you’re doing something that, according to cliche, should’ve made him “better” (using that term very loosely here)

Cause so much of Gojo’s character and his flaws are defined by his isolation, giving him a sibling, even better a sibling who is there every step of the way, should be the better option right!?

NO! He’s just a different flavor of fucked up now, enmeshment, emotional/physical incest, codependency.

And even within in that you’ve gone different routes. she’s his sole reason for compliance, for meaning. She’s always been there and always will be, so why should he worry about her? “He loves her like he loves air, always certain it will be there when he needs it…” FUCK—-!

It expresses an interpretation of the character I very much appreciate, even if seeing it explored is something I need to be in a certain headspace for.

Keep fucking and keep it fucked! 🤘

omg the maturity. the style. the grace. may every internet goer have even a fraction of your mental prowess because it really do be like that!!!

like. not every fic is for everyone, and even for the people a fic is for, it's not for them at every time. even i, who regularly writes noncon/emotional manipulation/toxic shit and worse, i've got a few fics i like but i can't always read it,,, i have to be in the right mood

i really appreciate this sentiment too!! bc ngl i have a lot of like. niche stuff going for me. i have very particular desires and tastes and my inspiration can be so fickle and fleeting that i just. grasp onto every idea i get. i've learned to follow my passion, bc otherwise, the passion dries up, you know?

in fairness to twincest!gojo, he's experiencing a different childhood from canon gojo. canon gojo was ostensibly spoiled (although taken away from his parents), but he ran away from home often, and he became very emotionally stunted and lonely. he's also sort of a huge dick in high school too sfjhglshdfg.

twincest!gojo seems like an equally shitty person because you're seeing him in the context of relationships. but twincest!gojo is actually a bit more slutty bubbly and friendly than canon!gojo - i think canon!gojo never slept with geto, but this twincest!gojo knows how fulfilling and comforting intimacy can be, and he's not afraid of rejection because he always has someone to fall back on.

but you're right in that it makes him worse in different ways - he literally kicks your parents out when they want to be real parents to the only child that they might actually be allowed to raise. he's possessive and wildly entitled in ways canon!gojo never got to be.

he really does always just expect you to be there. in his mind, the struggles you have - being in his shadow, the only significance of your life being how much he cares about you, the fear of being abandoned - they literally don't even exist. he doesn't know about them at all.

but even he can see your world getting bigger, just as his is. he can feel adulthood pulling on him, life is changing, and he's afraid of that. he never grew up - never learned emotional regulation, never learned how to actively empathize with others, because you did that for him without him asking - like an accessory organ.

nothing stays the same forever. but i'm still contemplating the different ways it can go so stay tuned,, whenever you're feeling up to it! i'm really glad i got this much thought out of you, the twincest dynamics were so fun to write!

[v3nusxsky]

Hi, I’m can you write an age regression fic

Larissa x reader

Reader is nonverbal and very emotional and just needs comfort but Larissa is in her office so reader goes in with a blanket and stuffie. Also is like sensitive to noise and just needs to be held and babied to the extreme and made feel safe to be vulnerable maybe cries a little

Idk those are all my emotions basically and I’m just feeling small and vulnerable and it’s like I can’t talk and idk it’s overwhelming

My safe person| Agere

*Authors note~ I love the idea of writing this and getting more representation for selective mutism and other kinds of non verbal. And you know who you are and why I added the description for the hug. Self indulgent fic 👀*

Trigger warnings~ selective mutism sensory overload

Prompt~ see ask^^^

+

I love all your works, can I make a request where r is having a bad day so larissa gives them cuddles and kisses and just genuine love and care by @dopenightmaretyphoon

☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎

You were having a rough week, your girlfriend knew that. After all it was exam week for the potions students and there were many ways it could all go terribly wrong. Although your class size wasn't too overwhelming, after all there wasn't many soccer's attending Nevermore, but they all were at different stages and abilities. You couldn't blame the students for being stressed, after all they had so many exams coming up that yours was just the start of.

After a particularly stressful mock exam, where one of your students had temporarily given a student a mix of truth and love potions instead of just one, all you wanted was to seek out your girlfriend. You knew that the stress would also be worrying her, you knew how much strain she would take just to ensure that her staff managed to stay afloat, hell that woman would happily run herself into the ground as long as Nevermore and those within its walls thrived.

After class ended for the day it was pure routine that you'd go sit in your girlfriends office, sometimes you'd mark or lesson plan. Sometimes you'd even sit in silence together as she worked. Today however, as soon as you laid eyes on your girlfriend you could feel a slip approaching and approaching fast. "Sweetheart? Are you okay?" Your girlfriend asked, peering up over her laptop in conversation, you'd normally come straight in and kiss her hello before settling down next to her at her desk or on the sofa in front of the fire.

With teary eyes you made your way to her, she knew then what was happening. It was as if she could see the headspace changing. "Little love?" She murmured watching as you nodded, the tears finally spilling from your eyes. Immediately, Larissa reaching into her desk draw and pulled out your office versions of your favourite stuffie and fluffy blanket. You had the exact replica in the bedroom incase you slipped there.

Climbing onto her lap into a koala style hug as she wrapped the blanket over your shoulders and nuzzled the small stuffed bear in between your body and hers. "It's okay little love, momma has you, you don't have to talk darling" she whispered rubbing your back soothingly, she knew how much you needed reassurance during this non verbal periods, something she'd happily provide.

It was approaching meal time when the halls began to get loud, due to the old building the sounds carried into her office. You began to cry quietly and place your hands over your ears in an attempt to block it out. "Shhh little love, you're okay darling. You're okay. Momma is here sweetheart" she coed at you swaying her legs side to side in an attempt to soothe you while you were clearly overwhelmed. You both stayed like this for some time, just allowing you to breathe.

Here in her arms was where you felt the safest, so it was unsurprising to her when you wriggled in her lap and peaked over your blanket. After a few seconds of watching the older woman you brought your index finger to gently poke her cheek. "Hmm. Hello my little love are we back from hiding now?" She murmured softly bringing her gaze to yours. With a nod you wriggled some more and pointed to your lips. Larissa knew this sign, a kiss. So she leant down to place loads of little soft kisses all over your face, loving how your smile lit up your eyes. "There's my baby."

Before snuggling back into the older woman you held up your right hand putting your middle and ring finger down to your palm. I love you which Larissa chuckled and respond that she loved you also and reassured you that you could stay here as long as you wanted, no pressure to talk, she just wanted you to be happy and if this was what you needed then she was glad to provide that for you.

Word count~ 838