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kaitsawamura · 3 years

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would you like to stay forever?

SUMMARY⎮ Sparring with Pro Hero Kirishima Eijiro in his private gym at his home doesn't seem like a bad idea if you don't count the fact that you really, really like him.

STATS⎮ minors do not interact, 18+ ⎮ Rating: M (for mature) ⎮ WC: 5525 ⎮ Pairing: Pro Hero Kirishima Eijiro x Fem!Reader ⎮ Tags: Aged Up Character(s), Friends to Lovers, Sparring, Smut, Fluff, Age/Experience Gap (if you really squint) ⎮ AO3

NOTES⎮ Thanks to @spacelabrathor for listening to me scream about this and to @some-kindofgnome for fueling my Kiri fever dreams. Yes, that title is based on a Mulan quote. This whole fic was based on THIS POST and Kirishima seemed like the perfect character for this pwp. Hope y'all enjoy! (Also please for the love of God, click on the banner to see in HD if you’re on mobile, it looks so much better lol)

It was Saturday and even though you’re on your way to becoming a Pro Hero, you can think of several things you’d rather be doing with your one day off than going to Kirishima Eijiro’s house to spar. But here you are pulling into his driveway, going over combat moves in your head as if your life depended on it. They weren’t really serving their purpose which was to distract yourself. Kiri had offered up his personal gym, encouraged you to stop by with one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing the back of his neck as if he was nervous.

A couple of his friends had already taken him up on the offer. You were the only one he’d offered who hadn’t come over yet. He had texted you a couple of weeks later saying he was starting to take it personally… and then immediately texted with a laughing emoji just to clarify he was only giving you a hard time. It brings a smile to your face now as you remember it. Yesterday he had also clarified it would just be the two of you if you were self-conscious sparring in front of other people. You’d have the whole place to yourselves. Like that should mean something. Which it did. It does , you realize with butterflies growing in your stomach. Kiri doesn’t need to know that though.

The two of you had been toeing around something since you had been hired at Fatgum’s Agency a year ago. Neither of you had made a move. Kirishima, the Red Riot, was a big Pro Hero and while you took pride in your quirk, it didn’t hold a coin to some of the others you’d come in contact with. It had surprised you when Toyomitsu had brought you on. But he had mumbled something about “liking your spunk” and that he thought a teleportation quirk would be a useful one to add to his agency. The first day you had shown up, Kiri had immediately caught your eye. Not for the obvious reasons. Obvious reasons being the fact that he was climbing the Pro Hero charts or the fact that he had a dynamically interesting quirk or that at twenty-five he was already built like a brickhouse.

Those were all valid reasons, yes, but what had pulled you in was his smile and his genuine interest in you outside of your quirk. But he was just like that you had quickly discovered. He knew everyone’s coffee order and what they liked for lunch. He knew when to push and when to back off. He knew when to talk and when to listen , knew when he still had a lesson to learn. The kids flocked to him. Even now you’re still entirely convinced that’s actually his quirk, getting people to like him. It’s not a difficult thing to do though.

Your brain stutters back to the present when a text notification pings from your cell phone as you sit in Kiri’s driveway, picking at non-existent lint on your gym shorts. The cute ones you’re still convincing yourself were your only clean pair and that’s the only reason you wore them.

KIRI : i saw u pull up, u gonna come in or what 😂

Had he been waiting for you to get there? You tapped out a quick response, one that hid the little flip in your stomach at the thought: creeper, you were watching for me lmao

Response bubbles immediately flash on your phone screen but you’re angling out of your car and shutting the door before he can reply.

Somehow, this house fits Kiri perfectly. It isn’t big. You had seen pictures of other top-ranking Pros’ houses. Enji Todoroki’s house, for example, was fucking ridiculous. But even without a massive floor plan, Kiri’s house is nicer than any you’d been in for some time. Clean, straight lines and lots of windows. In fact, you can see straight through the floor-to-ceiling windows out to his backyard when you reach the front door. Is that a pool ? Kiri had tons of fun showing pictures at the agency; it was a well-deserved investment for his already multiple years of service as a Pro. The pictures hadn’t done the place justice though.

Kiri comes to the door, throwing it wide open with a huge grin that shows off his sharp teeth. You ignore the way your mouth goes dry as he drags you in, babbling on like an excited little kid at you actually coming.

“I really thought you were gonna back out! I mean, that would have been fine, of course. I just can’t see the point of having the whole place to myself all the time.” He’s irresistibly cute, walking around showing you the living room and the kitchen and pointing out to the backyard where, yes, there is indeed a pool. “You can come over any time and use that too if you want!” You thank him, warmth pooling in your stomach at how incredibly nice he is.

“Uh, we should probably get in the gym. I have… stuff to do later,” you finish lamely. You don’t have anything to do later but very quickly you’re realizing how far out of your depth you are here. The familiar beginnings of the head over heels fall is washing over you in steady waves. But you’re coworkers and the thought of coming to work every day and having to see his adorable face and not doing anything about it is almost making you nauseous.

“Oh, yeah, it’s just down the hallway,” he rumbles, leading the way and you follow trying and failing miserably to calm the nerves flashing through your veins. You’re here alone with Kiri , the man you’ve been crushing on since you’d started working with him a year ago. And now your stupid brain isn’t just thinking about what it would feel like to run your tongue along his teeth or how his hands would feel between your legs. No, your stupid brain is thinking about what Kiri looks like when he first opens his eyes in the morning.

Your one-track mind is not getting any help, especially when Kiri walks through the doorway of the gym addition and immediately proceeds to pull his shirt up and over his shoulders and tosses it to the side. Shit. His back muscles ripple with the movement and when he turns to face you, it’s heart-wrenchingly obvious that he has no idea the effect he’s having on you. He has to know . Doesn’t he? From your end, it seems wildly obvious that someone as good-looking as him should know .

You glance around, eternally grateful for the fact that the gym is also attractive. Floor to ceiling windows span two of the walls here as well and there’s a large set of French doors leading out to the yard. You find yourself actually in awe when you get a better look at the landscaping. It’s so green . There’s a small patch of lawn but the rest is just artfully arranged native flora and fauna. Violets, tulips. Huge hosta plants. And cherry trees heavy with their signature sakura blossoms.

“Kiri, it’s beautiful!” He comes to stand beside you, looking out the French doors as well.

“You like it? I guess it is pretty nice, huh?” You glance up at him, your chest expanding on a lurch looking at his smile. You’d never noticed before but he has a light dusting of freckles across his nose.

“Yeah, really nice.” You look out again, letting the silence grow until it feels like the most comfortable thing in the world. After what seems like an eternity Kiri clears his throat, rocking back on the balls of his feet. “What are you thinking for today?” The question leaves your lips and you’re immediately regretting it; your stomach flips again when Kiri looks at you like you’re prey.

“Close combat, hand-to-hand combat. You did mention a while ago you wanted to strengthen that, right?” You throw your head back, rolling your eyes, and groan. The two of you make your way to the center of the mat.

“Yeah, I mean, I’d be scared to take me on too,” Kiri says, large hands on even larger hips. He isn’t as tall as some of the other heroes at six foot three inches but he’s wide , thick. You know for a fact you couldn’t wrap your arms around his waist and have your hands meet. He’s wearing the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen. The sharpened points of his canines are out and on prominent display. Famous last words you think as a snarl erupts on your face.

“I’m not scared , Kiri. I just don’t want to wear you out . You’re a Pro Hero. You’re on the job a lot more than I am. Plus, you’re getting kind of old. Is that a little gray I see coming in?” Kiri bares his teeth even more but it’s not lost on you that he quickly reaches up to rake his fingers through his hair. There isn’t any gray, obviously , but the thought has Red Riot distracted. Distracted enough that when you plant your feet and your fist connects with his face, your knuckles hit skin and not the reinforced rock of his quirk.

“ Shit.” Kiri takes a step back, reaching up to cradle his jaw. His tongue swipes out to lick at the blood on his bottom lip. His vermillion eyes find yours and if you didn’t work with him on a regular basis, you would have felt fear at this moment. You know he wouldn’t hurt you but even now, a thrill races through your veins like electricity. He looks as if he’s going to devour you. You take your own step back, readying your quirk, reaching out to it as your fists hold their position in front of your body. A dark chuckle spills from his chest as Kiri calls on his own quirk.

Now it was your turn to be distracted; you had always been fascinated by Kiri’s quirk, the way his body looked when it hardened up. The ripples of muscle still visible under the toughened skin. The divots and ridges and how they mapped their way across his shoulders and chest and abdomen. You knew how it felt to the touch in fake combat. The Fatgum heroes all took pride in maintaining a healthy routine; sparring was a common workout that was previously done at a local public gym. You wonder absently what it would feel like to touch him slow and at the moment. When you could give extra attention with extra time.

Kiri closes the space between the two of you at the moment your mind strays and you barely are able to teleport out of the way to avoid him crashing into you. You try to take a swipe at him as you materialize from in front of him to behind but this time he’s ready for you and he’s using his quirk. Instead of moving out of the way, he plants his feet and allows your punch to hit. Pain radiates up through your fingers and wrist. It always irritated you that you had to prepare yourself to strike Kiri when he was using his quirk. Otherwise, you’d be in for a whole lot of hurt every time you landed a punch.

Teleportation is a pretty handy quirk. It gives you a pretty good advantage the more you work on your close combat skills. The trick with Kiri was to keep going at him until he ran out of energy. You hadn’t gotten to that point yet; your quirk had its limits as well. You were only two years out of UA, Kiri was out by seven. His strength was already fairly unmatched; sparring with him was always good practice. You relish the thought of the day you can win a sparring session without tapping out. It surges through you like pure energy.

You teleport to stand in front of him again, shifting your weight into your hips and up through your right hook. This time your fist connects with Kiri’s side and he lets out a small grunt. Your fingers don’t hurt so bad this time and by the time Kiri is retaliating, you jump back a few feet. He hmms, a sound that reverberates from his chest.

“That’s all well and good but how do you expect to do anything if you jump that far away?” He lunges forward at a running start, leaping at the last second, sending his gloved fist into your stomach. You were fast, but still not always fast enough. You double over, the air rushing from your lungs and your pre-workout protein smoothie threatening to exit back the way it went in. Sweat is already beading on your brow and sliding under your tank top. You take a few breaths through your nose when an idea pops into your head; you stay bent over. “Hey, I didn’t hit you that hard. You good?”

Kiri comes to stand in front of you, leaving him vulnerable. He can’t see your smirk until it’s too late. You wail on him, using some of the basic combos he’s taught you before today. Satisfaction rolls through you when he actually takes a step back. But then he puts his arms up in front of him, clenching his abdomen and bending inward to protect his core. He drops just a fraction and before you realize what’s happening, he’s swiping his leg out to push through yours. You watch in slow motion as you see his laughing face then the ceiling of the gym as you flip and land on your back.

If you thought you were out of breath before… “Fuuu-.” It’s a wheeze that feels like it’s ripping your chest open. You’re seeing stars. Kiri stands over you, hands on his hips again. You stare at his face; the hero has his hair pulled back into a bun. You snort, rolling your eyes. Why does he still look so fucking good? The sweat has caused some of the pieces falling out of his hair tie to curl. His hair has curl to it? You’ve never noticed before, considering he always gels it into spikes. You like the curl. “Are you--are you gonna help me up, or what?” It was still painful to talk.

Kiri tilts his head to the side, just slightly, and crosses his arms. “I’m thinking not. Last time I let down my guard you got those good combos in.” You stare in stunned silence, sitting up so you’re supported by your elbows. Kiri shifts slightly and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he’s backing up to… get a better view.

“Is that any way to treat your student, Red Riot?” You know you get under his skin when he clicks his tongue against his teeth and holds out a hand with a begrudging eye roll. He pulls you up with ease, quickly enough that you almost lose your balance, swaying into his space. You look up, eyes moving back and forth between his.

He draws in a breath and drags his bottom lip between his teeth. “First of all,” he says as he places his hands on your upper arms, “I’m not your teacher. I’m not that much older than you. Secondly,” he mutters as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, “our relationship isn’t that formal is it?” He’s so fucking close. This is getting dangerous. Dangerous because Kiri is within kissing distance. Dangerous because this gentle side of him is making you lose more breath than falling on your ass. Dangerous because the thought of Kiri taking you on the floor right now is almost too much to bear.

So you fall back on what you’re here to do. Fight. You flash him a wicked smile before rallying your quirk and teleporting a few feet away. His hand is still raised in mid-air and when his head whips to look in your direction, his crimson eyes are narrowed and his nostrils are flared. He laughs and rolls his neck, dancing on his toes.

“Okay. I see. I’m not gonna go easy on you, you know?” You snort and put your fists up in front of you again.

“As if you were going easy on me before, Kiri. Bring it on.” He smiles, the sharp points of his teeth enough to make your thoughts swerve again before you bring them under control. “Bring it on,” you whisper more to yourself as you brace for the fight.

Two hours later, you feel the strain in your muscles. Your quirk is running low on reserves and you know you won’t be able to use it much more. Kiri looks like he hasn’t wasted a breath but you can see he’s getting tired in the way his feet don’t move as sharply. And if the length of time he’s using his quirk is any indication to his state of mind, you know the two of you will be calling it a day soon. But you’re also both stubborn. And you’re dying to get one more good move in on him.

The cockiness the two of you had at the beginning of the sparring session hasn’t gone away but has burned hot into determination. No more smiles, only clear-headed concentration. The two of you are an arm's length from each other, throwing various punches and switching quickly between using your quirks and not. You’re breathing hard, sweat gathering at your brow as you throw another right hook that Kiri easily blocks.

“Get out of your head. You can be too predictable sometimes.” He doesn’t mean for it to come across as rude but the words strike a match to a guttering fire. You bare your own teeth at Kiri even though they aren’t sharp and probably don’t look nearly as threatening but it helps you feel powerful nonetheless. You drop without a second thought, lowering to your palms and sweeping your leg out in front of you in a wide arc. A grin spreads across your face when your calf meets Kiri’s ankle. He’s too physically dense for this move to work if he had seen it coming. But he doesn’t. And his solid 220 pounds of muscle falls hard.

You allow yourself the satisfaction of the moment for only a split second; Kiri’s recovery time is much shorter than yours so it isn’t long before he’s scrambling forward. He goes straight for your wrists to subdue you but with a smirk, you realize in his haste he’s put himself in the perfect position for you to possibly gain the upper hand. You scoot up away from him just enough to drag his arm forward and swing your legs around his neck. Then you elevate your hips and lock your core.

It’s over from there as you squeeze with every last ounce of strength left in your body. It doesn’t take long for him to tap out. You release as soon as you feel his loose hand tap your arm; he collapses over you and you’re too tired to move away or push him off. Now his breathing is rough and you feel a surge of pride. You reach up and place your hand on his head where his bun has come undone; he’s so heavy but it doesn’t feel bad. In fact, the feel of Kirishima resting his head and upper chest on your stomach is feeling nothing short of good . He’s still between your legs and suddenly the air is crackling with a new kind of energy when you gently comb your fingers through his hair.

He rises up, his hands on either side of you. His hips rest between your legs; the mingled heat radiating from both of you is almost more than you can take but there is no way you’re going to move anywhere. He leans forward, so close you can see the flecks of burnt orange in his eyes. If you moved forward just a little, you could close that space between you. He leans down more, his mouth right next to the shell of your ear.

“Maybe not always predictable. You did good today. Probably some of the best fighting I’ve seen from you so far. Keep it up.” He grunts, a shift of his hips allowing the curve of his cock to brush against your clothed sex through his gym shorts. He stiffens in what you think might be embarrassment. “Shit, sorry, let me just, uh--” The stuttering mess he becomes right before your eyes makes something lurch in your chest; you reach for his face without thinking.

“Kiri,” you whisper, rolling your own hips against his. His cheeks are burning a shade of red almost as vibrant as his hair. You bring up your other hand, holding his face between them and bringing him down to settle over you once more. Your lips meet his; he seems to war with himself for just a moment. A suspended second in time. But then he gives in, slipping his tongue against yours in a delicious sliding vision of what’s coming.

He reaches between you to slip his hand under your tank top; his hand is big and nearly encompasses your side. But it’s warm and gentle. Gentle. Who would have guessed that Red Riot could be so fucking gentle? But he is and when his hand moves lower to slide below the hem of your shorts, you give yourself to him with no reservations. His middle finger passes through the mess of your sex; a hissed breath rattles through his chest as your back arches on a ragged groan.

“ Shit. You’re so wet .” He slides his finger back and forth, gathering your slick on the thick digit. He takes his hand away and you mewl. “Can I?” He asks breathlessly as he hooks his hands on the hem of your shorts. You nod, eyes half-lidded. He pulls them down along with your underwear and the way he looks at you, at what’s between your legs, you don’t even have the wherewithal to feel self-conscious. Adoration. It’s the only word you can think of and it makes you wonder if you’d made a mistake waiting so long.

He’s on his knees when he takes your legs and drapes them on either side of his hips; this time he doesn’t hesitate in slipping his finger into your cunt. You nearly see stars just from that and if one finger is any indication, you’re in for it. Slowly, he adds another, his hand pumping into you in a steady rhythm. You’re grabbing for the ground, grabbing for him as a strangled noise pushes from your throat. He reaches out with his other hand to splay it across your sternum and it’s the only thing anchoring you as he adds the third finger before scooting down to put his mouth on your clit.

“ Kiri,” you keen, shoving your hips into his touch, frantically scrabbling for his wrist that’s on your chest just to have something to hold on to. He’s done this before, he’s had to. He’s too good. Too fucking good. Already there’s coiling in your gut as incomprehensible words tumble from your mouth. “Shit. Shit. Kiri I’m--I’m gonna--” He rumbles approvingly against your clit; the vibrations send you closer and closer to the edge and when it crests, your back arches near pain as you cry out, your voice echoing in the gym. It’s deep, roaring through all of your limbs but Kiri keeps going, fingers still pumping, tongue still swirling around your sensitive nub.

Another orgasm breaks over you sharp and quick and the overstimulation has your legs quaking as your arousal gushes over Kiri’s hand and tongue. But then he’s moving again, and you’re blearily aware that he’s shoving his own shorts and boxers past his hips to free his cock. You stare as it bounces back to sit near the planes of his stomach; it’s already leaking steadily with precum. Kiri looks back at you and when your eyes meet, you dart your tongue out between your lips to wet them. Another time, maybe.

Kiri leans forward to lift you up and the closer you get you can barely see any red in his eyes; his pupils are blown, his nostrils flared as he lifts you like you weigh nothing . He could snap you like a twig. But he won’t. You know without a doubt this is the safest you’ve ever felt, even as he lowers you slowly over his cock and it does feel like you’re being split .

“ Fuuuck…” You wrap your legs around him, your mouth dropped open, your hands gripping his shoulders. You try not to dig your nails in but it’s almost impossible with how you’re being filled. You knew Kiri was big but this was almost too much. His forehead drops to yours as he pants. But he’s not moving, won’t move until you tell him to. It makes your heart ache and your cunt floods, drunk on the affection thrumming through your veins. You roll your hips experimentally and the friction is bliss. “Oh fuck, ohfuck.” You move again, pushing yourself up and back down, listening to the hitch in his breathing. “ Kiri, please, ” you whisper. Those words… they’re enough.

Kirishima grips you by the hips, his fingers splayed and digging into the flesh; it’ll leave bruises and the knowledge cracks through you like electricity. Let him leave marks. Let him leave them everywhere. He’s moving you up and down his cock, grunting, mumbling. “Tell me, Kiri, tell me.” His eyes meet yours again and his own mouth drops open.

“Fuck, you’re so good. S’ tight. Jesus, I-- ” Kiri moves his hands from your hips to support you as he lays you down on the floor of the gym. The idea should be questionable but it’s not, it’s fucking not and you can’t concentrate on any other thoughts when Kiri grabs your wrists and pins them gently above your head with one hand while the other comes back to your hip. He thrusts into you at a brutal pace but… it feels like home and you think in that moment as your cunt begins to seize around his cock that you would give up forever to continue touching him.

“Yes, Kiri, yes. Right there, right--shit yesyes yes. ” He pistons up, the veins of his cock rubbing just right and when he releases the grip on your hands, they’re moving to wrap around him on instinct. He’s planting kisses along your jaw, mouthing up to your lips and back down to graze his teeth over your pulse point. “Do it, fuckin’ do it, let them know ‘m yours, ” you slur and when he bites down you crash over the edge on a groan that’s really more of a scream. Everything goes black but you're cradling him to you as his movements become more erratic. The snapping of his hips is getting sloppier by the second and a steady growl punches from his lungs with each breath. “Cum, Kirishima, cum inside me.”

He’s never heard those words before and it lights a fire in his veins. His head is buzzing and then he can’t hear anything as his cock releases and he’s spurting searing hot ropes of cum into your cunt. He goes until you’ve milked every last drop from him and he’d be lying if he said his world didn't suddenly feel whole. Finally, his body settles and his chest drops to yours. Everything slowly bleeds back into focus and somehow, everything seems more colorful than it did moments before. You’re still clinging to him.

“Kiri. Kiri, babe, I can’t breathe,” you say and he slowly rises, taking in your blissed-out expression. Your eyes can barely stay open, your cheeks are flushed. He backs up to see his handiwork on display, hyper-focused on the trail of the mingling cum dripping from the mess of your sex. But you’re smiling. Lazy and tired, completely at ease. “Wanna take a shower?” When you nod he doesn’t hesitate in standing to kick his underwear and shorts the rest of the way off his legs and then he’s grabbing you, scooping you into his arms and against his chest. He pads out of the gym and across the hall to his bathroom where he deposits you on your feet, only after he’s sure you can stand and only long enough to turn the shower head-on.

He puts his hand under the water, waiting for it to get warm. Steam billows from behind the glass door when he’s turning back to you to remove your tank top and your sports bra. Thank god you chose the front-closure one today; you didn’t think either one of you wanted to struggle to get one up over your head right now. When your breasts spill out of the high-impact fabric, you notice with tender amusement that his cock is half-hard again. His eyes go dark again and he leans in for a kiss. But it's slow and sweet.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful," he whispers. He ignores his arousal, ushering you into the stream of water. Your care is the only thing that matters to him right now. The heat slides across your body, and when Kirishima steps up behind you and begins soaping up your shoulders, it feels like heaven .

You take turns washing each other until you’re both blissed out in a different kind of way and the only thing either one of you can think about is sleep. But the afterglow is fading and doubt is creeping in. When you step out of the water, you stand awkwardly as Kiri hands you a towel. “You okay?” He’s actually concerned and you can’t put your finger on why you’re so fucking grateful for it.

“Yea, just tired. I should, uh, probably get going.” Kiri freezes and you think you’ve said something wrong, already crossed a line. Your brain is like a broken record as the stomach-curdling image of having to see him at the agency flashes across your eyes in vivid detail. But then he’s stepping into your space and pulling you in for a hug. A hug.

“Don’t go,” he whispers into the crown of your head and it has you smiling like an idiot against his chest. His skin smells clean and warm with a hint of spice. You bury your face further in as you nod against him. Then he’s leading you to his room, to the king-sized bed. He peels back the comforter and the white sheets and pulls you in beside him. Your back is against him and he hooks his foot around your ankles, bringing you even closer.

He doesn’t say anything more, just lets out a huge sigh as he wraps his arm around you. The last thing you notice before your eyes flutter shut is how your heartbeats are thumping at the same steady rhythm.

Late afternoon sunlight slants in Kirishima’s bedroom window, creating interesting patterns across his blanket. It’s pushed towards the end of the bed, your legs intertwined and tangled in the sheets. He’s still dozing, his breathing not quite that of someone sleeping but not of a person fully awake. You reach out to cup his cheek, stroke above his eyebrows, caress his lips with your thumb. A contented sigh leaves his chest as he grabs your hand and kisses your wrist. His eyes are open now and he watches you. You smile at him, snuggling closer, not wanting the moment to end.

“Hey,” he says quietly, suddenly serious. “I just want you to know, I don’t do this all the time. I mean, I’ve been with other people before but I don’t… I don’t really hook up .” Things start clicking into place as you realize what he’s trying to get across. He just fucked you stupid in his personal gym and somehow he looks bashful. And because you love it, you’re not going to help him along. You just watch, biting your lip to keep from giggling. “I just. I guess what I’m trying to say is I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. And normally I would have wined and dined you first but... Well. Here we are. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

That’s the last straw; your laughter comes bubbling out of you and Kiri is leaning back to look at you with a quizzical expression on his face. “Is something funny?” That just makes you laugh a little harder but the confused look he’s wearing has you leaning in to press your lips against his.

“I’ve liked you from the first day I met you, Kiri. I’ll one-up your offer and tell you that I might like to stay forever.” A grin rips across his face and your heart blooms with warmth and affection. The world seems full of possibilities but none of them matter except for the possibility laying right in front of you.

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima eijiro #kirishima eijirou #pro hero kirishima #red riot #kirishima smut #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #kaitsuki writes #oh my god i had such brain block #writing this one #because i get too in my head writing smut #BUT i hope everyone still enjoys #we stan kiri in this house

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luminnara · 3 years

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It’s Been a Long, Long Time | Ch 8 NSFW 18+ ONLY

Summary: When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Part One | .... | Part Nine

Warnings: A/b/o, knotting, nsfw, sexy stuff, some weight related talk

Tags: @kyrah-williams @oceanmermaidwitch @shawnie--jo @super-cape @ferxaniti @namjoonwatcheshentai @fandomsstolemylife00 @youngblood199456 @nightlygiggless @darlingely @ bluemoon-icecream @kaz11283 @jenjen8675309 @dollfacev8 @witchinpractice @mystical-b3ar @sukeraa @momc95 @book-lover-2006 @rebekkah119 @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker

“I never got the chance to do this back in the day, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky grunted.

“Mhm. You were always more the…’turn around, I’m mounting you here and now’ type.”

“Can’t imagine why.” He mumbled.

Bucky was on his back, his wrists tied to the bedposts. It was something he would consider a compromising position, all of his decades of training and his own instincts telling him that he was too exposed and therefore in danger.

He trusted her, though, and because of that, he liked it. There was something sexy about being bound with your own leather belt, especially when a cute little omega was the one doing the tying.

“The big, scary Winter Soldier, on his back? For me?” Amoretta teased, as if she hadn't been the one who put him there.

“Don’t get used to it,” he growled.

“Unless you decide you love it,” She purred, ghosting a hand over his abs.

He tensed and then flexed. “I love anything involving you, doll.”

She let out a light, twinkling laugh. “Flexing? You’re such a show off. You don’t have to prove how tough you are to me, I already know.”

“Can’t help it.” He growled again.

She hummed quietly, sliding her hand up to his chest. “You’re just a big teddy bear.”

“I’m not a bear,” Bucky huffed, looking at her incredulously, as if the thought was absolutely ridiculous.

“No?” Amoretta asked. “Then what are you? A big pussycat?”

“The Wakandans call me White Wolf.”

“A wolf, huh? Nonna always used to say you can never tame a wolf.” She laid on his chest, looking up at him. “I don’t think I want to, though. I want you wild and free.”

“...you flipped me over and tried to hogtie me.”

“Well...yeah. But I wanna try being on top!”

Her little whine was just too cute for him to argue with.

“Then why don’t you get up and fuckin’ ride me?” He snapped, trying to encourage her to actually get a move on.

“Because I want to make you wait,” Amoretta purred, stretching up to nip at his earlobe while one of her hands drifted down his stomach. “I’ve never gotten to be with you when you aren’t all rut-crazy. I want to play with you…”

“Then do it faster!” He let his head fall back onto the pillows with a frustrated groan as her fingers brushed over his pelvis.

He was hard again, and all he wanted to do was bury himself inside of her and knot her again and again and again. He ached for her, impatient, breathy huffs and growls leaving his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut. She was a tease. Of course she was a fucking tease. At the rate things were going, she would be able to get him to do absolutely anything by the time the night was over, as long as it meant that he could feel the way her pussy milked his cock.

“The more impatient you are, the slower I’ll go,” she cooed, ghosting her nails around the base of his shaft.

Bucky snorted angrily, picking his head up again to look at her. “At least use your mouth. I’m dyin’ here.”

“Hey, I’m in charge right now,” she reminded him.

She slid down the bed anyways.

There was already a big bead of precum on the tip of his cock, and when she swept her tongue over it, he let out the loudest, deepest, filthiest moan she had ever heard. The sound had her pressing her thighs together, desperately trying to ignore the slick that was pooling onto the sheets beneath her as she gave him another taste. She wanted to be in charge for once, and at the moment, that meant trying to control her own urges while she teased her alpha.

His groans and growls were reverberating through his whole body as she wrapped her lips around his cock. He wanted to grab her hair and guide her head, but every time he tried to move, he was reminded that his wrists were bound and he had nowhere to go.

It was frustrating.

“Fuck,” he moaned, defeated. “Take it all...c’mon, doll, please…I know you can…”

His encouragement made her hum happily as her head bobbed up and down. Each time, she took more and more of him into her throat, until her nose was pressing against his pelvis and drool was running down her chin.

Bucky was trying his hardest to stay still. He wanted to enjoy the moment, not fuck it up, but god, did he want to absolutely rail her throat. With his hands literally tied, though, all he could do was try to roll his hips up towards her, desperately trying to thrust in and out of her mouth and maintain some semblance of control.

Amoretta was taking it in stride, relaxing her throat and holding onto his thighs to steady herself. Her tongue was slipping around his cock, her spit dripping down onto his balls as he let out a symphony of dirty sounds that ranged from needy to furious.

“Please,” he whined. “Fuck, baby, please...untie my hands, let me cum….”

She looked up at him with those big doe eyes, and it was enough to make him unravel. Seeing her there between his legs, her perfect lips wrapped around his cock, was probably the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

And it was just for him.

“Fuck…” he moaned, his voice low as he came into her throat. His hips pressed forward with each wave that passed through him, the feeling of her throat tightening and swallowing only urging him to give her every last drop he had.

Amoretta had never gotten to swallow with him before. When he was rutting, he never wanted her to waste even a bit of his seed, but for her first time, she felt like she did pretty well. It helped that she was addicted to the taste and the smell of his cock at this point, his musky scent filling her nose and practically making her purr. She wanted to drown in it, or at least roll around until she was completely drenched.

“You better get up here.” Bucky growled as she let his cock pop out of her mouth, a little string of saliva following behind.

“Or what?” She licked her lips, savoring the taste of him.

He answered with a dangerously low snarl as she crawled over him. “Just sit on my fuckin’ face already.”

She bit her lip in anticipation as she made her way up to his head. He was quick to reach up for her, his tongue finding her cunt and encouraging her to sink down onto him with lap after lap. He went at it like he didn’t know when he’d get the chance to again, eagerly licking up the fresh slick coating her inner thighs and pausing for the occasional nip here and there.

Amoretta gasped and huffed, grabbing hold of his hair as she started rocking her hips. She didn’t know where he had learned to give such good head, but she wasn’t about to complain, not when his tongue was dipping in and out of her like that.

“I-I didn’t know alphas ever did this,” she laughed breathlessly, grinding herself down against his mouth.

He answered with a deep moan of appreciation. Honestly, if he could stay there like that forever, he would be a happy man. Her taste was absolutely intoxicating, and as he sucked at her clit, the sounds she let out were no less incredible.

“Fuck,” She sighed, leaning her head back as she felt her stomach flutter. “I wanna cum…”

Bucky growled, the sound vibrating through her. His tongue found her clit one more, teasing it, flicking it, chasing it whenever her hips bucked away from him. He could taste more and more slick as it ran into his mouth, and judging by the whines and moans above him, he was doing a damn good job of eating her out.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck…” She whispered, desperately rolling her hips against him.

He was ready, eagerly anticipating a flood of slick, but just as Amoretta felt herself getting close, she forced herself up and off of his face.

“N-not yet,” she panted, shuffling back down to straddle his waist.

His cock was already hard again, his hips flexing as he desperately tried to thrust into her. Bucky watched, licking slick off his lips, as his omega slowly guided him into her, his cock slipping inside of her dripping cunt effortlessly.

She was so warm and so fucking perfect, and as she rose up and then sank down on him again, Bucky thrust upwards. He matched her, letting her choose her pace, and as she rode him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face.

Her mouth was open, gasps and moans falling from her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes closed, and as he pushed up even further into her, she bit her lip to silence a cry.

“Don’t be quiet, doll,” he panted. “I want this whole damn tower to hear you.”

“James,” she moaned, leaning down to kiss him. “James, Alpha…”

He used her change in angle to his advantage, taking the opportunity to fuck up into her hard.

“Come on, baby…” he panted against her mouth. “Drain my cock, lemme breed you…”

“Y-yes, Alpha,” She moaned, burying her face against his neck. He was so deep, the head of his cock pressing against her cervix in a way she couldn’t manage to describe. He was just filling her, completely, until he was the only thing she could think about. His scent, the taste of the sweat on his skin, his growls and moans...he was everything.

Amoretta was completely wrapped up in him, surrounded by him, drunk on the musky, heady scent he was giving off. She was vaguely aware of the way he chanted her name, his voice low and husky as he huffed and panted.

“Let go, baby,” he mumbled. He was getting close, he could tell, but he was trying to hold out for her. “Cum for me, cum for your alpha…”

She whined, pleasure coiling in her belly. “I—I wanna, I’m—I’m so close—“

The sound of her voice was almost too much, his knot already beginning to swell. She could feel it catching on her and let out a loud wail, her pussy clamping down and squeezing his cock as she felt that delicious, tingling electricity spreading through her.

“That’s it,” he moaned, his back arching. “Fuck, ‘m gonna…gonna breed ya, omega…”

She answered with breathy gasps, her thighs shaking as an orgasm wracked her body. His knot was swelling quickly, and a few thrusts later, he let out the lowest, most guttural groan she had heard yet. She tilted her head for him and he latched onto her throat, sucking and biting at her wherever he could, leaving a trail of sloppy hickeys behind.

He came again, hips stuttering as he filled her. They shared a long, satisfied sigh, and as his knot locked them together, they finally had the chance to catch their breath.

“Wow,” Amoretta breathed, smiling down at him as she sat up.

“Yeah,” he pressed his head back against the pillows. “Wow…”

As Amoretta tried to situate herself and get comfortable, she suddenly laughed. “Oh no…”

“What?” Bucky picked his head up again.

He saw her reaching forward, her hand a significant distance from his bound wrists.

“...you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oops,” She laughed, letting her hand fall to his chest. “I didn’t think this through.”

“I cannot believe you got us stuck here like this.”

“You could just break them—“

“Absolutely not!” He growled. “I like this belt!”

“Then yeah, I got us stuck here like this.”

“Jesus Christ.” He groaned, head flopping back down.

Amoretta settled down and got comfy, resting on his chest. “Soon as your knot goes down, I’ll free you. Promise.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled. “I, uh…liked it.”

She grinned. “I knew you would.”

“We can, uh...do more of this.” he cleared his throat. “If you want.”

“You look pretty good, all desperate on your back like that,” she teased. “You’re still bossy, though…” she clucked her tongue, chastising him. “You should try being more obedient for a change.”

“Don’t push your luck.” Bucky growled.

“Why not?” she reached up to scratch at his chin. “You might like taking orders.”

“...Only from you.”

“See?”

“Maybe.” he huffed a laugh. “We’ll see.”

Amoretta hummed and nodded. Her heart was still pounding, but as they both calmed down, they sat in a peaceful silence. She could hear Bucky’s own heart hammering away in his chest, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat from his physical exertion. He wanted to go at it again when his knot went down, but he also wanted a shower, and maybe a snack. He wanted to make sure that Amoretta ate some real food, too, and as he looked down at her as she laid on his chest, he felt discontent rising. She was thinner than he remembered, not skin and bones but still not as healthily curvy as he wanted his omega. He needed to start providing for her, making sure she was well fed and happy. Besides, what better way was there to start courting a girl than by making her good food?

“What’re you thinking about?” she asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

“You.” he answered, his voice a low rumble.

His lips spread into a wide smile, but when she spoke, she was practically whispering. “You sure?”

“Course I am. Why wouldn’t I be thinkin’ about my girl?” he tried to wrap his arms around her but scowled when he remembered he was still stuck. “You doubting me while my knot is stuck inside you?”

“No.” she shook her head, resting his cheek against him.

“...You nervous?”

Amoretta bristled at the insinuation, then nodded hesitantly. “A little…”

“‘Bout what, doll?”

“Everything, I guess. This is a whole different world from the one I’ve been living in for so long. I mean, there’s a robot in the ceiling.”

“She’s actually an AI--”

“That might be worse.” Amoretta snorted. “It’s just a lot.”

“I know.” Bucky sighed. “Trust me, I know.”

She looked up at him. “You’re so much...softer, I guess, when you’re not rutting.”

“You never really met the real me back then.” He shifted his eyes away from her. “The Winter Soldier wasn’t...me.”

“I still liked him.” she inhaled deeply, filling her head with his scent. “And I like you.”

“Good,” he said, chest rumbling in a happy purr. “Because I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

#alpha bucky #alpha bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #it's been a long long time #abo #omegaverse #avengers x reader #avengers x oc

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writingsofhubris-a · 2 years

Text

Bunny

[AO3] < | > Rating: Explicit WC: 3.8k Tags: Caning, BDSM, Subspace, Clothing Kink, Wall Sex, Height Differences, Established Relationship, Aftercare Fandom: Sorcerer's Apprentice (2010) Ship: Maxium Horvath/Reader Disc: Fur, Wool, silk, Maxim knew just what looked good on his body, and the only thing in your mind was the thought of wearing his coat, all alone, in the room you shared with him. The only part of the plan that went array was meeting his eyes in the mirror.

A/N: @the-realharleyquin asked me for a fic based on this prompt: reader gets caught wearing one of maxim's coats and is like ❛ want me to model these for you? ❜ probs cus he just got some more coats or something (i think that man is vain and likes dressing nice/up) and maxim who totally would call his partner kitten or bunny is like yes let me sit down quick, lil show for maxim starts and the reader grinds on him a bit and then wall sex because height dif and i am seeing a horrible lack of wall sex with any of Alfred's characters. And I saw a post about being canned and then used on tumblr by Horvath so please, without any further ado.

The door slid open to show off the selection of coats hanging on hangers, all properly stored with obvious care. Maxim chose exactly what he cared about, and these coats were without doubt one of the places he put his care. You’d never be one to complain; the sharp lines and smooth elegance of the fabric complimenting his personality in just the ways he wanted it to. He was a Victorian man through and through, obsessed almost to a fault with his appearance.

Fur and wool danced under your fingers, contrasting textures ringing through your bones. Memories of each time he’d worn each flashed through your mind. memories of nights and days too cold for skin, nights with your hand in the crook of his elbow.

His things weren’t, strictly speaking, off limits to you. He’d never specifically told you you were not allowed to touch his things, that was sure. You just simply understood his position every single time you’d made the joke of stealing a coat. His death glare was all you needed to see to know just what his opinion on the matter was.

So the moments of solitude you had, whilst he was out, you took with greed. How couldn’t you, when he seemed to spoil you in every other matter of life?

Your hand slipped over the one that laid fur over his shoulders, volatile every time he wore it. There was little sound around you as you heard it slip off the padded hanger, only to slip over your nude shoulders.

The fabric nearly swallowed your body as the silk rested on you, shielding you almost fully from the wool. Your eyes glanced down your body, only to see the edges of the coat resting only an inch or two from the floor.

You carefully shifted the couple steps needed to view your body in the mirror propped against the wall. The dark gray complimented your skin perfectly, hints of black in the fur flickered just so in the mirror. You saw the fur shake as your body shivered, a feeling of opulence shaking through you. With the power you felt, as large as the garment was, you suddenly understood what it was that drew Maxim to the type of garment; you felt rich and powerful.

Your eyes flicked up at another sight in the mirror, a motion behind you in the doorframe. Dark, impassioned eyes locked with yours in the mirror. You knew it wasn’t any sort of magic that froze you to the spot, only the intensity that rang through the reflective surface.

He had a perfect view of you, as well, your hand resting on the fur at the collar of the coat, your leg bent just at the right angle for modesty.

illusion and hubris often would make one shed any hesitations surrounding fantasy, to imagine one’s self as a work of art untouched by the changing of culture. That was to say, you knew that you were alluring in only the way one could be in their head.

Seeing his eyes connect with yours induced a surge of panic in you, a knowledge that you’d been caught breaking a rule you very well knew not to.

So much for the twenty minutes you thought you’d have before Maxim returned.

Each step that echoed in the room was measured, was deliberate. His eyes didn’t leave yours, from the moment the door opened, to the moment that his front was pressed against your back, the silk pressing with the slightest bit of scratch as the wool pressed through as well. His hands clasped onto your hips, guessing only slightly due to the fabric covering you. It was clear that each time he’d memorized your body had paid off. Your mind flashed with the other times his hands had found their home there, fucking into you from behind, or simply controlling your movements as you rode him as hard as he’d allow.

All too familiar with his action of turning you by your hips, you faced the man with your chin tilted high enough to look him in the eyes, ignoring the difference between you both. One hand left your hip as the other proceeded to pull you closer, wrapping around your back. A tiny thread of fear appeared in your spine, unsure of just how far of a line you’d crossed by doing this.

You felt the inches his arm pivoted over your back, thumb and fingers sealing over the back of your sensitive neck, nerves lighting on fire from the possessive action. The leather separating his skin from yours almost coaxed a moan from your throat, nearly enough to verbalize the wave of lust.

“Now,” His dangerous voice started, demanding your attention. “Imagine my surprise when I come home, ready to decompress for the night, and I happen upon a little fashion show just for me, in my bedroom.”

“I…” your words were lost on your tongue, knowing better than to try and excuse your actions to him.

“You…” His tone was nothing but a rude mock, a sticky sweetness to coat a venom that would sink deep. “Decided to play with an object that you have no claim over, that isn’t yours, didn’t you?” The tone in his voice was addictive. You’d be willing to bend to whatever he suggested at that moment, you were nearly certain.

“I just wanted to see what they felt like. You’re always so…” Your breath caught in your lungs as you searched for the right word, your words leaving your mind as soon as his hand tightened the slightest on your skin.

“So… What?”

“Hot.”

“So you took something that wasn’t yours? Something of mine? For shame.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” whispered from your lips, unsure of just what you could offer him.

“Sir? So you do remember some protocol.” It was with his hand that he guided you to the bed, his backwards steps sure. Your eyes burned from the contact, wanting nothing more than to look away from his intense gaze.

“First, you took my coat.”

“I’m sorry. I thought…” The apology fell from your lips before you could think, hurried to try and avoid what you knew was coming.

“And that was your first mistake, wasn’t it?” His words overpowered yours without much effort, excuses dying on your parted lips. Tears nearly threatened to spring, but you held yourself fast for now.

“Yes, sir.”

“I assume you know what the next one is?”

“No, sir.”

“Lying.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You lied to me about your desires.” The last word was dipped in venom, and it was all you could do to not fight back against his words. You had been honest about wanting them. You’d just coated every single attempt in a thick layer of irony, of defensiveness that you clearly shouldn’t have. His hand finally fell from your neck as he sat on the side of the bed, thighs spread.

“Over my lap.” His voice demanded submission, demanded your actions to mimic his words.

His thighs balanced you well, soft material of his pants rubbing against your chest. You didn’t even consider not obeying him, too excited for any punishment he may offer you. A whirl of fabric, and the coat was flicked over your top half, effectively exposing your backside.

“Now, do you think you’ll actually learn anything from me doing this?” He heard the start of a word from your lips, but he interrupted you before any word could get out. “No, don’t answer that. You’ll only be lying to me in the end.” Your face pressed into your arms, trying to hide the embarrassment on your face. He was right, after all; you wouldn’t forget the night for a while, but you knew you wouldn’t learn a damn thing from his treatment of you from here on out.

His hand rubbed over your ass, sliding from the fold of his coat over you down to the curve of your thighs, mapping out the area he was intimately familiar with.

Even with the warning of his hand pulling from your skin, you let out a shocked gasp when his hand made contact with your ass, a crack of leather against skin reverberating around the silent room. Another crack joined the first one, a moan falling from your lips at the action.

“Already, bunny? That certainly was quick. Moaning over the only contact you’re given, pain.” The last word dripped with the familiarity of a lover, of a man who had inflicted enough to offer it freely, of a man who had been inflicted by too much pain in his life.

The next time his hand made contact with your skin, he held the flesh with a firm grasp, the pain quickly intensifying. Your groan was choked, and if you’d been standing, you knew your knees would have given out. The next hit was a mirror of his previous; holding onto the other ass cheek with a painful grip.

“is this what you wanted from me? A bit of attention, however negative it might be?” Your head nodded against your arms, shame blooming. Any attention would do from him, so long as you were his focal point. With how often he was yours, you could only rationalize it as a fair play.

His hand left your ass only to connect again, his grip only that much more painful. Your head pressed into your arms, trying and failing to keep the couple tears that had escaped from showing. Maxim knew how to pluck all of the restraints clear from your head, making each hesitation vanish until you were nothing more than his.

“Give me your wrists.” The command entered your head with nowhere to land, jumbling into the fog of your head. When you didn’t move, his hand took one wrist and turned it to rest on your back. You were quick to mirror the action with your other arm. His hand wrapped around both of them to pin them against your skin, under the long back of the coat. You knew the long arms of the coat were brushing against his hands, only reminding him of your gaffe, of your misstep in the rules.

You realized just why he’d made the choice when his hand connected again, effectively holding you from sliding at the contact. Your gasp rang in the room as the hit rang through too intensely.

It wouldn’t have taken a smart man to realize just why you squirmed, thighs almost pushing together, almost trying to find a source of friction.

Your efforts were rewarded with a leather finger slipping between your folds, finding a slick wetness. His finger brushed against your clit, that wave of pleasure you’d been looking for shot straight to your spine.

“What is this? I thought this was a punishment for your digressions. I thought you were supposed to learn something from this.” His tone was achingly teasing, cocky in an infuriating way. his body shifted just slightly on the bed, and when he returned to his previous position, you felt the familiar pressure of his cane against your thighs. The cool stripe wasn’t going to stay so for long, you knew that with a fact.

“Perhaps I shouldn't spare the rod.” The line, growled, landed just right in your mind, head quickly nodding in excitement. Maxim knew just how to play you, after all. Just like the slaps of his hand, the slice of pain on your thighs ricocheted through your body, gasping softly in pleasure at each of his strikes. Cries fell from your lips as you started to lose track of each additional hit.

“Your sounds are always so beautiful,” he suddenly praised, a contrast just enough to ripple through your body. The next stripe against your thighs forced another gasp, and a hum from him. “Just like that.”

“Sir…” The title was the only thing that you could possibly find in your head, pain and pleasure sliding through your body. Submission beat down your walls with each strike, his ministrations turning you into little more than a whimpering mess with a wetness between your legs.

A single bead of liquid traced its way down your nose, dripping off as you tensed in his hands. In that second, you weren’t entirely sure if it was a tear of pain or if it was a drop of aroused sweat.

“No, you were doing so very well being pliant for me.” You felt his hand tighten on your wrists again, cutting through the soft skin to tighten on bone. Your hands fell lax in the only way of submission you could manage, brushing against the sleeve’s hem on your other arm. “Do be quiet and shut up again for me.”

Your eyes snapped closed, and you quickly nodded. You could be quiet for him, as he wished you to be. You could be good for Maxim, slipping back to the wordless noises that had been falling from your lips for him. The strikes of his cane were enough to make you forget every word in your mind, anyway.

With one final strike from his cane, your cry finally let out a trail of pain, mingled deeply in the midst of the lust. You felt him shift enough to set his cane to the side, always so caring of the object. You whimpered at the sudden realization the punishment was done, even though you were certain your body couldn’t take too much more from him.

Your wrists were freed suddenly, and without any way to support yourself, you started to fall into the mattress on the other side of him. You were saved by his hand, no longer covered by leather, catching your chest, and pulling you back. The rough treatment mostly over, his hands guided your still pliant body to rest on his legs, knees on either sides of his hips, and chests pressed together. The air around you seemed to trick you into a small bubble of Maxim, his presence the only thing surrounding you. His fingers played over the edges of the marks he’d just given your thighs, trailing along the abused flesh almost with reverence.

“Did you learn your lesson, bunny?” His silken words promised a violence you’d love to feel more of tonight, but your head nodded as what you realized were tears fell from your eyes. Even if you wanted more, you couldn’t take it. “Good. You did so well for me.” One of his fingers traced a raised welt to find your core, two fingers slipping into you without any resistance. “Do you think you did well enough I should take care of you?” His question made confusion bloom in your head, a cloud passing between rational thought and desires. Instead of trying to find the words he’d so easily stole from you, your lips dared a press of a kiss, to the skin shown over his collarbone. It was just a timid peck, an effort to show submission without words, just as he’d demanded of you earlier. He started to massage your walls, curving his fingers in sensitive places with a whisper of pleasure.

One of his fingers trapped the lining of the coat against one of the welts, the sensation of smooth fabric ripping through tender flesh. It was the barest bit of affection you’d get in this, and it was a nectar you drank in.

“Open my pants.” The three words were whispered in your ear, trailing over your skin in a shiver. You were quick to reach between you both. Leather of his belt, another element of his outfits that was familiar with your body, was pulled open, then you popped the button of his pants to reach the zipper. Careful not to catch him, you felt each tooth of the zipper open, shaking through the bone. His next instructions were given in the exact same manner.

“Good. Now take me out.” Your fingers slipped into his pants, daring a quick drag of your fingers against his cock. Your lip was caught by your teeth as you pulled him from his confines, a soft sigh falling from his lips at the contact. His fingers curved into your g spot, grinding direct pleasure into you. But it was gone too quickly for you, his cock pressing into you slickly, finding an all too familiar home in you.

Your forehead pressed against his shoulder, trying to nearly smother yourself with him.

“Breathe with me, bunny.” It wasn’t until his words that you realized you were merely puffing breaths against his shoulder, gasps mixing into them. Your eyes tightened closed, and you let your lungs match the rise and fall of his chest. As effectively as he was surrounding you, it didn’t take too much work for you to do so; his hands pressing and running over your skin, his scent the only thing in your nose, and his skin the only thing in the slit of vision you allowed yourself.

You felt his hands urging your legs around his waist, carefully shifting you on his cock as he pulled you into another position. He stood carefully, allowing more of him to slip into you.

The cold of the wall he pushed you to was muted by the wool around your shoulders and his, that sensation not even enough to tamp the arousal in your body only he could control.

Maxim’s hand finally moved between you, sliding up your chest under the silk of his coat, still on you. His thumbs paused over your surgery scars, sliding over a sensitive spot he was more than familiar with. The ridge was focused on for just a few moments longer than you wanted, your hips demanding movement with a press into him as much as you could manage. A roll, anything to help the fire in you.

“Calm yourself, bunny.” The slight reproach in his tone was enough for you to still, the confidence that you always wanted to tear from him only compounding the instruction. “I haven’t even used my mouth on you.” His hand shifted over your smooth pectoral, resting on your shoulder, thumb resting just at the base of your throat. A promise, and a threat that was obvious. It was the most basic instruction he’d given thus far; don’t move.

The threat was nearly forgotten when he bent his head down to steal the spot his thumb just had been, his hips sliding out and into you at last. But it was a torturous pace, one that only whispered when you needed a scream.

“Please.” The plea fell in a whimper, need vibrating through your body. You needed the strength he’d just used on you, impatience riling you up further.

“If you’re not careful, I’ll have to punish you again for begging.” Despite the threat, you knew he’d never. He enjoyed your slips of control too much to ever endeavor to punish you for it. The need, unable to be controlled, your desire only for him. You couldn’t tell if it was his teeth biting a constellation into you, or his cock, suddenly quickening its pace, that made you cry out first.

You could tell you were dripping with each thrust he offered you, wetness audible between you. Maxim’s cock fit every spot inside you that needed to be hit, singing pleasure into your body without much needed extra effort. It only reinforced just how much of your immediate world was swallowed by the sorcerer in front of you, a man of magic and power.

One who was pulling fire into your veins and static into your head.

With the slightest slip of his hand, you felt his fingers pressing into your carotid artery. The sudden lack of air made your body soar to a new height, hips suddenly bucking against his.

“There we are.” The only thing on your mind now was the thought of him finishing in you, even despite the pleasure you needed to find. He’d infected you too thoroughly to help it; anything he could want was his to take from you.

“Find your finish, my dear bunny. I need to feel you cum on my cock.” The permission was all you needed after his work, finishing on him with a surge of wetness. The sudden rush of air from his hand moving only made the waves continue until your legs were tight around him, trying to keep him buried deep in you. His hip’s movements, stuttering into you as he finished, only barely registered in your head. You couldn’t keep him still if you’d been in your right mind, allowing him seconds to fuck into you easily.

He didn’t even wait for you to catch your breath before you were pulled into his arms, moved to the bed he’d just had you laid over for a punishment.

Maxim’s hands were gentle as he pulled his coat from your body, taking a second to hang it up with the one on his shoulders, only to find his way back to the mattress holding onto you. It wasn’t every day that Maxim would stay, his study often calling his attention from you.

It was clear that tonight, you needed him. He could tell by the jump of your body when his hand moved to your hip, curling into your own body.

Maxim’s hand pulled the covers back, sliding them under your smaller body before once again returning them to cover your body.

You tried to convince yourself that you’d be fine with your own warmth under the sheets, that if he decided his attention was needed elsewhere, you’d at least wait to cry your heart out until you heard the door latch closed.

You felt his hand slide from your waist to your stomach, pulling you to his side of the bed, and slotting your back against his chest. You felt his thighs pull up to press against the raw flesh of your thighs. You were once again in a world of just Maxim and you, your bodies pressed together as they should be.

“Did you learn your lesson, bunny?” His words were soft, lips pressing to your neck with gentle pressure.

“Yes.” Having spent too much time not talking, the word was hoarse. “No more taking your coats without your permission.”

“Good.” You felt a hand on the top of your thigh, gentle ministrations to remind you that he was still there for you, that his body was against you. “Fall asleep. I'll keep you safe.” The words stuck, the promise already settled. Maxim would keep you safe; he wouldn’t allow you to be found by any harm.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had with Maxim was love. That was something too foreign to either of you to actually ring true in your relationship. You knew you had a deeper connection, at the very least, and you were certain that his arms was the only place that you would be able to figure out just what that connection spoke of.

#reader insert #maxim horvath/reader #maxim horvath #writing #.W #bunny u

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legends-of-apex · 3 years

Text

The Jacket Thief

Robbie Reyes/Ghost Rider x Reader (18+)

Word Count: 1,700

Rating: 18+ (smut, car sex)

Summary: Having been craving him all day you decide that it's a good idea to steal Robbie's jacket when you meet him at the garage after work one day, knowing it's the very best way to push his proverbial buttons. It is. So is wearing very little other than said jacket whilst lounging on top of his precious car. Reader is presented as female.

A/N: If you’d like to be tagged in future Ghost Rider stuff (as I’m sure there will be more where this came from 💀) please feel free to let me know!

“Cariña, have you seen….” He trailed off when he saw you sprawled out on the hood of the charger wearing none other than,”… my jacket.”

He cursed under his breath at how good you looked. You were just sitting there waiting for him, his jacket wrapped around you as though you were a present with his name on it. Your legs were spread wide so he could see you only wore panties. You sat back on your elbows, your chest covered only by his jacket and nothing more. It hung open slightly, leaving the valley of your breasts exposed and he swore that was the best that jacket had ever looked.

He wasn’t expecting such a lovely surprise to be waiting for him, least of all after hours in the dimly lit garage where he worked.

You looked up at him beneath your lashes, relishing in how he couldn’t get enough of the sight of you like this, “Come and get it if you want it, baby.” You knew he’d be the one to lock up that night and that he’d have the place to himself. The perfect time for you to set your plan in motion once he went to get changed.

He swallowed. Hard.

With wide eyes, he took in your appearance and silently thanked whatever god was listening for letting you walk into his life. “You really want to do it here? It’s not exactly the cleanest, chica.” He was looking at you over his nose as he slowly walked towards you, trying to seem casual and like he wasn’t at all imploding at the sight of you and the prospect of what came next. Seeing you in his jacket did something to him. It always had done. But seeing you wearing it in just your panties whilst you sat on top of his car? He would have toppled Rome if you’d asked.

As much as you knew this was a fantasy of his, you also knew he’d literally just finished work and was probably more tired than he’d ever admit, “If you don’t wanna, it’s cool. I can just take care of it myself.” By ‘it’ you of course meant your absolutely insatiable lust that day and as much as he would have loved to watch you deal with the issue yourself, there was a problem already growing in the confines of his jeans.

When he finally reached you, placing a hand on the car’s hood on either side of you, you knew he was game and willing to do whatever the hell you wanted him to, “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” You asked, but already knew the answer.

You had him wrapped around your finger, tighter than a glove.

“You know I have,” he’d told you about it once and you’d listened, listened to every little detail he let out about his fantasy of fucking you in his jacket, “Gotta admit, it suits you.” He opened the jacket wide so your bare chest was exposed to him, the cool leather teasing your skin. A flash of orange made its way across his eyes as he looked at you before bringing his mouth down to your breasts. That meant he liked it too. You tried not to think about the demon being a passive on-looker to all this, to everything in Robbie’s life.

“Shit-“ you gasped as he took one nipple into his mouth and palmed the other. The harsh leather of his driving gloves was a sharp contrast to the softness of his warm tongue. He pulled back with a satisfied chuckle when you were getting really into it, his inclinations that you were strung about as high as a harp right now were correct. You must have really needed a good fuck to go to all this effort. He probably should have guessed based on the text you’d sent him earlier.

“You want it here?” He asked when he pulled away from your chest and let you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, bringing him as close to you as the car beneath would allow. You nodded once in affirmation, and he tugged your hips closer to his and brought you in for a kiss that left you breathless. Robbie’s kisses left you breathless more often than not with how passionate he was. With the way he poured his soul into you every time. But today he was especially fervent, it probably had something to do with the jacket.

“Baby, please…” you huffed as you both caught your breath, “I need you.” The desperation for his touch rippled throughout your body and straight to your pulsing core. And here was nothing in this world that got Robbie off more than knowing you were needy for him.

He loved to see you like this, to hear the desperation in your voice. Knowing he was the only one who could help ease your frustrations made his insides coil. “You want me that bad, huh?” He asked, and you didn’t miss the smile on his lips as he said it. He was proud that he’d gotten you in such a state. All it took was a lingering kiss to your neck before he left to take Gabe to school that morning and you’d been craving him ever since.

You released a quiet affirmation, your eyes pleading with him to take you, to give you what you desperately craved.

With a reassuring kiss to your forehead, he started undoing his belt and unzipping his fly. That was his way of telling him he had you, that he was going to take care of you and give you precisely what you craved.

“Come on baby, spread 'em wide for me.”

It was a good thing you were already soaked through your panties. Robbie of course made sure you were ready for him, fingers delicately working through your folds once he’d torn the fabric from your hips. He was so turned on by your little display that he was much quicker to enter you than usual. Normally he’d take the time to caress every inch of your precious skin, to taste and savour you. He liked to take his time. But today you were both so needy and the garage didn’t exactly make for an intimate setting that something far quicker was called for.

Once you were comfortably wrapped around him, the pace he set was immediately relentless, working you open so you had to brace one hand around him and another on the car for balance.

“God, you take me so good.” He groaned, running his fingers over your thighs.

You gasped, begging for more and he obliged you to the point where he grabbed handfuls of your hips as he slammed into you repeatedly, pointedly. Relishing the moans falling from your lips at finally getting what you’d been craving all day.

Each groan that left him fell so close to your ear that you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound. He pressed kisses to the side of your head when he wasn’t praising you. His words got lost in a sea of obscene sounds.

“Lie back,” his voice was rough and strained, and it sounded so good you probably could’ve come just listening to it when it sounded like that.

You obliged him, detangling yourself from him in favour of laying back on his car. You were grateful for the new position as it meant you could get a good look at him and he at you. He looked strained, he always did when he was inside you and you knew it was because he was holding back. If he didn’t hold back he’d likely split you in half with how strong he was with the demon inside him. And you caught glimpses of that strength sometimes, although only when you asked and even then he was so careful with you. You placed your hand on the base of his stomach, diving beneath his shirt just so you could feel the muscle that tensed and released as he rolled his hips forward.

The new angle gave him perfect access to your clit and he made sure to take advantage of that, tugging off one glove so he could tease your dewy folds with precision.

“Shit- Robbie, I’m close” You reached forward to cling to him, face tucked right into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“Come for me, baby. I’ve got you.” His voice was low, teasing the shell of your ear, “That’s it… just like that-“ he cut himself off with a groan as your walls clenched around him.

He pulled back away from you a little just to get a look at your face. Your eyes caught his, still glowing slightly orange, and you met together in a kiss. It wasn’t long before you were both finished and heaving, willing air to fill your desperate lungs.

He kissed your face all over as you laughed until you caught his lips with yours once more. Then you just sat there for a moment, your foreheads resting against one another’s until you had to move. It was time to go home.

“Maybe I should steal your jacket more often?” you suggested, looking over at him as he drove. His jacket still hung firmly around your shoulders, zipped up to cover your chest. He let you keep it for the drive home and he was going to have to pin you down to get it back later.

He laughed, a rare sound from him these days, “I wouldn’t make it a habit…” As he said it he took your hand in his before delicately bringing it to his lips, all whilst keeping his eyes on the road. With a gentle squeeze, he let your hand fall back to your lap but kept his there firmly at the curve of your thigh. The weight was comforting, a reminder of his affection and appreciation of you. Not that he’d ever let you forget it.

You covered his hand with your own and interlocked your fingers whilst his thumb continued to knead the softest of circles into your thigh. It was moments like these that made you fall in love with Robbie. His overwhelming gentleness despite the anguish he endured.

#robbie reyes x reader #robbie reyes #ghost rider #ghost rider x reader #agents of shield #fic #nsft #mine #my writing #marvel

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dreams-of-yunho · 3 years

Text

my aurora

idol! yunho x reader

rating: m

genre: fluffy and smutty

w.c.: 2k

warnings: unprotected sex!!!, oral (fem r)

summary: Interrupting your reading, Yunho proposes a game: Eat you out while you sing his group's new song, Aurora.

__________________________________________________________

The dim glow of your book light shone brightly against the pale moon’s gleam. Laying curled utop the fluffy mattress and pillows, the smell of fresh detergent and new book hung in the air. Yunho told you he would be late tonight, that they were finally going to finish recording, that you shouldn’t wait, but you weren’t still awake for him. These were the final hundred pages of the last book of an eight book series-- a lot of hours lead to this moment. It was bitter sweet, these last pages. You were speeding through them to finally finish the plot but, after this, it would be over. But you had to know how it would end.

From outside the bedroom, you could hear the opening and closing of the front door followed by heavy footsteps. “Baby,” a deep voice called.

“Yeah,” you half heartedly replied, still engrossed in your novel.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, coming through the bedroom door. “I could see your reading light; it’s almost 2.” You could see him in your peripheral vision: he stood tall, hands on his hips, loose clothing hanging off his build frame.

“I’m finishing this book,” you said, trying to remain focused on the words on the page.

He chuckled lightly, his voice a little raspy from the recording session he had just finished. “Aren’t you tired?” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“No,” you replied.

“Hmm,” he hummed and you could hear him walk towards the closet, the dull sound of clothing falling to the floor behind him.

He emerged from the closet as you turned a page. “Hey,” he stood in front of you: shirtless and divine.

“What?” you rolled onto your back to read more comfortably.

“What do I have to do,” you felt the bed cave as he climbed on. “To get you to look away from that book?”

You didn’t respond as things in your story were finally coming together.

He sighed heavily against the skin of your lower leg.

“Yunho,” you giggled as he began to kiss up your legs. “I know you’re excited about the song, but I really want to finish this book first.”

“Come on,” he crawled up your body, leaving kisses on your collar bones as you held the book above his head. “It’ll be fun,” he said with a cloy tone.

“It’s always fun,” you said, rereading the same paragraph for the third time. “It’ll be fun in thirty minutes.”

“No,” he came face-to-face with you. “I mean fun fun. I have a game.”

Your eyes froze on the page behind him. Yunho was a fun loving guy both in and out of the bedroom. Sex with him was always carefree and full of love but-- a game? That was new.

“A game?” You asked, keeping your eyes on the page though not reading the words.

“I knew that would get you,” he breathed against your neck. “Yes, a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Ahh,” he tapped a finger against your jaw. “You’ll have to put the book down to find out.”

Damn your curiosity; you dropped the book without even saving your page.

“Hey, sexy” he winked.

“Gross,” you pushed his face away. “Now tell me the game.”

“You’re gross,” he muttered but sat up next to you. “So, here's what I’m thinking: I'm going to eat you out while you sing a specific song. If you sing the whole song, I’ll make you come.”

Blood definitely rushed into your cheeks. He said it so nonchalantly, like he was ordering a coffee. And what was that if part?”

“If?” you asked. He had never held an orgasm from you. He was selfless during sex, always about pleasing you.

“If,” the syllable rolled off his lips. “You can’t finish the song, I won’t let you come.”

“What do you get out of this?” You asked, confused by his motives.

“Nothing but your taste and voice.” The look he gave you was almost sickeningly sweet. And he always looked at you like this before he went down on you: such anticipation and excitement, like you were his favorite flavour of ice cream on a blistering summer day. “So… yes?” His eyes softened into his killer puppy dog beg. Oh, those eyes, you always wanted to kiss him when he looked at you with those eyes.

He leaned into you as he noticed your gaze on his lips.

“What song?” You whispered as the gap closed.

“Aurora,” he spoke against your lips.

“Hmm,” you hummed, having a feeling of foreboding from this song choice. He seemed too cocky as he smiled into the kiss. But this kiss was so intoxicating and the feeling of his hands on your hips so perfect. “Okay,” you broke away.

“Okay,” he said with immense satisfaction, trying to conceal the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

His hands gripped your hips tighter as he pulled you down the bed, resting you now flat on your back. He sat on top of you, his weight pressing down on your thighs. Delicately, he placed his lips on yours as his hands hungrily groped at the skin beneath your sleep shirt. Warm hands tugged at the fabric and pulled it over your head. His wet tongue fell to the valley between your tits as his hands reached for the waistband of your shorts. With one sharp tug, your shorts and panties were on the floor.

As he came up from your breast to kiss you, you reached for the bulge in his pants but he quickly pulled away. “Uh uh uh,” he spoke disapprovingly. “That’s not part of the game.”

“Can we make it part of the game?” You tried to mimic Yunho’s puppy eyes.

“Nope,” he responded before you even finished your sentence. It never worked on him. “Start singing.”

You opened your mouth but your breath hitched as you saw Yunho lowering his face to your pussy. “I won’t do it if you don’t sing.” He looked up at you with a smirk.

“You go first.”

“Okay,” he chuckled and you could feel his breath against your clit making your walls clench. “Fine.”

His lips were warm but chapped. They moved gently as he kissed pepperd butterfly kisses on the lips of your pussy.

Shakily you took a deep breath and began to sing. You weren’t a particularly good singer but, Yuhno always loved to hear your pitchy voice-- especially if it was his group’s song you sang off key.

You were half way through the first verse when he added a finger, causing you to moan loudly.

“Keep going, baby, or you’ll have to start over,” he spoke against your clit, leaving you squirming from the vibration of his voice.

“I-i,” you struggled to remember the lyrics as pleasure muddled your thoughts. “I don’t remember where I was.”

“You’re going to have to start over then.”

You would have wriggled away from him if his forearm wasn’t pinning you to the mattress, his breath made you see stars.

His tongue swiped over your clit as you choked out the first lines again. His pace quickened with each line leaving you tongue tied. You barely made it to the chorus-- 나를 감싸줘 My Aurora, leaving your lips as nothing but a whisper.

“y/n,” he raised his chin and you watched with shaky eyes as he licked his lips. “I can’t hear your beautiful voice. Are you going to sing louder?”

You nodded your head eagerly, continuing where you had left off with the chorus.

A second finger entered you as you began the second verse, forming a knot in your stomach. The words couldn’t come to mind and the only thing that escaped your lips was a low, continuous moan that came from deep in your chest.

He removed his lips and raised his dark eyes to meet yours, dull nails lightly grazing the outside of your upper thigh. “Start over, baby,”

“Yunho,” you desperately ran your hands through your tangled hair, terribly frustrated by this little game. “I can’t think straight. I don’t even know the lyrics without your mouth-”

“앞에 펼쳐진,” he cut you off, dropping his head back down between your trembling legs.

The original confidence you had when he walked through that bedroom door and proposed this little game completely melted into the sheets you fisted in your now white hands. These first couple lines you could handle, they were Yunho’s lines-- he sang them all the time: in the shower, doing the dishes, folding laundry. And now, he sang them against your vagina. Yet, the lyrics melted your brain, you couldn’t even register the sound of your own voice. Though, you imagined you weren’t saying much of anything.

“Yunho,” you gripped his hair, pulling his head up. “Please, just fuck me. I can’t take this anymore. I’ll never remember all the lyrics and you’ll eat so much of me you’ll never want to eat me out again.”

“But, y/n,” he pouted. “I would never be sick of you.”

“Please,” you flashed the puppy dog eyes again and, this time, it worked.

“Okay, baby,” he said, climbing up your body.

As fluffy as ever, he smiled as he kissed you. “I love you, y/n,” he placed his forehead against yours.

“I love you too, silly boy,” you fiddled with the hair at the base of his neck. “Now, please fuck me so I can finish my book.”

He laughed, leaning back on his heels as he pulled down his pants.

He eased into you slowly, your walls already clenching from the extreme arousal. “I don’t think I’m going to last long,” he said with a moan. “You feel too good.”

“me neither,” you whined, not even able to relax enough for Yunho to bottom out. His dick throbbed too deliciously against your walls.

“I’m going to move,” his hips shuttered as his head fell to your chest.

“Please, move,” you moaned, now digging your nails into his neck.

His pace started out slow, a light gunt leaving his lips with each thrust. Your hands entangled in his hair, tugging lightly, desperate for his lips.

You pulled at his hair but his lips remained fixed on your collar bone. “Yunho,” you whined.

Lustfully, he licked up the side of your neck, his lips coming to rest on your jaw. His hips became erratic as he sucked on your jaw.

“Yunho,” you grabbed at his face. “Please kiss me.”

He mumbled something against your skin as a hand reached for your leg, pulling it up his back, shifting the angle of his thrusts.

“W-what,” you choked.

Tears began to well in the corners of your eyes, the pleasure almost unbearable. Your climax was fast approaching as the knot grew so tight, it could snap at any moment.

“Come,” he said, crashing his lips onto yours.

Your walls were painted white, his hips continuing to fuck the warm cum into you as he kissed you. Fluttering fingers met your clit and your orgasm tore through you like a lightning bolt, leaving your mouth hung in a silent screen. A shiver ran through your whole body when he pulled out.

Yunho dropped to his side, face still buried in your neck, hot breaths against your skin as he caught his breath. “Are your legs okay?” He rubbed your lower stomach lovingly.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “But,” you pulled your legs up, the pain making you wince. “Could you carry me to the bathroom, please?”

“Yeah, baby,” he shifted and stood, reaching his arms under your sore body and pulling you close to his chest. You could feel the cum leak out of you and down his forearm.

He helped you clean up and left you sitting on the bathroom counter to brush your teeth as he changed the sheets.

It was a warm night and Yunho slept shirtless and you could hear the echo of his heart beating like a drum against his ribs. “You’re not going to finish your book?” He asked, stroking your hair as your head laid on his chest.

“I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Me neither,” he sighed.

As you drifted to sleep, the gentle sound of the fan and the soothing melody of Yunho’s voice cooled your body and stilled your mind.

#ateez yunho #jeong yunho #yunho smut #yunho x reader #yunho scenarios #yunho fanfic #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez x y/n #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #yunho fluff #ateez imagines #kpop smut #kpop fic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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neon-junkie · 3 years

Text

It Takes Two To Tango

Summary: Stuck in a failing marriage where both you and your husband are having affairs, you enjoy another night with the man that you literally bumped into at the Saloon.

Pairing: Javier Escuella x f!Reader

Word Count: 2227

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Cheating/Affairs, Degrading, Humiliation, Praise, Squirting, Cum eating, Creampies, Face slapping, Knife kink, Choking, Smut without a plot.

Notes: I had RDR1 Javier in mind for this seeing as he's low honour, and the dialogue/actions in this are very low honour Javier based, buuuuut you're welcome to picture any Javier you want <3

To put things politely, you hate your husband. When you two first met, he was sweet, kind, wonderful, everything you'd expect in a partner; the first few years of your marriage were flawless, but something within him changed, and he began spiralling off the rails, crashing into the man that he is today.

A divorce is hard to come by, especially in this time. However, you two seem to have somewhat of an unspoken agreement that you're no longer together. Well, you still share a house, still sleep in the same bed, still ask how each other's day went; but you know exactly where he goes to every night, leaving you all alone in your comfortable home, and sometimes, the nights can get so cold without anybody to hold.

The new man that keeps you warm every night bumped into you at a bar, quite literally, and apologized profusely, then offered to buy you a replacement drink. You happily accepted, taking an instant fancy to his mysterious yet welcoming aura, and spent the rest of the night blatantly flirting. You eventually asked him to help clean the liquor he'd spilt off you, and he did so by licking a stripe from your collar bone, along your neck, settling just below your ear. "It always tastes so much better when you know you shouldn't be doing it, eh?" he huskily whispered, and you agreed by grabbing his hand and pulling him across town, straight into your bed.

Javier knew who you were when he bumped into you, he knew you were a married woman, and he mentioned that he'd seen your husband spending his time with other women, so it's only fair you do the same, right? At first, you felt guilty, until that one night where your husband came home with obvious hickeys on his neck, and you got your own back by asking Javier to mark you ten times worse.

And yet again, Javier's now climbing up the same path to your balcony, swinging his leg over the railing, and finding his way into your bed once he watches your husband leave. You're practically starving every single day, desperate for a way out of this marriage, but even more desperate to spend time with your lover. It's crystal clear how much he enjoys playing this sinful game with you, and often reassures you during pillow talk that he's seen your husband do far worse. It's only a matter of time before the tower falls.

"Javier," you mutter, wrists tied to the bed posts, legs spread, and said man lapping away between them.

"Mhmm?" he hums, his mouth far too occupied as he continues wrapping his lips around your cunt.

"T-too much, come on," you beg.

"Not yet," he quickly blurts out, and returns to lapping at your clit, sliding two fingers into you and curling them perfectly. Thank the lord that you live on the outskirts of town with no attached neighbours; you can be as loud as you want, moaning to your hearts content as Javier mutters sweet praise against your lips. "Good girl," he mutters against your cunt, his fingers continuing to work you open.

"C-come on," you beg yet again, only this time you hear Javier chuckle against you.

"Alright," he sighs. Javier removes his fingers, and licks his lips as his head raises, meeting yours. "Always so impatient, aren't you?" he laughs, but he's also the one lining his cock up to your entrance, cutting your reply short as he slides in. "I don't blame you for being impatient, you know," Javier begins to mutter, jumping straight in to a quick pace. "You must be so deprived, all thanks to that shitty husband of yours. But I'm here now, I'm here to make sure you tire yourself out every night. If your husbands not going to use this pussy, then I might as well use it," Javier shrugs.

It's never slow and steady with Javier, always quick and heated, in a rush just in case your husband does come early, even on the nights where he doesn't come home at all. Your head is rolling back against the pillow, eyes falling shut, but Javier draws your attention back to him with a slap across your cheek. "Look at me when I'm fucking you," he orders, making your eyes go wide. "That's better."

Javier moves his hand to your throat, squeezing lightly between your jawline, enough to be pleasurable, but not enough to make your mind go hazy. "Open up," he orders, and your mouth falls open instantly, tongue sticking out. "That's a good girl," Javier praises, before dipping his head down and spitting directly into your mouth. "Swallow."

He's grinning as you swallow his spit, licking your lips afterward; your cheeks then begin turning red as Javier returns to choking you, a dark glisten in his eyes as he continues to pound you, thrusting into you like his life depends on it. "I fuck you good, don't I?" he asks.

"Uh-huh," you manage to sigh, nodding your head at the same time.

"Then why do you keep closing your eyes, hm? I want you to look at me whilst I'm fucking you," Javier barks, and lands another slap across your cheek. Instead of wrapping his hand around your neck, he places his fingertips on either side of your cheeks, squishing them slightly together and ordering you to order your mouth once more. You watch as he spits into your mouth again, but much slower this time, letting his spit drool off his tongue, slowly into your mouth, before dipping his head down and sealing the deal with a hungry kiss.

"Good girl," he praises again, his lips still pressed against yours. Javier's thrusts come to a halt, his cock sheathed deep inside you, and he props himself upright with a somewhat serious look on his face. "Are you going to let me do it tonight?" he questions, and you know exactly what he's on about.

"Yeah," you nod. You go to reach out, but you're quickly reminded about your wrists being tied to the bed posts, as if you've somehow forgotten.

"I guess you could say this is a punishment, huh?" Javier asks as he shifts his weight over to the edge of the bed, reaching down to pick up his gun belt, his cock still inside you. "I mean, naughty girls like you deserve to be roughed up," he continues, unsheathing his knife and twiddling it between his fingers. "Of course, I'm not going to hurt you, but I suggest you be a good girl and stay still," he smirks.

Javier's knife disappears from your sight, only for the cool metal to be pressed against your throat. The blade is barely touching your skin, hovering over you. However, it's close enough to send a chill down your spine, one that you attempt to contain in fear of the blade making contact with your throat. Javier picks up his pace again, starting with slow thrusts, ensuring the knife is at an angle where it's not going to hurt you. For a man who you met at the Saloon, you trust him, not just with keeping your affair a secret, but with hot and heavy situations like this.

"I'd say hold still, but I've already made sure you'll hold still," he laughs, gesturing with his blade to your bound wrists.

Within time, the roll to Javier's hips becomes quicker, his eyes flicking from yours to the knife at your throat. You know by now not to close your eyes, no matter how many times he hits those perfect spots inside you, your body urging to let your eyes fall shut as your head rolls back.

Javier moves the blade across your skin, trailing up your neck and jawline, and presses the flat part to your cheek. He urges you to tilt your head, and keeps the blade there as his lips meet your neck, marking you loud proud, clear enough for your husband to notice, not that he hasn't before.

"How many do you think I can leave before he says something?" Javier comments, chuckling between kisses.

"Javier, not whilst we're fucking," you sigh. The last person you want to think about right now is your husband, and Javier replies with a laugh, moving his head back up, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright, alright," he replies. "Say, could you hold this for me? I need both my hands free if I'm going to fill you up."

Before you can verbally accept, Javier's already pressing his knife against your mouth; he's kind enough to slip the handle into your mouth, rather than the blade. Instead, the blade tickles your cheek, pointing to your side, whilst your lips are wrapped around the handle.

"That's very kind of you," Javier laughs. He wraps his hands around your thighs, pulling them up to his waist, and puts all his focus into chasing his orgasm, using you like some kind of cheap street whore, not that you mind.

This time, Javier is the one to close his eyes, his breaths becoming quick and short as he slams down into you. You're a whimpering mess, most of your moans muffled by his knife, but he soaks up every noise you make like sweet music to his ears.

"Shit-" Javier grunts, his cock coming to a halt inside you as he fills you up; you can feel his cock twitching, complimented by the heavy moans Javier's letting out. There's a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead, which he accidentally presses to your shoulder as he rests against it, catching his breath as he comes down from his high. "Your turn," Javier softly mutters.

He slips out of you, and shuffles to rest beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. Javier's other hand goes straight to work, not wanting to leave you empty for too long; he slips two fingers inside you, accidentally pushing out some of his load, the white mess oozing out of your cunt. Javier's fingers curl, and he begins moving his wrist, hitting that spot inside you at a vibrating speed.

You let out a cry, muffled by the handle still locked between your lips. Javier smirks at your reaction, but he doesn't let up, keeping his pace fast, eager to see how quickly he can make you cum. As always, your body begins to shake, uncontrollably squirming in Javier's grasp. He's letting out sweet words of praise, "good girl," and "that's it, soak the bed for me."

"Javier, I-"

"What?" he questions, his fingers not losing their pace.

"We'll make a mess!"

"Not we, you. You'll make a mess," Javier chuckles. "And what's wrong with a little mess, huh? just make your husband sleep on the damp side."

For some unknown reason, Javier's comment catches you off guard; maybe it's the way he whispered it directly into your ear, or the thought of letting your husband suffer whilst you sleep peacefully, but either way, your orgasm hits like a train.

"That's it," Javier cheers, watching in awe as you squirt. He doesn't let up, his fingers still hitting that spot inside you, his palm brushing against your clit with every flick of his wrist.

Javier's milking you, and it's rapidly becoming too much, only you're still bound to the bed, unable to push him off, and the knife handle in your mouth is keeping you from calling out your protests. He's smart, Javier knows exactly what he's doing, or what he's done.

But eventually, you run dry, your body still shaking from an intense and drawn out orgasm. "That's my good girl," Javier praises, placing a kiss to your temple as he pulls his fingers from you. Javier sits up on his knees, using his dry hand to remove the knife and places it on your bedside table. "Here. Open. Clean me up," Javier orders.

Javier presents his fingers, and like the well trained slut that you are, you open your mouth, allowing him to slip his fingers inside. The taste is exactly what you'd expect, a mixture of squirt and cum, but you let your eyes shut as you clean his fingers, licking them dry, enjoying the soft moans and sighs he lets out as he watches in lustful amazement.

You're just about finished when you hear the front door slam. Javier and you share a look of pure horror, his fingers still between your lips, both of your eyes wide and visibly nervous. Javier quickly pulls his fingers from your mouth, rushing to grab his knife and cut you free from your binds, with caution.

As soon as you're free, there's a mad rush, both of you hurrying to pull your clothes on, followed by dumping all of your bedding into the laundry basket. There's almost no time for a kiss goodbye, but you manage to fit one in, sharing the taste of your regular encounter before Javier scurries out onto your balcony and hops the railing, disappearing into the night.

Thankfully, your husband doesn't trail upstairs straight away, giving you enough time to organize your laundry properly and put some fresh bedding on. And by the time he does, you're already sound asleep, worn out from yet another illicit encounter.

Isn't it about time you start looking into your divorce?

#rdrwriting #it takes two to tango #smut #nsft #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella x female reader #f!reader #female reader #rdr2 #rdr1 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #cheating #affair

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yinses · 4 years

Text

make it a show

| gojo has been away for awhile and now he’s missed … times two |

gojo satoru/reader/geto suguru

rating: 18*

rqst: okay okay why choose between geto and gojo? why not just have both?

a/n: why not indeed.

it starts with an i miss you text.

gojo was on another long mission. his reputation often preceded him in the worst ways and popularity drew him across the country- and then some. for two weeks now he’d been in europe trying to clear out an infestation.

he still checked in when he could. sending short texts to probe about your day and shooting tourist pictures to showcase the better parts of his trips. he made sure to send different sets to suguru, giving you both the opportunity to snuggle close and share the crumbs your mutual boyfriend left behind.

its twenty minutes later, after said text, that gojo boasts about the free premium wifi upgrade that had come with his hotel reservation. and less than two minutes go by before he decides what he planned to do with that commodity.

above your head, gojo takes in the scene eagerly from the face of your phone.

“so what are you wearing?”

you make a choked sound somewhere stuck between a laugh and a moan as geto laps firmly at the dampening fabric of your panties. his fingers run along the elastic, cheekily plucking and letting it snap back against your skin with a smack.

undeterred, your other boyfriend mumbles something incomprehensible before latching onto your clit and toys with you through the fabric.

gojo’s bangs fall into his face as he huffs, electric blue eyes darkening with lust. “this isn’t just show and tell, you two. don’t ignore me.”

his whine is cute, you think as your back arches off the bed when geto adds suction to his play through. your gaze darts down when you feel a nibble to the inside of your thigh- a nudge to get those lips moving.

“i-uh… the purple one’s,” you manage. thankfully you’re still wearing them otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to properly reply.

“aw, why couldn’t you have worn the blue ones?”

because you sudden thrust this upon us, you wanted to remind him. nor were you exactly keen on dirting up a new pair just for some quick fun.

“drop your knee to the side, honey. i want to see suguru work.”

you comply, letting the limb framing geto’s head come to rest by his shoulders. it improves your view too, just catching his dark gaze before his head drops back down again. his fingers finally hook on the edge and drag the fabric down your legs and gojo whistles at the sight.

“i don’t know what’s wetter. your pussy or his lips. but i guess its a packaged deal given the circumstances.”

he’s the only one who chuckles at that, as usual.

geto adds fingers, slender limbs sliding through your slick and circle your entrance.

“if you’re going to eat her out properly, let me see too.” he directs his attention to you. “hold the phone up for me, sweetheart. at least do some of the work.”

its snarky enough that you almost don’t want to comply but then geto is pausing and you know its a command to follow. reaching behind, you grasp the device and settle the camera facing just below your navel. as the new sole source of focus, geto raises his head and gives a cheeky little grin.

gojo coos immediately at the sight,” hey, baby. fuck you look beautiful today.”

the frame of the phone obscures your vision a little but you swear you see geto blush at the compliment. how could he not. even in another country, gojo was a smooth man.

“wish i was behind you right now, making you feel as good as you’re making her.”

gojo was always good at this- the phone sex. but he exceeded the expectations whenever he was granted a visual.

“eat her out for me, yeah? fuck, i bet i could taste it.”

the audio picks up on the shifting of clothing as gojo shimminging his pants down his hips to free his cock. he keeps the camera at the perfect angle fit the slow fisting of his cock in the frame

“you’re not in charge here, satoru,” geto murmurs all while lowering his head anyway. his mouth latches back onto your throbbing heat and fits his tongue between your labia. the hands finding purchase at your hips urge you to grind down as the talented muscle flicks up. sparks of pleasure prickles your nerves and you reach around the phone to tug the band free from his bun. before the dark tresses could trickle down against you, you’re there to comb it back.

“fuck- toru .. he feels so good.”

there is a hitch to gojo’s voice, something of a light pant as he responds. “i can see him, honey. he spoils you so good.”

geto’s nose brushes your clit when you rock forward and you cry out at the unexpected friction. he pulls back enough to return his fingers to the slick of your sex, two fingers easily dipping into your core. your hand slides to the back of his skulls as his fingers adopt a rhythm.

gojo seems keen on torturing himself by edging his fingers along the sensitive head without providing the needed friction. the distorted pleasure in his voice sounds like something is caught but you know he’s just staving it off as long as he can. you wonder how flushed his face is right now, but you can’t bring yourself to interrupt geto enough to ask for an update.

“he’s going to fuck you so good, honey. bet you’re loose enough for it.” gojo swallows audibly and you can tell he’s pushed back yet another orgasm. “tell him you’re ready. … please.”

with a simpering plea like that how could you not comply.

the free hand not currently working you towards nirvana, slides up your stomach to cup the weight of your breast. unable to resist, your legs come up to squeeze around the protruding limb, shamelessly rocking against the muscle of his bicep.

“fucking hell, you’re such a dirty girl.”

you can only whine when geto flexes in response, or maybe its because of the fingers finally leaving you. the same wet fingers take the phone from you, leaving a tacky residue behind. the bed shifts as geto rises to his knees, shaking away your hold.

he’s looking at you properly now, mouth free. “i’m waiting on that begging.”

cheeks warm and lips bitten raw, you give his leg one last desperate hump, hoping eager desperation can smooth the way. “please fuck me. make gojo cum,” you add and to your satisfaction the man’s groan rumbles against your stomach.

geto leans over you to drag a free pillow closer. the phone mostly sinks into the plush fabric but he’s able to angle it in just right. from the corner of your eye you can finally see gojo, skin flushed and cock fat and leaking. his hand works in short jerks, thumb darting across the head the way he likes.

geto’s hands pry your legs apart again, but his attention is directed to the phone.” you going to hold out on us all night? this is a mutual exchange,” he teases.

your other boyfriend huffs, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of geto stripping bare. “i think i liked you better when your mouth is full.”

geto doesn’t miss a beat. “you normally do.”

he takes one of your thighs up and hooks it at his hip. geto takes you slowly, making you feel every inch and drag as he parts your folds with his cock. the burn is absent but the stretch persists as you babble. where gojo favored length, geto was graced with width. frankly they were right to call you spoiled, blessed with the best of both worlds.

“is he all the way in, princess?” gojo’s voice is strained as he asks as if he can’t see half of the cock still working its way in.

your tongue is thick and heavy but you manage, whimpers with eager hope the sounds might coax him to go faster. you could only ask, after all, geto rarely took kindly to unsolicited demands. “not yet, but i already feel so full, toru.”

“fuck yeah you do. always such a snug fit. can’t get enough of either of you.”

geto continues to ease himself deeper, confident and calculated, until the base nudges your clit. large hands caress the curve and down to your hip to squeeze the flesh. it marks the steady increase of his pace, hips drawing back nearly all the way before smacking back against you pelvis.

he wasn’t a quiet lover, but he knew when to take advantage of gojo’s presence. his shadow encompasses you as the edge of his teeth drag against your jaw. ”make it pretty for him, bunny,” he coos against the shell of your ear. “make him come home.” is emphasized by a firm thrust that rocks your entire body.

then he’s pulling back to haunches before gojo can complain about the obscured view.

your fingers grasp at the sheets when he thrusts into you at a sharper angle. the hand at your hip goes tighter as he fucks the tremble right out of you. you can still see gojo, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he matches the pace driving into you. able to catch the silent prayer in his gaze, you answer is with a broken whine.

“he’s really giving it to you ... and you’re taking it so well,” his breathing is short, heavy with his impending climax.

“he’s so deep, toru. i feel like there isn’t even room to squeeze him. geto groans when you try, hissing through his teeth as he picks up the pace. you try to maintain eye contact with the distant shaman but he’s not doing a good job either. blue eyes greedily take in everything there is to offer, darting from the jiggle of your breast to the bead of sweat forming on geto’s temple.

everyone’s tipping the edge. you can feel the palpable tension in the air on the brink of snapping.

your vision whites out the moment he starts to spurt, thick strands bringing the arc of his hips to a sloppy grind. the harsh pant against your lips is a brief warning before he swallows your tongue eagerly, groaning the remnants of his release into your mouth.

in your ear, gojo follows the sentiment, breathing heavily. you can imagine the mess he makes of himself, chest white with sticky streaks of cum. he is very much out of breath but chuckles anyway as geto pulls himself free.

“messaged received. i’ll try to get home soon.”

#gojo satoru #geto x reader #geto suguru #gojo x reader #gojo sins #geto sins #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Brown Eyes

Part Nine of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.1K dont. just dont

Warnings: Smut, AS ALWAYS. Canon typical violence, verbal references masochism/pain kink (NOT ACTUALLY EXPLORED IN THIS CHAPTER MY DUDES, JUST HINTED AT/DISCUSSED), slight degradation, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, a bit of ass play (!!!), FLUUUUFFFFFF

***

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s the hold up?”

“I’m just…” The helmet looks you up and down, considering. You scrunch your nose at him and rock back and forth on your feet impatiently as he sighs. “It’s going to be like teaching a foundling to read. I’m just trying to figure out where to even begin.”

“Because it’s so fucking pretty here, I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that,” you say pointedly, looking around at the vast field of flowing grass surrounding the two of you and breathing in the warm, fresh air into your lungs. “Your vibe is clashing, Din.”

“Because I don’t really know what that means, I’m also going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he returns, and the child’s giggles float up alongside the breeze as he chases after another, slightly smaller green reptile that you also currently have no name for. He tilts the beskar thoughtfully at you, and you squint against the way the sun catches the visor directly in your eyes from this angle. “What do you want to learn first?”

“I want to shoot a gun,” you blurt without thinking.

“Okay, hand-to-hand it is,” he nods firmly, and then pats his unarmored chest with one bare hand. “Hit me.”

You blink down at the dark fabric stretched across his left pectoral, and then back up at the metallic visor staring back at you.

“Hit me,” he says again in response to your silence. “Hard as you can. Right here.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, lifting your gaze up to him once more with a twist of your mouth, already out of your comfort zone. “What if I hurt you?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” He actually sounds… pissed off. “Hit me.”

You immediately shove your hand up against his chest in response to the sharp order, and your palm makes a quiet slapping sound as it collides with what feels like solid rock concealed underneath black fabric.

Din says absolutely nothing. Almost a… forced silence. Like what he wants to say will very likely be vaguely mean and dismissive of your feelings, so he’s keeping his mouth firmly shut under the helmet. He just pats his chest again, each one purposeful and distinct, easily making twice the amount of noise hitting himself as you did hitting him.

You ball your fist up this time and whack him with it, considerably harder this time and even making a solid thud against his pectoral, though he doesn’t even move a fraction under the blow.

“I am…” he tries to choose his words carefully after another moment of purposeful silence. “…insulted.”

You grit your teeth and raise your arm up and back, swinging it out at him as hard as you physically can, but then the curve of his broad shoulder suddenly jerks back just before you can touch him and your fist is caught from the side with a gentle grip.

“Better. You wound up that time, that gives you momentum. But never come at someone like this,” he tells you, lifting your arm back up to the way it was before and then slowly hinging it down again against his chest. “This is how you were going to hit. See how your pinkie is taking the brunt of the punch when you come down at it from an angle like this?” He pushes your fist against his chest a few times to demonstrate your pinkie squishing against the solid plane of muscle. “No matter how hard you hit me, your hand is going to take that much force, too. That attempt had about half the power you want, but you might’ve broken your finger if I let you make contact like that.”

“Half the power?” You narrow your eyebrows at him. “You’ll break my whole hand.”

Din angles your wrist straight and pushes your closed fist against his chest again, this time head-on instead of at a downward angle. “Always try to use these first two knuckles to reinforce against the impact, they’re the strongest and best aligned with the bones in your wrist. You should also physically brace yourself for it. Flex your arm—create as much rigidity around your joints as you can, keep your fist clenched tight to maintain integrity of the soft tissues in your hand, and your body should protect itself against the blowback as long as you land right. Try again.”

You diligently wind your fist up again and then go to snap your arm straight forward this time, but he steps up and catches your elbow before you can even move. “Wait. Look at this—see this chicken wing?” He flaps your elbow back and forth while his other hand holds your fist in place next to your head. “This is no good, this is where you’re losing half your power. And having your arm up like this is making you open to rib and kidney shots.”

You squirm to the side when he taps the bend of his knuckle against your kidney, and the vulnerable spot is tender even though he barely uses any force. “I’m winding up,” you inform him with a huff.

“You are,” Din acknowledges. “But your movement is limited like this. See where your elbow is compared to your center of gravity?” He flaps it again, and your shoulder pulls uncomfortably when he pushes it back just a bit too far. “You’re restricting yourself, look. Your shoulder is in the way, this is as far as your body will let you go. You’re also using up too much energy trying to swing your whole arm around just to make contact; it’s sloppy technique, it slows you down, and it’ll tire you out. But, if you wind up like this—” Din lowers your elbow until it rests flat against your side, and then hinges it backwards instead of up near your head, “—see how much further away your elbow is from your body now? Instead of swinging outwards, think of a slingshot forwards. Use explosive, forward momentum that you generate from your shoulder—you’re aiming for a sharp, streamlined jab. This way you conserve energy, produce twice as much power, and your arm now covers up all this important stuff under here,” he explains, trying to tap his knuckle against your side once more but being blocked by your forearm. “Good? Now go again.”

He lets you go and steps back, and this time you instinctually plant your foot behind you to give you a solid base foundation that’ll allow you more room to twist, your physics brain lighting up as soon as he said slingshot. His helmet quickly drops to your stance and then immediately lifts back up to your face again.

You do exactly as he said—you wind back, keeping your arm tucked tight to your side, and then explode forward with a sharp spin of your shoulder and snap of your elbow, colliding your clenched fist into his chest as hard as you possibly can.

He grunts and takes two steps back.

You howl.

“FUUUUUCK!” It gets lost in the giant field of grass as you clutch your fist, torn between cradling it to your chest like a baby and shaking it out violently at your side like… something distinctly not a baby. You settle for just bending over and holding it tightly to your stomach, eyes clamped shut and screeching with such fervor that the back of your throat stings sharp with it. “WHAT THE FUCKING—FUCKFUCKFUCK—!?”

“Good!” Din encourages over your wailing. “That was good! How’d that feel? Holy shit—that felt good.”

“What’s the point of hitting you when it hurts me and makes you feel good!?” You cry out over your shoulder, somewhere between genuine hatred and agony.

“That was perfect,” he tells you immediately, almost sounding vaguely… out of breath behind you? “Don’t change a thing—that’s how you punch every single time from now on, okay? That’s how hard you hit. Fuck, that felt fucking good.”

The… something in his voice is enough to take your mind off your throbbing hand for just a second, quickly snapping upright and whirling around to face him with your eyebrows very, very narrowed. He stands there in front of you and you continue to eye him with as much silent skepticism as you can express, until the both of you speak at the same time.

“What was that?”

“Let’s go again.”

Neither of you move, and you feel like your face is scrunched up as tiny as possible at him right now with dubiousness.

“Let’s go again,” Din suddenly grunts out, hooking an arm around your elbow and tugging you to face forward once more.

“Did that turn you on?” You ask him bluntly, your battle wound completely forgotten by your side.

“I swear if you don’t—”

“You get hard when you get hurt?” You ask dumbly, all sorts of lightbulbs suddenly illuminating in dusty, cobwebbed corners of your mind. Maker, that would explain so much. “Is that why you wanted a handjob immediately after I burned a knife wound shut on your back?”

“You wanna learn how to punch today or you wanna learn how to block?” Comes through the helmet, thoroughly unamused at your antics, but you just break into a mischievous little grin in response and push just one more button of his, knowing he’s only mostly joking.

“I’ll punch you,” you purr. “Hold your arms up, show me your ribs.”

There’s a split second of silence before he quickly snaps his fist to his chest once again, oh, but it’s enough. Your shoulders do a little victory shimmy and have to bite your lip to keep from beaming at him, so unbelievably proud of yourself for being able to read him this well without seeing his face.

But—for the very same reason, you also plant your foot behind you and wind your arm back once more, knowing you were already treading on thin ice.

“Am I gonna have to start calling you chicken wing?” Din suddenly barks out, a split second into your forward launch. You almost stumble into him with all the generated momentum and catch yourself just in time, eventually stepping back and resetting with a frustrated huff. Purposefully tucking your arm tight into your side, you pull back once more.

He mmphs when you make equally hard contact in the very same spot but he doesn’t move this time, and you somehow forgot how horribly painful it is to slam your clenched fist directly against a solid object with all your strength—much less, the second time around. You attempt to deaden your response as well, but he has the luxury of the helmet to shield his face. Silencing your scream just makes yours contort unattractively in front of him while your eyes clamp shut and you clutch your wrist, trying to bite back the crippling pain.

“Other hand—use the other hand instead,” he tells you quickly. “You have two of them.”

“I used to!” You snarl through the way you can’t even flex it anymore, how your muscles aren’t working through the angry sparks of acute sensation jumping down your fingers. “Your stupid fucking pecs just broke my good one!”

“Want me to kiss it?” Din asks—quickly, almost like he can’t help himself, and the snarky tone of it through the modulator coupled with the throbbing pain makes you grit your teeth.

“I used to love your body,” you lift your head and growl up at him while you cradle your swollen claw. “Why did you take that from me?”

“Give me your hand,” he says calmly, holding his palm out for you.

“No,” you spit, the pain making you stubborn and resistant to anything you don’t immediately offer yourself, but he’s not impressed. Din easily catches your elbow and brings it up, his other hand gently lacing through your fingers even as you try in vain to pull it away. “Stop it—”

He completely ignores you and looks back over his shoulder at the kid, dwarfed by the tall grass and continuing to hop around behind what will likely be his lunch, before the helmet turns back to you. “Eyes closed.”

“This isn’t fucking funn—”

“Close your eyes,” he tells you once more. “Don’t open them.”

You take a deep breath and grind your teeth, not wanting to be treated like a baby. It irks you that he’s dedicating so much time and effort into just infantilizing you and your very real pain. Though, the pain is so real that it makes it almost impossible to express the sentiment—it comes out sounding childishly short and bratty. “It hurts.”

“I know,” is all he says, soft and lilting and quite possibly as gentle as you’ve ever heard him. “Close your eyes, sweet girl.”

His tone of voice is the only thing that compels you to listen. You finally do as he says and flutter your eyes shut, overly aware of the hard grimace on your face now that you can’t see anything. One of his hands releases you while keeping your numb fingers laced between his, and then a few seconds pass, before you suddenly feel soft lips pressing against your knuckle.

You hiss and tighten up on instinct, more in fear of the pain than the pain itself, but he holds your hand steady as he carefully trails gentle presses of his lips against your knuckles. After a moment, you breathe out shakily, your eyebrows lifting just slightly at the sensation—before his mouth opens and his warm tongue glides delicately across your sensitive skin.

You gasp and your fingers twitch in between his, suddenly able to move again. They knock against cool metal as his tongue slowly drags down the valleys between your knuckles—but then Din abruptly drops your hand at the sudden sound of sunshine giggles coming from afar. Your eyes pop open just as his helmet is yanked down over his jaw once more.

“Let’s…” He clears his throat through the modulator, taking a small step back. “Let’s go again.”

***

You collapse down into a pitiful little pile on the grass, trying to catch your breath. This is ridiculous. You somehow have tender bruises all over your body and yet you’re the only one who’s done any sort of hitting whatsoever.

“That’s fine, we can take a break,” Din says gruffly from above you, but you’re too tired to even comment on the sarcasm. You just groan, flopping down flat on your back while he sits in the grass next to you and silently waits for you to start breathing normally again.

“I hate this,” you pant, resting your numb hands against your forehead and squinting against the late afternoon sun. “I don’t like this. My body hurts and I barely did anything.”

“You’re good at it,” Din is quick to respond, and the blunt sincerity in his voice takes you aback, making you glance over at him in shock. “I know,” he nods once the beskar turns and he sees the look on your face, “I didn’t expect it either.”

His tendency to compliment you while simultaneously insulting you doesn’t go unnoticed, but if anything, you decide to take it as a testament to his honesty and comfort in your presence. Clearly he’d have no issue telling you if you were terrible at this.

Instead of responding, you lace your fingers behind your head and continue to just lay there, closing your eyes against the warm sunshine. It’s gorgeous here, you get why this planet is renown throughout the galaxy. Perfect weather, stunningly green rolling hills for miles, the gentle breeze dancing through the tall grass, brilliant white clouds suspended against a beautiful blue backdrop. The only thing that’s missing is—

“When can we go see the ocean?” You blurt up at the sky, unable to stop the words before they’re out of your mouth.

“What ocean?” Comes tiredly through the modulator, monotone and filtered as he shuffles into a more comfortable position.

“Any of them,” you immediately respond, shrugging your shoulders against the grass. “The closest one. I’m not picky.”

“…Naboo doesn’t have any oceans,” Din tells you blankly.

You startle slightly, jerking your head over at him. “What? But—but I saw it through the transparisteel when we dropped. This whole planet is practically covered in water.”

“It is,” he agrees with a tilt of his helmet, following you with the visor as you finally scramble to sit yourself upright. “But it’s all one big… body of water. Locals call it the Abyss, it stretches across the entire planet through a system of underground caves and tunnels. It only surfaces as rivers and lakes and swamplands, though. No ocean. Not really.”

“Oh.” It’s blank, but it’s… lacking. The sun glinting against metal gives you an excuse to subtly turn your head away from him, and you hold back your sigh of disappointment.

“What’s the matter?” He grunts after a moment, somehow succeeding in sounding mildly disinterested while still bothering to ask. He props his knee upright to rest his elbow on it, apparently able to read you better than ever as well.

“Nothing,” you say on instinct and shake your head, already knowing it’s dumb. You’re being dumb, there’ll be other planets with oceans—you just haven’t had the opportunity to go to one yet.

Din doesn’t say anything after that, but he also keeps the helmet subtly turned towards you, like he’s just… waiting. The quiet almost doesn’t sound quiet anymore, not when there’s such a loud unspoken question still lingering in it.

“It’s just,” you say after a moment, trying to smile, but it doesn’t feel real. It’s nothing more than a movement your mouth makes and it feels at odds with the mild disappointment you’re trying to hide. “I used to be a moisture farmer. Back on Arvala-7, where we first met.”

His continued silence tells you nothing. You don’t know whether he’s confused and you should elaborate, whether he understands and doesn’t need an explanation, whether he’s interested or disinterested. Nothing. So after another few more seconds of nothing, you decide to keep going.

“There's something about water that just… hits different when you spend your entire life on a planet without any,” you say quietly, picking at a few blades of grass by your knees instead of looking at him. “When I was a little girl, I used to think it was as rare in the rest of the galaxy as it was where I was born. A limited resource you had to farm from the atmosphere to drink, because it didn’t occur naturally in liquid form. It was… valuable. Delicate. Crystal clear—never saw more than a few dozen gallons of it at a time. Something to be cherished. Something you’d never want to waste even just dipping your hand into, because the dirt on your skin would contaminate it.”

You smile once more, but this time it feels a little bit better. “You know… the first shower I took on the Crest the day I left that Maker-forsaken planet was the first time I ever felt my hair get wet. We only ever had sonic showers on Arvala-7.” And stars, the memory of it makes you want to shudder. Ultrasonic waves vibrating the dirt and sweat off your body sounds a lot more thorough than it actually is. You never felt truly clean until you were soaking wet on the Crest with shampoo in your hair, giggling like a child in the fresher while you made yourself a soapy little beard.

It springboards into another memory—the moment you first reached for a towel after showering, catching a glimpse of your hands and startling at the sight of your wrinkled, pruny fingertips. You’d never heard of such a phenomena before that point. You thought you’d asked Kuiil about everything, but to be entirely fair, he might not have even realized it happened, not from the leathery texture of his xenospecies’ skin. The questions he did answer for you were plenty though, and you suddenly remember something he said to you years ago that was so jarring and unexpected that it’s stuck with you to this day.

“Kuiil told me once that water was loud,” you suddenly hear yourself say, and though your soft laugh is nostalgic and sincere, you don’t know why, but you instantly tear up as soon as the words leave your mouth. “Loud. How could—could water be loud? What… what noise would it make?”

You sniff and continue to pick at the grass, a bit more vigorously this time, purposefully keeping your eyes down and blinking quickly. “He said… he said streams and brooks… b-bubble. They bubble. And rain… rain is like static—like white noise, but… natural. Not generated by a machine. He said the ocean is the loudest, though. It roars. It’s powerful.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat and glancing up, you try to distract yourself from the memory of your close friend by looking out at the wavy grass, trying to see if you can spot the kid being dwarfed by it. You can’t, not from this low angle, but you can still hear him playing happily in the distance.

“I’ve seen all the others now, thanks to you,” you confess quietly. “Rain, rivers, lakes—but I always wanted to see an ocean. A big, scary one, where the sound would just be… deafening. Water, tons of it, crashing up against rocks and filling the air with mist. Used to dream about them. Wanted to see something I used to think was rare fill my entire field of view. Wanted to see something I always thought was precious turn into something formidable.”

Din continues staring silently at you through your peripheral while you keep picking at the grass absently.

“I just—I don’t know.” You finally look over at him and sigh, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “I just always dreamed of a place where I could go, a place where I could open my eyes and all I’d be able to see—all I could hear—was water.”

You stop talking after that, having run out of things to say and realizing you probably shared a little too much without ever being prompted. The sunlight is gentle and easy, however, and it encourages you to close your eyes and just breathe, letting silent, eternal gratitude to the man next to you fill you. You’d never know any sun that isn’t harsh, you’d never know the greenness of the tall grass in this sprawling field had he not found you, given you a chance to tag along the galaxy with him and his carnivorous little sidekick.

The sun begins making you sleepy the more you sit here in the middle of paradise, eyes closed and tasting the gorgeous air in your lungs. But eventually, Din stands up and steps in front of you, opening both of his bare palms towards the setting sky and bouncing them up and down a few times. “Up. Come on. I’ll teach you how to throw an uppercut before nightfall.”

You groan but lift your hands in his direction all the same, trying not to wince while you make grabby fingers at him, your knuckles slightly bruised and red. He sighs and wraps his hands purposefully around your elbows, urging you up as he takes a few steps backwards.

It’s awkward. You’re still feeling lazy and droopy-eyed, and the cool shadow he casts makes you even more sleepy. You think he’s going to help more than you have to pull yourself up, and he clearly thinks he’s there to be your platform instead of your forklift. What results is just you being dragged uselessly by your arms in front of him, until your torso and legs are stretched in an uncomfortable J-shape on the ground and your forehead bumps into his lower tummy.

He stops and holds you there, before grunting out, “Use your feet.”

“Just let me fall,” you tell him, your lips brushing against the dark fabric while your shoulders and spine pull tight at this angle. “Just leave me here like this.”

The sigh he makes above you feels like he puts his whole entire being into it. Din leaves you propped up against him for a second while he grumbles and readjusts his hold further up near your shoulders, before he maneuvers you until you’re gently settling down on your knees in the grass.

You think (hope) he’s going to release you and let you take a nap, but then you gasp when he shifts and the toe of his boot suddenly wedges itself between your closed thighs. He lifts up on your arms just slightly, enough to take the weight off your knees so he can swipe his foot out and kick one of them open, before plopping you back down again and letting you go.

Up until that point, you’d been good. You were content with being boneless for him and seeing how he’d deal, but then he gracefully crouches down in front of you and wraps one powerful arm around your back, hugging you tight to his chest. Din’s open thighs frame your kneeling figure and you can feel his cock pressed against your tummy from this angle, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

For some reason, he decides to take this next part slow. Maybe it’s because he can probably feel the way your heart is starting to kick up against his unarmored chest right now, but he drags it out. Broad shoulder dropping and his helmet finding a home in the crook of your neck, Din braces you to his chest with one arm while the other slithers down the curve of your ass and then under—his forearm pressing firmly between your cheeks and then his open palm flattening tight along the length of your pussy from behind.

You moan softly next to the helmet while he works the thick muscles in his thighs to gradually lift you both from the ground. Maker, the tips of his fingers are curved hard against your slit through your pants while he rises, pulling you up until gravity causes your thighs to slowly meet around his hand and your legs to dangle.

The feat of strength turns you on just as much as his choice of positioning does. Fuck, you know you’re not the lightest person in the galaxy, but Din carefully sets you down on your feet without even so much as a grunt of effort, his hand staying tucked tight between your legs for longer than necessary. Biting your lip and pressing your face into his shoulder does nothing to stop the quiet whimper you make when he decides to grind his strong fingers up into you just a bit.

“Din,” you whisper, wanting to melt into him, but then he’s instantly ripping his hand away and taking a step back.

You nearly fall over at the sudden lack of support after relying solely on him for it for so long, but you don’t even have enough time to open your mouth in upset. There’s just a split second before a green blur bursts through the tall grass with a squeal and trips over the baggy potato sack around his body.

It’s like it happens in slow motion. You both watch as he flies forward, skidding more than once on the ground and then landing face-down on your shoe, the little thump on your foot feeling so adorably anticlimactic after all the buildup.

Nobody moves for a second, except for the way your eyes flicker up at the visor currently tilted towards the ground. You can tell Din is just holding his breath, just waiting to see if—

A hiccup. You see broad shoulders tighten under the dark fabric, and then a sudden piercing wail is released against your shoe.

“Shit,” Din curses, already scooping the little thing up and bouncing him slightly to pacify him. You bite your lip against the way his ears flop from the movement and he screams even louder. “Hey hey hey, stop. Stop it. Stop crying.”

“Uh oh! Where’d your little friend go?” You ask while Din immediately turns the kid around to face you, your voice pitched soft and high in your register as you step closer. “Did you eat him already?”

He just shudders out a cry, probably an affirmative, his mouth dropping and his little teeth peeking through while he sobs and his giant eyes well with tears.

“Shit,” Din curses again, this time in defeat, but you won’t give up that easy.

“Hey—hey goose, wanna see me beat your daddy up?” You ask, lightly booping the little bump of his nose. “Huh? Wanna see me fight?” You pull your top lip up into a ridiculous little snarl and flex your arms threateningly, and the sobs suddenly stutter to a stop within a few breaths. “Op, yep. See—he knows I’ll kick your ass, Din, he just got scared.”

“Please,” the modulator pfftts quietly, but the kid just blinks at you while you keep growling.

“I’ll hurt him real bad,” you promise him, putting your fists up in front of you and bouncing your weight back and forth like a prized boxing champ. “I’ll, uh…” your list of trash talk repertoire is admittedly rather short, and both of them wait in silence for you to figure it out, the bigger one a lot less entertained than his miniature counterpart. “I’ll punch him just. So hard. So hard that… it’ll bruise. Yeah—I’ll make him bleed underneath his skin.”

“No, this is good, keep going,” Din encourages after a moment of awkward silence. “Maybe you’ll be able to find your way there at some point.”

You ignore him, bobbing and ducking and then popping him one good in the shoulder with an accompanying vocal sound effect—except you quickly jerk your hand away and shake your wrist out, staring up at the helmet like he deeply offended you and mouthing, “Ow.”

A smile. The smallest ghost of one, but you see it on the kid’s teeny green mouth when you flick your eyes down to him.

So, Din spends the rest of the lingering daylight teaching you the proper uppercut technique while he cradles an adorable little bug-eyed baby in one arm. You keep making faces at him while throwing your fist up against his dad’s extended, downturned palm, until he finally starts giggling again.

***

Whelp, turns out you’re a fucking idiot. Or maybe just a selfish bitch, either way. Not a good look.

You thought, from the way the lovely afternoon went, that you were getting better at reading Din. Knowing when to joke around, when to keep pushing, and when to stop talking, all from just his body posture and tone of voice alone. But you’re also an idiot, as you’ve already established.

As you three headed back to the Crest through the dusky twilight evening, you remember telling Din that if there weren’t any oceans on Naboo, then you’ll at least be able to sleep in a bed on this planet. A real one, one with a—oh stars, an actual mattress. The word alone sent shivers down your spine, and the baby cooed while blinking his eyes slowly, well on his way to being tuckered out from the long day outside.

You don’t remember Din directly responding, but then again, that isn’t really all that rare in the grand scheme. Granted, he was arguably more talkative today than ever before, and he did get a little bit quieter after that, but still, you couldn’t have known. Only an incredibly hyper-observant person would’ve noticed in the moment—you’re lucky you can even recall this much in hindsight.

Though, this next part should’ve been more of a direct giveaway. Once you were in the Crest, he put his armor back on.

You still didn’t think. It’s such a normal thing, the beskar fitting tight to magnetic plates around his shoulders, thighs, and chest. It’s normal, he wears it all the time. Having him walking around in broad daylight sans armor and gloves today was odd, that was the outlier.

He flew the vessel to the nearest town, a quaint little village on the edge of a gorgeously full forest. The ride was as gentle as possible—you were feeling soft and decided to hold the baby as he drifted off instead of placing him in the quiet darkness of his cradle. The ears tend to make things a bit awkward, but after months of practice with it, you’re now a pro at rocking the little guy to sleep in your arms.

Din’s continued silence didn’t bother you—or really even register, considering you were trying to be quiet as well. He slung your go-bag around his shoulder and pressed a few buttons on his vambrace to set the kid’s sphere protocols to follow behind him, before pressing a gloved palm to your lower back and leading you down the ramp, the sleepy baby tucked tight into your arms.

There were people in the village mingling while you three walked down the cobblestone path to the nearest inn, giving your ragtag group double-takes as you passed. The innkeeper, however, was blind. Not only did you not receive the same terrified courtesy the barkeep on Canto Bight had afforded you before, but he was clearly used to spotting and swindling newcomers, sightless or not.

“Only room left’s a suite,” he drawled, the cloudy whites of his pupils hovering just between your left shoulder and Mando’s right pauldron. “Five hundred credits a night.”

The color drained from your face, your heart doing a giant flip in your chest and completely fucking up the landing. You turned to Mando to reassure him that absolutely nothing about this was necessary, but he was already dropping the ridiculous amount of credits on the desk without a single word.

That should’ve been the nail in the coffin, to be honest. His immediate willingness to hand over that many credits without the slightest protest, grumble, or sigh was the kicker—that’s how you should’ve known something wasn’t right. He didn’t even allow you to split the cost when you offered to reimburse him on the way to the room.

But again. You’re an idiot, so.

At least the suite is gorgeous. Slightly old-fashioned and moonlit enough to skip even flicking the lights on, illuminated by large open windows with views of the village streets and sprawling mountains and forest beyond. Everything inside is either cream or white, so clean and soft, and being able to feel the breeze billowing through the gauzy curtains is just. After months of traveling in that enclosed ship, it’s restorative. Almost nothing in here is made of metal.

So it’s not until right now—almost immediately after you settled the kid down into the incredibly large guest bed and walked into the master bedroom to find Mando sitting perfectly still on the edge of the mattress—now something feels off. He looks so out of place as you quietly snap the door shut behind you. The enormous floor to ceiling window decorating the far side of the room bathes him in pale light, highlights the blaster marks and bits of dirt clinging to the beskar as he sits on the bed.

“You’re going to get the sheets all dirty,” you, an idiot, tell him, your voice barely above a murmur. “Take off your—”

“I can’t,” he rushes, though he jumps up from the mattress all the same. You snap your mouth shut and freeze. “It’s safe here but it’s… it’s still not a good idea, not if I want to sleep. Not with people around, and all these… windows.”

The words send you reeling. You had no idea, you thought… “Oh. I’m sorry, that—”

You immediately go silent, feeling absolutely fucking awful. You didn’t think. All you could think about was that bed underneath you, and you maybe… blindfolded in some way? And then of course, him, in it—completely naked, helmet off, and laying next to you.

“You’re okay,” Mando tells you with a shrug, not sounding like… anything. He looks like he’s about to say something else—his chestplate lifts with an inhale as he turns to you, but then seems to stop right as he’s about to speak.

“Shit—please sit on the bed, I don’t care if you’re dirty,” you quickly say, just as he blurts out, “You can still take your clothes off though.”

You blink at him for a second, not sure you heard him right. “…What did y—”

“You can, uh.” His voice is soft. “I can… lay down. On top of the sheets. In my armor, just like this, and then you can take your clothes off and just. Rub up on me a little bit. If you want.”

A shudder quite suddenly rockets down your spine at the tone of his voice, the quiet, slightly hesitant murmur through the modulator. The gulp you take is audible through the room, the only other sound being the closest trees rustling in the breeze outside. The spread curtains dance with it, but they’re too sheer and light to make a noise. “O-Okay.”

“Yeah?” He asks lowly, and you quickly nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your body beginning to tingle, “sit—sit back down.”

He goes to move but then abruptly stops, and you hold your breath while you watch the visor jerk just a fraction to pin you in place. Something instantly feels… different about him, a silent shift taking place within just a singular moment. Like he all of a sudden realized that he didn’t actually like that very much.

Instead of acquiescing, Mando slowly steps in front of you, straightening up to his full height and absolutely dwarfing you with it, and your palms start to sweat. Maker, when he speaks, it sends shivers down your body and the last thing you hear in his voice is hesitation.

“Take off your clothes,” he tells you, a dangerous edge to his soft tone. The quiet dominance in it feels like the floor beneath you rumbles from it.

On instinct, your eyes flick over his shoulder to the open window and the village outside. It’s barely been a few hours since sundown—townspeople are strolling down winding streets in the distance, ghostly moonlight mixes with the warm glow from large oil lamps lining the pubs and street corners.

You look back at him barely a split second later as he stands there in front of you, waiting.

You startle and immediately move to grab at the hem of your shirt, and your fingers unintentionally tremble as they start to pull it up.

“Stop.”

His voice breaks through the silence, the modulated order halting your movements immediately. You blink up at him, letting your shirt drop back down again, and Mando takes a second to look back at you, studying you from under the beskar.

“Go stand by the window,” he suddenly says, lazily tilting the helmet to gesture at it.

Your blood pounds in your ears during the still moments following, the thrill of it making you nearly go deaf for a second. After you recover from the visceral heatwave that rockets through you, you slowly walk over to the window and then turn your back on the ballooning curtains to look at him. The beskar is still pinned to you over his shoulder, though the rest of his body hasn’t moved.

“Turn around,” he tells you, and you shakily do as he says, rotating to face the open window. You’re close enough to make out people’s expressions from here—friends mingling as they stroll down the sidewalk, their mouths moving but their voices and laughter muted at this distance. An outdoor restaurant serving local cuisine to patrons and out-of-towners, a violinist and cellist performing a silent duet on the street corner.

There’s shuffling behind you. The creak of the bedframe as he lowers himself on it and moves around, before eventually coming to a rest in what you assume is a comfortable position.

“You can keep going,” eventually comes his filtered voice from the bed.

Your eyelashes dip and flutter as more hot sparks of arousal kindle deep in your floor muscles. Lifting your shirt up over your head has never felt like such high stakes before, but even as the fabric falls to the ground, your gaze continuously searches for anyone outside who may catch a glimpse. Though, you’re not sure if it’s in dread or some kind of sick excitement.

The breeze hardens your nipples while you work at your pants, and the hair on your arms stands up when you remember who’s behind you, silently watching you get turned on by this. Along with your underwear, your pants are pushed down your thighs, but instead of moving back from the pool around your ankles, you take a purposeful step forward towards the open window.

“Fuck—you dirty little thing,” you hear him breathe out, and a shiver rolls through you. “Tell me how many people you can see right now, count them.”

You try your best, but give up halfway through and provide a rough estimate. “F-Fifteen.”

“Scanner says seventeen from here,” Mando challenges lowly. “Seventeen pairs of eyes that can look up any second and see your naked body. Stripped bare, shaking, vulnerable. Your gorgeous fucking tits.”

As hard as your teeth dig into your bottom lip at the rasp through the modulator, your nails dig into your palms even harder. Still, you don’t move, and the open drapes flick and brush against your thighs as you hold there, the gentle wind doing absolutely nothing to cool your flushed skin down.

And oh, he waits. He’s good about that, especially when he can probably read your infrared signature through the helmet right now. You’re surprised you haven’t outright blinded him by how white-hot your body feels. But after what feels like a small eternity, he eventually murmurs, “Come over here.”

Once you turn around and see the way he’s just laying back on the bed, relaxing and enchanted with the show, it’s a miracle you don’t trip on anything with how quickly you hurry towards him. You’re already standing next to the edge of the mattress by the time you even register his body is subtly tilted so that his boots are hanging purposefully off the side of it.

Regardless of the hard dominance he’s exhibiting, the symbolic gesture somehow feels like it flips a switch inside you and lights up pure, aching adoration for him. But against every instinct screaming at you to just scramble on top of him and show him how much you appreciate his thoughtfulness, you wait. You wait for him to tell you what to do.

His glove lifts, comes up to gently touch the side of your face and cradle your jaw, and you have to clamp your hands together to stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Are you wet?” Mando murmurs, sounding like his lips barely even brush against each other when they move under the beskar. You don’t trust yourself to say anything without it turning into a desperate plea, so you just close your eyes and jerk your head in a nod, feeling your cheek graze against the leather on his palm with the movement. It’s hard to swallow when your mouth feels so dry, and he lets you just suffer there and tremble for him a little while longer, letting out a quiet hum through the modulator as his thumb carefully rides the line of your cheekbone.

Maker, where does all this fucking patience come from? Under normal circumstances, Mando is probably one of the most impatient people you’ve ever met, and yet. It’s like he stores it all up. Hoards it and refuses to dip into it most of the time—perfectly content to have a quick temper in most interactions, if only so that he can keep it handy for moments like this. If only so he can have a seemingly endless supply of patience to sustain him while your average-sized stockpile is gradually and inevitably being depleted.

“You want to get up here with me?” He asks quietly, and stars, that’s still not a directive, no matter how much it could casually imply one. The ridiculous thing is—he never even told you this was expected of you. Not once did he tell you to follow his words like they're gospel, not once did he say there was something wrong with speaking directly to him without prompting, or acting without explicit instruction. He never even implied anything like that at all, but you still hold your body completely rigid as you jerk a nod against his palm once more.

Stars, it just isn’t fair. He doesn’t look any different from how he looks every single day—there’s no patch of golden skin to tease you, beskar is covering him head to toe, but you’re hotter for him than you think you’ve ever been. He’s stretched out long on the bed, a portion of him darkened by your silhouette but the rest bathed in gorgeous moonlight, breathing slow as he takes you in. You stare silently at the visor, and for some reason, you—you’re quite suddenly struck with how gorgeous he could secretly be under there and you’ll just… you’ll never know. You know his hair is thick and dark, you know the softness of his mouth, the sunkissed color of his skin, the prominent nose and straight teeth on the rare but blissful occasions he’d let you kiss him. His eyes, though. They could be any color. Your credits have been on brown for a while, but the thought of you not knowing for sure… the thought of you actually having to ask him something like that is just—it makes you ache to touch him even more. To give him something tangible at least, when you know the only way to ever have a true visual connection with him is with a dark visor between you.

You try to let the sentiment transfer through your needy expression, hoping he can read it from there. His cock is hard—you can see it in your peripheral, pressing up against the dark fabric of his pants, but it’s like you’re the only one who notices. He’s still admiring your face, or fuck, maybe he’s looking at your body—you can never tell for sure, but regardless, you stare purposefully at wherever you think his eyes ought to be, silently pleading with him and starting to get desperate.

Finally—fucking finally, the helmet rocks to the side just slightly, just the smallest tilt of his head towards his body, but the nonverbal invitation is enough. Air you didn’t realize was even in your lungs suddenly whooshes out of you as you all but launch forwards onto the mattress to try and climb on top of him.

—Except, then his hand quickly drops from your face to press firm against your thighs, blocking the way your far leg tries to lift to swing over him in a straddle. Disappointment crashes through you with an audible whimper and you start to panic a little bit as you shakily plant both knees back on the bed, wondering what you possibly did wrong. Was it because he didn’t specifically say it was okay? Was he just testing your obedience?

The beskar vambrace feels cool against your burning skin, and you try not to let the trembling of your body manifest itself in your breathing as Mando lazily drags his glove along your thighs. Neither one of you says anything as he eventually trails his hand back and around, leather fingers coming to a rest between your legs while his thumb rides high, just under the curve of your ass.

And then he slowly starts pulling, before he gradually leads the leg closest to him up and over his body instead, until you’re settling into a straddle on top of his hips. Backwards.

Everything in you shudders violently as both gloves gently trail up the length of your naked back, letting you brace your hands on the beskar strapped to his thighs and settle on top of him.

“Look at that,” he hums, letting his hands fall back down to the meat of your ass, grabbing handfuls of it and squeezing hard enough to make you bite back a gasp. “Fucking pretty. Pretty girl. Stars, I fucking love looking at you, know that?”

The praise makes you mewl quietly and spread your knees even further, dropping your hips down until the underside of his cock presses up tight into your aching pussy. You arch your back and walk your hands forward just a bit, just until you’re holding onto his knees and you have the right angle to start slowly rocking your body back and forth.

“Maker,” you whisper, your head tipping back while you drag your pussy against his pulsing erection, and his hands keep massaging your ass while the words start falling out of you now that you released the floodgate. “Maker, I love your body. So big, and—and strong. Fucking hard, thick cock. Fuck, I love your cock. I love how fucking hard you get—”

“Bend over,” Mando breathes out behind you, his hands suddenly releasing fistfuls of your ass to grab around your hips and bring you to a stop. “Fuck, keep talking like that, but show me your—just let me… let me look at it.”

Your heart slams against your sternum, your clit pulsing against the hard ridge of his cock, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. Slowly, you bend your upper body over until your tummy lays flat along the cool beskar shielding his thighs and your tits are pressed against his kneecaps. Your arms are long enough to rest your hands on his ankles like this, and your thighs are spread wide to keep your cunt pushed up against his cock. But stars, you know he has a perfect view right now. The slick lips of your pussy smearing against his dark pants, both holes on full display for him in the moonlight.

“Keep—Keep talking,” Mando reminds you after a moment, sounding painfully turned on while his cock jumps against your clit. “Keep going. Use it, get yourself off. Let me watch.”

“Fuck, I love your cock,” you hear yourself repeat, breathless and needy as your hips start grinding down against him once more, the words coming from you without giving them any thought whatsoever. He grunts and pushes it up for you, letting you get at it easier. “I think about it all the time. Think about the first time I felt it, how you were already rock fucking hard for me when I touched you. You came so quick, right in my hand, in your pants—it was so fucking hot.”

“I’d had—” he grits out in his defense, “—shit, I’d had a… a rough day, and your hands were. Fuck, s-soft, and—”

“Maybe,” you concede, biting your lip and closing your eyes against the swirling pleasure spreading hot through your body, the heat that burns you alive hearing the familiar warble through the modulator when he’s starting to lose himself in pleasure. “Or maybe it was because you were half-conscious with a brand new scar on your back.”

His filtered groan rolls down your spine and his cock pulses hard against your cunt through the fabric of his pants, making you spasm in delight. Fuck, your head drops down completely, just dragging yourself back and forth on top of him as you chase your orgasm like this. Shameless—your ass flexing in front of him with every roll of your hips, your lower muscles fluttering with every drag against his cock.

“Fuck—fuck, let me touch your asshole,” Mando whispers suddenly, lifting himself up on one elbow and dragging the other hand up the curve of your cheek. “Just—just a little bit, I won’t pu—”

“Oh stars above, fucking please,” you gasp against one of his legs, nearly jerking back against his hand as your pussy fucking leaks through his pants with it. “I’ll let you do anything you want, you can—can put your thumb inside it—”

His other hand leaves you for a split second, and you think he’s taking his glove off, except then it swings down to crack hard against your ass, making you gasp and instantly go still for him on his lap.

The smooth leather covering the pad of his thumb carefully glides down your crevice, and you hold your breath until it finally brushes over the tight ring of muscle flexing for him.

“That all you’ll let me put in here?” Mando asks quietly, and you let out a complete mess of a whimper, trying your best not to move under the bold touches.

You get another firm smack on the ass for being rendered mute for too long. “Tell me,” he growls, rubbing his thumb against the vulnerable entrance while his cock throbs against your cunt.

“I’ll—I’ll let you do anything you want,” you moan once more, and stars, you can’t help it. Your hips start to grind down against him even harder than before, and Mando curses as he slowly rides your movements with his hand.

“Dirty,” he grits out. “Dirty girl. You ever take it back here before?” And stars, the way his cock drags against your pussy starts to make you lightheaded, how casually he’s talking about this while starting to circle his thumb around it and press firm against it. Not hard enough to push inside, but enough to feel the natural resistance give just a bit.

“No,” you breathe, starting to pant while you work against him. “Boys have tried. But I’d let you.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, suddenly rocking his hips up against yours. You nearly choke and your legs start to lock up, making your movements stunted. “Fuck. I bet you’d let me do it right fucking now, wouldn’t you? Right here in front of this f-fucking window, where everyone can see? Let me flip you over and stretch you out, and then fuck your tight little—virgi—”

“Maker, get your cock out,” you gasp, heat burning at your center and beginning to spread outwards. It tingles hot through your lower abdomen and you start to get frantic, knowing you don’t have much time before your orgasm hits. “Please, just let me ride it, let me cum on it—”

“No,” Mando immediately grunts, and you make a small sound of distress that quickly turns into a high-pitched mewl against his leg when the very tip of his thumb just barely breaches the haloed entrance.

“But—but I’m so wet,” you whisper, “oh stars, can’t you see it? I’m dripping. You could just slide it right in right now, I’d take it so fucking easy—”

He rips his hand away just long enough to smack your ass once again, hard enough to ring through the room and make you gasp. “Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given and you’ll endure,” he snaps. “Not here, not tonight.”

You bite back desperate protests. He’d fuck you in a dark alleyway on Canto Bight but not here? As if you haven’t already done so multiple times this evening, you immediately lament your stupid mouth and the thoughtless mattress comment. You wish you could take it all back—you don’t care how nice this bed is, you want to sleep in anything he’ll fuck you in. Nonetheless, your orgasm gallops forward and leaves your body struggling to keep up behind it—but Maker, you want so badly to feel him inside you when it finally hits. You want to sink down on him and feel him break you open just as you start to cum.

“Oh fuck, please give me it,” you whine, sounding on the edge of delirium, the words pressed high and unintentional as your hands clutch at his legs. “Oh Maker, please, please fuck me—fuck me in a real bed, please, just—fuck me right now and I swear I’ll sleep on fucking rocks for you every single night for the rest of m—”

A snarl rips through the modulator and he shoves your hips forward just enough, just enough to rip his waistband down—

You gasp in blinding relief and flip your head over your shoulder to watch, but then subtle movement catches in your peripheral. You glance up just in time to see the doorknob slowly turning.

Thank your lucky stars you react on instinct alone, squealing and jumping off him before quickly shuffling under the covers.

“What the fu—” comes an enraged, filtered growl, metal clanking with how quickly he flips over to reach for you, but then he cuts off and the helmet whips to the door as it unlatches and slowly creaks open.

The blankets are pulled tight under your chin as you shuffle down as far as possible, and though you can’t see the intruder from this angle, Mando is instantly reaching back to rip the pillow out from under the helmet and press it tight over his crotch, huffing out a sigh.

Soon, you’re able to spot one pointy little ear pop up, followed by the rest of the little gremlin scaling the treacherously tall comforter, pulling himself over the edge of the mattress with a determined three-finger hold and then doing a completely unnecessary little barrel roll once he’s on the level springtop. The fact that it’s so fucking adorable just serves to irk you even more, and both of you silently watch the kid push himself up on two feet and then waddle slowly in between you two.

He finds a pillow he likes—one that happens to be placed directly in between you and his dad, before he settles himself down on it like a small bed on top of a much larger one. The little stinker then flutters his abnormally giant eyes closed and seems to instantly fall back asleep.

There’s a few minutes where you just blink across from Mando, flicking your gaze between the chrome visor and the baby’s peaceful face. Is this… is he serious right now?

“Were we being too loud?” You eventually whisper, barely above a breath. “Or is he just being purposefully annoying?”

He doesn’t answer you. And, well, you suppose he has a point. Regardless of why, it appears he's here now.

You let out a slow breath and just try and relax, try and think beyond the flare of annoyance at the interruption, how close you were to feeling him fuck you into this mattress. He’d still have the armor and helmet on, of course, but it would be just domestic enough to ruin you.

But then again—you suppose this, if anything, is even more domestic. Doing your best to calm your racing thoughts so you can eventually fall asleep directly across from him with his mildly aggravating, heartstealing little adopted kid snoring quietly between you.

Quite a while passes before you feel your eyelids growing heavy. You spend almost the entire time studying every single inch of Mando while he faces you on the mattress. The sharp angles and smooth curves of his helmet, concave in places but convex in others. How fitting, you think. To cover a man with a helmet just like him—sharp, smooth, contrasting, and deflective enough about what lies underneath to be reflective.

Then you find yourself thinking about what he’s hiding under it. Once more. You try to picture him, but it’s… it’s difficult. You’re not used to translating things you’ve only touched into visual representations, it’s just not a skill you’ve ever needed to have handy. And what about all the things you can’t, or haven’t been able to feel? Freckles, or birthmarks? Dimples? Are his lashes long or short? Do they stick out in a fringe when he clamps his eyes shut? Does his nose scrunch up when he laughs? Do his ears stick out? Does he have wrinkles on his forehead, or around his eyes?

Maker, what color are they?

You continue to stare at the metal faceplate, blinking droopily at it but forcing yourself to stay awake just a bit longer. Enjoy the feeling of the soft mattress underneath you while you still can, relaxing into the cool sheets and delaying your inevitable descent into dreams. Savoring his extended presence here with you for as long as possible.

“Do you have brown eyes?” You hear yourself murmur to him through the quiet darkness, lips barely touching and the words slurred from exhaustion. You want to know. You want to be able to color in the last paint-by-number of his face before you begin your work on the finer details.

Again, he doesn’t answer, and you figure he’s probably asleep.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #no-droids

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annaofthenorthernlights · 2 years

Text

All you need is love... actually

Fanfiction Frozen modern AU, Disney crossover (my first go)

Pairing: Kristoff/Anna (main), Sven/Honeymaren, Mathias/Halima, Ryder/Merida

Rated M (for some nudity)

I owe nothing but my headcanon - which is loosely based on the Christmas movie "Love actually"...

Hope you have fun!

Find the fic on AO3

Chapter 11 / 28

A game of shame

Note: Anna invites Kristoff to her place… there had been an incident at the film-set, which will be revealed along the chapter in retro prospect.

-----------

Another few days later…

Elsa was in a staff meeting at school that night which was followed by a team dinner. So, she would not be home till late and Anna was glad that she must after all not spend the evening on her own.

Though her guest was a very special one and the spontaneously spoken invitation had thrown her into the realisation that she had not prepared anything adequate for such an occasion. Luckily, Elsa was the good housekeeper and had most likely and miraculously left something for her with which Anna could conjure up a delicious and, above all, uncomplicated dinner.

On the other hand, she could not help but get a notion that Kristoff was not picky and somehow enjoying the idea of being her guest in the first place. As thrilled as she was and her belly flipping its way all the way to home, Anna felt at ease and more than grateful for the company she was granted with that considerate and integrate man.

He had not asked her any more details about her panicky breakdown in the afternoon but had respectfully left her to choose the subject of their this and that chatter while on their way to her flat. Anna simply sighed in relief for this sort of friendship that seemed to have developed between them. Though she secretly adored that muscular and well-built body, in some way she felt more drawn to Kristoff at this moment as when he stood before her in bare nature´s outfit. Biting her lip, she scolded herself for thinking of him in such a way just now…

After all, the afternoon had been wacky enough and still he liked accompanying her. She felt happy for him being there. Trying to get rid of the nasty memory that still lurked at the back of her head, she sighed and shook her head to clear her mind.

What you´re doing here? Get out of that kitchen and offer him something to drink before he reconsidered the situation and left!

“I wanted to apologise for this afternoon.” Anna stood in the doorway to the living room, holding two glasses of orange juice.

“Anna… Don´t.” He took the glass from her hand and their fingers brushed briefly. Though they touched each other in much more intimate ways on their job, unknowingly this was such a tender link for both.

“You need not say anything about it. It was your good damn right to feel embarassed.”

“But it was silly.”

“No. It was not. Nobody should be sneaking around like that. That was silly behaviour, but certainly not by you!”

“… thank you…. I appreciate that.” Anna smiled, then gestured around the room. “Well, this is where I live. If you like, have a look around while I will magically provide us something eatable.” She sniggered and the sound made Kristoff smile. He liked it when she giggled and when her eyes got back that glinting shine. He adored that so much more than her worried face of before.

“And you´re sure that I cannot help you?”

“No! You are my guest, and the guest makes himself comfortable! It's also the perfect opportunity for me to prove to you that I'm capable of creating something other than sandwiches alone.”

That was a matter-of-fact statement and Kristoff saluted with an obedient nod, which left them both laughing.

And while Anna hopped back into the kitchen and started clattering and humming along her work, Kristoff stood in the room, wondering how he had ended up here with that remarkable girl.

Ah yes, that odd afternoon….

While sitting on the bed´s edge he had held her on his lap, but with her back to him.

There were some difficulties on finding the right angle and light proportion, so it took the technical team a while to figure out the best solution. And then, suddenly, he had felt Anna getting all tense and she jumped from his lap with such a force that had him cringe for a second. She fumbled for her bathrobe and hastily wrapped herself in, shamefully turning to face him and seemingly cover his bare frame from public sight at the same time.

What was that?

“Hey, Anna, are you okay?”

David shouted and Samantha came along to ask what was wrong, glancing at Kristoff with questioning eyes, but he had meanwhile gotten his own bathrobe, and was just wrapping the belt around his waist.

“Samantha,” Anna asked with a hoarse whisper, “what is he doing here?”

“Who?”

“Him!” and Anna nodded in direction of the door without looking. And then Kristoff noticed that there was a man standing in the corner, glancing around the room with a slime grin. His slicked back auburn hair with sideburns gave away the impression of a lost character from some Jane Austen novel.

“Shit! I´m sorry, we didn´t realise…. That´s not supposed to happen.”

Sam exclaimed shocked and confused. And she hurried to tell David that there was a stranger and when they turned, the man was gone, just as mysteriously as he had appeared.

“Anna, you know who that was?” Kristoff had asked, sensing her confusion.

“Yes.” She still looked away and wrapped her arms around her body uneasely.

“Hey, David, uhm, do you think we could take a short break?” Kristoff asked after sensing his workmate´s distressed state, and David nodded in return still trying to understand what was going on.

“10 minutes guys, cigarettes and coffee, hurry!”

Kristoff had placed a collegial arm around Anna´s shoulders.

“Like some hot chocolate, or anything else to drink?”

“Thank you. Yes, maybe.” Anna now turned and vaguely smiled at him.

Samantha had noticed and signalled that she was about to organise the beverages.

“You need not tell me anything if you don’t feel like it.” Kristoff said quietly and just continued rubbing her slender shoulder with his thumb. Anna recognised the touch as the gentle comfort as it was meant to be, and she smiled. Such a contrast to the meanness she had experienced with the other...

“That was Hans Westergaard. My... former boss...” The last two words had been a mere whisper, and she had diverted her gaze.

“Your former boss...? At AFM?”

“Yes. The Westergaards own several fashion magazines, and Arendelle´s is partnering with them. As far as I am informed, they do some shootings in the neighboured mansion those days, too. I had not thought that he was there personally, nor that anybody would dare to come over here.”

“I see. But what would he be doing here? Looking for some new model?” Kristoff chuckled but then realised his goodhearted joke was not funny, as Anna's shoulders shook and she seemed to sob..

Oh, no! That went completely the wrong way.

“I´m sorry. That was not funny.” Kristoff apologised sincerely.

But Anna turned around with that contorted expression and helpless shrug, and Kristoff suddenly felt so bad for her.

“Yes, it is, Kristoff. It is uproarious. Because when Hans was senior redactor for the fashion outlet series, he shamelessly flirted with me. He told me I was the prettiest model he got on the catwalk, and I was so silly and fell for his lie. He promised me the world and I thought it was all true. So, yes, it´s funny and you can laugh at my juvenile naivety and stupidity.”

She then sighed and walked over to Sam who held out a mug with some hot chocolate for the girl.

Kristoff was left flabbergasted. What had she just said? That slick head had teased her. And now he came sneaking after her? There was something wrong. Anna was a feisty and fierce girl with such guts and wits. What made her turn so sarcastically about herself? Oh…. It dawned on him…. Hans had watched them.... had watched their exposed posing...

It had never occurred to Kristoff that they were doing anything obscene of the sort. It had become common routine, strange routine though, but sort of daily habit by now.

“Are you okay?” he asked low voiced when they stood near the window, sipping on their mugs. Samantha had floated off to the other end of the room and they stood alone.

“Yes, thank you.” Anna exhaled deeply and gazed out of the window, admiring the sunrays putting the trees and garden in a golden light.

“Time´s up!”

David´s voice echoed through the room.

“Hey Anna, are you fine to continue… after… that?”

She had looked at Kristoff with a grateful sigh and nodded, then shaking off the distasteful memory with a reconsidering smirk.

“Sure! After all, I´ve been sitting on your freaking naked hips before, right?”

“Right!” Kristoff felt his chest fill with pride for her feisty kind.

And David interrupted their fond smile, asking them to give him another posing on the bed, then before the bed and at each side of the bed.

That freaking daylight. It never really fit.

****

Kristoff had then felt like offering her a treat.

The memory of that man standing there and glaring at Anna with that mocking grin sent an odd pang at his side. It was not okay. Even if they might have had a quarrel and Anna had left the catwalk team, there was no justifying to spy on her in such a way. And the pang transformed into rage for Hans having gaped at her like she was a mere cheap peep object.

Though she might have been sitting on him naked, to Kristoff Anna was the purest soul on earth. And for some reason he felt the urge to protect her innocence as such. And should he walk into the man on his way out later, Kristoff thought for an instant of strangling him. But that might not work out well since he did not fancy landing in jail for even touching that jerk. So, he dismissed that idea. There must be a better way to deal with that sour taste of Hans´ unbidden visit.

Then the striking idea hit Kristoff´s mind and he wanted to make Anna feel appreciated and special. So, as he stood behind her, he awkwardly asked her if she would like to go out. Anna then abruptly straightened up and turned to face him that fast, so that he almost lost his balance and bumped into her, and the radiant smile he received gave him goosebumps.

“Oh, but you know what?” Anna had chirped while she got back down on her fours and grabbed to the mattress in front of her and he fumbled for her waist, “Elsa is not home. What about we go to my place, and I provide some dinner?”

"But Anna. You're the one who deserves a treat after this vile incident."

“Oh, that´s so kind of you!”

“Okay folks, one more change to the other side of the bed and then that´s it I guess.”

David´s voice reminded them that they were still at work…

Alright then. Anna simply crawled across the bed to the other side. Kristoff didn't think much about it and just scrambled after her and then hopped to stand behind her again, continuing the bumping move in discreet distance...

“I´d love to invite you over, you know. That be the treat to me!” Anna explained excitingly while wriggling herself into a cute cat´s hump. He could not help it and tickle her in return and her cheerful laughter meant the world to him.

***

And now he stood in her living room.

#fanfic #frozen modern AU #kristanna #Anna #Kristoff #Samantha #Hans #film set AU #crossover #love actually

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themaribatpit · 3 years

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Jasonette July Day 14: Loss

Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event Prompt: Loss Rated: T (Presumed Major Character Death) Based on the trailer for the upcoming Gotham Knights game: https://youtu.be/IhVf_3TeTQE (TW: flashing images towards the end of the trailer)

Jason is walking home on a rainy night in Gotham after a long day working with Roy. He was hoping to quickly get back home to his girlfriend and relax for a few days. He felt his phone vibrate, he took it out from his pocket to see it was a call from Batman. The words “Incoming Transmission: Code Black” were written boldly across his screen. Jason had a bad feeling about this. He walked into a nearby alley and looked around to see if he was truly alone before taking this urgent call.

He was unsure whether to pick up the call or not, his relationship with Bruce had been strained ever since he was killed by the Joker and came back as the Red Hood. Even if they had reconciled, they still argued and disagreed with one another. This was probably him asking if he was willing to go undercover again like he had done with Black Mask. He continued to stare at the phone, thinking of all the possible reasons that Bruce may have wanted to call him. “What is Code Black?” He thought to himself as he answered the call.

His phone sparks to life with the image of Bruce, Jason immediately knew something was wrong. Bruce never showed his face in any Bat related communication. “If you’re watching this, I’m dead.” Jason could not believe what he was seeing, he barely registers the rest of the message. Thinking back to how he first met Batman, trying to steal the wheels off the Batmobile. To him, Batman was invincible, invisible and unstoppable. After all his training as Robin and even after his return as Red Hood, a small piece of him had felt that Batman could not be beaten. He had watched Batman face aliens from outer space and gods from another world. Knowing that Batman was well and truly gone felt...impossible.

He slowly trudges home, his vision blurs as he slowly makes it home on autopilot. He enters his apartment, not even taking his wet clothes or shoes off. Marinette hears him walk in, “Welcome home Jay, I made boeuf bourguignon.” Jason doesn’t even notice her, and in that moment she knew something wasn’t quite right. Normally Jason would joke about how it was a miracle nothing was burning, it could happen, given how clumsy Marinette was. He slowly drags his feet to the living room and slumps on the sofa, his head in his hands. Marinette peeks her head around the corner, looking visibly concerned.

Marinette slowly walked to the sofa and sat next to Jason, putting a hand on his thigh. “Jay?” she quietly asked.

Jason’s voice begins to crack “He’s gone, I can’t believe it, he's really gone.” He lifts his head up to look Marinette dead in the eye, “Mari, Bruce is gone.”

Marinette gasps, she had heard the news report but she didn’t think it was true. She had assumed it was the start of an elaborate ruse, but the look in Jason’s eyes told her otherwise. Marinette knew Jason and Bruce’s relationship was complicated, but he was visibly hurt and shocked by the news. Jason wanted a lot of things, he never really wanted Bruce to die, not like this anyway. If that were the case he would have gone through with his plan of blowing up the Batmobile, all those years ago. Marinette reached up to gently wipe a tear from his face, he held her hand close to his face before she could pull it away. It was the first of many that would be shed at that moment.

For so many years, before and after he died, Jason wanted Bruce to understand him. He seemed like a pointy-eared brick wall at times, he never thought there would come a day when it would fall. Batman had almost seemed untouchable, even when Bane broke his back, he came back stronger than any of them. Marinette gave a startled little squeak as he pulled her close to him, before wrapping her arms around him. He pulled away slightly but her face was still very close to his, he ran his thumb along her cheek as she leaned into his touch. He savoured the warm softness beneath his fingertips. His teary eyes looked into hers for a moment, before he leaned in close to kiss her. At that moment, he needed to feel the warmth that radiated off of her. He needed to hold her close to him, he needed to know that she was really there, and not just a cruel fleeting dream.

Marinette was surprised, in the years that she had known him this wasn't a side of Jason that she had seen before. There was a feeling of desperation in that kiss, one that only Marinette was privy to. Whenever Jason kissed her in the past, sometimes it was passion, sometimes with a gentle softness, and other times because he took a certain delight in making her blush. This time there was passion, but almost never with the desperation and anguish he felt at that very moment. By contrast, Marinette was a lot more trusting, more forgiving, more optimistic. It was something that Jason didn’t take lightly, especially considering the person he was by comparison. With the Kwamis' help, she had seen him through his bouts of pit madness. Nevertheless, when the kiss broke, she was breathless for a moment, but she didn't pull away. She rested her forehead against his, brushing aside the occasional tear from his eyes.

For the rest of the night Jason continued to hold Marinette close to him, his chest heaved with sobs every so often. Even with his complicated relationship with Bruce, he was still the one who adopted, taught and cared for this street urchin of Gotham. As the two held each other, Jason’s phone began to ring, displaying Nightwing’s blue bird symbol on screen. Jason took out the phone and looked to see who was calling. He stared at the screen, unsure how to talk to Dick after the loss of Bruce. He looks back to Marinette, ”answer it” she told him with a gentle smile, he needs to be with his family now.

Jason took a deep breath and answered “Hello?”

He could hear Dick’s voice, unusually hoarse on the other end “Hey Little Wing, you saw the message didn’t you?”

Jason solemnly responded “Yeah. I got his message.”

“We need you Jason, just as Bruce said, Gotham needs its guardians. We’re all here at the Belfry. Babs, Tim, Steph, even Duke and Cass. Are you with us?” asked Dick.

Jason looks back to Marinette, who then nodded to him with a smile and mouthed “Go.”

He turns back to the phone, “I’ll be there in an hour, Ladybug can handle things here”.

As he ends the call and stands up from the sofa, Marinette puts a hand to his chest and lifts a finger, signaling to wait just a moment before running to the bedroom. She returns with two wrapped presents, “They were meant for your birthday next month, but...I think you need it now more than ever.”

She places the two boxes next to Jason, and asks him to open them up. Jason picks up the first box, slowly unwrapping to reveal new body armour. His eyes widen, he runs a hand across the large red bat symbol on its chest.

“Mr. Fox and I worked on this for you, he may be an excellent inventor but he lacks a tailor’s touch.” she explained. Taking out a cue card from the gift box, Marinette clears her throat and begins reading from it. “The tri-weave bodysuit consists of an outer and inner layer made from a titanium-dipped tri-weave fiber mesh.” Marinette tried to read the words with some confidence, despite the fact that English was her second language. She wasn’t even sure if English speakers understood what these words meant. “Sandwiched in between is the MR-fluid based liquid armor system. The proprietary WayneTech Smart MR-fluid hardens in response to impacts, specifically designed to provide superior shock absorption.” As she read the cue card, Marinette thought working these materials into the design was challenging enough, never mind having to list out what they were for. Still, not everyone had her magical super suit, so she never really thought about how a normal human would have to shield themselves. Judging by the smile growing on Jason’s face, clearly she was reading some things right. “The liquid body armor layer is also more flexible than the ceramic or fiber-based armour, allowing for greater maneuverability.” Marinette took a breath and gently placed the cue card back into the box, “I hope you understood those words, because I didn’t” she joked, and for the first time since he’d come home she saw Jason smile. “I also modelled it after your favourite hoodie for maximum comfort.” Saying the last two with emphasis as if it was the most important thing when it came to armour.

Jason chuckles, “This is perfect Pixie, thank you.” As he stands up to give her a hug, she stops him and gestures to the other gift. As he opens the second box he sees within a new Red Hood helmet. “Same materials as your suit. Light, breathable and comfortable.”

Jason picks up the new helmet and begins inspecting it from all angles. He is curious about the black embellishments around the vision slits of the helmet. “Hey Pixie, what's with the dark eye rings?” he asks, turning his head to face her.

She gives him a wink “Red Hood with a pinch of Ladybug.”

Jason places the helmet down and goes to the bedroom to change into his new armour. Tikki zooms over and both of them give each other a firm nod. If Jason was putting his trust in Marinette to hold the fort here, there was no way she was going to let him down.

#jasonettejuly2021 #jasonette #maribat #ml x dc

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oftenderweapons · 4 years

Text

Steamy Waters — Jimin

Pairing: Jimin x reader (nicknamed Princess)

Wordcount: 7.1k (to be edited when my eyes aren’t bleeding)

Genre: NSFW, pwp, smut, slightest crack. Established relationship, Idol!AU

Rating: so 18+ I feel bad at age 22.

Hello ladybirds! Welcome to the Steamy Waters scenarios.

Let me move very quickly to the plot (I’m super late in publishing this — yes, it’s 7am, I stayed up all night but I was having fun🤭🥴). Well, it’s been a while since Jimin has returned from the tour. Princess is supposed to meet with Vixen and Lace — Girls’ Night squad is back — for dinner and is missing only a few details before leaving when Jimin presents his counterarguments. Too benevolent to leave him sulking — and too vulnerable to his charms — Princess decides she has enough time to indulge him. Of course she ends up being late to the appointment, but she’s not the only one.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: well. Swearing/slurs (used between girls who are joking among each other) Also, there’s a generic mention of drinking wine and tipsiness at the end of the piece. Hard dom!Jimin (Sir), bratty sub!reader; use of non-verbal safewords; very mild degradation (mostly patronising acts and hinted objectification — Jimin calls reader ‘doll’; very, very mild dumbification); masturbation, both male and female, clitoral vibrator; oral, male receiving, brief female receiving; the oral male receiving is pretty intense (includes ruined makeup, gagging, tearing up, wrist pinning and wrist bondage), facefucking; plenty of voyeurism (mirrors. Mirrors everywhere); marking (with lipstick) female and male (milder) receiving; lipstick and make up fetish; spanking with a hairbrush; partly accidental exhibitionism through phonecall (the girls are telling each other they’re gonna be late but a bunch of things go wrong so all the phonecalls end up exposing the characters and their current debauchery); playful mention of foot fetish (licking, it’s contained in a joke). FINALLY, AS USUAL, UNPROTECTED SEX WITHIN AN ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP! NO, DON’T DO IT UNLESS YOU AND YOUR PARTNER(S) ARE TESTED AND CLEAN.

Features: Namjoon x Vixen; Taeyhung x Lace. Yes. The Girls’ Night squad is back and this time it’s not Vixen’s turn to cause trouble.

Here is my masterlist!

Enjoy!!!

———————————————

Jimin was sulking.

Old news.

That brat is a professional sucker… ahem, sulker.

Anyway, he was sulking in the bathtub, the lower part of his face hidden under the bubbles, his stare so vicious he could have probably thrown very sharp daggers with it.

“It’s just one dinner.”

“It’s Saturday night! What about you join me in the tub we do our full skin care ritual and I fuck you senseless on our bed.”

“Please, the girls have been so kind to me. We have planned this dinner weeks ago.”

“I am less important than your friends?” Jimin opposed, sitting up and crossing his arms.

Dammit, you were walking in very dangerous territory. “In this moment you are a tiiiny millimeter less important than them. Very tiny millimeter.”

“Are you serious?”

“Jimin,” you begin to say, trying to make him understand. “We have the rest of the week. I owe them.” You told him. “We are always so busy, we can never meet up, plus with you guys’ crazy schedule we need our own debriefing. Let me have my time, baby.”

“So you prefer staying by yourself rather than spending time with me?” He said.

“That is not what I mean and you know it.” You replied, frowning, sitting at the vanity.

You opened a small drawer.

Oopsie. Wrong one.

Unless?

You checked your watch noticing that you had an hour left. You could make it a quick thing. Something to make Jimin quiet and willing to let you leave the house with the excuse that ‘the sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll be back’.

Sure, your brain might have been slightly confused by the thought of him naked in the bathtub, and the scent of his body wash, and the sexy way his elbows were propped on top of the edges of the tub, the water sliding down his perfectly toned, smooth chest, his head thrown back, wetness glittering on his plump, luscious lips.

His eyes opened. “Fine. Go.” He said, and his voice was grumpy and sad.

You couldn’t leave him like this. Still, it wasn’t important what he said specifically. The only thing you noticed was his dulcet timbre, like a siren calling you.

Without even precisely knowing what you were doing exactly, you took the small seat in front of the vanity and the tiny, powerful toy inside your drawer; you walked to the side of the tub, placing the chair there and tugging your pencil skirt up, exposing your panties. The mirror behind the tub offered your reflection to your unsure gaze, making you move your eyes away.

Of course Jimin noticed. Of course he stayed quiet.

He’d much rather watch you undisturbed as you bent forward, pulling down your panties and sitting down, your skirt bunched up in your lap as you spread your legs and propped your feet against the edge of the tub, dragging your toes against his elbow to catch his attention. He would boost your confidence later, when it mattered the most to you.

“What is it?” He called, pretending he hadn’t seen what you were doing.

“You’re not interested?” You asked, switching on your finger vibrator, a tiny device with a silicone band that wrapped around the back of your digit and a thick, bulbous head on the other side, a vibrator embedded in the thicker part, with the specific aim of making the ridges and patterns on the head repeatedly stimulate your clit.

The sensation was immediate, rubbing it up and down your slit a couple times, you managed to capture Jimin’s ears — and eyes, soon after.

“Princess?” He called, staring at you, your hand wandering and finding purchase on the bathroom counter.

“Yes?” You moaned sultrily.

“Don’t you need to go out with the girls?” He asked, his eyes hypnotised by the motion of the toy moving back and forth from your clit to your hole and back up.

“I thought I could give you this, as a treat.” You said, licking your lips.

“A very generous one.” He replied, licking his lips, bracing his forearms on the edge of the tub, settling between your open legs and placing his cheek on the back on his hands, staring, completely mesmerised.

Your breath was becoming irregular. “How close?” He asked.

“Not too much.” You replied, removing your hand on the counter and placing it on your chest, palming it heavily.

His gaze climbed up to watch your flesh swell as you squished it. “Does it feel good?” He asked, untucking one of his hands to remove the cover blocking the drain of the tub.

Water started to rush out, his hand going from the drain to your ankle, drawing patterns up your calf, the other one lazily reaching for his length, tugging it a couple times.

Your eyes closed as you started feeling the edge of your high, the image of Jimin kneeling before you filling your senses, imagining him everywhere, all over you, his mouth on your nipples, between your legs, his hips smashing against your ass as he slammed inside you from behind, and his deliciously candy-pink cock in your mouth.

“I’m close.” You murmured.

His hand slowed down between his legs. As if it could go any slower.

“Cum for me, Princess.” He ordered. Still, siren voice.

A pattern of quick circles on your clit possessed your digit, your brain going on autopilot to the fastest way to pleasure. “Jimin, please.”

“What, Princess?” He replied flirtily, gleaming in cockiness as you were begging him without him even putting his hands on you.

“Please.” You called again, as pleasure overthrew you, your lips parting in one long, purring moan, first very high-pitched and then descending all the way down to your normal voice as you calmed down, focusing on chasing your high until it became too much, your eyes closing completely, your free hand reaching behind your, holding you up since the stool couldn’t be trusted much.

As you removed your finger — and the adjoined vibrator — you felt something wet and soft part your folds and titillate the tight ring of muscles at your entrance, still quivering with your fresh climax.

Your eyes opened, blinking a few times before you spotted Jimin’s wet hair below you, his head between your legs, body tucked in the small space between your body and the tub.

“Put that finger back on your clit. We’re not done here.” He said, placing one of his hands on your spine, on the small of your back, holding you up while his other arm went to his thick shaft. You loved looking at it, at how deliriously pretty it looked. You would gladly print a very big picture of it. Hang it in your closet. Stand there and look at it every now and then, with a glass of wine. Get inspired by the shape, length and colour. Find new ways to please him and torture him. Study every small vein on it. Every tiny detail. The small mole at the base — God only knows how a mole can end up there. And how it can make a cock look so insanely, unfairly pretty.

You felt crazy for it, completely devoid of your own will. And the way his hand left your back and caught your wrist, placing your buzzing finger on your clit made you even wilder.

“Jimin.” You called, your other hand ending in his hair and tugging him closer.

He chuckled mischievously. “Needy.” He said simply, before fighting against you trying to remove his head. You were too close.

It was all too much.

“Jimin!” You called again, desperate and embarrassed.

“Oh, no.” He said, moving his fingers away from your wrist and crooking his arm at the right angle before sliding two of his fingers inside you, his digits just the perfect measurement to reach your g-spot.

“Feels too good.” You mewled, removing your finger from your clit. Too much stimulation.

“Put that finger back in place.” He growled, his hand moving angrily on his own sex.

“Please!” You said, whining and whimpering.

“Back in place, Princess.” He said sharply.

Without room for opposition, you did as he ordered.

“Good girl.” He murmured as you cried out at your finger and his working you towards your second high. “You’re doing so well for me.” He added.

“I can’t.” You said, feeling your pleasure amplify in your abdomen. Suddenly your ears zeroed on the nasty, squelching sound coming from between your legs.

“Oh, you can, Princess. Keep going, sweetie. Sir’s waiting for you.”

He had entered dom zone.

Well, fuck.

You were officially done for the night. Especially when he pressed his chin to his hand, his tongue devilishly playing with your sensitive hole while his fingers stimulated your pulsating walls.

You came undone. His moaning turned in loud, thin moans, open mouthed breathing as he finally reached his high with a tight squeal that undid a knot in his throat.

You removed the toy almost immediately, the filling sensation inside your cunt definitely too much for your nerve endings.

He didn’t even notice, and when he did, he let it slip. You were deep in your second climax, making you sensitive and vulnerable, and he had no intention of overstepping any boundaries. Yet. His fingers slowed down, his mouth parting from you; his hand stopped at his base, giving a slow, strong tug at his shaft, milking out the last few droplets of his release.

“There you go. Has your treat been satisfactory, Princess?” He asked with a saccharine voice, most definitely trying to tease you with his bratty ways, or maybe gloating about him getting what he wants. As usual.

“Very.” You replied, pressing down the button on the ring and removing the toy from your finger.

He unhooked his fingers from your sex, sliding them out and licking one gingerly. “Nice.” He grinned in a dangerously endearing way. “Let’s clean up, yes? Can you stand?” He asked, gentle as always, standing up and quickly moving to the sink, washing up the remnants of your shared debauchery on his hands.

“I hope so.” You replied, grabbing a small towel and running it under the tap before cleaning yourself, drying your skin with an unused corner. You wore your panties and tugged your skirt down next.

“Would you like me to do your make up?” Jimin asked, looking at you in the mirror. “I’d like to repay you for the sweet treat. And I don’t want you to think I don’t support you going out.” He turned towards you, completely comfortable in his naked state. “Consider it my way of blessing your plans.”

And maybe bless your face when you come back home later and drool on my cock.

You smiled. “That’s nice of you, Jimin.”

“I’m always nice.” He said, rubbing a towel wildly against his hair before wrapping it around his waist, grabbing the small bench and putting it close to the vanity, strategically placing you so the light would hit your face enough for him to properly do your make up. “Sit, darling.” He said, patting the seat.

You followed his direction, checking your watch. Twenty-five minutes until you needed to head out.

“You already did toner, serum, lotion, all of that?” He asked, making sure that the canvas was at its best.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, wearing the small necklace he had gifted after coming back from the tour.

“You already wore your cream?”

“Yes!” You repeated, playfully cocky.

He swatted at your calf. “Don’t play cocky with me.” He reprimanded, matchingly playful.

“Primer.” He said, standing up, his perfect chest right in front of your eyes for the briefest of seconds. Then he walked behind you, removing the whole small drawer and bringing it with him as he kneeled down again, pouring a small amount of concoction on the tip of his index and middle finger. “It’s summer so I bet you’d like to stay light.” He said, touching the two digits with their twins on the other hand, only to draw tiny dots all over your face, and then using his devilish hands to spread the lotion. “Sorry, I prefer using these rather than sponges and stuff.” He said, but it was actually simply an excuse to touch your face.

The more touching he could do the better.

His goal was getting you going and any kind of touching on your face felt intimate enough to be more powerful than a booty grab or a whole body slam all over you at the moment. He just knew.

With his pinkie, he pushed back the small hair on your forehead. “You know what? Fuck beauty standards. Out there is damp like a swamp today, you should just wear some BB cream and stay fresh.” He said, kissing your head. “You’re perfect anyway.”

“Jimin.” You said, a tad emotional.

“And I don’t want men staring at you. You’d look too pretty with full makeup.” He said, leaving a ginger kiss on your lips. “I want you to shine as you are.” He said, grabbing a small compact hand mirror containing a cushion imbued with light foundation. He took a small puff and pressed it twice against the cushion before placing his left index under your chin, directing your face as he patted the puff against your face, distributing the lotion evenly.

“It contains mother-of-pearl powder. It will make you glitter like the princess you are.” He said, with a kind smile. “You already look like a diva, babygirl.” He said, twisting your head to the side before noticing a small blemish.

He stretched to the table behind you, your gaze focusing immediately on the small, solitary droplet of water rolling down his chest. A bit hesitant, you collected it with your tongue.

“Princess,” he warned before grinning.

You were slowly, very slowly surrendering. He just needed to play the last few cards right.

With your concealing pen in hand, he fixed the red spot on your cheek, and another smaller one on your chin, blending them with the slightly damp tip of his pinkie.

You smiled and caught his hand, kissing the small digit before smiling. “Your hands are absolutely lovely.” You said. This kind of small reassurance was something you offered him daily, and even though he played tough and acted as if he wasn’t bothered by those details he so stubbornly called flaws, you still made sure his self esteem could always thrive.

“I assumed so, considering what they did earlier.” He stood up and — maybe — accidentally the towel fell, his cock standing proud in front of your eyes.

May goodness help you and God protect you.

You reminded yourself of dinner, of the girls waiting on you. I mustn’t. You told yourself. Still a part of your brain told you you’d be a fool if you didn’t took your chance.

But your chance had already disappeared behind the towel once more. “Sorry.” He said, standing straight after bending down to grab the cloth and fixing it back in place. He collected the small wooden drawer too, putting it back in place in the vanity.

Next he took your beauty case, making sure that it contained exactly what he was looking for.

This time he stood in place in front of you, his navel perfectly in front of your face. He found a small box and opened it, fishing out a miniature brush and running it against white, glittering powder. “Just a faint sparkly effect on your lids. Close your eyes.” He whispered sweetly, putting the powder in place, on one eyelid. Then the other. And then every touch disappeared. Before you felt his fingers tracing your collarbones. “Just for the extra sparkles.” He said, grinning viciously once you opened your eyes. It was indeed his fingers. Not the brush. He took his chance to widen the neckline of your white chiffon blouse.

“Tip your head back.” He said, this time more commanding.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You obeyed.

He took a dark eye pencil. It was something you hadn’t used in a while, preferring lighter make up, usually using simply dark eyeshadow to trace the line of your eyelid.

“Black pencil?” You asked.

“Be quiet. It looks so good on you.” He said, focusing on applying it evenly on both lids. “Look down.”

Right at his abs. Fantastic.

You prayed the other girls were being tempted just like you. Knowing Vixen and Namjoon, he was probably already halfway up her panties. And Lace… well. She’d probably had to change her outfit at least three times to hide Taehyung’s marks. You hoped they were late too.

There was no way you could arrive at the appointment in time with Jimin in this mood. And with your blood roaring in your veins, cursing you for each second you let him stand untouched before your eyes it was all a matter of time before it all went to hell.

“Eyes to the ceiling.” He said, “I’ll do your lower inner lid.”

“Jimin, that’s a bit aggressive...” You replied, trying to keep his hand from going anywhere close to your eye.

“You look so intense with the lower line too, though.” He teased, already tracing the corner with a slow, light-handed touch. “Just a bit. Come on, make me happy.” He said. And with that you knew precisely he was in the mood. Just like you were.

At this point there was no fucking way you could make it in time.

You stood perfectly still, the pencil too near to your eye, too dangerously close to stabbing it. “Jimin,” you called, as he moved to the other eye. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He already knew there was no way the other men weren’t in a similar situation. Knowing Taehyung, he probably still had Lace naked. Especially after what he’d told him about their sexy weekend.

“Jimin, please.” You said, exasperated.

“Baby, I know you’ll be the first one there, as usual, and you’ll have to wait for them all dressed up and pretty.” He said. “Chill. You can be fashionably late.”

He put down the eye pencil and picked up the silvery tube of your mascara.

“Just a teensy, tiny bit.” He said, “Look straight ahead.”

You mean at your hard on peaking from under your towel?

Your lips twitched nervously as you tried to look away.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on it.” You said in warning.

“Don’t,” He replied, fixing the upper lashes on your left eye. He applied way more mascara than necessary before moving on to the other eye.

“Don’t bat your lashes,” he said with a focused tone as he applied the finishing touches, giving quick, teasing flicks to the lower lashes and came back to the left side, making the two match.

“Lipstick.” He said.

You huffed out a stressed breath.

“Lip liner to make sure your lipstick doesn’t smear at dinner.” He said, tipping your chin up and drawing his face dangerously close to yours, his hot, quick breath fanning over your face. “Stay still.” He said, tracing your cupid bow first, then covering all the way from the peak to the angle, mirroring the gesture on the other side.

Your lower lip was tricky. From the middle he drew the left arc, then the right one. No matter how hard he concentrated there was something harder calling his attention.

And the situation worsened when he felt your hand timidly brush the back of his thigh.

“No.” He said harshly, cupping your jaw and squishing it, making sure that you opened your eyes and looked at him.

“Why?” You asked, your hand still climbing up.

“You need to go.”

“You said the girls will be late too. And I should be fashionably late.”

“Princess.” He said, his voice growling in a harsh warning.

“Jimin.” You warned, mocking his tone.

“Stay put. Let me finish my work here.” He said, a bit frustrated.

Your lips were tempting him. And his brain was telling him to claim, claim, claim.

For the umpteenth time, he closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly and calmly.

He completed the weak spots on your liner before he inspected it.

He placed down the lip pencil.

He found your Chanel lipstick, uncapping it and focusing before placing the perfectly shaped tip against your upper lip, following the liner before completing the other half.

“Almost done, Princess.” He spoke gently. But his hand shook. Especially when he felt your nails tease his skin again.

“Princess.” He scolded eloquently.

“Jimin.” You called again.

“What.” He replied drily.

“I wanna be late.” You said, your palm climbing higher up under the towel and landing on his ass, squeezing a glute seductively.

“Let me finish.” He said, giving up.

You smiled before relaxing your lips, making them extra pillowy as you offered the lower one to him.

He tapped the red paste against the inner flesh before drawing half a line, then the other half.

“Pop them.” He said, as you started pressing your lips together lightly and making them sputter.

“Am I ready?” You asked.

Jimin smirked before his eyes turned sultry.

Looking him in the eye when he had that expression was too dangerous. He held too much power.

“No.”

He stared at the upper hem of your blouse, at the way it let your collarbones show with an expensive, classy bateau neckline.

Jimin stared at the front buttons. He placed down the lipstick. And started undoing the buttons.

You grinned. “Are you gonna make me get there late?” You asked expectantly.

“Quiet.”

You obeyed. Not like you had much choice.

He reached the lace of your bra, then undid more buttons, until he reached the waistline of your skirt.

“Arms out.” He said, making the delicate fabric of the shoulders slip past your wrists, letting the blouse fall around your waist.

“From now on, not a word. Are we clear?” He asked, making you look him in the eye. “Answer.”

“Yes, sir.” You said, obediently.

“Excellent. You move when I tell you. You move how I tell you. Yes?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied again. You were salivating at the idea of what he was going to do, how he was going to use you.

His hands moved to your bra, pushing the cups under your heavy breasts. “You’re my little doll, aren’t you? Sir wants you and your nipples pop up. I bet you’re wet between your legs without me even touching you. Are you wet, Princess?” He asked.

“I’m always wet for you, sir.” You said, offering him extra praise. Not like the statement wasn’t true.

He smirked and moved to the vanity once more, letting the towel fall for real. “It was an accident.” He said, mocking you, raising an eyebrow and shrugging. “Not like you mind staring at my cock, do you, Princess?”

“I love staring at your cock, Sir.” You replied, giving him absolutely no reason to complain about you or punish you.

“So hungry for it, little doll.” He snorted.

Once more the lipstick was in his hand.

“Who do you belong to, Princess?” He asked, stroking himself as his sweet, poisonous voice enchanted your ears.

“To you, sir.” You said, sitting with your back straight, your knees pressed together, your thighs squeezing in helpless arousal, your hands laying flat on your legs.

“What’s my name?” He said, licking his lower lip as a droplet of pre-cum appeared on his tip.

“Park Jimin, sir.” You answered, sharp and refined as he wanted you.

“Just my name, Princess. Say it.”

“Jimin.” You kept your eyes on your lap, not yet sure you were allowed to look at him.

“That’s right, Princess. Good girl.” He said, voice disturbingly neutral as he bent down.

He let go of his length, running his hand under the tap and drying it, oh-so-slowly, before he cupped your breast and stared at it, his expression focused and meditative.

He placed the tip of the lipstick on the left side of your breast, drawing an horizontal line. Two curled ones. A straight one. He moved to the other side. A rectangle. Another straight line. An L-shaped one.

“There. Stand up.” He said, placing down the lipstick and offering you his hand, helping you on your feet, making you stand in front of the mirror. “Who do you belong to, my beautiful princess?” He asked, standing behind you, his lips moving sensuously at your ear.

Right there, spelled on your chest in expensive, rouge Chanel lipstick, you found your answer, just like it was indented in your heart, mind and soul. “Jimin.” You read.

“That’s right, ____. Excellent job, doll.”

He turned you towards him and placed a gentle kiss on your lip.

“Now, kneel.” He ordered, smiling gently, however the command in his voice was icy and sharp.

You smiled shyly and obeyed. Once on your knees, you waited for his hands to feed you the tip of his cock, his precum making your lipstick glisten and stain his spongy head. You opened your mouth wider, lolling your tongue out in invitation, but he refused.

“Kiss it. I want it covered in lipstick.” He ordered. “Kiss it like it’s my face. I want imprints all over it.” He ordered.

And just like that it stood in front of you, exposing all the underside to your feverish and reverent kisses.

You were ready to beg for him to push it down your throat, desperate to feel the taste of him, to feel him there; then you remembered you weren’t allowed to speak unless he asked you.

You tried to talk the only way you could. Your eyes connected with his as you gave a gentle lick.

He snorted. “Want it in?” He asked, biting his lip and placing his hand on your head.

“Please, sir.” You begged: the easiest way to get what you want. You would never, ever beg for anything in your life. But for Jimin? You would lick the soles of his feet if he asked you to. Thank goodness he was too ticklish for that.

“Open up.” He said, grinning.

You assumed your position and waited for him to slide in. Holding your head, you felt his tip on your tongue, his hand feeding his cock into your mouth.

“That’s it, Princess.” He said, pushing inside.

Your hands naturally moved to his butt, leading him further in. You wanted to take him all the way, watch your lips print a nice red ring at his base.

“Hands in place, Princess.” He scolded.

You placed them lightly on your knees.

“Yes. Good girl.” He spoke through gritted teeth. He started thrusting in, your eyes watering as you felt your throat close up, hitting your knee noisily, twice, letting him know you needed to breathe.

“Okay.” He slid out, giving you some time to catch your breath. His fingers wrapped around his length, thumb, index and middle finger forming a ring sliding up and down the tip.

“Ready?” He asked.

You simply nodded and he let the small misbehaviour slip. He just wanted to sheath himself in the warm velvet of your cheeks, tongue and throat.

Once he bottomed out a new set of prints began forming on his pelvis, your hands coming for his hips, trying to slow him down as you began tearing up.

“Hands. Princess.” He roared.

You drew them back, shaking, trying to bob your head on him, wet droplets leaving your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

And now the black eye pencil and mascara make sense. He wanted this from the very beginning.

Your hands pressed against his abs.

“Silent. Safeword. ____.” He ordered aggressively with a growl.

No. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to snap.

You made to remove your hands, but instead you cupped his balls with your right one.

He drew out. “That’s it. Brat.” He walked to the shower wall, where your bathrobe was hanging. He tugged at the tie, whipping it out of the small hooks in anger.

“Lay down.” He said, minaciously as he walked to the vanity, picking up the lipstick again.

You crawled to the carpet in the middle of the room and did as he told you. At least you wouldn’t be met with the cold of the tiles.

“Ungrateful brat.” He said, placing two fingers under your chin and straddling your chest with his legs. “I let you go out. I made you cum. I did your makeup. I offered you what you wanted. And you disrespected it, and disobeyed me.”

He caught your wrists and pinned them over your head. “But maybe I didn’t offer you what you wanted.” He said, wrapping the soft tie around your wrists, making sure it wasn’t too tight, even though he was furious. He took two deep breaths before securing the knot with a flowery bow. “Maybe this was what you wanted, uh? Answer me, Princess.” He encouraged you.

“I want what is best for you, sir.” You replied, eyes imploring as his cock laid on your chest.

“If you really did that, I would already be done fucking your mouth and I could be slamming my cock in your disobedient, tight, creamy cunt.” He said, applying more lipstick on your lips.

“You better make me cum quick, brat.” He spat the words at your face, his legs moving to bring his hips closer to your mouth. He lifted his ass and propped himself on one forearm, his hand holding his cock before offering it to your lips for small kisses. “Your non-verbal safeword is snapping your fingers. Any number of snaps will mean ‘stop immediately’. I will slide out and let you breathe, then I’ll ask you if you want to keep going.” He said, using his tip to draw your lips, just like a tube of lipstick. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

“Make me proud, Princess.” He said, before accompanying his shaft into your mouth and looking down, into your eyes, before he started thrusting. The movement was identical to that he uses to fuck you nice and good on your bed, his hips usually slapping against the back of your thighs, while now they met the skin of your cheeks, the blurred mascara coming down in thicker rivultets, making your eyes redden.

You were definitely a mess.

Jimin tried to stay focused on your hands, feeling pleasure but ready to ignore it or your safety.

His thrusts became more intense, your throat producing thin, panicked whimpers before he felt your fingers snap, two, three times.

He pulled out.

You gasped for air, your eyes immediately connecting with the black stains on his pelvis. Your mascara. Or eyeliner.

And the red on his sex. All over it. Staining his balls too. It was undoubtedly your lipstick. No natural blushing could do that.

“Are you okay, ____?” He asked, and you could tell he was out of his dommy character.

“Yes.” You replied simply.

“I’m almost there, love. Can you take it, baby?” He asked, worried.

“I can. I want to.” You said, nodding and reassuring him.

“Then let’s go, Princess.” Back in the game.

He was back in your mouth in a second, and this time you were sure you wanted him to dissolve in pleasure like sugar in coffee.

You used all your tricks, swallowing once he settled in, pumping him with your cheeks until you saw him lift on his tiptoes, needing closer, giving up on the fine grip of his knees to plank on top of you and properly stroke inside you as his head rolled back in a very improper, very loud yoga position, making his mouth spill a divine moan while his orgasm spilled inside you.

He gave a small series of the tiniest thrusts before going perfectly still, his moaning stopping. It was smart of him to own a house rather than an apartment. Way more feasible in terms of… disturbing noises.

He slid out of you quickly once he realised you were there, perfectly still, trying to save your oxygen and prolong his bliss.

“Oh, Princess, angel.” He said, quickly undoing the ribbon, descending down your body, straddling your hips and touching your face. “Can you stand up?” He asked, trying to fix the smudged line around your mouth.

“Maybe.” You said, hesitant.

“Come on, let’s try.” He said, helping you up.

“I want more.” You said, kneeling on the carpet, flinching at the sensation.

“That flinch is a reply enough. And you’re messed up. And late for the meet up.”

You checked your wrist. “Lace is always twenty minutes late. Please, one last thing.” You begged, looking at his sex, half hard. “Please.”

“You want to fuck or make love?” He asked, already touching himself. He could do one more. And it was you. All he needed to do was bend you over and watch your tits move as he ground his hips against yours.

“Fuck me.” You said.

He grinned sadistically. “In front of the mirror. Bend over and spread.” He ordered drily.

You smirked back at him and turned into his doll, becoming exactly what he had asked of you, your panties soaked by now, the only protection your skirt.

You were a mess as you looked at yourself in the mirror. His name barely smeared on your breasts, your cheeks made of tens of dark, dried-up rivulets, your mouth a ridiculous attempt at a clown look.

He tugged the hem of your skirt up, exposing your ass before slipping his fingers into the see-through, fine net of your panties, his fingers digging until the fabric ripped offering your slick, honeyed entrance to his eyes.

He stood behind you, the reflection intoxicating as he showed you a wooden hairbrush.

It was that wooden hairbrush. It was the one he liked being used on himself when the roles reversed.

It was extremely fitting of him to want to use it right in that moment, on you.

“Ten. If you don’t cum on my cock all you’ll have is your fingers while I touch myself. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

“Ready. Count.” He said, rubbing the smooth wood against your lower glute.

The smack was harsh. Violent. The sound was scary but the pain was divine.

“One.” You called.

He slammed inside you, his thighs hot with boiling blood as he thrusted in harder before delivering another smash.

“Two!” You almost screamed.

“That’s right, doll.” He said, bending down, teasing your ear. “How pretty my name looks on those tits.” He said, slamming into you, a few more times, the various objects laying on the bathroom counter shaking as he pushed into you.

What you didn’t expect was for your phone to shake that hard.

The screen lit up.

Jimin noticed it immediately.

“Oh. It’s Vixen.” He said. “Maybe she’s worried about you.” He panted at your ear.

No. No, no, no. You thought.

“Come on, answer, Princess.” He said, vicious and petty as usually. “You love your friends so much.” He smacked your ass, just with his hand, almost playfully. “You wouldn’t want her to worry. Answer.” He ordered.

Your hand shook as it reached the phone. Jimin stilled inside you.

You picked up the call. “Hi.” You said.

“Hi bub, lovely to hear you. I might be late.” She said, straight to the point, her voice way higher than usual.

“Late?” You asked, trying to speak as little as possible.

Jimin started to move behind you.

You shook your head. NO. No, please, no.

“Forty minutes. Also, tell Lace. She’s not—” squeal “—answering.”

A dark voice behind her murmured something. “Only forty minutes?” He teased.

Namjoon, of course.

“I’m… busy?” You said, just as Jimin pulled out and smashed the hairbrush against your right asscheek. “Three.” You said under your breath.

“Didn’t catch that.” Jimin said teasingly.

You tried to cover the microphone. “Three. Sir, I said three.” You knew you were very likely putting yourself in trouble.

“Joon, why am I not getting spanked?” Vixen asked on the other end of the phone.

“Brat.” He snarled before his voice disappeared again.

“____, dearest. My boyfriend is threatening me with his ten inch cock. I can’t make that call, sweetie. Please, call her.”

“She will.” Jimin answered on your behalf.

“Thanks, Min. Enjoy.” A final squeal echoed down the line before it fell.

Another smash.

“Four, Sir.” You said, feeling Jimin stroke in while sneering, his lips parted as your wet, slippery walls welcomed him with a rich, squelching sound.

“Call Lace.” He ordered at your ear, sweet like a mermaid.

You shook your head in denial, but at the same time you searched for her contact on your phone. The sooner, the better. You would be done embarrassing yourself, and he would simply focus on torturing you until you reached your orgasm.

You pressed ‘call’ and Jimin’s ears tuned in to the sound of the phone, making sure that he began to truly fuck you only once Lace picked up.

The calling sound went on forever. “Let me… She’s not answering. Please.” You said, looking at Jimin’s reflection in the mirror.

“Wait.”

The line went silent for a second. “Vixen, for fuck’s sake, she’s sucking my cock, stop fucking calling.” Taehyung roared.

Jesus.

“It’s me, Princess?” You said, using the nickname that all the boys used. Sometimes it felt ridiculous. Like in that precise moment, when your boyfriend’s dick was buried inside you.

“Princess, what is— mh… Yes.” Taehyung stopped for a second. “Sorry. Lace is busy. Might be late.”

Jimin stretched to the mic. “I knew it.” He said, talking to Taehyung.

“Jimin, get out of my ears.” He joked with his friend. “Can I please… Twenty minutes. She’ll be there in twenty. Thirsty— Thirty at worst.” He spoke before a low rumble came from the line.

You blushed.

Jimin started pushing inside you, trying to get a moan out of you.

“Mh—Meet in forty. Vixen late. Bye.” You said before closing the call, Jimin using that precise moment to start hammering into you.

“Let’s make this quick. We need to make you presentable again, doll.” He said, picking up your knee and propping it up on the counter. You were so wide open for him, his hips smacking lewdly against your ass. To go the extra mile, he grabbed your waist with one forearm and used the hairbrush again.

“Five? Is it… Five?”

“Yes, Princess.” You weren’t sure he was saying yes to the counting or your inner walls squeezing him.

His cock touched your cervix repeatedly with a neat pattern, two fingers reaching your clit. “Quick.” He said.

You managed to push back only three times before your vision went blank, your upper body collapsing against the bathroom counter, your hand pressed against the mirror as you tried to find purchase to keep you upright, to no avail.

Jimin whimpered a few times before he went silent and collapsed on top of you.

His cock twitched twice inside you, weakly. He was probably drained.

“Jimin. Thirty-five minutes.” You called. He slipped out, immediately trying to clean you up.

“You shower, I get an outfit for you. Try to save your hair. Make up remover in the shower.” He said. “I’m driving you.” He said, helping you unglue yourself from the bathroom counter. “Do you need something special, love?” He asked, stopping you a second to hold your face and kiss your mouth, no matter how messy it was. “Aftercare, baby.”

“Just help me get ready.” You said, kissing him again. “I love you. You’re fantastic. The best.”

His ego exploded. “Love you too. Let’s make Stickerella ready for the ball.” He grinned before rushing to the closet.

——————————————

Forty minutes later, you, Lace and Vixen met in front of a classy, sleek restaurant.

“Did you pre-party, Vixen?” Lace asked as the three entered the place, Vixen leading the way to the table. Her legs were wobbly. Very.

“You’re so much fun.” She replied with a fake laugh. Namjoon’s habits were starting to rub off on her. Not the only stuff being rubbed, you thought mischievously.

“Seriously, did you swap your left shoe with your right one?” Lace asked as the tiny woman showed them the table for three. She took a seat on the closest chair, biting her lip as she lowered her bottom. Her eyes closed and she swallowed noticeably.

You smirked, right before sucking your own lips, your ass hurting with the leftovers of the spanking. “You are both two nasty bitches and I am so proud of you.” Lace said with a wide grin.

“Fix your neckline, you classy whore. I can see your boyfriend’s marks from here,” Vixen seethed, still smiling, no offense in her words. Still, she ran her tongue against the edge of her teeth, taking a calming breath as she fixed her position on the seat.

You chuckled at their scene before clearing your throat.

They both turned toward you, waiting for you to speak before realising that you simply had a sore throat. Yeah.

“Please. let’s order wine. You both sound like Marge’s sisters in The Simpsons.” She said, laughing and shaking her head.

“You’re just envious because your gag reflex sucks.” Lace said, clicking her tongue before shaking her head herself in faux disapproval.

You snorted and tried to cover your mouth.

“Glad I’m everyone’s laughing stock.” Vixen said, fixing her hair.

“Your neckline, slut.” Lace said, once more addressing Vixen with a whisper, acting with the posed mannerism of a lady from a Jane Austen novel.

Vixen laughed herself this time. “How did you get out?” Vixen asked her.

“Baby boy fell asleep like a puppy.” Lace said, a dreamy look on her face. “You?”

“Something along that line.” She replied. “What about you, sweetie?” She said turning towards you.

“Jimin brought me.” You said, smiling serenely.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” Vixen said, smiling with her whole face, her eyes turning into pure affection. Again, she looked like Namjoon.

You clicked your tongue. “Everyone’s a sweetheart when they’re getting fucked right.” You said quietly.

Both women laughed.

“I’m just sorry Yoongi’s girl couldn’t come.” Lace said, a bit sad.

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s fine. Coming. In… other ways.” Vixen — her neighbour — quipped.

“My god, we’re nymphos.” Lace said, covering her face with her hands.

You shrugged. “Again. That’s the magic.”

By the end of the night, the three of ended up happily tipsy, toasting to your boyfriends and ‘doing things right’.

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