#these bitches keep asking me the same things for months and months and i give examples hold their hands give a simplified formula whatever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

voyter · 5 months ago

Text

LOVENOTES ⋆ ( 정국 / JJK ) !

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

trying your hardest to avoid valentine’s day, you suddenly find yourself at the center of it when a secret admirer starts leaving notes at your door.

⟡₊ ⊹ VALENTINES SPECIAL !

word count. 5.2k words warnings. neighbor au. secret admirer koo (hes giving stalker a little more ngl). wrote this while on my period so if reader sounds like a moody bitch you know why. me highkey lowkey channeling my hatred for valentines day in this. pure filthy smut. protected sex. blowjob. titty fuck !! COWGIRL YEEHAW !! kinda subby jungkook (BACK TO MY ROOTS). kinda dom reader.

ana's notes. happy valentines day xx !! wrote this one in a few days so its short and sweet (also rushed it so i can get back to my other stuff oops). hope she is still somewhat enjoyable .. heh. keep your comments positive or say nothing at all, besos my babies !!

You hated February.

Maybe it was because you were utterly single. Or maybe it was the bitterness that still lingered after all these years. Your last relationship had ended just days before Valentine's Day, leaving you with nothing but a broken heart and a newfound hatred for the most romantic month of the year.

You despised the store displays overflowing with pink and red, the obnoxious heart shaped balloons, the overpriced bouquets of roses, and the sickly sweet scent of chocolates that seemed to mock you at every turn. Love was everywhere — except in your life.

You fucking hated February!

February 10th, 4 days before Valentine’s Day.

“Hi, Jungkook.”

Jungkook, your cute neighbor, lived in the apartment across from yours. You weren't exactly close, but there was an unspoken familiarity between you, built on polite greetings and the occasional small talk. He was the only person near your age on this floor otherwise occupied by older residents, making your interactions feel practically inevitable.

"Hey," he greeted back, glancing over his shoulder as he jiggled his key into the lock. "How've you been?"

His voice was warm, casual, like he wasn't in a rush to disappear behind his door just yet.

"I'm good. Haven't been doing much but working," you say, fiddling with your keyring in search of the right one.

Jungkook chuckles, nodding in understanding. "Yeah, same. Feels like that’s all I do lately." Work had been wearing him down too — you could see it in the slight slump of his shoulders, the way he rolled his neck like he was trying to shake off the tension.

"Ugh, tell me about it," you groan, exhaling dramatically. "What about you? How are you? How's Bam?"

"We're good, yeah," he says, perking up slightly at the mention of his dog. "He just goes to daycare while l'm at work, so he surprises me when he actually listens well.”

"How cute!" you exclaim. "Your baby's growing up so fast."

"Stop," he whines dramatically. "He's gonna be my baby forever."

You giggle, finally finding the key you were searching for and sliding it into the lock. As you turn it, Jungkook shifts on his feet, hesitating for just a moment before his mouth betrays him.

"Hey, you doing anything for Valentine's Day?"

The question lingers in the air, casual yet hesitant, like he hadn't really planned to ask it. His gaze flickers to you, gauging your reaction, but you're too busy scrunching your nose in mild distaste as you push your door open.

"Not really my thing," you admit. "You?"

"Yeah, not my thing either," he chuckles breathily, looking down at his feet.

"No flowers or chocolates for either of us, huh?" you tease lightly.

Jungkook smirks, shaking his head. "Guess not."

You step inside, gripping the edge of the door. "See you later, Jungkook."

"See you," he says with a smile, just before you shut your door.

With a deep exhale, you toss your keys and purse onto the kitchen counter, the weight of the day settling into your shoulders as you slip off your heels. The relief is instant, but the irritation still lingers.

Why was everyone so obsessed with Valentine's Day? The heart shaped decorations, the endless conversations about sappy plans and gifts — it was exhausting.

Fuck Valentine's Day. Fuck February.

You groan, running a hand down your face. All you wanted was to get through the month without being constantly reminded of how single you were.

Was that too much to ask?

February 11th, 3 days before Valentine’s Day.

Work ends the next day — neither good nor bad. It just ends. The hours blur together, another day checked off the calendar. But the one thing you are sure of? You’re more than ready to get out of this pencil skirt and heels and sink into a nice, warm bubble bath.

The elevator ride up to your floor is quiet, and you shuffle toward your apartment, already mentally unwinding. But something stops you in your tracks.

A bouquet of roses sits on the ground in front of your door, deep red petals almost glowing against the dull hallway lighting. An envelope rests beside it.

Flowers for you. – Ian

Ian…

You stare at the note, brows furrowing. There was no one named Ian that you knew. No one on this floor by that name either — at least, not that you were aware of. And you weren’t in the mood for some weird mystery admirer situation. You turn it over as if more context might magically appear. But there’s nothing — no last name, no explanation, just those three little words.

With a huff, you unlock your door and step inside, kicking off your heels with a sigh of relief the second you're through. The roses are still clutched in your hand, their scent lingering in the air, but you don’t bother appreciating them. Maybe these were sent to the wrong door. Some poor soul was probably expecting a grand romantic gesture, and now their flowers were here, at your feet.

Not your problem.

You glance at the bouquet one last time before scooping it up and marching straight to the trash can. With zero hesitation, you drop the roses inside.

Sorry to whoever was supposed to receive them — should’ve given Ian the right apartment number.

February 12th, 2 days before Valentine’s Day.

Just like yesterday, something was lying by your door. This time, a box of chocolates.

After just coming back from the gym, sweaty and exhausted, you were just as over this as you were yesterday. If anything, it was even more annoying now.

You sigh, scooping up the box and envelope before unlocking your door. The weight of exhaustion clings to your body, the post workout soreness settling in. You step inside, kicking the door shut behind you with more force than necessary, and set your keys and water bottle on the kitchen counter.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the envelope. You should shower. Eat something. Do literally anything else. But instead, curiosity — or maybe irritation — gets the better of you, and you rip open the note.

The handwriting inside is neat, precise — almost too careful, like every letter was written with intention.

Something sweet for someone even sweeter. – Ian

So… Ian was persistent.

You scoff, grabbing the chocolates and tossing both the box and the note straight into the trash without a second thought. For all you knew, this person could've been a psycho, and you sure as hell weren't going to risk getting poisoned.

Shaking your head, you make your way to the bathroom, stripping off your gym clothes as you go. The hot water is already running by the time you step in, steam curling around you, but even as the warmth soothes your sore muscles, your mind keeps turning.

Who the hell is lan?

Maybe it was someone from a different floor. But that didn't explain how they knew exactly which apartment was yours.

No, whoever it was has been watching you.

February 13th, the day before Valentine’s Day.

It's different this time.

No chocolates. No bouquets. Just an envelope.

A single, unassuming envelope resting against your door like it had been waiting for you.

You grunt as you bend down, fingers hesitating for half a second before you rip it open, right there in the dimly lit hallway.

The answer is right in front of you. – lan

A slow, creeping unease washes over you. Your eyes flick up, scanning the hallway, suddenly hyper aware of how empty it is. The silence feels heavier now, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly.

Right in front of you.

Your breath hitches as you turn your head, your gaze landing on the only thing in front of you.

Jungkook's door.

No fucking way.

You hesitate.

You could just pretend you never figured it out. Walk inside, close the door, and let Jungkook keep thinking you were oblivious. Maybe it would be easier that way — to let him stew in his own nerves, to pretend you were just some ditsy neighbor who never connected the dots.

But he was cute. So, so cute.

And that was enough to make you lift your hand and knock.

The door swings open within seconds, like he'd been waiting on the other side.

Jungkook blinks at you, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

"It's you," you say, holding up the note between your fingers.

A breathy laugh escapes him, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

He'd been watching you through the peephole this whole time, waiting.

Jungkook practically knew your schedule — when you left for work, when you got back, the perfect window to sneak out, place his little surprises by your door, and disappear before you could ever catch him in the act.

It was him. All this time.

Jungkook was Ian.

You stare at him, expression unreadable as he leans casually against the doorway, a lazy, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

"Thought you'd never figure it out," he says, eyes flickering to the note still pinched between your fingers. "Had to give you a clue."

"How was I supposed to know it was you?!" you exclaim, waving the note in his face. "And what's the deal with lan?"

Jungkook leans against the doorframe, utterly unbothered. "Fake name," he admits with a small smirk. "Thought it'd be fun. Didn't realize you were this clueless, though."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "Well, sorry I was too busy thinking I had some creepy stalker to suspect it was my neighbor."

His smirk falters slightly, and he scrunches his nose. "Right... yeah, that part wasn't my best move." He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. "I apologize on my behalf. I probably should've kept the letters a little less terrifying."

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. "Yeah, you think?"

Jungkook grins, tilting his head slightly. "But now that you know it's me... can I ask again what you're doing tomorrow?"

You smile, a little too amused. Girly, even. "I told you, Jungkook. Not really my thing."

He exhales dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like you've just wounded him. "How can I make it your thing?"

You bite back a laugh, shaking your head as you turn on your heel and walk toward your door. “Goodnight, Jungkook."

"Really?" he asks, almost desperately.

You pause at your door, glancing at him over your shoulder. "My favorite flowers are lilies," you say simply, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

Jungkook watches you, lips parting slightly like he wasn't expecting that answer. Then, he exhales a quiet laugh, tonguing his cheek. "You're unbelievable."

You shrug, a satisfied little smirk in place. And with that, you slip inside, shutting the door behind you — leaving him standing there, grinning like an idiot.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time, February didn't seem so awful.

February 14th, Valentine’s Day.

You woke up today not absolutely hating it. Which was crazy. Because usually, the moment you remembered it was Valentine's Day, you'd launch into an internal monologue about how stupid, overhyped, and downright annoying this holiday was.

But today? Today was different.

You'd gotten dressed with a little more care, taken your time with your makeup, and even picked out a cute outfit. Now, in the kitchen, seamlessly baking cookies, you spot something slip beneath your apartment door.

Your lips twitch into a smile.

Quickly, you set the pan on the stove, turning off the oven before rushing over. You scoop up the envelope, fingers tearing it open with far more excitement than the past few days.

Your heart does a little flip as your eyes scan the words inside.

Be my Valentine? – Jungkook

Squealing, you completely neglect the cookies as you rush to his apartment. You barely wait a second after knocking twice before the door swings open.

Jungkook stands there, dressed simply — jeans and a shirt — but his hair is styled, and in his hands, he holds a bouquet of pink lilies.

His smile is boyish, teasing. "Yes?"

You beam at him, heart racing. "Yes." You take a step closer. "Yes, yes, yes.'

And then, before you can overthink it, you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him.

Jungkook grins against your lips, pecking them once more before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are warm, filled with something soft, something you think you could get used to.

"Come," he says, lacing his fingers with yours. "I wanna show you something."

He sets the lilies down on the counter, just for a moment, before taking your hand again and leading you down the hallway of his apartment. The quiet hum of the space feels different now — charged with something exciting, something you didn't expect.

He stops in front of a door, pushing it open to reveal a room that takes your breath away.

Rose petals scatter across the floor, leading to the bed. The curtains are shut, dimming the room into a soft, intimate glow. Candlelight flickers from every corner, casting warm, golden shadows on the walls.

It's romantic in a way that feels like it could be a dream, but it's real. And it's all for you.

"I would've never pegged you for the romantic type," you tease, your smile playful as you look up at him.

He smirks, rubbing the back of his neck. "I try..." he says, almost shyly.

He sounds humble, as if he hadn't spent the entire day making sure everything was perfect — setting up every little detail, making sure nothing was out of place. Even dropping off Bam at his brother's house so there'd be no distractions.

Your smile deepens, and you reach for his hand, gently pulling him toward the bed. "Well, I'm glad you did."

As you guide him closer, your heart beats a little faster. The room feels smaller now, with just the two of you in it, the soft flicker of candlelight casting shadows that make everything seem more intimate.

"Yeah?" he asks, his eyes darkening with desire, a playful curve to his lips as he watches you.

You nod, humming in response, your fingers lightly brushing his chest before you gently push him to sit on the bed. His hands rest on the mattress, steadying himself as he looks up at you, his gaze almost too intense — wide eyes, glossy with something hungry and eager, like a desperate puppy awaiting a command.

"I think you deserve something in return, don't you think?" you ask, your voice dripping with sweetness and something more, something sultry.

His breath hitches, a nervous tension creeping into his expression as he stutters, "W- we don't have to..." His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes, a mix of hesitation and desire.

You smirk, moving closer, your fingers grazing along the fabric of his shirt. "Oh, come on..." you press, leaning in just enough for him to feel your breath on his skin. "Don't you wanna open your present?"

His chest rises and falls with each breath, and you can see his resolve starting to crumble. The space between you feels charged, and with that one simple question, everything shifts.

You grab his hand, guiding it to the hem of your slip dress, your fingers curling over his as you urge him to pull it up. His breath hitches, and he obeys without hesitation, dragging the fabric higher, exposing the soft skin of your thighs inch by inch. With your help, the dress finally slips over your head and pools at your feet, forgotten. Your breasts bounce slightly in the confines of your red lingerie, the delicate lace pressing against your flushed skin, a sinful contrast that has his gaze darkening with desire.

You climb onto his lap, your knees pressing into the bed on either side of him. His hands settle gently on your thighs, warm and steady, but you want more. Grabbing his wrists, you guide them lower, pressing his palms firmly against the curve of your ass.

"Go ahead," you whisper, lips brushing his ear. "I'm all yours."

A low moan slips from his mouth as his grip tightens. His fingers trail upward, skimming the curve of your spine before reaching the clasp of your bra. With practiced ease, he unhooks it, the straps slipping from your shoulders as the lace falls slack against your skin. You slide it off completely and toss it aside, where it joins the heap of your discarded dress.

"You're so pretty," he breathes, almost whining, his voice dripping with desperation. His fingers flex against your bare skin, and before you can respond, he surges forward, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss.

It’s all heat and urgency — the way his lips move against yours, the way his hands roam, as if he can’t decide where he wants to touch you first. His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the way his heart pounds just as wildly as yours.

Suddenly, you're slipping off his lap, sinking gracefully to your knees in front of him. His breath hitches, eyes dark with anticipation as he watches you settle between his legs.

Your fingers trail down his chest, slow and deliberate, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. Down, past his firm abs, until you reach his belt. You toy with the buckle, teasing, letting your nails scrape lightly against the leather before you start to undo it, dragging out the moment just to see him squirm.

You make quick work of his belt, unfastening it with a deliberate slowness that has him shifting in anticipation. Then, you tug at his jeans, dragging them down along with his boxers in one smooth motion.

The moment he's freed, his cock springs up, thick and aching, the tip flushed and already leaking. A shaky breath escapes him as he watches you, his hands gripping the sheets like he’s barely holding himself together.

His cock is so pretty — long, thick, and flushed a deep, needy red. It twitches under your gaze, and you swear you hear him let out the softest whimper.

Since you had the audacity to throw away his roses and chocolates, it’s only fair you make it up to him. And what better way than giving him a night to remember?

You start slow, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, feeling the heat of him pulse against your palm. Your thumb swipes over the tip, spreading the precum before you lean in, lips barely grazing him. Then, with a teasing flick of your tongue, you kitten lick the head, tasting him, savoring the way his thighs tense beneath your hands.

You take him deeper, your lips stretching around his thickness as you sink down slowly, inch by inch. The weight of him on your tongue makes your thighs clench, and the deep groan he lets out only fuels the heat pooling in your belly.

His hands fly to your hair, fingers threading through the strands before he gathers them into a makeshift ponytail. He tugs just enough to make you hum around him, the vibration drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.

"Ah fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening, his hips twitching like he’s holding back from thrusting deeper.

You take him in until you reach your limit, his tip pressing against the back of your throat. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe through your nose, adjusting to the stretch, the fullness of him. Then, with a deliberate squeeze of your throat, you swallow around him.

The reaction is immediate — his whole body jolts, a shudder running through him as a deep, broken moan spills from his lips. His fingers tighten in your hair, his grip almost desperate as he fights the urge to push deeper.

You bob your head a few more times, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him in deep before pulling off with a wet pop. A thin string of spit connects your lips to his flushed tip, and without breaking eye contact, you let it drip onto his cock.

Wrapping your hand around his slick shaft, you start stroking him, slow and deliberate. The obscene, squelchy sounds echo in the room, mixing with his sharp breaths. His cheeks and ears burn crimson under the dim lighting, and when his hooded eyes finally meet yours, they’re filled with nothing but pure admiration — and need.

Shifting on your knees, you move closer, the heat of his body radiating against your own. Then, without warning, you do something that catches him completely off guard.

You grab your breasts, cupping the soft flesh in your hands, and press them together as you lean down, sliding his cock right between them.

“Oh, gosh,” he moans breathily, his head falling back. His hands grip the sheets beneath him, knuckles turning white as he struggles to ground himself.

A slow, teasing smile spreads across your lips. “You like this?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes as you press your breasts tighter around his cock, moving up and down to create that delicious friction.

His chest rises and falls with each shaky breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “Yes,” he moans, voice rough, almost wrecked. “Fuckin’ love it.”

His eyes flicker down, hooded and heavy with desire, watching intently as your perfectly manicured fingers dig into the soft flesh of your breasts, pressing them tighter around his cock. The way he glides so easily between them, warm and slick, like he was made to be there — it’s intoxicating. Addictive. And he never wants it to end.

His breath stutters, his chest rising and falling in ragged pants as he forces himself to keep watching, to burn the image of you into his memory. Every sinful, wet glide. Every soft squeeze of your hands. It’s too fucking good.

Then, his control begins to slip. His hips twitch, then jerk, chasing the pleasure you’re giving him, unable to hold back any longer. The spark of restraint he’d been holding onto is thinning, unraveling fast, and now he’s moving on pure instinct, desperate for more. His palms press into the mattress, fingers curling into the sheets as his hips start moving, bucking up into the tight warmth of your breasts. It’s slow at first, a gentle roll of his hips, as if he’s savoring the feeling of your soft skin gliding around him.

But he’s losing himself, second after second. His restraint is slipping, his movements growing more desperate, more needy. The slick sounds of his cock sliding between your tits fill the room, mixing with his ragged breaths and the occasional shaky moan that escapes his lips.

“You wanna cum?” you ask, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes — such a contrast to the sinful way you’re working him.

“Yes!” he blurts out, voice strained and desperate. His grip on the sheets tightens, his hips jerking up a little harder, chasing the friction. “So fucking bad!”

His chest heaves, abs flexing with each ragged breath as he watches you, pupils blown wide with lust. He’s right there — at the brink of his release, barely holding on, waiting for you to give him permission to fall apart.

But you don’t let him.

Instead, you pull away, leaving him aching, throbbing, desperate. A strangled whine escapes his lips as his cock twitches in the empty space where your warmth once surrounded him. His hands flex against the sheets, like he wants to grab you, to pull you back, to demand you finish what you started.

But before he can, you rise to your feet and climb back onto his lap, your lips crashing into his in a searing, breath stealing kiss. He groans into your mouth, rough and frustrated, his hands immediately finding your hips, gripping them so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

He’s all anguish, all need, kissing you like he’s trying to take back the pleasure you just ripped away from him. His tongue is desperate, his teeth grazing your lips, his hips bucking up into you on pure instinct. He’s losing his mind, and you love every second of it.

You grab the hem of his shirt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric to feel the warmth of his skin before tugging it up and over his head. He barely hesitates, lifting his arms to help you before tossing it aside, letting it join the mess of discarded clothes on the floor.

With a frustrated grunt, he kicks off his jeans completely, leaving him bare and exposed, his cock still aching, flushed, and desperate for relief. His eyes stay locked on you, dark and heavy with lust as he shifts back onto the bed, settling against the pillows.

You strip yourself from your panties before you climb onto the bed, straddling him with ease, your thighs bracketing his waist. His cock, hard and heavy, nudges against your thigh, smearing precum against your flushed skin.

“Condom?” you ask.

Without hesitation, he reaches over to his nightstand, yanking the drawer open. His movements are hurried, almost frantic, as he grabs a foil packet from the box inside. The crinkle of the wrapper fills the space between you as he rips it open with his teeth, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, dark and filled with anticipation.

He rolls the condom just over the tip, his breath shaky, but before he can finish, you take over. Your fingers brush against his as you grasp the base of his cock, sliding the latex down slowly, teasingly, making sure it fits snugly around his thick length.

Then, with a steadying breath, you adjust yourself over him, holding his cock by the base as you position yourself just right. The anticipation is thick in the air, his hands gripping your hips, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin — though you both know he’s barely holding himself together. Slowly, you sink down, taking him inch by inch, feeling the way he stretches you open. The delicious burn has you both gasping, your breath hitching as pleasure overtakes you. Beneath you, Jungkook moans, his jaw clenched as he fights to keep control, his fingers pressing bruising marks into your hips.

Your hands find their way on his broad, sweaty chest, fingers splayed across his firm muscles as you start to move. Lifting up just enough before sinking back down, rolling your hips in a way that has him cursing under his breath.

As the stretch becomes more comfortable and your pussy grows wetter, the glide becomes effortless, letting you move with ease. The slick sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, mingling with both of your breathy moans.

You start bouncing faster, your rhythm picking up with each passing second. His cock drags against your walls just right, hitting that spot that makes your back arch, your nails digging into his chest.

“You’re so fuckin’ big, baby,” you moan, your voice breaking with every bounce, pleasure shooting through you with each movement.

Beneath you, Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh — flustered, shy even. His cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as if your words are too much for him to handle. He doesn’t say anything back, just exhales shakily, completely overwhelmed by the way you feel wrapped around him.

You push yourself up from his chest, hands moving behind you to plant firmly on his thighs, changing the angle. The shift makes everything deeper, makes his cock hit spots that have your head tilting back, a sharp moan escaping your lips.

His hands roam up your waist, his fingers spreading wide as they slide up to your tits. He palms them with reverence, his touch almost hesitant at first, before he gives in, squeezing, kneading, his thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples. His breath stutters beneath you, his head pressing back into the pillows, completely lost in the way you feel.

One of his hands slowly makes its way down, his fingers grazing over your stomach before his thumb finds your clit. The first touch is gentle, testing, but when he feels the way you shudder above him, the way your walls flutter around his cock, he starts rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

A sharp gasp escapes you, your thighs trembling as the pleasure intensifies. “Jungkook-” you whimper, your hands gripping his thighs behind you for stability as your movements start getting sloppy, more frantic.

He just watches you, completely mesmerized. His breath is ragged, his brows drawn together in pure concentration as he works you closer to your high, his thumb pressing down a little harder, rubbing faster, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of your bouncing.

His cock keeps hitting that perfect spot inside you, and with his thumb rubbing tight circles against your clit, the pleasure swells uncontrollably. It’s too much — all consuming, dizzying, rushing over you faster than you expected.

Sensing the closeness of your release, Jungkook plants his feet against the mattress, gripping your waist tighter as he thrusts up into you. His pace stutters, his hips snapping up with more urgency as he nears his own breaking point, chasing the same high that you were.

At that exact moment, you clench tightly around him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, intense and electrifying. It’s as if everything pulses in rhythm, the shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you. At the same time, he’s driven to the edge, hot spurts of cum shooting deep inside the condom, his body trembling as his release mixes with yours.

You both ride out your highs, your bodies trembling together as the room fills with your breathy moans, the sound thick with pleasure. Each shudder, each gasp, echoes in the stillness, a shared moment of pure connection and release.

Once the pleasure starts to subside, you gently pull yourself off of Jungkook’s softening cock, settling beside him. He removes the condom with a quick, practiced motion, tying it up before tossing it into the trash beside his nightstand. With a soft sigh, he reclines back, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you, burying his face into your chest. Your fingers find their way into his hair, lightly massaging his scalp as the two of you linger in the quiet, comfortable warmth of each other’s embrace.

“Thank you for today,” you say softly, your voice laced with gratitude.

Jungkook lifts his head from your chest, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His smirk is playful as he teases, “Is it your thing now? Or should I have Ian sending you flowers and letters every year from now on?”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a light swat. “Maybe have Jungkook send them instead, yeah?”

He hums in thought, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Noted,” he says with a grin before leaning in, capturing your lips in another sweet kiss. He pulls back slightly, a playful spark in his gaze. “So, how about dinner and a movie?”

You sit up, a teasing smile forming as you push him back by his chest, then straddle him once more. You lean down, your breath warm against his skin as you whisper, “I was thinking maybe round two.”

He chuckles, a low sound of amusement escaping him as his hand reaches for another condom in the drawer. A playful glint dances in his eyes as he prepares for what’s to come.

Oh yeah, Valentine’s Day was most definitely your thing now.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook imagine

2K notes · View notes

demie90s · 28 days ago

Text

To My Bed

Player!Paige Bueckers x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Paige Bueckers is a walking campus legend—basketball royalty, player-certified, and too fine for her own good. She can pull anybody… except you.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: slow-burn, college AU, smut, power play, tension, seduction, fluff with a sharp edge

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT. Sub!reader, dom!Paige, teasing, oral (f receiving), mild obsession, cursing, fingering, overstimulation, strap (later), praise/degradation

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ~ 5.6k

The first time Paige looked at me like that, we were in the same building but not the same world. She was walking out of the athletic center with a duffel half-zipped, surrounded by two girls I recognized from social media—the ones who always hung off her shoulder like a fresh tattoo. Laughing too loud. Touching too much.

She clocked me standing by the vending machine, hoodie on, AirPods in, tapping my student ID against the scanner like I didn’t feel her eyes. But I did. I always do.

There was a pause in her step. One beat. Like something about me cracked her rhythm. I didn’t even glance up. I just pulled out my water, turned, and walked off like I hadn’t just caught the attention of Paige Bueckers.

Everybody knew who she was. Star player. Big ego. Bigger following. Blonde, tall, the kind of white girl that looked good in team sweats and gold jewelry. And yeah, she was fine. But I didn’t care. Not really. Because girls like her didn’t surprise me.

She was a story I’d read before—multiple times. Pretty cover, predictable ending.

That’s the difference between me and her little fan club. They saw her and got starry-eyed. I saw her and kept walking. And maybe that’s what set me apart. Or maybe I just looked like a challenge.

Whatever it was, Paige started popping up. At the coffee shop I studied in. At the library where I liked the third floor because it was quiet. Once, she sat across from me in the dining hall—uninvited—grinning with a milkshake like we were on a date.

“You gone give me a chance?” she asked one day, her voice low, smooth. Like the answer was already yes.

I looked at her, finally—full eye contact, nothing playful in my tone. “All these bitches and you want me? Girl, go head on.”

She blinked, like she wasn’t expecting that. Then she smiled. It was slow, amused, and a little dangerous. “Exactly.”

I went back to my notes.

It kept happening. Her showing up. Me brushing her off. Her trying again. The thing about Paige is she didn’t know how to lose. And she hated that I wasn’t folding.

She tried being cute. Then she tried being smooth. Then she tried acting like she didn’t care. But I’d catch her watching me from across the room, chewing her lip, pretending she wasn’t thinking about it. And I wasn’t blind. I knew what she wanted. She wanted to fuck. That was it. She was curious. Intrigued. Maybe even obsessed. But she didn’t know me. Didn’t know what kind of person she was chasing.

I wasn’t a prize you flexed. I was the kind of win you keep quiet. So I kept saying no.

Finals week turned the whole campus into a quiet warzone. People were crying in stairwells, sleeping on keyboards, praying in vending machine lights. I was locked in on a neuroscience exam, hoodie up, noise-canceling headphones on, half a Celsius and three highlighters deep. My laptop was glowing, my notes color-coded, and I had just hit a mental groove when I felt a disturbance in the force.

A very blonde, loud, blue-eyed disturbance.

“Bro,” someone whispered two tables over.

“Oh my god,” another said. “Is that Paige Bueckers?”

I didn’t look up. I already knew. Three months. That’s how long she’d been on this. And I mean on this. Me. Chasing me like I was a championship ring. Her little hoes had been whispering about it for weeks now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who tf is she?” one of them had asked in the student center, all attitude and edge control.

“Cool the tone,” I said, not even blinking. “Cause I’m the wrong one.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That was the end of that. But Paige? She didn’t end. She kept showing up. Kept calling out. Kept smiling like I wasn’t already ten rejections deep.

Today though…She broke the damn library. Her sneakers squeaked across the linoleum before the door even shut behind her.

“MISS BUECKERS,” Mrs. Monroe snapped before Paige could get past the security gate. “This is a quiet floor!”

“Hush, Karol with a K,” Paige said without missing a beat, “I’m fighting for love.”

A few people giggled. Others gasped. I was fighting the urge to throw my damn textbook.

“Paige!” someone hissed. “Ignore her, Mrs. Monroe!” But Paige didn’t stop.

“GIVE ME A CHANCE AND I’LL STOP YELLING!” she shouted into the silence. “I PROMISE!”

“Paige—”

“KAROL SHUSH ME ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR TO GOD—”

I slammed my laptop shut, stood up slow, and marched toward her like a damn mother on Parent-Teacher Conference day. Paige opened her mouth to say something else, but I grabbed her arm mid-sentence and yanked. Grip tight. Firm. A warning.

The whole library paused like I’d pulled a fire alarm. Paige followed, stunned but grinning.

“My bad,” she muttered as I dragged her toward the exit. “But also… not.”

She was warm under my fingers. Strong. Her bicep flexed against my palm as I pulled her through the doors, and yeah… okay. She felt good. Built like sex in a Nike tee. But I didn’t let it show.

Outside, she shook her arm loose and laughed, like I hadn’t just embarrassed the hell out of both of us.

“You mad?”

“I’m studying.”

“I’m confessing.”

I glared. “You’re embarrassing.”

She stepped closer. Just a little. “You like me though.” I tilted my head. Calm. Flat. “I’m not sure I do.”

She smiled again. That slow, cocky Paige Bueckers smile like she knew something I didn’t. But she had no idea. I’d been celibate for months. Saving every ounce of want. Not just for anyone—for this.

She was still smiling like a fool when I let go of her arm.

“…You gonna give me a chance?” Her voice dropped, like whispering made it sweeter. It didn’t.

Then—louder. “I’LL KEEP YELL—”

“Oh my god, shut the hell up,” I snapped, fed up, absolutely done with the dramatics, finals, and her fine-ass breath in my face.

“Fine.” It was like the world froze. Like the campus paused to blink.

Her eyes widened, lips parting like she hadn’t expected that to actually work. Three months of showing out, begging, performing—and all it took was me getting genuinely annoyed and giving in.

Before I could regret it, Paige leaned in quick and kissed my cheek. Just a light press. Soft. Like she didn’t wanna scare it off now that she finally got it.

And then she turned and left. Walked off with her dumb little swagger, hands in her pockets like she hadn’t just hit the biggest win of her damn career.

I stood there blinking . Still a little warm on my cheek. Still a little mad. Still a little… intrigued. That bitch really kissed me and walked away. She was lucky I didn’t call her back. She was even luckier I wanted to.

The Next Day

I should’ve known better than to think I’d have the day to myself.

It was Saturday. Finals were frying everybody’s brain cells, so I figured I’d get a little peace. Hood up, sweats on, playlist low, incense burning. I was stretched across my bed, phone in one hand, journal in the other, halfway between a nap and pretending to care about my to-do list.

Then I heard it.

Knock knock knock knock knock.

Loud. Disrespectful. I didn’t move. Maybe if I ignored it, it’d go away.

“Open up!” a voice called through the door, too familiar, too bold. “I know you home. Don’t be fake now, we made progress!”

I sighed hard. “Paige…”

“Come on, baby. Don’t act new.”

A pause.

“I said what I said yesterday and meant it! You remind me of—of something real! Something soulful!” she yelled through the door like we were in a music video. “I just don’t know what it is yet! That’s what make it special!”

I opened the door before she started harmonizing.

She stood there in sweats and a crop top, curls loose, one dimple deep as hell from how hard she was smiling. Like she wasn’t a walking red flag who got curved a hundred times before I finally gave in.

“What?” I deadpanned.

“You just my type,” she said instantly. “Everything just right.”

I tried to close the door.

She slid her foot in like a damn action movie. “Okay-okay-okay! I’m sorry. I’m just sayin’, like… let me make it up to you. Let me make you feel good.”

I raised a brow. “You came to my door quoting Kid Ink and Chris Brown?”

“They made points.”

“You’re a problem.”

“Maybe,” she grinned, stepping inside uninvited. “But I’m your problem now, right?”

I didn’t answer. She didn’t need me to.

She walked in like she lived there. Took one look around my room, nodded like she approved, then turned back to me with that same wild confidence that got her in trouble every time.

“Look,” she said, quieter now, “I know you think I’m just tryna fuck. But I’m tryna earn it. Swear to God. No funny shit.”

“You still a hoe in my head,” I said, arms crossed.

She walked closer.

“But I only want you right now.” Her eyes dropped, voice low. “Don’t care who I came with. Don’t care what they saying. I’m not even touching anybody else. Not since you told me ‘fine.’”

I blinked. She wasn’t lying. I could see it on her face—her usual cocky smirk was replaced with something else. Hunger. Patience. That itch people get when they need something. And suddenly I realized… she wasn’t chasing me just to fuck.

She wanted to feel.

“Paige,” I warned, but it came out soft. Too soft.

She tilted her head, voice husky. “Let me put your panties to the side.”

I shoved her shoulder hard, but she caught my wrist. Gently.

“Don’t play with me,” I muttered.

“I’m not,” she said. “I’ll work for it. You want slow? I’ll be slow. You want silence? I’ll whisper. Just don’t lock me out again. You already live in my head—I’m just tryna be where you at.”

Damn.

I hated how good she smelled. How warm her fingers felt on mine. How badly I’d been pretending I didn’t want this too.

So I said nothing. She kissed my cheek again. Slower this time.

I expected her to flirt. Maybe sit on the edge of my bed and keep running that smooth little mouth of hers. What I didn’t expect was for Paige Bueckers—basketball legend, loudmouth, fuckgirl extraordinaire—to freeze, blink at me like she forgot how to breathe, then run.

I mean sprint. Straight down the hall, out the building like she just got subbed into the fourth quarter with ten seconds left and no fouls to give.

“I’LL BE RIGHT BACK! WAIT THERE!”

“Paige, stop yelling!”

She ignored me. Straight up ignored me like I hadn’t just opened my door in boxers and a bonnet looking confused. The hallway echoed with her footsteps, then silence.

I sighed. Locked the door. Sat back on my bed.

Three minutes passed. Four. Five. I rolled my eyes, ready to call her dramatic and block her until graduation. But then I heard it.

Footsteps. Fast. Heavy. Getting louder.

Knock knock knock—

I yanked the door open before her hand landed. She was standing there, out of breath, hair slightly wind-blown, and her arm cocked back like she was about to knock the life out of me.

“Hit it if you want to.”

Her eyes jumped. She looked like a kid caught throwing a rock through a window. “…I wasn’t. I was joking.”

I looked down. She was holding flowers. Not some gas station bundle either. Tulips. My tulips.

Pink, orange, yellow—bright and loud like her. I couldn’t even hide it. My face softened. All that irritation melted into quiet surprise.

“You…” I started, then stopped. “How’d you even—”

“You said it once,” she shrugged, sheepish now. “Back in March. You was mad cause someone stepped on a tulip bed by the rec center. Called ‘em dumb as hell.”

I blinked. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about you,” she said, lifting the bouquet up like an offering. “Now can I come in… or you still mad?”

I took the flowers. Held them to my chest without thinking.

“You still a hoe,” I mumbled.

She grinned. “A hoe with a heart.”

I stared at her. At the girl who sprinted through campus for flowers just to impress someone who didn’t even text back. And I almost told her to come inside.

But I didn’t say a word. I just stepped back. Left the door open. She walked in quiet for the first time ever.

I tried. I swear I tried.

I held out for months. Closed legs, closed DMs, closed door. I stayed strong when she flirted in public, when she begged on FaceTime, when she said she was having dreams and waking up mad at me for not letting her taste.

But a bitch has limits. She wore mine down like waves on rock.

It was a Thursday. I had dinner with my girls—good food, good laughs, one little glass of wine, and the entire time my phone was lighting up like I was somebody’s emergency contact. And in a way? I guess I was.

P: Wyd

P: Hello?

P: I’m bored

P: Can I come over?

P: Lemme eyp

P: Please

Lemme eyp.

Eight letters that made me sit up straighter than the cocktail I was sipping. Eat the cat? For free? Hell yeah. But I kept cool. I let her text. Let her beg. She was in her digital hoe era—no punctuation, no shame. ADHD in message form.

I answered once, just to give her a crumb.

Me: please stop. (translation: don’t stop get it get it)

P: Please. 5 minutes. 2 max 😊

Such a damn hoe. I bit back a smile. Put my phone away. And didn’t reply the rest of the night. But I knew. Ouu child, I knew.

By the time I got home, I had already cleaned up, lit a candle, slipped into my little pajama set like I was going to bed. I wasn’t. I laid on my back, phone in hand, finally ready to text her “come thru”—and right as I typed the C in “come,” there was a knock knock knock at the damn door.

I stared. Because what the actual fuck. I opened it and she was there. Breathless. Giddy. Bouncing on her toes like she just got drafted again.

“What if I was asleep?” I asked, not moving.

“You weren’t,” she grinned. Then she scooped me. I mean full lift-off, bridal carry. Walked right in, door shut behind us like she rehearsed it.

I squirmed a little, caught between turned-on and annoyed. “Damn, you excited.”

“You have no idea,” she muttered, already carrying me to bed. “I’m going through withdrawal. I need this.”

“Girl calm down,” I muttered, but I was lowkey melting.

“Take them shorts off.”

I blinked. “Damn, I had a good night. Thanks for asking.”

She leaned down, voice a whisper now, against my ear. “…Take them fucking shorts off.”

My body moved before I could argue. She watched me like I was holy. Like she studied this moment. Like this was the final exam after a full semester of chasing. The way she looked at me made me nervous. Not scared—nervous. Like she could see through my front. Like she knew I needed this just as bad.

I laid back, tried to relax. And she opened my legs so gently it made me shiver. Kissed my inner thigh once. Twice. Then looked up at me like she was about to change my whole belief system.

She devoured me like it was instinct. Like she dreamed about this. Trained for this. Studied it like a playbook and came hungry to the exam.

Tongue first—broad and flat, dragging up slow like she needed to taste everything before she focused in. Then lips. Hot and open and wrapped around my clit like she meant it. Not soft, not hesitant—like her mouth belonged there. And I swear, it was like my body recognized her before I could even moan.

My hand went straight to the back of her head. Not to push her off—hell no. To pull her closer. I didn’t want distance. I wanted pressure. I wanted her in it. She licked again and I swear, my thighs twitched on instinct.

And then she started sucking.

Deep. Rhythmic. Like she was sipping out of a damn smoothie cup and I was the last drop.

I couldn’t even pretend to stay quiet. My mouth fell open, breath hitching, moans slipping out broken and desperate. Eyes fluttering, rolling back, but I couldn’t close them—couldn’t stop looking down at her between my legs, locked in like she was starving.

And the sounds.

The wet. The slurp. The way her mouth kept catching and dragging, those soft growls vibrating straight through my core like she couldn’t help herself. Like her body needed it too. I tried to move, tried to shift back just a little because it was too good—but she reached up fast and grabbed my wrists, held them in her hands like anchors, and pulled me down.

Pulled me into her face.

She moaned right against me like she was thanking God and I was the prayer. And yeah, it was lowkey cute. Her holding my hands. Locking fingers like we was in love or something. But I didn’t care about the sentiment. I was too busy falling apart.

Eventually, she came up for air. Lips shiny. Eyes wild. And I thought maybe she was done, maybe I was safe. But nope.

She stood up, slow and smug, then lifted me like I was light. One arm under my back, one under my knees. Placed me higher in the bed like I was royalty she was repositioning to be worshipped properly.

Then she pulled off her shirt.

Left in nothing but her sports bra. Abs flexed, face flushed, lips parted. I was already shaking and she hadn’t even touched me again. She climbed onto the bed and got low—slid down my body without ever breaking eye contact.

She looked so fine moving like that. Focused. Possessed.

And then she laid down. Flat on her stomach. Arms wrapped around my thighs, pulling me over her face like she was setting the table. I let my legs spread and she dove back in—no hesitation. Tongue faster this time, more precise, and I was already close again.

I squirmed, hips jerking, but she kept moving. Switched to her side, grabbed my legs and held them back. Bent me damn near in half while she slid in upside down and kept eating. The angle hit different. Her tongue slid up, sharp and greedy, and she moaned with every lick like I was feeding her soul.

And then added fingers.

Two of them, slow and smooth, curling like she knew exactly where I needed her. My back arched. My thighs trembled. She sucked and pumped, fingers slick and deep, tongue pressed flat while she watched me.

Eyes still open. Still on mine. And I couldn’t look away.

The fingers should’ve been a warning. She knew what she was doing.

She was already eating me like I was her favorite meal, like this was her last supper and I was plated just for her—but those fingers? That was criminal. Straight assault.

Two of them, slow and deep, curling just right like she practiced. Like she’d taken notes. Like she knew my body before I even touched her.

And when she added that pressure from her tongue on my clit? I lost it. Again. For the umpteenth time. It wasn’t even cute at that point. I was damn near twitching. Moaning with my mouth wide open, one hand gripping the sheets and the other still caught in her grip like she refused to let me run.

I came so hard I forgot my name for a second. And then she stopped.

I was barely breathing, still shaking, chest rising fast, when she pulled her fingers out and sat up slow—grinning. Like she was proud of herself. She brought her fingers to her lips and sucked them clean, one by one, looking me in the eye while doing it. Like she wasn’t just trying to get the taste. Like she was reliving it.

“Girl,” I breathed, voice cracked.

She leaned in again. Grabbed my jaw with one hand, firm and possessive, and opened my mouth. She didn’t ask. Didn’t move slow. Just pushed her fingers past my lips, two slick digits that still tasted like me. I moaned around them—loud. My thighs jumped. My tongue moved without thinking.

“You taste so damn sweet,” she mumbled against my lips, still rubbing her fingers slow on my tongue as she kissed me messy and deep. Her lips were wet, her jaw tight, her voice all breathless and cocky like I hadn’t just melted under her.

I whined into her mouth, couldn’t help it. That whine you do when your body say it’s done but your soul say keep going. When your eyes roll but your hips still lift.

She pulled back just enough to look at me. I was pouting. Eyes closed. Face turned like I was mad, but really I was just overstimulated and obsessed.

“You want more, mama?” she asked soft.

“Paigeeee…” I moaned, dragging her name out like it hurt.

She just laughed. Low and smug.

She already knew I was gay. Grown. She seen my bedroom. She seen my little drawer when I opened it too fast that one time. I had toys, okay? Good ones. But I didn’t use ‘em like that. Not all of them. One in particular? Still in the box. Shiny and intimidating. Heavy. That strap wasn’t for beginners and I wasn’t trying to fuck around with it. Too much work. Too much pressure. That was a two-man job and I ain’t had no man, no woman, no nothing.

She opened the drawer while I was still catching my breath.

Held it up like a damn trophy. “This one?”

“Girl I don’t even use that—”

She looked at me over her shoulder, smirking. “Let me.”

I blinked. “That shit hurts.”

“Let me make it feel good.”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out. She just grinned. Strap still in her hand. Her sports bra still clinging to her chest, abs tight from holding me down all night, curls messy and eyes hungry.

She knew. She knew I was gonna let her. And I hated how bad I wanted it.

I needed a break. I don’t say that often—but I meant that shit with every breath I was still trying to catch.

Paige gave it to me too. Real gentle-like. Set the strap down, kissed my thigh, mumbled something about water, and walked out. I laid there, eyes shut, chest still rising like I ran sprints in stilettos. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My thighs were trembling like I owed them an apology. My lips were puffy, wet, throbbing—and she wasn’t even done.

Somewhere between breaths, I heard the soft click of the drawer again. Buckle sounds. A low, smug laugh under her breath. That was Paige. She was proud of herself. She was prepping like this was a fucking game and she already knew she’d win.

I didn’t even open my eyes. Just sighed and let the sheets cool me off. Until I felt her over me.

“Girl…” I muttered, eyes fluttering open.

She was hovering—arms on either side of me, hair falling in her face, that damn strap sitting thick and perfect between us. Her sports bra was still barely hanging on. Her smile looked sinful. Like she was excited. Like she missed me. It hadn’t even been ten minutes.

I rolled my eyes. “Paige don’t pla—”

“Hush.”

And I did. Quick. Because she pressed that tip right against me. No warning. Just enough pressure to shut me the fuck up. My legs twitched open on instinct, hips tilted like they had a mind of their own. My breath caught.

“Shit.”

She didn’t even move yet. Just rubbed it there, slow. Slick and teasing. Up and down my folds like she was dragging it through warm honey.

“You probably right,” she whispered, voice thick with heat. “You can’t handle this shit.”

“Paige, pl—”

She pushed in. Not slow. Not fast. Just deep. Steady. Intentional. And I swear to God I saw stars behind my eyelids.

My back arched. My arms wrapped around her without thinking. And she stayed right there—pressed to me. Eyes locked. Face soft. Too soft. We were chest to chest. Her breathing matched mine. Her hand came up and cradled the back of my neck like she needed to keep me grounded.

Missionary. The most intimate fucking position. And it was filthy.

Because the sounds? Disgusting.

Wet. Sloppy. Loud. The way the strap moved inside me had me gasping, legs shaking around her hips like I didn’t know how to take it. The way she rolled her hips—grinded, not just thrust—made it worse. The bed was banging against the wall like it had something to prove.

I was so lucky I didn’t have a neighbor on that side. Shit would’ve been a noise complaint with a side of trauma.

“Shit… you feel that?” she moaned, kissing me again.

I tried to kiss back, but I couldn’t focus. My lips parted and all I could do was moan into her mouth. She felt too good. Deep and full and close. Every time she bottomed out, my whole body jolted.

Then she started to tremble.

Her strokes got messier. Breath shorter. She felt it too. Her head dipped into my neck as she let out this guttural moan and started moving faster. I swear she came. You could feel the change in her. The urgency. Like something broke in her.

She stayed there for a second, forehead against mine. Our breaths tangled. Then she moved again. Lifted me like I weighed nothing and flipped us.

“I wanna watch,” she breathed, voice hoarse. Now I was on top. Straddling her. Strap still in. Her hands on my waist. I started slow. Just a little bounce. Just to get my rhythm.

But once I found it I chased that orgasm like it owed me money.

My hips rocked forward, rolling with precision. She matched every movement—thrusting up into me just enough to make me lose it. My hands gripped her chest, one bracing against the wall. Sweat slicked my skin. My head fell back. Moans filled the room like we weren’t worried about shit but each other.

Paige was watching me the whole time. Eyes half-lidded. Lips parted. Hands gripping my hips like she was holding on for dear life.

“Fuck… you ridin’ it so good” I cried out. Couldn’t even reply. Could barely breathe. Because the way she moved up into me? Perfect.

It was too much. Too good. Too deep. I came hard—again—right there in her lap. Shaking. Loud. Holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping me from slipping through the bed.

And when I collapsed on top of her, spent and messy. She kissed my temple. And whispered, “Told you… you couldn’t handle this shit.”

I was done. I mean tapped out, retired, jersey-in-the-rafters type done. Could barely walk straight. My legs were jelly, my throat dry, my whole existence overwhelmed by one smug-ass strap-wielding woman named Paige Bueckers.

After we caught our breath and gathered the scattered remnants of our sanity, we moved like old women. Limps and groans. The sheets were a war zone. She helped me to the bathroom, both of us laughing like we hadn’t just made the bed frame beg for mercy. I showered slow while she started the laundry—yes, started the laundry like we was domestic or something.

I finally sat on the edge of my bed, oversized tee on, bonnet back in place, body humming with the kind of ache that only comes after being wrecked properly. I figured that was it.

I was wrong.

“Wait…” she said, voice too chipper. I already knew.

“I wanna try a position.” I didn’t even open my eyes. “No, Paige.”

“You don’t gotta do nothin.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly fell back. But I still let her help me limp to the living room, where I collapsed onto the couch like a wounded soldier. She followed right behind me, and as soon as I turned, SMACK—her hand landed hard on my ass.

“OWW!”

I turned fast, eyes wide. “You play sports! What the fuck!?”

She grinned like a child caught in a cookie jar, hands rubbing the same ass she just tried to knock off.

“Just fah that,” I muttered, voice dragging, “you ain’t gettin’ shit else. Leave me alone.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” she giggled, pressing kisses to my thigh like that would save her.

I kicked her lightly. “No you not.”

She just smiled. That big, dumb, post-sex, in-love smile. The kind of smile that made you forget she still had girls watching her stories and reposting old pictures like they had a chance.

So she said it. Quiet.

“…you know you mine now, right?”

She paused. Then grinned harder. “Tell them hoes that, Paige,” I added, lips barely moving, tone sweet but shady. She was saying dumb shit after breaking my pussy and trying to eat it again like I hadn’t almost passed out.

But I still reached for her. Pulled her down so I could lay on top of her, face buried in her chest like she was a pillow that talked too much.

“…you gon’ let me eat it ag—”

“Girl, are you not tired?” I said, lifting my head just enough to glare at her. My voice cracked like I was being bullied.

She giggled, soft and smug, and pecked my lips once. Then again. “You so pretty.”

I caved. Don’t even remember when, just felt myself relax again—whole body melting into hers while she rubbed this fat ass like it was her personal comfort item.

And right there, chest to chest, warm, sleepy, and sore—I thought, Damn. I’m down bad. But I didn’t mind. Not one bit.

I was out like a light. Couch cushion under my cheek, blanket halfway over my ass, body limp like a ragdoll left in the toy aisle. Paige was up before me—somehow. Probably off pure athlete adrenaline and freaky satisfaction.

We didn’t even make it to the bed last night. She wore me out and I just collapsed right there, tangled up in her arms and that damn strap still in my dreams. She looked at me for a while, I’m sure. That dumb little grin on her lips like she just solved a riddle no one else could crack.

When she got up she carried me. With arms that should’ve been sore, legs that should’ve buckled, Paige scooped me off that couch and took me to bed. Tucked me in like she wasn’t just rearranging my guts four hours prior. Quiet. Gentle. Still smelling like me.

She had to go—practice, meetings, whatever. She didn’t live here, even if her energy stayed behind like a ghost with boundary issues. She let me sleep. I mean really sleep. Deep, warm, peaceful. That I ain’t got no worries sleep. That I just got fucked dumb sleep.

At some point, my phone rang. Her name lit up the screen. I didn’t even move.

Paige: “You hungry?… You still sleep? It’s 3PM?”

She got silence. I was deep in a dream about nothing. Just floating in rest. She hung up and ordered food anyway. Of course she did. Because that’s what hoes in love do when they know they broke you right.

I didn’t wake up until five.

Half the damn day gone. But I loved that. I needed that. My body felt like it had just returned from war, but my spirit? At peace. I still did my little morning routine—brushed my teeth, washed my face, fresh pair of shorts, bonnet adjusted—and then, naturally, laid my ass right back down.

Not even five minutes later—ding.

Paige: open the door

I blinked. Girl. I just sat down. I opened the door anyway.

There she was. Sweats, curls tucked in a hoodie, holding a smoothie and smiling like the sun never sets on her confidence. “Hey, pretty,” she said.

I wasn’t smiling. I turned right around, walked back to my room, climbed under the covers like her whole fine self wasn’t standing in my doorway.

She followed me, of course. Set everything down. And then picked me up. No hesitation. Full straddle. One arm around my back, the other under my thigh.

I was half-asleep, limp in her arms, but still trying to act irritated. Didn’t work.

“Eat,” she whispered, kissing my temple.

“Paige… I’m tired,” I mumbled into her shoulder.

“And sexy,” she muttered back, sitting us both down and adjusting me like I was her favorite accessory. “Eat.”

She held the smoothie straw to my lips. I sipped once. She pecked my lips.

“Open your eyes.”

I cracked one open. She grinned.

That’s how it was with her. She broke me down, built me back up, and still made me feel like I won something.

And yeah…I laid right back down. On her chest. While she rubbed this fat ass again like it was her new hobby.

And if she asked to eat it again?

…I’d say yes.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan

662 notes · View notes

dilf-docs · 2 months ago

Text

Light Up My Life (So Blind I Can't See)

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: pedro pascal in cannes breaks the internet, only rivaled by the mystery figure next to him at the airport. oh, that's you. oh. well, that wasn't part of the plan. oops.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, begging kink, lwk praise kink, choking, fingering, creampie, hurt/comfort, fluff, cannes!pedro (yes that's a warning)

word count: 5,984 words

side note: not to be that bitch but i think pedro in cannes 2025 will be my roman empire. shot out to secret dating, love that shit!!!! based on this request by my lovely fren :)

A few days ago, you had been watching a movie marathon in the comfort of your home.

"I can't believe it, you said you liked it!"

"I never said that. I said it looked interesting" he yawns. You narrow your eyes. "Sleep deprivation" he clarifies, as if reading your mind. "But, you chose it"

"Yes, because you let me" you're quick to counter.

"Yes, because we always do what you want"

Even in the distance, he finds ways to tease you.

"Not true. If it was, I would be there, with you. You know I love Marvel"

He laughs. "It's rare to hear that nowadays, less sounding so sure. You're an endangered species, baby"

You gasp. "I'm not that much of a fan"

"Not a lot of people watch a six hour livestream of chairs"

"Five" you correct, "and I did just to see if you'd show up!"

As if, gut feeling aside, he hadn't told you before.

"Alright, my bad. Five. Still, my point stands"

"So does mine. If Coco is there, why can't I be?"

"Do you happen to know hairstyling? I thought your thing was marketing"

"Oh, shut up"

Stanley Tucci briefly shows up on screen. Not that you already know, given the amount of times you've watched it.

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you?" he asks. Could refer to a lot of things.

It's the crack of dawn.

"It's the only time you can give me" you answer instead.

He makes a little pout, making you giggle. The movie keeps playing in your laptop.

"I'm sorry you have to meet me like this"

"Please, stop" at his bad joke. "The lack of sleep is showing"

He just laughs. "I can't wait for you to come"

(Texted you places of London you wouldn't be able to visit. It's just a stopover, you said, yet he insisted on sending links of London's best attractions for tourists)

"I know" you admit, softer. "Me either"

You yawn. So much for a movie you aren't watching.

"Won't it be too tiring?"

Your amazing boyfriend, ever so caring.

"Pedrito" he sighs at his name on your lips, little and a warning. "I'll be fine. Besides, I already dowloaded the movie's soundtrack to keep me company"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "You really enjoy this movie, don't you?"

You take a brief glimpse at the forgotten movie, playing on your shared screen, then back at his face.

A bit tired, eye bags more pronounced. The sleep thing was true. Still, he was the same in many other ways. His broad frame, sharp jawline, grey hair now dyed yet stubborn enough to show in some edges and over his face, in a beard that would scratch against your face when he kissed you, because he liked being close. Too close. You can still smell him, even if he hasn't been in your apartment for over a month now. As if his smell, him being intoxicantingly close, had impregnated on your skin. Another part of his to be yours.

"It's Madonna" like that's enough of a reason.

It shouldn't be this distracting. Singing Who's That Girl after arriving in France isn't a special thing, but to you, lyrics blasting through your airbuds that Pedro hates except when you offer a song and he listens, because he always listens, holds something sacred the moment your feet stretch and you're back on land again, yet people speak French instead of English and time has warped your sense of reality again.

Pedro had checked on you all the time. That was distracting. Some texts during the flight, insisting on buying Wi-Fi on the plane as if he was a millennial who couldn't survive without internet, saying what he couldn't live without was writing to you. That's a lie. You caught him on TikTok sometimes. Over his shoulder, because you couldn't sit together. Liar, you sent. You know he saw it by the way his shoulders wiggled and he covered his mouth to stiffle a giggle over the silence in the cabin. Nevertheless, he continued his little check-ups on you, as if you were a kid.

(Him: in a way, you are. You: Pedro, I'm almost thirty. Him: That's as ambiguous as me coming to Cannes. You: Your fans already suspect. Him: They're smart. You: They are. Him: Listening to the soundtrack? You: Tenth round. Him: You're insane. Insufferable too. You: It's only about forty minutes. This is a seven hour flight. Besides, you love me. Him: I do. Now stop peeking over my shoulder. You: Stop watching TikToks then, you addict!)

Somehow, lost in the music and happy feet struting towards movies, bright sun and the close yet faraway sea, you take too many of those. That wasn't the plan. Don't sit together, don't look in his direction. Over and over again. Precautions. To you, rules. Memorized them. It's not every day you board a plane, but the others are similar, in a way. It was a small price to pay for dating him.

Sometimes you mind.

(You: I miss my personal pillow. Him: I ain't got a belly anymore. You: I'm aware. I was talking about other huge things. Your biceps. HUGE. The one's Julie will show to the world in a day. Those HUGE biceps. I want to bite them. Him: You're a freak. You: Blame Kevin Feige. Him: Not the guy who lost 25 pounds?)

Sometimes you don't.

(You: Come to think of it, you do snore a bit. Him: But I thought you missed me? You break my heart, y/n)

Bump.

The defeaning sound. Coco and his bodyguard glance. But Pedro? he looks. At you.

The internet has rules too. They're both, funnily, f-rules: never forgive, never forget.

His expression is of surprise. They don't forget. His wide eyes. No, that's beyond a surprised face. That's a knowing face. They don't forgive. The subtle difference. He knows you.

Seconds, probably. He goes back to stoic mode. You hear his voice as he chats with Coco. His voice is tight, barely noticeable to anyone but you; know him better than you know yourself. But not today, when he's a supposed stranger and you're another passenger of this plane. An insignificant dot in a crowd. You walk further and avoid his gaze, pretending to search for imaginary stains in your passport, as if you hadn't make the worst mistake of your life.

Days ago, sitting in your bed, you were just another light in the vast Californian sea of houses and salt air. Now, everyone knows he's your something.

Makes sense.

The slip-ups on interviews, his comments about Materialists, his behavior on that interview with Dakota, the mysterious silhoutte that ressembled a woman but was always too blurry and far yet close to identify.

Unrecognizable.

Because you were a nobody. Made a line to get coffee, nothing about you guaranteeing any special treatment. Worked in a publicity agency from Mondays to Fridays, Saturdays if someone called in sick. Took your dog, who complained when the LA sun hit his tiny paws too much, out on walks: Toto, the little cairn terrier who was now under the care of your brother and his girlfriend because of your trip. Was photographed because you wanted and not because they had to, the hidden cameras capturing every move of yours.

That was the privilege of anonymity.

But that luck, like everything else in the world, seemed to have run out.

Now you sit on the hotel room, phone blowing up with messages, mentions, and emails. Funny thing is, despite already having your Instagram account leaked, you were still a ghost. A who?. Just a face Pedro had looked too much for it to be a simple passerby.

You sniffle as Coco brushes your hair, more to calm you than to fix it for the event.

You look through the mirror, not at you, but at the bag dangling from it, and sniffle again. The dress hangs on the closet as Coco gives you a sympathetic look and Lux squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Maybe we can still work it out" you manage to choke up, hoarse from useless crying. So hopeful, as Pedro would say.

The original plan, before the little "bump" on the road, was to attend Cannes while disguised, which meant sneaking as a guest, skipping the whole red carpet.

But now people knew who you were. Or how you looked, at least.

"Not to be a killjoy, but even if the French press is oblivious, I'm sure the internet will catch up as soon as the live stream for Eddington's red carpet starts broadcasting" Lux comments.

"They don't know your name, yet I'm sure they've already memorized your face. You're all over my Instagram" Coco adds, smiling sadly. "Your face is not to be forgotten"

You smile weakly, still feeling bad.

"I don't know what to do" you sniffle, looking back at the dress, one your budget could've bought but leave you on a tightrope for the rest of the month. To your boyfriend, it was barely a tickle on his finances. He insisted on buying it after your bright, unable to hide, smile. Wear it on a special day, and that is today.

Was.

"I'm sure we can come up with something" Lux offers.

"Come with me"

The three of your turn around. You'd recognize that voice even if you were deaf.

"¿Te volviste loco?" Lux asks, perplexed. (have you gone crazy?)

"Un poco" he replies in a Spanish that needs to be practiced a tad bit more, "por ella, sí" (a bit, yes. for her)

"What's going on?" you ask, wiping your tears.

Pedro kneels down in front of you, already dressed in an all black suit. If you weren't on the verge of sobbing for the umpteenth time, you'd tear that suit in two.

"You look good" you sniffle.

He smiles, softly. "I know"

"I love those glasses. They're my favorites"

He smiles again, adjusting them. "I know"

"Se acabó el tiempo, tortolitos" Lux jokes. (time's up, lovebirds)

"Yeah. Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Coco asks, eyes widened in exasperation.

"I'm taking her with me"

"To the red carpet?" his sister asks, surprised.

"No, to fucking Wendy's. Of course, Lux. I'm taking her to the red carpet" he then gives his sister a glance. "You look gorgeous, by the way"

"I know" she flips her hair.

"Yeah, she's beautiful and so are you" Coco interrupts, then points to you. "Is that how you plan on solving this?"

Pedro nods, solemly.

"Listen, it's just a matter of hours before people connect the dots. They already have your Instagram and name. What's next? Your job, your dog?"

You gasp. "I have a whole dump of Toto on my feed!"

"Your account is private though" Lux drops.

"Still!" you panic. "What do I do?"

"Come with me" Pedro insists. "Harm's already done. What would change if we walked down a piece of red clothing?"

"Not even Rooney Mara will walk along Joaquin"

"So? We're not them" he kneels in front of your face again. Wipes a stray tear and grabs your hand. Squeezes it, like fresh oranges for a juice, because he knows you like the gesture. Need it. "And Emma is taking her husband, so"

You only sigh, unconvinced.

"Come with me" he repeats again, like a mantra. Or a prayer. Maybe hoping you'd accept.

"And let the whole world know?"

"Precisely" he smiles, cheeky. "They know some things already. We're just advancing the process for them"

Coco sighs. "At the speed of a bullet train"

"Whatever" Pedro drops. Then, looks at you. "We like it fast, don't we, baby?"

You can only blush in response.

"She'll come with me, then. We'll ride in the car behind" Ullrich sentences.

"No" his grip on your arm is strong but not brusing. Firm, as his position. He gives you a little tug, as to pull you in. Needless to say, you felt like a ragdoll. "She'll come with me"

Fighting Pedro was like trying to tame a tide.

In the end, somehow, he'd managed to rope you into the chaos of the red carpet, black limusines and flashing cameras and inside his car.

You weren't sure. Back in school, you weren't disliked or bullied, but it's not like you were popular either. You had friends, but would rather be alone at times, be it at the library or just sketching at a lonely bench in the park. There was something precious in the silence most people didn't appreciate; you did.

So, to say you where overwhelmed at the bright lights and constant yelling for Pedro was an understatement.

But, if your boyfriend dressed in an all black suit didn't scream Look at me! energy enough, there was you.

It was quick. Everything seemed to be so as of late. The cameras and press, waiting fans, yelled for Pedro, only to then find out he wasn't only here with his sister, but another woman. The airport woman. A loud point of a finger and the whole world knows you're back.

That he isn't your something. No, Pedro is more.

He's your fucking partner.

And it's so obvious, by the way he looks at you fondly. It different from his sister. This isn't that type of unconditional supporting love, but a stronger one. Consuming. One that speaks of devotion. He looks at you. Admires you. Like a painting. As if you had all the answers in the world.

You say hi to his co-stars, maybe a bit too excited to greet Austin Butler. Pedro isn't happy but he's not putting a jealous fit for the cameras. Not when he's busy throwing charming smiles and flexing that body he's worked so hard for under the summer sun.

The world talks. It's all over the news. Your smile, growing only wider when Pedro is near you, hand on the small of your back, right where the dress leaves inviting skin for the rest to see. He introduces you to anyone who wants to listen, always talking, because he's such a yapper. A loud laugher too, and even if it's not with you, you laugh with him, too contagious for you to question it. Posing with the rest of the cast as you wait by the sidelines, taking some pictures for yourself. You see the bee, trying to meddle, imposing and nosy, and feel a little sorry for it, despite Emma's face and the guys' laugh. In a way, you see yourself in the poor insect: taking space where it shouldn't, captured under the lights.

Comments are deceiving, yet there's a movie playing and then an awkward, way too long, standing ovation for you to care. You do. But you try not to, rather focusing on the event and feeling proud of Pedro. You clap and do a little too loud sound that vagely resembles a cheer. Flustered, you find out later on that the video made it out to Twitter. Strangely, even if your sudden appearance in Pedro's life, or rather public life, is well received under that post. Maybe life wasn't so cruel.

"You're not wearing that"

Life is cruel.

"Why not? You knew it beforehand. Said it was your favorite"

"I changed my mind. It's too revealing"

"What are you? Seventy?"

"The age gap is the other way around, grandpa"

And then the fucker flexes his arms. Worst, not even on purpose. Putting on glasses and a pink soft sweater shouldn't be this hot.

"Don't worry, baby. Don't break a sweat. I'll take the grandma sweater off when we get there"

Your cheeks heat up. "That was on purpose"

He offers a cheeky grin.

"Maybe"

Today is the photocall, and if yesterday's outfit put you in your knees, this one sends you straight to the ground. Full force. In a tank top and black pants paired with spiky shoes, his purpose was to serve and to kill you.

He goes again for the round of photos and such, you trailing behind like a lost puppy. Everyone assumes, yet no one asks.

She, the airport woman, now y/n.

(Can't say it out loud either. Not even you, yet, as if the knowing smiles and stolen not so subtle glances hadn't given you away)

You enjoyed this limbo. Of belonging not more inside closed doors and ambiguous coincidences, but on tabloids and loud shutters of camera. You liked the attention but not the label. It was good to see them scrambling, begging for details. Your social media had filled with requests, and even at times, your phone crashed.

You sat in a corner, watching the press. A few clicks here and there, Pedro drinking water and making it sexy (the size difference of his hand and the tiny bottle? You need to be locked up), questions, some about the movie, others about working with Ari Aster and then, awkward ones Pedro handled with grace. He spoke with such reverence, care and thoughtfulness, you can't help but feel your legs weak. You knew he was smart, well read and opinionated, but hearing him was another thing. So lost in this, you don't hear the next question.

"I know no one else is brave enough to ask" the reporter laughs nervously, "but I need to know"

Pedro senses immediately. When he glances briefly at you, hidden on a corner, you know this is about you.

"I don't think you do" he laughs, but there's a certain edge on his tone.

"It's fine if you don't want to answer, but me and everyone else on this room, hell, world!, wants to know who the woman at the airport is"

Before he adds about your quiet but strong presence on both days, Pedro cuts in:

"Is that how you call my girlfriend?"

The uproar is so loud, even Joaquin, who seemed to be on a separate train of thought, jumps on his seat. More questions follow, ones he doesn't answer. Out of boredom or to keep. Some things are meant to be like this.

Tabloids go crazy with the news. You haven't even left the place and phone blows up even more. It will explode at this point. Worse, it's only been minutes. An hour later, it's still as bad. Well, bad is a way of saying it: what you mean is nosy press and the promise of a quiet vacation ruined.

"I don't think it'll ever be quiet again"

You sigh softly, leaning on the door of the car taking you to the hotel.

"It's an opportunity" you reply just to feel the silence.

"Ever the marketer, you bussiness woman"

Even then, he manages to rob from you a faint smile.

At least they don't know where you're staying. That would be awful. You can't imagine having troubles to get out of a car.

"Something's in your mind" as your heels click against cold marble floors.

A shit ton.

You. The fast changes. Impending. Privacy gone. Scrapes of your life out in the open for the world to see. Your relationship and this new stage you're in.

Him. His warm eyes. Firm hand to secure you. Those circles on your back that calmed you down. It's a quiet I love you. Reassurance you don't say but need. I'm here. Pedro won't let you take the fall alone.

But, also, him.

With his body that had been driving you wild. Intoxicating cologne. A small cut abov his beard, still fresh. Thick glasses. Long legs. Strong arms. His charisma. Confidence. A killer smile. Warm eyes. Kind. He laughed too much and filled the gap of your stolen breaths, waiting.

"Want me to tell you?"

Smug grin you could wipe off his face.

"I'm all ears"

He too has noticed you. Short glances. Parted lips. So plump he can still taste them. The lipstick inside his cheek, over his white pristine smile if he hadn't licked it off. A part of you in him. Another. Your body, always so perfect, but in that dress he bought? He steals a look now. He definitely pictured you in it, yet this is better. How you own it. The cameras aren't flashing your way, but their eyes trail your every move. You had that in you: a beauty that wasn't loud, but made sure to be noticed. Like the air: not seen, just felt. Sometimes light, others heavy. He feels light-headed. Today you chose another set he bought you. In away, Pedro feels as if he owns you. But a tender belonging, of soul to soul, possessive, yet not as an object; he was raised right. Although, after your giggles with Austin...

"Pedro..." all sweet voice. He likes his name a lot. More if it's from you.

Your silence is both punishing and teasing.

"Tell me what you want" he insists.

"You know me" you play coy.

"I wanna hear it" desperate.

You cave in. Then, lean. His hairs raise in a prickly trepidation.

"They know too much" he feels your pressure, fears. But also, he feels your hot breath and short gasps, as if you can't hold this any longer.

"I'm sorry"

You shake your head with parted lips and hooded eyes, blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Show me something only I'll know"

Pedro's control shatteres at your words, a low, animalistic growl rumbling up from his chest.

"You're gonna make me fuck you in here" he spills the lewd confession.

"You're going to get us kicked out of this hotel"

"Can I at least kiss you on the elevator?" he pleads. Puppy sad brown eyes and all.

"Maybe"

In an instant, he takes your wrist in his grip, pulling you stumbling to the dinging door.

"Be patient" you mumble as his lips ghost over your neck. You glance at the numbers.

"We're on the thirty-two floor"

"Patience is a virtue"

"I don't care"

As soon as the door opens, he strides out with desperate, urgent steps.

"This isn't our floor"

"Fuck!"

The short time from the twenty-four to your actual floor felt interminable, every second stretching into an eternity as the weight of your shared desire hung heavy in the air.

"Jesus" you mutter.

"That good or bad?" he asks, mouth busy and voice sort of muffled against the flush skin of your neck.

"Good" you manage to mumble, hands on his hair.

Alright, you miss the messy curls but you can see them insist on the top of his hair, now starting to get sweaty, Coco's work going to waste.

"Then let's give them more to talk"

As soon as you crossed the hallway, Pedro kicks the door shut behind both of you. He's got your back pressed against it, roughly, as if he couldn't wait a bit longer, mouth taking yours in a hungry kiss.

His hands roam your body, gripping, squeezing, tugging at any little space of honeyed skin he can, taking off the buttons with a feverish desperation. You swear one of them pops, if your ears don't deceive you.

"You bought that dress. I liked it"

He rolls his eyes. "I can buy you a new one. A whole closet"

"But I liked this one" you pout.

He kisses your pouty lips. "Then I shall move the earth to get the same one again for you. Now... where were we?"

He's back to kissing you roughly, and soon, your brain is too fuzzy and lost in the force of his lips on yours, that the cameras and late interview are soon forgotten in the back of your mind.

"I'm going to ruin you" he says against your mouth, voice ragged with lust. You let out a little moan as you squirm under his insistent touch. "So hard, so deep, you won't forget who you belong to. Never"

You should feel threatened. Scared, even. But no, down there? You're a wet mess.

The dress falls to the floor with a soft thud. At least he didn't rip it.

"No bra, baby?" he asks, voice thick. You swallow harshly and nod. "Bad girl. Such'a tease"

His mouth drops then to your chest, lips kissing and teeth grazing the soft swell of your breasts. His tongue runs cold through a shiver, moving to your nipples, taking the hardened bud into his mouth and sucking hard. You feel his hands then over the rosy flesh, grabbing what he can, which, given the size of his hands, it's a lot.

"All this for me?"

You nod, lost in the grunts, sweat, his mouth and touch.

"That's right. Mine. You're mine, baby. Just mine. Say it. Tell me you are"

"Yes!" you gasp. "I'm yours, Pedro. All yours. Only yours"

He groans into your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. There's too a low sound coming from his throat, probably an approval sound of some sorts. His hands now slide down to your hips, gripping the free skin until he lifts you up. It's always like this. Now, you wrap your legs around his waist, tiny ankles locking at the small of his broad back.

Finally, he takes you to the bed in the middle of the room, all while never breaking the kiss or stopping his greedy hands from touching you. You whine and squirm, weak under his spell.

"So antsy" he softly says.

"I think you meant your hands"

With a little laugh, he lays you down on the bed, body hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. Before, he'd take his time to let go of the shirt, undressing slowly and almost reluctantly. Now, he takes no time in stripping off his shirt, revealing the toned body under an already revealing shirt. You love Pedro, in all of his forms and shapes, but weren't you incredibly turned on like a horny teenager for this new body? Maybe it was his new energy, how it oozed off of him in the form of flexing biceps, slim figure, toned chest and stomach and disarming smile. He was a menace and knew it, by the smirk visible even through the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

"We should've turned the lights"

"I like you like this" needy fingers now turn tender as he traces soft hearts on your face, the rough skin brushing your soft flushed own.

"At least the nightstand one. It's yellow"

"No"

He leans down to claim your mouth again, or just shut you up. It's helpful, anyway, as he kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen and tingling.

"Someone's insatiable today" you croak out.

"For you? Always" he replies, fingers finding the damp patch in your panties, rubbing over it, thick fingers pressing against your clothed pussy. "It's never enough, baby"

He lets out a little grunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet" voice rough with lust and surprise. "Julie's outfit turned you on that much?"

"Even the hideous ones did" you whimper. "Imagine this one"

"I chose some of those, you know" he sounds a bit offended.

"Whatever. I'm happy with this Cannes run. I'll send some flowers or take her to lunch"

"So caring" he mocks.

"For dressing my man like a complete eye candy? Hell, yes"

"No one uses that term nowadays" Pedro interjects.

"Here you go again. You're my biggest hater. Shut up and just-"

You turn desperate at the pressure his fingers apply on your clothed slit. He smirks at that, eyes dark.

"You want this, don't you? You want me inside, filling you, stretching you around my cock?"

"Yes" you whimper again.

"Say it" he demands.

Never would you beg for something, but goddamn, didn't this man reduce you to a puddle of moans and pleasure? Your common sense, no, normal functioning, basic even, flew out of the window with just a kiss.

"I need you"

His fingers press even deeper, and the pulsing light pain sensation drives you wild, making you whimper again.

"Pedro-" you whine, hips rocking up against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

He clicks his tongue. "Manners, baby"

You squirm, violently and desperate. He really was going to make you beg for it.

"Please, Pedro"

"That better" fingers slightly more insistent. "One last time?"

Fuck dignity, man.

"Please, Pedro. I need you. I need you so badly" you choke out.

He grins like a schoolboy, eyes dark. "Good girl"

He rewards you by making a quick work of your panties, practically tearing them off and tossing them aside. His fingers then were on your bare skin, drumming on sensitive thighs.

"Don't tease" you plead through gritted teeth.

"So impatient" he tsks. "Want it now, baby?"

You nod, feverish.

"Because you asked"

"Because we always do what I want" you choke.

His eyes shine dark. "Easy, brat"

He strokes through the slick folds of your, pussy, pushing two long, thick fingers deep inside you, curling them just right, hitting that well known spot that made you see stars.

"So tight" his voice comes out strained. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect"

Pedro pumps his fingers in and out, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. His mouth drops to your breast again, suckling hard, biting just on the edge and then licking to soothe the sting. You feel heat building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your hands scrabble at his back, nails digging into his skin, as to urge him.

And then he pulls away, leaving you empty and aching. You whimper at the loss, making him chuckle a bit.

"Calm down, baby. I ain't going anywhere"

He starts undressing what's left of his clothes, and if you liked the outfit, him naked takes the win. His cock springs free, long and hard, the thick head already glistening.

"See?"

He settles himself between your thighs, the thick length of his cock nudging against your slick folds. He looks down at you, eyes intense under the moonlight. His large, calloused hands slid under your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises.

If spilling it in the interview wasn't enough, he was going to mark you, claim you, make you his.

"I'm going to fuck you now" Pedro announces, voice low with lust. "I'm going to fuck you hard and deep, just like you need. Like we both do"

With that, he thrust forward, pushing past your entrance. You gasp at the intrusion, feeling your pussy stretch around him, accommodating his size. It always happens; he's just big like that. He pauses, letting you adjust to the stretch, before pushing forward again, sinking deeper inside.

So thoughtful.

"Fuck, you're so tight " he said through gritted teeth. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect. You feel incredible, y/n"

He starts to move then, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. Each push brings him deeper, until he was buried to the hilt inside. He sets a hard, fast pace, the bed creaking beneath with the force of his thrusts. The room filled with the sound of their mingled moans and gasps, sweat pooling like a second skin.

And if things couldn't get any better...

One hand came up to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it. He didn't squeeze, not yet, just rested them there, feeling the flutter of your pulse.

"Nervous?" his thumb brushes over your racing heartbeat, a teasing promise of what was to come. "C'mon. Don't get shy on me, baby. I know you like that"

(You did. He was new to this, mainly going off some spaking and dirty talk. Now, he seemed to be into it, if not more, as you. It was always exciting when he did it, never telling you before. If you didn't want to, he stopped. You know he would, at least, because so far, you've never told him to)

You nod, walls clench around him.

"As much as you like feeling my cock stretching you open? Filling you up? You like knowing I'm the only man to be inside this perfect little cunt?"

"Yes" you gasp. "God, yes. No one else, but you, Pedro. Only you."

A wicked grin spreads across his face and he tightens his grip on your throat, just a little. Enough to make you feel it.

"That's right, baby. This cunt belong to me now. Your body. You. You belong to me"

He starts to thrust harder, faster, headboard slamming against the wall with each snap.

Pedro feels you starting to tighten around him, breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps.

He knew you were close.

He leans down then, his rough stubble rasping against the smooth skin of your neck as he growled in your ear.

"Be a good girl and come for me" he urges. "Let me feel this pretty pussy spasm around my cock. Feel it come undone on my dick"

His hips never slow, pounding into you with deep, powerful thrusts. The grip on your throat tightened just a touch more, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you light-headed.

"I'm going to fill this cunt with my cum. I'm going to pump you so full of it, you'll be dripping for days"

You let out a choked moan at his filthy promise, back arching off the bed. He could feel her starting to convulse around him, her slick walls fluttering and clenching. He was so close too, his balls drawing up tight against his body as the pressure built.

"Come now. Let me feel you scream my name as I fill you up. Let the whole damn city know who you belong to"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. At the same time, his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just as your orgasm crashes over. You let out a strangled cry, body shaking and shuddering beneath him as you come apart.

"Fuck, y/n. Fuck"

With a load groan, he comes too, cock pulsing and jerking inside you as he pumps you full of his hot seed. Spurt after spurt, until he sees your stomach bloat lightly and you feel it sloshing inside you like the distant waves on the beach.

He collapses on top of you with a loud sigh, weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat; it's still dripping.

You both lay there for a long moment, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, as you catch your breaths. Finally, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft.

"You're incredible" voice raw. "I can't believe you're mine"

You giggle, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you snuggle against his neck. He can feel your soft, warm breath tickling on his skin. A sense of peace and contentment settles over him, and he sighs happily.

"Yours" and a quick tired sloppy kiss. "You drained me, thought"

"If you weren't such a tease..."

You playfully swat him, weakly.

"Shh, just relax" he murmurs, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back. "You did so good, baby. So fucking perfect. As always"

You can't helo but say: "And now the whole world knows it"

He captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was different from the hungry, desperate kisses before. This one was tender, almost sweet. Full of a quiet, growing affection.

"It's okay" so quiet you would miss it. "I've got you, baby. And I'm not going anywhere"

You make a soft, contented lazy sound as you snuggle even closer, fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He feels your body starting to give up.

"Promise?"

He tightens his arms around you, holding you like he means it. You are the most precious thing in the world to him, but he doesn't want to tell you. He wants you to know. So he holds you tightly, like a vow. Something to keep. Something worth.

"Promise"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif: @a7estrellas / dts: @io12n

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedropascal #cannes #cannes film festival #cannes 2025 #festival de cannes #cannes red carpet #eddington #emma stone

783 notes · View notes

hannieween · 8 months ago

Text

the shadow | yoon jeonghan

› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader › aus: demon hunter jeonghan, supernatural au, demon reader › genres: angst, smut (18+) › word count: 10.6k

› proofread by the lovelies @gyuhao5 and @monamipencil ty 🩵

› this is part 3 of the curse - hannieween fest

› warnings after the cut! READ THEM CAREFULLY 🗣️

› warnings: violence: abduction (not jeonghan at reader or the way around), yandere undertones, toxic relationship, smut with plot, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, comfort fuck, switch reader, switch jeonghan, jeonghan is down atrocious, dirty talk, cowgirl, worship. pet names: little demon, baby, (hers)

› disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

the shadow

THE GROUND VIBRATED BENEATH YOUR FEET. It was a Friday night, and the city was alive with desire and sin. The streets were busy with people going around, and the buzzing from their souls was distracting, making you hungry.

But, living in the human world as a demon meant that you had to keep your head down. It would be incredibly dumb on your part to start a carnage in the middle of the street. Besides, you were odd, since you liked living amongst them like you were part of their world too.

In that same vein, you had adopted some of their nature too, so you were running late for work. It was your third month working in a small local pub in the town you used to live. It was a simple enough job. You had found out that you had a natural talent for tending to drunken people, and they found themselves naturally attracted to you. So, suffice it to say, that you earned a good amount of tips every night.

“I’m sorry, I’m late,” you said, removing the scarf you wore on your neck and hanging it on the coat rack.

“You’re only wearing that?” your co-worker, Daisy stared at you as though you were an odd bug. “It’s cold as a witch’s teat outside.”

“Witches are cool. That is why I am team cold,” you sighed, grabbing your pen and a notepad. “How’s it been?”

“Slow,” Daisy replied with a dead tone. “A passerby asked for you,” she mentioned offhandedly as she looked at her reflection in a hand mirror, checking out her lipstick.

“Who?” you frowned. You had a few regulars that admittedly only came to see you, but Daisy would know them by name.

“Some random weirdo,” she shrugged. “Didn’t say your name, but he gave your description to the last hair on your head. Creepy.”

You grew more intrigued, turning to her to see the disinterest on her face. “What did you tell him?”

“To fuck off, naturally,” she replied with the same ease. “He refused to give me his name, so I refused to give him details about you.”

“Is he still here?” you asked, walking towards the door and sneaking a glance through the small round window to the pub.

“He’s sitting on one of the stools. If it gets to it, I already warned Mike about him,” she smirked triumphantly, crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t mind having a little fun watching him throw that creep out. It would make my Friday night.”

In the bar, you saw a man, sitting on the far side of the row of stools. He kept his head down, so it was nearly impossible for you to discern the features of his face. But one thing you knew, it was the first time that you had seen him.

“Well, I suppose that my Friday night just got more interesting.”

Daisy sent you a knowing look, her shoulders going slack in a sign of defeat. “Don’t tell me you’re going to talk to that guy?” she asked with an incredulous tone. “I was a bitch to him, I gave him the middle finger already! All for nothing?”

“We’ll find out,” you smirked at her, pushing the door open and stepping out of the backroom of the pub and into the warm and cozy place, buzzing with the sounds of the people gathering, clinking their jars and laughing out loud.

Some people greeted you with nods and waves of their hands, some people called your name whenever you strolled around the pub, between the tables and chairs. Usually, you would make your way to the first table that waved you down, but this time, you walked straight behind the bar.

“Hi, Mikey,” you greeted with a sing-song tone. “How’s it going?”

“Like any Friday night,” the older man spoke, he was about a foot taller than you, his beard adorned with gray hairs. “A guy is looking for you, Daisy told me,” he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “First sign of trouble, tell me.”

“Thank you, Mikey,” you sighed, showing him a smile. Something within you stirred with something akin to satisfaction. To be surrounded by people who take care of you, in the best way humanely possible, made you feel special, and welcomed.

If only they knew. If they knew that you were very much capable of handling any trouble, even more capable than Mikey to kick out any drunkard without batting an eye. But they did not have to know, in fact, you were trying your best to keep your head down, and avoid drawing attention to yourself.

However, that happened naturally to you. People glanced your way without you even looking for it. So you made your way to the end of the bar, stopping in front of the person sitting on the last stool.

He wore a black leather jacket, his hair equally dark was long and arranged in a ponytail, some hairs hanging on the sides in a messy fringe. He toyed with the rim of his jar, half emptied already.

“You’ve been looking for me?” you placed your elbows neatly on the countertop, leaning slightly so you could sneak a better look to his face.

The man beat you to it, raising his head so he could direct a careful glance over you, sizing you up. Once he gathered with his eyes every detail of your physique, he nodded. “Yeah, that might be you who I’m looking for,” he said offhandedly, tilting his head to one side.

You coughed, getting an uncomfortable feeling as he eyed you up and down. “What can I help you with?”

He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. You could not make out what he was about, and that was when you started to get a flight or fight feeling. Like a prey who is being sighted by its killer, far between the lines of discretion.

“I want you to tell me,” he began, keeping his voice low and his brown eyes on your face. “Why does a demon live between humans? Isn’t that surpassing the line of playing with your food?”

You froze in an instant, fear of being caught sizzling underneath your skin. “Who are you?” you asked.

“I should be asking that to you,” he frowned. “Listen, I see that you care about the humans that are around you right now, so, I’d suggest that we take this conversation elsewhere, away from any potential casualties.”

“What if I don’t care about the humans around me?” you countered, making him pause and consider your words. “Like you said, what if I like playing with my food?”

He narrowed his brown eyes, his lips forming a syllable, but then they broke into a grin. “You’re lying.”

You looked at him in pure perplexion. You had heard about demon hunters before in your short life as a demon. But you never had the opportunity to come across one, so you never really cared.

“Are you a hunter?” you asked, silently reprimanding yourself for showing that you were actually shaken by his presence.

He was dark. Alluring, even. If you dared to glimpse past his mask, you saw a smoking light dancing inside him, it was his soul.

“I am,” he nodded politely, as though he had a rule to keep diplomacy before he hunted you down.

“Suppose I don’t get a name?” you smirked, trying to keep your nerves in line.

“Only if I get yours first.”

That was smart. The hunter knew that there was a power in knowing your name. Demons were creatures of subservience. They were ruled by sin, by corruption. But as such, they had to be kept in check somehow. And when you knew a demon’s domain, you could practically rule them. If you were strong enough.

You stuck out your hand to him, smiling before uttering your name. “At your service.”

The hunter raised his brown eyes, you saw the confusion in them. Your brazenness was not something out of the ordinary for demons who were in the human world like you, but the nerve to give out your name like that did its work to shake him. But he took your hand, all the same, slightly parting his mouth. “Yoon Jeonghan.”

Both of you stilled, your hand instinctively tightening around his as a foreign, but also so familiar feeling crept inside you, gripping you wholly. You sucked in a breath, your eyes glazing over. Oh, no, your mind echoed. Is this…

A bond. And not just any bond.

Yoon Jeonghan frowned, his mouth agape, his eyes teary as he shared that feeling with you. And you waited to see if he knew the reason behind the preternatural sensation coiling around his heart. But he remained motionless, did not even protest when you slipped your hand out of his grip. The turbulent fire inside him calmed down when his dark eyes met yours.

The hunter cleared his throat, blinking dumbly as he jumped down the stool, exiting the place without saying a word.

And that is how you meet Yoon Jeonghan. Your soulmate.

A year went by like water slipping through your fingers. Seasons changed and you welcomed each one of them like any regular human would, except that instead of wearing a costume on Halloween like everyone else, you would just display your horns on your head. Instead of celebrating Christmas, you would go out on a hunt for sins, which oddly enough was a day with many to choose from.

But one thing that was a constant in your life for the whole year round, was the push and pull with Yoon Jeonghan.

Many nights had passed since your last encounter with him, the night you confessed to having been starving yourself of human sins in the fruitless attempt to become human yourself. Nights had turned into weeks, then months, three to be exact. Now you were running from him, only stopping to feed from him.

You were out one night, enjoying the buzzing from the streets of the city. The excitement you felt around you from human souls was nearly making your mouth water. That was until you felt someone tracking you, a distant shadow that kept you out of your line of sight.

He had been lurking for too long, following you from town to town, through the shadows that the tall buildings of the city cast. Following you like a monster on a leash.

You smirked secretly, looking over your shoulder to see his silhouette wrapped in shadows. Jeonghan had found you again, just like he always would. As long as you and him lived, you would always cross each other’s paths.

It had become a game for you. And now it was time to run.

Being a demon was freeing in so many ways. Now that you were at your full strength, you were also freed from all kinds of inhibitions. You did not need a house or shelter, you did not possess belongings or extra clothes.

So you just sprung into a run, quickly devising a plan to escape from this city, and hit the next town until Jeonghan found you again. The city passed you in a blur, and soon your surroundings turned into walls made of thick trees.

You were not sure if Jeonghan knew you were playing a game. At this point, he was just as enslaved to it as you were, running away, only to be found by him. An endless push and pull.

But this felt different to all the times he loomed on your back. No, this was a first. Jeonghan kept himself far away from you out of shame, yes. However, this time it was not a shame for liking you, nor not being able to resist you.

Jeonghan was sorry.

And he would watch you tear through a different town until he mustered all the strength he needed to come to you, announcing himself between the shadows, tail between his legs. You were completely familiar with that. But now you just decided to make him suffer a little.

Other times, you did not resist him; you would take him wherever you could, an empty alleyway. The last time you did this, you took him in the backseat of his car, fucking him until he was a complete mess. You would wait until he fell asleep to exit his car quietly and leave him to wake up completely alone.

Yoon Jeonghan was no fool. He knew you were playing hard to get. He knew that what you were doing was payback for all the times he tried to resist you. All the times he tried to pretend that what he felt for you was some sort of divine retribution.

But in truth, he could not keep allowing himself to be with you. You showed up in his life like a comet falling out of the sky, crashing and burning everything around him, leaving him blind to all reason, too stupid to do anything. So stupid that he lost whatever made sense in his life, and he lost you as well.

Even if he did not actually have you.

Jeonghan sat alone in a booth pushed up to the corner of the diner, where he was slowly chewing the last bits of his breakfast, looking out the window pensively.

The pull he had towards you grew stronger, sometimes thinner, but it was always there. Now that he knew that what he felt was a result of something bigger than him, and than you, he had resorted to analyzing it.

After finishing up his plate, he raised his hand to flag the waitress down, asking for another cup of coffee.

You slid to the seat in front of him with a short sigh, fixing your hair with your hands as if you had just finished jogging, which, Jeonghan thought, could have been the case.

The waitress refilled the cup of coffee, and Jeonghan kindly thanked the lady, pushing the cup to you to then hand you the sugar.

“Did you know I was close?” you asked, bewildered at noticing how quickly Jeonghan had learned to discern your proximity by using the bond.

Jeonghan was tempted to say that he also knew how you liked your coffee. Two sugars, no milk. But that had nothing to do with the bond. So, he just nodded with his head.

“Well, that’s no fun,” you muttered, pouring the sugar on the teaspoon, one, two and sending him a look, you poured a little more sugar.

Jeonghan smiled quietly, it was not a happy smile. “I supposed you would grow bored if I stopped following you across the country. I was right.”

You rolled your eyes. “No. I’m here because I’m hungry,” you said flatly, raising your hand to flag the waitress down.

He also knew that. And not only that, but he also knew that you did not need waffles and bacon, your favorite. You needed something that would never be found on a diner’s menu. Or any restaurant’s menu for that matter.

“Can I have waffles with syrup, please?” you asked with a sweet tone, beaming at the lady. “Oh, and can I have bacon with that?”

Jeonghan looked at the way you smiled at the waitress, his stomach tightening a little in both nervousness and something more, it was a foreign feeling.

He noticed how the woman tensed up at your presence. Humans had a natural fight-or-flight response to demons, but with you, they just assumed it was because of your natural beauty. Or your assertiveness.

“And you suppose I can help ease your hunger?” Jeonghan asked, keeping an eye on the surroundings for any signs of danger, in case you and him needed to run.

“Yeah,” you responded in an obvious tone, taking a small sip from your cup of coffee.

Jeonghan noticed the way you carefully pressed your lips on the rim, as though you could burn yourself.

“I mean, how else am I going to pay for this?” you smirked, placing your chin on your hands, expecting him to laugh, or to say something quippy at you.

“Fine,” Jeonghan said, releasing a puffy sigh in annoyance.

He wondered if this would lead to a serious conversation about what happened the last time you talked. But chances were, you were just having more fun torturing him.

He deserved it.

Something deep inside him pulsated, kicking the air out of his lungs. The feeling rippled, it went on as he blinked and found you, looking equally astounded. But you recuperated faster than him, you usually did.

“How did you know?” Jeonghan heard himself blurt, his tone rough as though he had been screaming for hours. “About the bond?”

You cleared your throat, composing yourself on the seat by resuming to stir your coffee. “I’ve lived in the underworld, Jeonghan, I know how a bond behaves and feels like,” you said, eyeing the woman closing up to leave your breakfast on the table. “Thank you, ma’am,” you smiled politely.

“I thought bonds were only made after making a deal with a demon,” Jeonghan mumbled, keeping his tone in a volume only you would be able to hear. “You and I have never struck a deal.”

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Einstein,” you quipped, taking a generous piece of waffles bathed in syrup to your mouth. You moaned blissfully, the sound was not sexual, but it had several eyes drawn to you.

Jeonghan knew why, your voice was sweet, appealing to the human senses. It also had an effect on him, but that was because of an entirely different reason. He cleared his throat too.

“Bonds made with deals or promises are quite common. No, this is different,” you said after gulping down the waffles with coffee. “You and I were made with this bond. It’s always existed for us.”

He looked at you confusedly as you tore through your breakfast. “What do you mean we were made with the bond?”

You dragged the last bit of waffles through the pool of syrup on your plate. “We were born with it.”

“You were born…” he trailed off.

“I was made, Jeonghan,” you pointed your fork at him, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I knew that,” he said, blinking slowly. “But following your logic, you had to be born at the same time as me.”

“Time is different in the underworld,” you reminded him, chewing slowly to enjoy the last bit off your plate. “I’m actually a little bit older than you.”

Jeonghan had assumed that as well. Though he knew you were a fairly younger demon from the ones he has faced, you had to be older than him, guessing by your physical strength alone. “So you’ve known all this time.”

You nodded, pushing your empty plate aside. “Ever since we spoke to each other,” you crossed your arms on the table, directing a serious look at him. “I’ve always known, Jeonghan.”

“You could’ve told me just to toss it at my face,” he pointed, there was no venom in his words, he was as confused as he was the night you left him. “All this time, I thought that this was some sort of retribution, a divine cause and effect I had to endure for wanting to be around you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

At that, you lowered your eyes in guilt. “I never thought it would make a difference. I never thought you would believe me, so I never said anything.”

Jeonghan felt a kind of pain he had never felt before he met you. It coiled around his heart, it was remorse because he knew what you did not want to say, what he could not bring himself to do.

Because even after you told him, he did nothing. It did not make a difference. He still refused you, he refused to give in.

“Can I help you with something else?” the waitress approached, addressing him intently.

You kept your head down, so Jeonghan never saw the glimmer in your eyes from the tears that were beginning to form.

“The bill, please,” he said, but he was quickly distracted.

You were sliding on the seat, walking away from the table, and then pushing the door open, exiting the diner.

“Shit,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath, reaching for his wallet, and pulling out a bill, quickly leaving the place to follow you, knowing that by the time he reached outside, you would be gone.

You were nowhere to be seen, Jeonghan scouted with his gaze his surroundings, were you mocking him again?

When he turned around, he let out a short breath in relief. You were sitting on the passenger seat of his car, aloofly checking the roots of your hair, pretending to ignore him while hiding a smile.

Jeonghan sent his gaze skyward, trying to find some patience in the grim-looking sky. It would rain soon, and you did not have somewhere to crash now that you were effectively on the run and alone.

He decided to go along with whatever crazed plan you were crafting, he felt he was in no position to do otherwise, but to follow. Even if you were just toying with him in revenge.

You followed him with your eyes as he went around the car, yanking the door open and sliding to the seat silently. “Where are we heading to?” you asked, primly tucking your hands between your thighs.

“We’re skipping town,” he said, turning the key on the engine.

“Already?” you turned slightly to get your seatbelt on. “I thought you would like this town.”

“Why is that?” he kept his town flat, trying to keep the discontent at bay.

“It’s lonely,” you said sweetly. “For lonely people such as you.”

“We need the opposite of lonely right now,” he replied, trying to ignore to the best of his ability to omit the fact that the last town he lived in was solely because he could keep an eye on you that way.

“Mn,” you hummed pensively. “You’re no fun when you’re angry and quiet,” you pointed with a knowing tone, turning to look out the window.

Jeonghan arched an eyebrow, trying to appear as nonchalant as ever, he leaned his head to his hand, an elbow propped on the windowsill.

You read his silence, your lip curling a little in a smile. “You know that I can also read you, right?”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he muttered tiredly, avoiding to look your way.

You clicked your tongue but decided to keep quiet. Jeonghan was frustrated, that much you knew, telling from the rigidness of his movements, the way his hand tightened around the steering wheel. Two fingers rubbed his bottom lip harshly, he kept that motion for so long that you thought that it had to burn him at some point.

But aside from that, you could see the enraged flame inside him, dancing erratically from the moment you showed up at the diner. You knew that your tantrum had run its course, and he was now trying not to tell you how miserable you had made him these past few weeks.

And he knew that you were only turning to him so you could feed. That had been obvious from the moment he saw you. Your skin was colorless and dry, the bags under your eyes were prominent, and not only that, Jeonghan probably assumed that you no longer wanted to consume human souls, only his sins.

Soon, you entered a new city that welcomed you with a big sign, Welcome to Veridian Bay! leading to a bridge crossing over the waterfront and into the big city with big, tall buildings.

You leaned to the window to take a look at how tall the buildings stood, the streets were busy with people, and everything was alive with buzzing sounds. Jeonghan kept driving deep into the city, until you reached a quieter part, away from the tall buildings, the shiny stores and flashy signs.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, looking curiously at the big shopping mall he just parked his car in front of.

“We need to buy clothes,” he directed a judging look at you.

“What’s wrong with mine?” you asked to no end. Your clothes were torn and filthy, another reason why people threw you second looks at every place you walked into, demon allure or not.

Jeonghan exited the car, and you followed him closely, as though you were trying not to lose him in between the people.

“I have a question,” you said, sticking to his side to shield yourself from the weird looks you were receiving. You did not care about it, but you wanted to keep a low profile as much as you could. “What happened to the two hunters?”

“They stopped chasing you,” he replied in a quiet tone, leading you to a department store.

Everything was bright with colors, and shiny lights hanging from the ceiling. Rows of clothing racks are laid in front of you in an elaborate maze. You had been to malls before, but never to one as big as this. And definitely never with Jeonghan.

“Do you think I’m free from them, then?” you yanked your gaze from a row of pretty blouses, your fingers itching to touch the fabric.

“Not by a long shot, no,” he answered, tensing beside you when your arm brushed his. “Choose something quickly, the shorter we stay here, the better.”

You grabbed a plain white t-shirt, measuring it over your torso and facing the mirror where Jeonghan stood, watching you intently. “Do you think this one goes with my body type?” you asked fruitlessly.

He just huffed, rolling his eyes swiftly. “Stop playing,” he said, looking around precatively. “We need to find somewhere safe to stay, and you need to feed soon.”

The way he gritted out the words allowed for the quiet rage simmering inside him slip through. A light shock appeared on his face, much as if he heard his own words and quickly forced himself to composure.

Jeonghan was mad, and you were the reason why the flame inside him was growing into a merciless fire burning inside him.

“Alright,” you hummed, picking a pair of jeans, a long t-shirt and undergarments.

Jeonghan followed you as you made your way to the queue line to pay. His mind was once again buzzing with questions, if anything, the conversation back in the diner left him even more confused.

He had thought all this time that what he felt for you was some kind of joke. The insane lust, the deep craving, the endless nights he spent thinking about you, dreaming about you… all because of a supernatural bond he never had control of.

You made a tiny cooing sound, making him snap his gaze to where you stood in line. You were lifting a finger to match with a baby’s pointer finger. The baby girl was looking over the shoulder of her mother who queued up in front of you. Somehow, you had attracted the focus of the baby, and you were now caught up in her big eyes, in her dimpled hands.

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted violently. You smiled at the baby as she wrapped her tiny hand around your finger, laughing with you. The feeling tightening inside him was completely alien to him, he wanted to get rid of it as you would an illness.

He never understood why it was impossible for him to fight against you. He used to think that your innate allure created that attraction he felt for you, he used to think that you were playing games on him.

But that did not explain one thing. As he watched your joyous smile, he realized that what he felt was not entirely carnal. He recalled what he felt that night he knew you were slipping away, the fear of losing you.

The tight feeling coiled inside his chest when you lifted your eyes at him, keeping that joy with you from being paid attention to by an innocent baby. The interaction had been so pure and out of the ordinary for you that it brought a spark to your dark eyes.

The knot inside him broke free, blooming inside him freely, filling his chest with a warmth that was nearly intoxicating.

“Are you okay, hunter?” you asked quietly, noticing the change in his eyes, the quiet rage dying down at the same time the look of bewilderment on his face set in.

“Yeah,” he forced out, pulling out his wallet from the pocket of his jacket and handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you whispered awkwardly, still shocked at how suddenly his erratic mood disappeared. What added to the shock was that Jeonghan did not lie to you, he was indeed fine, however, the shock on his face was confusing to you.

“One bed, again?” you deadpanned.

Jeonghan closed the door to the small motel room. This one had a leather couch that looked decent compared to the thin white curtains that allowed for the light coming from the street outside to seep through.

“What’s the point in asking for two beds?” Jeonghan shrugged, taking off his black leather jacket as he let out a cough.

“I’d appreciate it if you actually made some effort in swaying me,” you mentioned off-handedly as you started zipping down your hoodie. “I’m still a lady, you know?”

At that, Jeonghan chuckled. “You are as much as a lady as I am a gentleman, so,” he shrugged. “There’s the couch, if you care that much.”

“You’re right,” you snapped your fingers at him. “You can sleep on the couch, I’ll sleep on the bed!”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, raising his arms to grab his tight black shirt and pull it over his head.

You stopped, dead in your tracks. Jeonghan had a very deceiving build, most would think he was lean and due to his affection for dark clothes, he masked himself well to curious eyes. But in fact, Jeonghan had a toned body, a low bulk that had been built up due to the nature of his work.

His milky white skin was adorned with scars, bruises and bitemarks from creatures he hunted down. As he removed the sleeves from his arms, he sent you a look. “What?” he blurted.

You were too caught up to come up with a lie, but something deep inside you recoiled in nervousness. “I was just looking at you,” you mumbled meekly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “You’re gawking.”

You shrugged. “Can’t blame me. You’d be gawking too if I suddenly decided to strip naked.”

“Tsk,” he smiled playfully, throwing the t-shirt on the couch. “It would be fair game, at least.”

“Shut up,” you sighed, rolling your eyes at him. But still, you stared at his fingers undoing the belt of his black denim jeans, pulling it from the hoops.

“Alright, then,” he said, giving his belt the same treatment, discarding it on the couch. He placed his hands on his hips, his torso forming a perfect inverted triangle. “Are you going to keep playing dumb with me?”

You arched one eyebrow at him, too surprised at his bluntness to even speak. Gaping, you stood there for a second, trying to decide on deflection or acceptance.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you turned your back on him, mustering all the will in you to not glance his way. You started rummaging in the bag of clothes, pulling out an I love kitties shirt that you got as a nightgown. It had a doodle of an orange cat on it.

“Please,” he huffed, and you bit your bottom lip. “You can’t lie to me so don’t try to treat me like I’m stupid.”

“Take a hint, hunter. I don’t want to talk about this,” you said but failed to coat your words with enough venom.

A hand circled around your wrist, pulling you to his body, commanding you to face him. With a gasp, you yanked back, looking at him furiously. But his gaze smothered that fire inside you at once. “You left,” he said, the trouble in his mind mirrored in his dark gaze. “You left me.”

“Yeah, I left because you could not even talk to me, Jeonghan,” you replied, trying to step back from him, the back of your knees finding the bed.

He gave you an incredulous look. “I’ve spent three months chasing you across the fucking country,” he said. “You only stop running when you need to feed from me. I’ve paid enough, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be the one to decide that,” you gritted, betraying yourself. Your eyes started brimming with tears, angry tears, sorrowful tears. They carried all the misery that you had lived as his soulmate.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded, his tone rising in exasperation.

“Nothing,” you muttered, shying away. You lowered your face, bringing a hand to wipe the wetness on your cheeks.

“That’s not true.”

As you raised your head, you involuntarily sniffled. “Well, you know what I want, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan gaped at you for a moment, choking on his argument. He knew then that nothing would give peace to this fight because there was no solution to this.

You wanted to become human. In your mind, it was the only way you could stop feeding from his lust, his greed. It was the only way to make you stop feeding from human souls. And by that, you would not be hunted down for being a demon. Jeonghan would not have to feel remorseful every time he looked at you.

But it was something uncertain. You did not know whether the path to becoming human would even work, or if you would survive it.

“Is there a way to end this?” Jeonghan asked, his heart stammering painfully in his chest.

“End what?” you asked slowly.

He blinked for a long second, gathering his strength. “Is there a way to break the bond?”

The question robbed you of air, and Jeonghan could see it in your gentle exhale. Your eyes glinting with sorrow, wide and looking at his face as though you had trouble assimilating his words.

“You-you want to break the bond?” you asked, stuttering under an overwhelming pain.

“Is it possible?” he pressed, breathing hard, trying to shake off the numbing pain in his heart.

“N-no, I don’t know,” you sucked in a breath, which he understood to be a sob. “D-do you want to break it, Jeonghan?”

“If it means we’re free from each other then yes,” he whispered, hating the look in your eyes with a passion that he could not stand. He was causing that pain and in turn, he felt it too.

But maybe what you felt for each other was not real. Maybe once the bond is broken, you would realize that what you felt for him was all a farce, he thought.

You rubbed the pads of your fingers against the corner of your eye. “M-maybe,” you mumbled. “But I don’t think so. One of us would have to die, I think,” you spoke with uncertainty because you were sure that the bond would not be broken, not even then.

“You don’t know if your way of becoming human will work,” he mumbled, trying to reason with you. But the truth was, he felt guilty for making you cry.

And you could feel the guilt, it swarmed around him like an angry cloud.

“I know one thing,” you raised your eyes, heedlessly showing him how affected you were by this. “I wouldn’t have to feel how fucking miserable you are when you’re with me,” you spat.

Jeonghan went still, as though petrified. The only thing that moved in him was his gaze, heavy with a dangerous darkness, it coasted over the features of your face. “Is that what you think I am? Miserable?”

“No, Jeonghan, I know it,” you replied with a shaky tone. “I can feel it in you. When you look at me when you touch me.”

He yanked his gaze from you, running a hand on his face while blinking his anger away rapidly. “You don’t know shit,” he hissed at you, motioning to turn his back on you but quickly decided against it.

“Oh, yeah?” you taunted.

“Yeah, you don’t know shit,” he doubled down, his voice raw. “You think that because you can sense what I feel it means that it’s all because of you,” he spat, taking a step closer to you but you raised a hand, trying to stop him, but he insisted, grabbing your hands to stop you instead.

“Then what is it?” you pressed.

“Ever since I met you nothing has made sense in my life,” he hissed, leaning over you. “I hate myself,” he shuddered, swallowing hard. “I hate myself because even if you were human, I wouldn’t have anything to offer you. I can’t even say that I’m sorry because it’s the truth. I can’t give you what you want.”

You looked at him in plain shock. It was such a shame that the only person in the world who saw you for who you were still rejected you. The pain from that realization shook you hard, so hard in fact that you physically recoiled from him, closing your eyes to let your tears go.

Jeonghan watched your tears roll down your cheeks, the silence in the room broken by the occasional intake of breath coming from you. But he stood there, silently cursing life and its way of making fun of him. He was raised to not want anything in life. Not shelter, nor warmth. His sad world, cold as ice and hard as stone. He would have followed this path blindly until the day of his untimely death.

But the truth was, he did want one thing in life. He wanted you. And it was killing him not to admit that.

“I…” you croaked, opening your eyes after a long second. A gaping hole in your heart tried to suck you in. “I thank you for the clothes, Jeonghan,” you said dejectedly, turning away from him and walking towards the door.

Jeonghan stared at the wall in front of him, your arm brushing his as you passed him by. His mind reeled wildly, considering what he went through the last time you walked away from him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he blurted.

“That is none of your concern.”

“Like hell it is,” he said, grabbing your arm before you could reach for the doorknob. You sent him another one of those looks, a dangerous animal realizing it had been caught. “You’re not safe out there.”

“Like you give a shit,” you said, pushing him away with one hand on his chest.

But he grabbed that hand, pulling you to his frame with a sharp tug. “Yeah, what do you even know about me?” he challenged, his words cold. “I wouldn’t be protecting you, chasing you if I didn’t give a shit about you.”

“I would prefer that you didn’t,” you bit back.

“That’s not true,” he said, but his tone rose in desperation. He released your arm, fear crossing his features when he realized that if you walked, he would have to let you go.

“You have a very weird way to show that you care, Jeonghan,” you mumbled, understanding where that fear came from. Because all this time, you accepted the turbulence in his thoughts, in his soul. If you decided to go, he would let you.

The heavy darkness in his gaze dissolved as the features of his face relaxed. The gentle resignation swept over him, reminding you how hard it was for him to even comprehend what the bond was.

Jeonghan had two ways to show his emotions, either through carnal desire or brute force. One of them was the one that was unleashed in the vicious cycle he had with you.

But you welcomed it all the same. He took one step towards you, reaching for you as though fearful you might step away. His hand found the side of your head, the other sliding on your waist, gripping you gently before his lips met yours.

The kiss was slow, tentative at first, showing you an apologetic need to you. But you were still to fueled up from the argument, finding his bare chest with your hands to push him off you.

Jeonghan looked sad for a second, but he quickly understood that you were angry, and looking to make him pay. You pushed him again, more forcefully, but he was stronger than you, stepping towards you like a magnet that refused to keep away from you.

His hands returned to their previous positions, as you found his shoulder with one hand, his nape with the other, welcoming him with a vehement kiss. He groaned under your touch, revelling at the fact that you were kissing him even though you were being harsh with it.

Jeonghan broke the kiss abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, the turbulence inside him dying down, like smothering a fire.

“You should be sorry,” you mumbled on his lips, diving for another hungry kiss before pushing him by the shoulders, and shoving him onto the couch behind him. He sat down, gasping in surprise at the brute force you used on him. A wolfish grin appeared on his lips when you walked over to him, sitting down on his lap, straddling him.

His hands welcomed you, grabbing you by the waist to give you a squeeze. He thought of all the nights he has had the opportunity to be like this with you, and the nights he wished he had never let you go. “I don’t want to break it,” he confessed, tilting his head back to meet your eyes. “The bond. I don’t want to break it,” he repeated.

“Then why did you say…?”

“What if what we feel for each other isn’t real?” he blurted the tight feeling inside him protesting in pain when he spoke those words.

You smiled at him sweetly, making him feel worse. “What do you feel for me, Jeonghan?” you baited.

He swallowed hard, instead of communicating with words, he carefully brought a hand to cup your cheek, his fingers caressing your skin in the process. He pulled your face closer to his, eyeing your lips and then your eyes before giving you a sweet kiss. You reciprocated the kiss, outlining his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue, slowly meeting his.

“Do you think all people with bonds feel this for each other, Jeonghan?” you mused. When he was unable to speak out an answer, you continued. “I think the bond only helped us find each other. The rest just happened on its own.”

Jeonghan listened to your words intently, his gaze coasting the features of your face. You’re your eyes, to your mouth and back again. His fingers grabbed the hem of your t-shirt, tugging it up your torso.

You raised your hands, helping him take your t-shirt off. He sighed, his hands returning to hold you, caressing your naked back freely, his breath fanning on the plain of your breasts when he leaned over to plant a kiss on your skin.

You raked his hair with your fingers, getting rid of the hair tie holding his ponytail, making him groan as your fingernails caressed his scalp. His lips reached the swell of one of your breasts, planting wet kisses, enjoying the way you always responded to his touch; your skin prickling in the wake of his lips.

He encircled his arms around your waist, using his strength to trade the positions of your body, placing your body on the sofa, him crawling on top of you. Then he kissed you, he kissed you with such force that you thought you might break. It was electrifying to have his lips on yours, him moaning your name in between kisses.

Your hands explored his chest, fingertips lingering on his scars, his nipples, his bellybutton. You undid the button of his jeans, tucking your hands between his underwear and his ass, feeling his skin freely as you pushed his jeans and boxers down.

Once he was completely bare, and on top of you, he took his turn taking your shorts and underwear off. He did so without wasting time, effectively leaving you bare on the couch, and under his body.

He leaned over you, placing a hand beside your shoulder to prop his weight on it, lowering the lower half of his body on you. His skin was warm, you could feel everything, the beating of his heart, the soft pubic hairs brushing your skin. He was hard already, his cock pressing on your lower tummy.

There was a pause, as soon as your naked bodies came into contact with each other, something came alight inside you. You knew Jeonghan felt it too, because his reaction was the same as yours. Like sparks firing wildly inside your chest, lingering on your skin, robbing you of air.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered shakily, trying to hold onto the feeling fluttering in your chest.

“I know,” he breathed, leaning so he could give soft pecks to your lips. “I know, baby.”

You sighed a moan, it sounding pathetic as you let him adore your skin. He continued kissing you, your lips, your earlobe, your throat. He hummed softly when he breathed in the scent of your skin when he tasted you on his tongue as he licked your breasts.

You sucked in a breath, caressing his hair as he took one of your nipples in his mouth. “Fuck,” you whispered.

But he was in a hurry, trailing down your torso with soft, open-mouthed kisses. You moaned, trembling under him as he inched closer and closer to where you needed him the most. Jeonghan knew you better than anyone else on earth, sometimes, you thought he knew your body better than yourself.

“Shit,” you hissed, clenching your jaw as he kissed your mound, pressing his tongue on you’re your skin with a raspy moan on his part. You parted your legs for him, allowing him to lick a broad stripe between your pussy lips, blissfully drinking you in.

The room was flooded with a series of sweet, airy moans from your part. You called out his name multiple times as he ate you out, licking your pussy with soft smacking sounds and low hums. All you could focus on was his tongue on you, gliding on your folds, teasing your clit with flitting motions.

His hands cupped your breasts, the pads of his thumbs swirling around your nipples, pinching softly to bring out more sweet noises from your mouth. You writhed uncontrollably on the sofa, keeping your hands on the back of his head to try and anchor yourself to enjoy his mouth pleasuring your pussy.

But as you drew nearer to your release, you could not just hold out any longer, pressing your hands on the back of his head and pushing your hips to grind your pussy on his tongue. Your mouth parted. “Jeonghan,” you whined, feeling his mouth relax, letting you ride him.

Moving your hips faster on his mouth, you felt his hands squeezing your tits gently, his thumbs teasing your nipples, pushing you to the edge. You closed your eyes as your sweet, sweet release washed over you, sizzling beneath your skin.

Your muscles went lax on the sofa, moaning out his name repeatedly as you felt like dissolving in the aftershocks of your orgasm. But you decided against it in a second, grabbing Jeonghan by the shoulders and urging him to sit back on the sofa.

“What–,”

“Let me ride you,” you mumbled, cutting in before he could protest.

Jeonghan nodded obediently, and you took one whole second to comprehend that he was just letting you do whatever you wanted to him. No complaints, no snarky comments.

You straddled him, grabbing his cock with one hand and jerking him off a few times just to see the muscles of his face go soft. You smiled, shifting on top of him so you could guide the tip of his cock to your pussy, sinking in him slowly. “Gods,” he breathed, closing his eyes.

“Keep your eyes on me,” you said softly, holding his chin with one hand. You lifted your hips slightly, letting them roll on him as you sat back down, eliciting a short groan from him. “That’s it, baby. Feel me. Do you like that?”

Jeonghan blinked slowly, pushing his tongue on his bottom lip before nodding.

“Words, Jeonghan, use them.”

He obediently kept his gaze on you, like you were the moon, and he was looking at you for the first time in ages. “I love it,” he replied with a strangled tone. “I love your pussy. I love how it feels around me.”

Jeonghan dropped his head back on the headrest of the couch, swallowing his moans, his fingers clenching around your hips. “I love your taste too,” he choked out, much as if he needed to say it but barely found the strength to do so, enraptured by pleasure.

One of the corners of your lips curled slowly as you rolled your hips on him, inch by inch, tortuously slow. “Oh, yeah?” you breathed, closing your eyes briefly to savour the feeling of his worshipping washing over you, making your blood dance under your skin.

“Yes,” he hissed out the word and now you knew he was trying to resist himself. “I miss your smell when you’re not near me. Drives me crazy.”

You giggled quietly, knowing that he was letting go of his deepest thoughts.

His fingers dug into your skin hard enough to leave marks. You opened your eyes, seeing the strain in his voice reflecting on his face, his teary eyes coasting all over your body. “Le-let me come, please. I needed you so much, baby. I don’t think I’ll last any longer.”

You held onto his lean shoulders to lift your hips off him, his wet cock slipping out of your walls and leaning to one side on his lower abdomen, the tip was reddened, a vein tracing on his wet shaft.

Jeonghan groaned, closing his eyes tightly to let out a shaky sigh. “Please,” he sighed. “I want to come inside you,” he said but did not make a move to slip his cock back into your cunt.

“Say you’re sorry,” you murmured.

And there it was, the hole in your chest opening once again, sucking you back in.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not wasting a second, he said again, “I’m sorry, I let you go.”

You showed him an empty smile, which you pressed onto his lips, grabbing his chin again. “Don’t let me go again,” you pleaded but masked your words to sound sweet, not letting it show that his apology, though forced out of the need for release, was making you feel pain.

Jeonghan returned the light smile, though he was genuine with it. “Never,” he whispered, wrapping an arm on your lower back to keep you in balance as you sank down on his cock again, making him shudder in pleasure. “I promise.”

“Jeonghan–,” you gasped, pausing the sway of your hips on him to look at him perplexedly. “Don’t make promises, you’ll–,”

“I promise I won’t walk away from you,” he said, his dark eyes coasting all over the features of your face.

You closed your eyes, shuddering hard at the tingling rush of blood swimming in your veins; the bond tightening due to the force of the promise setting. “Jeonghan, don’t,” you whispered in plea.

Stopping the movement of your hips completely, you hugged his shoulders, trailing the hair of his nape with your fingers. You breathed raggedly, just as he was by the weight of a new promise binding you both.

“I want this,” he whispered shakily. “Let me.”

“You don’t know what this means for you,” you warned, a violent shudder shaking your body on top of him.

He hugged you tightly to his body as if shielding you from the world. “I do, and I want it,” he reassured.

“Jeonghan…”

But he just went on, “Like you said, we’re meant to be, we’ve always have been,” he said with a low raspy tone, blinking in an enamoured way at you. “And I am sorry it took me so long to accept it. I’m sorry.”

A sob coiled in your throat, fingers curling around the long strands of his dark hair. “I forgive you,” you whispered, daring to give him a shy kiss.

Jeonghan trembled underneath you, reciprocating your kiss with so much delicacy that it could break your heart. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

You stilled completely, your breath coiling in your throat. “Me too,” you finally confessed.

“It’s okay, baby,” he breathed, moving his arms so he no longer wrapped your body in them, but his hands gripped your hips, urging you to retake the motion that he so desperately needed.

So you did, swaying your hips on top of him, moaning sweetly when his hands roved all over your back, caressing your skin, his fingers trailing on the spot he knew your wings grew. You shuddered hard, sinking on his length with more urgency. “Jeonghan,” you moaned, crushing your mouth on him.

Jeonghan hummed in response, smiling at you when you broke the kiss off to see his face. The smile was of genuine bliss, mixed with the pleasure of being so utterly yours, forever. It was something similar to insanity what he felt, but he was aware of it, giving himself into it. “I love you,” he drawled lazily, his eyes glazing over the image of you on top of him.

“J-jeonghan,” you forced out, a euphoric wave swarming inside you, better than anything you had ever felt in your life.

And he felt it too, consuming him in fiery waves. “I love you,” he repeated, enjoying the feeling sizzling beneath his skin, lingering on the muscles of his face.

“F-fuck,” you grabbed onto the headrest of the couch, your fingers ripping into the fabric. “Please–,” you choked out, slamming your hips down on him, moaning out loudly as another orgasm hit you hard.

Jeonghan did not love you. Not like in fairy tales, or romance movies. But he was not lying either, you could feel the genuine calm of his realization as he drawled the words out. He could no longer resist it, nor keep the feeling to himself any further. Jeonghan did not love you, he was worshipping you wholly.

It was rapturing, if it was not before. You came on top of him, loudly, walls clamping around him, making him moan with you. His hands held your hips, urging him to keep moving them so he could also reach his high with you.

But the only thing he needed was to sneak a glance up your face, tears of pleasure brimming in your eyes as your orgasm shook hard inside you. That tipped him over the edge, pushing his hips up so he could spill himself deep inside your walls with a loud, raspy groan that resounded across the room.

“Jeonghan,” you kept moaning his name, hiding your face on the curve of his neck. Your breath fanning on his skin forced out a shudder that made you smile.

He responded with a smile of his own, but his was lazy, drunk over the euphoria coursing through you, the same that coursed through his. “I love you,” he whispered again, clutching your hips gently, moving his hands to your thighs.

Ever since you met him, his lust and need for you have been making you stronger. But now, the near maddening love that brimmed for you drove you to feel so full that you seemed to glow. You stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, breathing hard. He was still inside your body, relishing in the warmth, the wetness, the blissful look in your eyes.

Your hand slid beneath his chin, leaning towards him to prop a featherlight on his lips. “I love you too,” you breathed, feeling like a child who felt pure joy for the first time.

He cursed under his breath, his hands roaming all over your skin as you littered his face with kisses, trailing down to his neck where you sucked his skin into your mouth, marking red spots all over him. He chuckled lazily. “Ready for round three?”

“Mmn, I think I’ll pass out,” you said, giggling at yourself.

“Tired already?” he asked, searching your face with his gaze.

“It’s just…” you sighed, catching your breath but your heart stammered in your chest. “I didn’t expect this.”

“Didn’t you, really? Was it too much?” he hummed bringing his hands to cup your cheeks.

You shook your head slightly, pressing a palm to the back of his hand. “So is this your way to tell me you want this?” you asked.

Jeonghan went still for a second, his gaze lingering on the features of your face illuminated only by the warm light of the lamp. “The odds will be against us,” he said.

“Well I’m willing to bet on us,” you said with a light smirk. “Are you?”

Jeonghan nodded, the avid look in his eyes not quite brushing off. “I’m tired of running from this,” he slipped a hand on your nape, pulling you to a quick kiss. “I want you. I want it to be you and me, as we’re destined to be.”

You drew in a shaky breath, reciprocating the featherlight kiss. “Okay,” you whispered. “Then it’s us.”

“I want nothing more, baby,” Jeonghan said.

You bumped the tip of your nose with his gently, eyeing him. “What about what you said? About not being able to be with me?”

“I don’t care. I’ll quit that life. I’ll stop hunting,” he muttered.

“And then what?” you mused.

“I can adapt quickly,” he replied, and you chuckled. “I’ll take up a boring human job, we could find somewhere to live in a small town. You’re not the only one who can blend in the human world, you know?”

Okay, you breathed, the glint in your eye told him that you were happy. It was the first time he saw that in you, the first time he had been the cause of that glint.

So he kept going. “I can take you to dates, take you to those fairgrounds, do normal boring shit humans do,” he muttered faintly, closing his lips on yours.

“You would do that, Jeonghan?” you asked softly, pulling back to see his face. “I mean, you would quit everything?”

“To be with you, I would.”

You leaned your face forward again, pressing your forehead with his. “I love you,” you mumbled, brushing his lower lip with the pad of your thumb.

Jeonghan shuddered gently, but everything inside him came alight with the strength of a thousand suns. Now, if he knew whether a demon could be capable of loving or not was beyond his lucidity at the moment. You were only capable of feeling such things after you first attempted to become human. So the concept of love was as new to you as it was to him.

“I love you,” he whispered back.

“Can we go to bed?” you asked sheepishly, fighting off the urge to nestle in his warmth, to press your nose against the crook of his neck. “I’m ready to pass out.”

“Let’s go to bed,” he replied, noticing the languor in your eyes, blinking slowly.

That was the first time Jeonghan held you through the night without wondering what the morning would bring. For the first time in knowing you, he did not feel guilty for nestling in your warmth.

He stared at your face as you both shared the bed. You were lying on your tummy, one arm draped over him, your head lying on his chest, sleeping soundly in his arms. He languidly brought the pads of his fingers to draw circles on your shoulder, earning soft hums and sighs from you.

He had never felt this happy.

The following morning, you were skipping town again. Jeonghan had woken up with the idea of searching for a town to settle down for a while, and in the meantime, you and him would start planning.

You were returning to the bedroom, draped in a bath towel, your hair damp as you watched Jeonghan grabbing your clothes and his from the night before. He was dressed already, clad in black clothes: jeans, boots, a sleeveless tank top and a zipper hoodie.

Jeonghan approached you to drop a featherlight kiss on your lips. “I’ll go downstairs to return the key,” he informed you. “See you in the parking lot.”

“Yeah, okay,” you whispered, closing your eyes to enjoy the light kisses he left on your face before he stepped back.

“Don’t take too long,” he advised, reluctant to step away from you. So much so that he came back, taking two steps towards you just so he could kiss you quickly, eliciting a joyful laugh out of you.

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” you replied, watching him leave the room finally.

Jeonghan sucked in a breath, shuddering from the cold air receiving him as he went down the stairs. First, he crossed the parking lot in front of the motel, opening the door to his car to leave your bag on the passenger seat. Closing the door, he walked back to the front desk where he rang the buzzer, propping his elbows on the high top and waited.

He felt you before you could even make it to him, drawing a smile on his face when you hugged him from behind. “Go to the car, I’ll be there in a minute,” he mumbled, turning over his shoulder to see your face.

You showed him a playful smile, standing on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Don’t take too long,” you whispered, turning away to cross the parking lot to where his car was parked.

He rang the buzzer again, tapping his fingers impatiently. He looked around, but no one was to be seen or heard around the place. In fact, it was too quiet for a Friday night in a motel. Something’s not right, he thought, leaning over the desk, only to discover that there were no personal items, nothing to indicate that anyone was working in the place.

He focused his hearing, the noise coming from the ice machine making it harder to find another sign of life around him. But the fact was, there was no one else around. His heart sunk to his stomach.

“Jeonghan?” you called, worry echoing in your voice.

He turned around, facing the parking lot. It was too late. “Run!” Jeonghan bellowed from the opposite side, starting to run towards you as two hunters emerged from the thicket of trees, grabbing you. One of them seized you with his arms, while the other brought his fist to the center of your face, knocking you out on the spot.

He would have been able to reach you, but another hunter got to him first, knocking him to the hard ground, making it impossible for him to fight back, or to stop the hunter from getting his car keys out of his pocket.

So he watched as you were shoved into the trunk of his own car, and the two hunters who had grabbed him got into it and drove away, leaving him with another hunter to fight against. And you, being taken from him.

› author's note: heyoooooo

this has been such a ride huh. i never expected my short drabble to turn into series but i guess i should've known better lol

stay tuned for more!

!! PART FOUR !!

toodles

support me on ko-fi?

421 notes · View notes

222col · 2 months ago

Text

BOT DUMP by @ 222col °❀⋆

norman fucking rockwell! - lana del rey ᯓ★

꒰ notes ꒱ ft challengers & obx characters 𖤓 thank u to those have been patient with me during my break, lotta love for u all <3 any feedback is welcomed!!!

JJ MAYBANK

𖤓 ( norman fucking rockwell )

𓇼 you and jj were best friends. always had been. but lines had been crossed, and suddenly he was barely paying you any mind outside his bedroom. fed up of his childish behaviour, you call him on his bullshit at the boneyard.

RAFE CAMERON

𖤓 ( mariners apartment complex )

𓇼 rafe's sweet girl. never could you believe that he was your rafe that shot peterkin, you'd stuck by him through it all. only when he fucks up and confesses in front of you do you realise who he is.

ART DONALDSON

𖤓 ( venice bitch )

𓇼 art's enjoying college life, biggest name on campus thanks to his famous pop star girlfriend. living it up at frat parties, and only occasionally riling up his very possessive girlfriend. when you come back from tour to surprise him,and find him between two girls, it was never going to end well.

TASHI DUNCAN

𖤓 ( fuck it i love you )

𓇼 four years since you'd seen the girl you once loved. tashi had promised to keep in touch, stay friends, but you hadn't heard from her since the breakup. out celebrating another tournament win, and she sees the one she loves.

TASHI DUNCAN

𖤓 ( doin' time )

𓇼 you loved her so bad, and she treated you like shit. tashi never let you put a label on it, despite how often she called you her girlfriend, she'd never make it official. time to give her a taste of her own medicine.

RAFE CAMERON

𖤓 ( love song )

𓇼 rafe has always cared more about his image than anything else, and that carried through to his relationship. in reality, he could barely care about you. just the looks that he got when he was with you. prettiest girl on the island, and you were all his.

PATRICK ZWEIG

𖤓 ( cinnamon girl )

𓇼 you were retiring, from your life as a famous band-aid. too many broken promises from musicians, too many boys wasting your time thinking you were just some groupie. one final show, and that's when you spot him. up-and-coming lead guitarist, patrick zweig. retirement was never going to last long. ( almost famous (2000) au )

JJ MAYBANK

𖤓 ( how to disappear )

𓇼 jj could never admit you weren't his anymore, ask anyone and he'd say you were still his girl. whether you had a new boyfriend or not, his answer remained the same. despite the new boy on your arm, you can't help but run back to him.

PATRICK ZWEIG

𖤓 ( california )

𓇼 patrick was finally back in town for off season, months after the breakup. that didn't stop him from spending the whole time with you though. time moves too quickly, and suddenly he's by the door ready to leave you again.

JJ MAYBANK

𖤓 ( the next best american record )

𓇼 pogues were starting to get noticed, touring around the us on their first headline tour. but you and jj were still focused on writing the perfect song. everyone could see it was more than that, the two of you spent every minute together, saying it was all for the song. until jj realises, it's not about the song at all.

PATRICK ZWEIG

𖤓 ( the greatest )

𓇼 things were perfect, then patrick goes off to the junior us open and you never hear from him again. it took art and tashi doing the same to him to realise, you were the greatest loss of them all. when he sees your name on the list of coaches at the tennis club he's playing a challenger at, he realises he can't let you slip away again.

JJ MAYBANK

𖤓 ( bartender )

𓇼 the only thing that got jj through his shifts at the country club, was his favourite little kook sitting pretty waiting for the drinks he made. he's playing the long game, desperate to be the one who taints your prissy lifestyle. so when he hears you've been blown off from a kook party, he's waiting to swoop in.

RAFE CAMERON

𖤓 ( happiness is a butterfly )

𓇼 you'd heard the rumours about rafe, about what he did to peterkin and god knows how many others, even before the two of you started sleeping together. you never knew the truth, but seeing your situationship covered in blood when he picks you up answers every question you had.

ART DONALDSON

𖤓 ( hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have - but i have it )

𓇼 art had never had his faith tested, never in the way you were testing him. two weeks staying at his house, in your silk nightgown that he couldn't get out of his mind no matter how hard he tried. when you come knocking on his door when you can't sleep, even god couldn't stop him saying come in.

꒰ taglist ꒱ @khartalks @funkycoloured @bluestrd @appleaali @donteventry-itdude @gublerstylesobrien1238 @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @chrattvibe @tacobacoyeet @lexiiscorect @glassmermaids @voidsuites @matchpointfaist @s0ftcobra @artaussi @simmerinsauce @coolgrl111 @hrrysglitter @cinnamoncunt @elsieblogs @tennisthatcher @deeninadream @magicalmiserybore @soulxinxthexsky @sohighitscool @4jjsbank (to be added)

#divider by daddldee #challengers #outer banks #obx #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #rafe cameron #jj maybank #bot #bot maker #c.ai #character ai #mike faist #josh o'connor #zendaya #drew starkey #rudy pankow #lana del rey

305 notes · View notes

00-jammy-00 · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! 🌙 anon here!! Don't worry it's totally okay I make mistakes like that all the time too :D

I don't remember what I said exactly but I remember I said something like a Yandere kidnaps a transmasc Y/n and teases his clit and gets him cock drunk. With like an aphrodisiac and constantly being needy for the Yandere type thing? Perhaps overstim and multiple orgasms? I'm sorry I forget (●//▽//●)

Also side note, I typed out this ask and accidentally deleted it instead of sending it too--so clearly this is an easy mistake to make!

Alrighty, love your blog and the masterpieces you write! And I know I didn't say this last time but your pfp is so cute I love it

Yan!Kidnapper [Cock-drunk Reader Scenario]

Yan!Kidnapper x GN! Reader

Content warning - Yandere themes, THIS IS SMUT, He’s your kidnapper so mentioned kidnapping, mean yan, spanking (once), slight choking (once), he loves your nipples, psycho yan, he’s just a jerk

A/N - thank you so much for resubmitting your ask 🌙 anon <3 As you said in your second ask, I don’t write for anything other than GN reader so I’ve just adjusted your ask to that xo. This Yan is actually a little sneak peak of a new oc I’ll be adding soon. This is also my first time writing full smut so sorry if it’s not the best 🙏

———————————————————————————————————

“For fucks sake [Reader], you got to keep still baby.” Jasper grunted, rubbing his tip against your hole before pulling it away once more. His grin only grew when he heard a whine slip from your lips. “Such a little slut for me, yeah? Your hole is trying to suck me in.” He chuckled, leaning his head lower to tug on one of your nipples with his teeth.

Your lovely kidnapper of a few months had decided it was a good idea to buy that viral sex chocolate or whatever the fuck he had seen on TikTok. It obviously did the trick because you were currently panting and whining just from the feel of his cock near you. “Christ babe, if you keep moving I’m going to tie you up.” He hissed, bringing a hand down on your ass in hopes it’ll stop you from fucking moving.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to hold himself back from just pounding you. Last time he did that, you bitched about it for so long. He blew some cold air on your nipple and laughed mockingly when you squirmed. “Do you want my cock? You want me to fuck you? Thought you said I was insane and shit?” He grinned, giving a rough tug to your already puffy nipples. “If you say please, I’ll give you what you want.”

He rubbed his cock head up and down your entrance at a teasingly slow pace. Up, down, up, down, up, down. You couldn’t take it anymore! When he finally heard that magic word tumble out of your mouth he eagerly slammed into you in one go, relishing in the sound you made. He grabbed onto your hips with a bruising grip and started to thrust, making sure to hit that special spot that made you scream.

“Fuck! You’re so tight! Such a pretty whore for me.” Jasper groaned, lifting your legs over his head. He pressed a kiss to your ankle before nipping at it with a smirk. “Might cum just from looking at your face. You’re making such cute faces at me babe.” He slid his hand up and gripped your throat, giving it a small squeeze before giving your nipple a sloppy kiss. “Keep squeezing me [Reader]. Fuck yeah, that’s it!” He grunted though his voice became slightly whiny as he picked up his pace.

“Gonna cum in your pretty hole, yeah? You like that?” He wiped some saliva from your chin before sticking two of his fingers in your mouth. He began to push them in and out at the same pace of his thrusts, eyes lighting up when your eyes rolled back into your head. “Look at you, going all dumb on my cock.” He cooed mockingly, moving his hands back down to your hips. “I’m about to cum so hold still, okay?” He murmured, pressing a loving kiss to your temple before thrusting quicker.

With a final moan, he came inside you. He was panting, eyes gone hazy before he snapped out of it and kissed your forehead. “You were so good for me, gonna clean you up now, don’t worry.” He hummed, pulling out and moving to the bathroom. While he ran a bath, he couldn’t stop the giddy smile from spreading across his face. Jasper finally fucking had you, you were his, fully. He wasn’t going to let you go, never, especially after you enjoyed having sex with him so much!

———————————————————————————————————

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, requests are open <3

please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

995 notes · View notes

suuuupernovaaa · 3 months ago

Text

healer

Summary: Joel survives.

Warnings/tags: fluff, age gap, jackson joel, HEA always

MASTERLIST

Fuck. Shit. Christ. There’s blood everywhere. She shot him. She shot him, fuck, right in the leg.

I’m going to vomit. Or pass out. I don’t know which. That bitch, that menacing little bitch, is prancing around and yapping, she won’t shut the fuck up.

She doesn’t know I have a gun.

I’m not quick or stealthy but no one seems to be paying attention to me - all eyes are on Joel.

On Joel. Bleeding on the floor. Joel, in pain. Joel, suffering.

I shoot the man right in front of me first, quickly, giving it little thought, and turn the gun to her next. Quickly. Through the shoulder and she goes down, then another through the neck.

Two. I’ve killed two people today.

Joel is suffering. Joel is bleeding. Joel is staring at me as chaos erupts in the room.

Six Months Later

Joel sits on the porch, a cup of coffee in his hand, rocking back and forth in his chair as the sun rises.

It’s going to be a warm day, he can feel it already. It eases the aches in his muscles, especially his knees, when it’s warm like this.

She emerges from the house, holding her own cup of coffee, dressed in only shorts and a t-shirt, the same outfit she fell asleep in the night before.

She places a kiss on his forehead and sits next to him in a matching chair. She looks beautiful this morning. Her beauty is the quiet kind, that sneaks up on you, and then overwhelms you. It’s not just her face and her body, it’s her voice and her gentleness. The way she cares for those around her, especially Joel and Ellie. The way she’s so thoughtful and always kind, so worried about how people are feeling. There aren’t many people like her left, not how.

Six months later and she still has nightmares about the killings. Even in this world, nearly 35 years old, she’d never killed. She’d never wanted to, not until it came to saving him.

She did it then without so much as a second thought, and Joel lies awake at night thinking about it.

He knows she does too. He tries to soothe the ache with words, but sometimes they aren’t enough.

She smiles over at him. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

He takes a sip of his coffee and looks out at the orange sky. “You, darlin’. As usual.”

She laughs and reaches over for his hand, gripping it so tightly. He knows her nightmares aren’t just about the lives she took. They’re about losing him, too. He still doesn’t understand why she loves him so much, but he’s stopped trying to figure it out.

“I had a nightmare,” she tells him, her smile cracking a little.

He clears his throat, then sets his coffee down. Joel pats his lap. “Come tell me,” he says.

She obliges, moving from her chair to the safety of his lap and arms, and rests her head on his shoulder as she talks.

She’s such a small thing, light as a feather, he feels so driven to protect her and keep her safe. Sometimes it’s all he can think about.

The nightmare is different this time. He expects her to say she dreamed about that day, or about living without him, but this time, the nightmare was that he lived, but left anyway.

“Where the hell did I go?” Joel asks, and she cannot stop herself from laughing.

“Well, I don’t know! Probably to one of the many women in town who admire you,” she says teasingly, and he rolls his eyes behind his crooked glasses.

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one who wants my tired, old ass.”

She sits up and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“What I can’t figure out is why you want me at all,” he adds.

She shakes her head. “No more of that. You know why I love you. You know I’d do anything for you.”

He squeezes her tight, his arms around he waist, and she presses a kiss to his lips, gently at first, but as it often does, it deepens and grows urgent.

“Gross!”

They pull apart to see Ellie walking by the porch, her bag slung over her shoulders “Go inside, please.” But she waves as she jogs off, and Joel waves back.

“That’s a good idea,” his love says, looking back to him. “Let’s go inside and I’ll show you just how much you mean to me.”

He stands up, holding her in his arms like a bride, and walks towards the door.

“The day I say no to that, darlin’, is the day I truly die.”

#joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou

369 notes · View notes

alchemistc · 10 months ago

Text

Tommy slumps further into the couch cushions, and the looks Eddie gives him is - dire, really. Tommy sort of wants to get shit faced and cry a little while cradling this throw pillow - the same one Evan had smacked him with a week ago while they crowded Eddie's too-small couch and Tommy had made fun of Evan for not knowing a single player on the Dodgers.

("You're actively rooting against them, why do you care if I know who they are?"

"Know thy enemy, Buckley," was Eddie's immediate response, and Evan had swung the pillow when he caught Tommy and Eddie fist bumping out of the corner of his eye.)

"Pretty sure it's actually cheating to come to me," Eddie intones, but he's already up and moving towards the cabinet where he keeps the good whiskey.

He settles into the recliner and gestures with the bottle, a very clear 'go on' in his expression.

Tommy thinks about maybe just - drowning himself in spirits and hiding under a rock for the rest of his life.

"I asked Evan to move in with me."

Eddie's brow kicks up. He purses his lip. Nods. His eyes do something that tells Tommy he is actively biting down on whatever it is he's thinking.

"And...you...fought. You fought about Buck ... moving in."

(Six months is such a short time, really. They've just leapt every other milestone like it's their damn job, and - Christ, they'd had keys to each other's places in weeks.)

Tommy narrows his eyes. "You know something."

"Yeah, and that's why this," he gestures vaguely in the direction of Tommy, fully pouting on his couch and commandeering too large a surface area for Eddie to actually join him there, "is cheating."

Tommy would love to point out that he just doesn't have a shit ton of friends willing to listen to him bitch about an argument he's trying to figure out without fucking imploding the whole goddamn thing. He'd love to point out that he and Eddie have already set these boundaries and Tommy is aware he's pushing it.

Tommy tilts his head against the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling. "Well if we can't talk about it, at least get me drunk."

Eddie hands him a shot glass and stands to go grab them both beers.

---

"So the thing is," Tommy says, slumped against Eddie's side and gesturing in front of himself. His hands are - they're a little blurry. Thank God he isn't on call. "The thing is."

He's got a hangnail that's been driving him nuts for weeks. He's already got a layout in his head for how to make Evan's wardrobe fit in his closet. Half of Evan's kitchen lives in Tommy's already, and he'd - he'd been sure they were in the same page.

"The thing?" Eddie asks, and - Christ, it's not like Eddie's having an easy time with any of the - anything. He's definitely overindulged right along with Tommy. Thank fuck they're not maudlin drunks, just what they need is two PTSD riddled idiots filled up with liquor and bemoaning their lives.

"What thing?"

"The thing, Tommy."

Right. The thing. "I love him," Tommy says, and Eddie's eyes go wide like he doesn't already know this. But Tommy - Tommy's said it in range of Eddie's hearing, right? He's - he's said it.

(The lone braincell shared between them whispers that Tommy has said it, once, to the curls atop Evan's sweaty head while Evan was still passed out on his chest. Fuck braincells.)

"Uhuh."

"What uhuh?"

You don't ask someone to move in with you when you still haven't worked up the courage to say I love you to someone's face, is the thing. And Evan's said it - happy and carefree and open even when Tommy just kissed him to distract him from Tommy not saying it back. He has to know, right? Tommy's said it in every other way he knows how.

"Listen, bro code broken, man, Buck's fucking terrified to mess this up with you and the whole 'you haven't said the words' has been, like, messing with his head for weeks, dude. And now outta the blue, hey move in with me? He's trying desperately not to assume you did something terrible and are using this to cover it up."

"He told you that?"

Eddie scoffs. He actually says 'pshhh', and rolls his head towards Tommy. "No." He enunciates too much. The 'o' is way too long in that word. It's a two letter word, how did he make it sound like seven syllables?

Tommy wants another shot, but Eddie had clearly not meant for that whiskey to be shared and it'd already been more than half gone when he pulled it out. There's...maybe half an ounce left. Fuck.

"Then how...?"

"I already broke bro code for you, dumbass. Can't you read between the lines?"

"Is this like the couch thing?"

The mindfuck of trying to decipher Eddie and Evan's little shared looks while Evan announced that Tommy's couch was his favorite couch had been -

He's getting off track.

He hasn't said the fucking words. He's in love with the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful, filthiest fucking man he's ever known and he hasn't said the words.

"Hamster wheel," Eddie says sagely, like that means a damn fucking thing, but Tommy's already fumbling for his phone. Texting that is out of the question, and he doesn't want to call while he's... more drunk than he'd care to admit.

Tommy shoves Eddie off his shoulder, and only gets a little spinny when he stands. He's a forty year old man, he can absolutely ask his boyfriend to pick him up from... his boyfriends best friends house and help him sober up so he can have a conversation.

"Water," Tommy says, and Eddie snorts.

"Toooo late."

Tommy feels about five years old when he shoves at Eddie's face before retreating to the kitchen.

---

"Tommy," Evan says, bent low over the couch, and Tommy blinks himself awake, regretting every drop of whiskey he'd drunk last night. He'd - there'd been water. An attempt at typing out a message. A slap fight in Eddie's kitchen when he decided to chow down on the last of the casserole Evan had left behind three days ago. More water.

This couch is way too fucking small for him. He's - he's still got one shoe on, and a blanket crumpled haphazardly over one leg. His head is pounding.

Evan looks - concerned. Maybe still a little annoyed. Fond.

"Ev," he manages, moving to sit up and regretting it when five million bees make a home right there against his frontal lobe. Smoke clears that out, right? He remembers Evan being super fucking proud that that had worked.

Evan holds up a glass of water that Tommy takes gratefully. He doesn't drink it nearly as slowly as he should.

When he's done, Evan stands, and - God his legs are long. Tommy loves those fucking legs - loves the hair that catches against his calluses on his way up towards the promised land, loves the strength behind them when he snaps his hips forward, loves the way they feel all wrapped around him when they're -

"We are not anywhere close to the sort of resolution necessary for that look," Evan says, and Tommy sighs. Because they haven't talked about it. Because they'd yelled and smacked their hands against counters and the explosion had sent them careening off in different directions and Tommy hasn't told him.

"Angry sex can be fun," Tommy wheedles, a little unnecessarily because he doesn't actually want - and on Eddie's couch to boot, which is absolutely not what he's angling for.

"I'm not mad at you," Evan says, and Tommy gives him an unimpressed look. "Okay, I'm mostly just - confused."

Fair enough. Tommy's been confusing. Tommy's been -

Tommy curls a hand around the meat of Evan's calf and tips his head against Evan's thigh. "Can we not do this in Eddie's living room?"

---

He doesn't want to admit that it took Eddie breaking all sorts of friendship rules for Tommy to even grasp the point of Evan freezing the fuck up when Tommy had mentioned his lease. He doesn't want to admit that he's fucking terrified, all the time, about the feelings in his chest that never quite settle, that bubble up at the strangest times because every-fucking-thing reminds him of Evan. He doesn't want to admit that he'd just leapt that hurdle in his mind even though Evan has been very clearly marking every other step with metaphorical (and sometimes literal) sticky notes.

Evan hands him his tea and immediately starts picking at the paper sleeve on his cup of coffee.

"I'm not afraid of losing you," Tommy starts, which is - the opposite of the point he's trying to make, and Evan's grimace tells him it's a bad place to start. "I mean that's not why I asked."

Evan is still grimacing. And that's - Christ, he hadn't even planned it, it was just - he'd been there, digging through Tommy's sock drawer, his shit tumbling out of his overnight bag at the end of the bed and his book on the history of perfume in the bedside table and his crock pot stewing something that smelled heavenly, thirty feet away, and he wanted that always, wanted that forever, wanted more than anything to enjoy all the little moments that came before he spent the money in savings hed been setting aside since successful date number five when he'd wondered if Evan had ever thought about getting married.

"You think I asked out of convenience, right? Your stuff's already there, might as well?"

"I'm not leaving things there on purpose."

"I want you to leave things there on purpose. I want all your things there, on purpose. Even when you move my milk to the fridge door and my sugar stash to the wrong pantry shelf and even when you replace my toothpaste because it doesn't have the right enamel protection."

His lip quirks. That had been a near argument too. Tommy was particular. Tommy didn't do great with change. Evan's changed damn near fucking everything, for Tommy, and he's never been more grateful for a single thing in his fucking life.

Tommy curls a finger around Evan's wrist, and his gaze darts up through his lashes. They're long, and distracting, and Tommy wouldn't mind shoving this disagreement to the side so he can brush his lips across the paper thin lids of his eyes, but -

"I missed some steps, getting there," Tommy admits, and Evan bites his lip like he's trying to hide a smile.

"My fault, a bit. I - I could see why you might have just assumed we were scaling 'em two at a time."

"Evan," he says, and breathes a sigh of relief when his free hand darts out to smooth the veins on the back of Tommy's hand.

"Next week is six months," he says, like Tommy doesn't fucking know that, and his thumb sweeps over Tommy's knuckles. "So, i -if you have anything you wanna say before then, you got a week before you can ask me again."

(Six months is the blink of an eye, actually, but Tommy hates every blink that doesn't include Evan in it.)

"You got plans?" Tommy asks, and Evan's face pinkens.

"If you're lucky I'll even tell you them."

"It's a date."

#bucktommy #eddie&tommy #bucktommy fic

458 notes · View notes

errriiie · 4 months ago

Text

Let me see ya move

jackieshauna x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, poly relationships, shauna shipman, jealousy, OOC extra tags: fem!reader, y/n mentions, porn with so-little-plot, jealous sex, sharing is caring, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! giving), spanking, degrading (not much but still), praising, dirty talk, rough all the way until the end, sweet in the end :з word count: 3.5k proofread english is not writer's first language! You had been in a relationship with Jackie and Shauna for a few months now. You were enjoying it, and if you closed your eyes, your poly relationship was perfect. You liked them both, too, but there was a catch - you didn't quite know when to draw the line. Then Jackie and Shauna had to do it for you.

You said you'd step away "to pour some punch." Jackie and Shauna were fine with that - you want a drink? Well, they'd be there to haul your drunken body back to Shauna's car and take you home to sleep it off. When you're with your girls, you don't have to worry about anything, after all.

But you weren't back for a minute. Or two. Or five. That's when they started to worry.

"Where is she? I don't see her, do you, Shauna?" Jackie's eyes hawk-eyed, scanning the crowd around her, trying to sound loud enough to be heard over the throngs of school kids chattering away at this party.

"I don't think I see her," she mutters, her eyes darkening as she senses something is wrong. "No normal person spends five minutes pouring themselves a fucking punch."

"So we're thinking the same thing, Shauna?" Jackie asks dully, getting up from the couch. Just to clarify.

"Looks like it." Shauna replies, standing up. Her arm flings over Jackie's shoulder to keep her close. They walk through the crowd, Shauna looking menacing enough and Jackie looking serious enough that people make way for them as soon as they see them. Luckily (probably for you) they find you quickly. You were talking to some... girl? Jackie frowned. They don't even know who she is! Some no-name girl was talking to you. Oh, it was driving them crazy.

Jackie came up to you first, frowning and breathing through her nose, and Shauna followed.

"Hey," Jackie smiled falsely, finding your hand and taking a firm grip on your elbow. "So this is where you are and we've been waiting for you. Have you been pouring yourself a punch for so long? Or are you doing something else?" she asks, looking at you almost murderously.

Your heart sinks because you don't like that look. "Oh, I was just chatting with Jess," you smile shyly, "Here's Jess, by the way."

Jess smiles tightly, clearly unhappy that her opportunity for a quickie just disappeared.

"Hi... Jess." Jackie tries not to grind her teeth. Shauna doesn't even say hello, her eyes boring another hole into the damn bitch's head. "Anyway, come on, baby. We need to talk to you about something."

"Uh, okay? Bye, Jess." You wave awkwardly before letting Jackie drag you away from Lottie's mansion. You suspected something. Jackie leads you by the hand in front, squeezing it almost painfully, and Shauna is right behind you, burning you with her brown eyes.

"Why are we leaving? It's still early! It's not even midnight, and I haven't had a drink yet." You asks sadly as you three walk to Shauna's car. The car door slams shut with a metallic clang that makes your teeth rattle. Jackie shoves you into the backseat with uncharacteristic roughness, her perfect manicure digging crescent moons into your wrist. Shauna revs the engine hard enough to make the entire car vibrate, her knuckles bone-white around the steering wheel.

"Midnight?" Jackie hisses, climbing in after you. Her lipstick smears slightly from how hard she's biting her lower lip. "You think this is about curfew, Y/N?"

Shauna peels out of Lottie's driveway, gravel spraying. The radio blasts Hole's Violet at max volume. You feel Shauna's eyes burning through the rearview mirror - not the warm caramel gaze that melts when you wear her flannels, but something feral. Jackie's fingers suddenly cup your jaw, forcing you to meet her eyes. Her thumb presses hard against your bottom lip. "That girl's tongue was practically down your throat!" she whispers, breath hot and uneven against your ear. "You gonna let anyone taste what's ours?"

You sigh, taken aback by Jackie's reaction. You already knew she was jealous - of course you did, but usually she just pouted and sulked until you made it up to her with pretty promises and kisses and more. But now she seemed more persistent than she'd ever been with you. "But that's not true, she didn't do anything..." you muttered, trying to protect the remnants of your pride that were seeping through your fingers.

The car swerves as Shauna takes a turn too fast, her voice cutting through the music's snarl: "Seatbelt her, Jax. Now."

Jackie's free hand snakes across your hips, yanking the frayed belt across your lap with a violent click. Her other hand remains clamped on your face, rubbing your cheek in a halting, rather sharp motion. "We're not mad," she lies through clenched teeth, pupils blown wide. "We just need to... remind you." You don't quite understand what this is all about. You're starting to fidget with the tension now, restrained by your seatbelt, and you're trying to avoid your girlfriends' eyes. "I... you think I was flirting with Jess? I didn't!" Some small realization finally dawns on you. "She just asked me what I was doing here, and she said my dress was nice, and we just talked for a while. That's all. Jackie, I would never..." you trail off, "You can't be serious."

The engine dies with a shudder that runs through the car's steel frame. Shauna's door flies open.

"Serious?" Jackie barks a laugh that cracks like thin ice, unbuckling your seatbelt with a violent yank. "You let her breathe on you. Smile at you. Take up space that's marked!"

Shauna's hands clamp around your waist from behind before your sneakers hit gravel. Her teeth find the juncture of your neck and shoulder - not a bite, but the threat of one. "Walk," she growls against your skin, steering you toward the darkened colonial house.

Jackie slams the front door so hard a framed soccer trophy crashes downstairs. "You think we don't see?" Her voice climbs octaves with each step up the staircase, nails digging into your arm. "How they look at you? How you blush when they-"

Shauna kicks her bedroom door open, moonlight slicing across the yellowjacket banners on her walls. Her hands spin you roughly, back hitting the wall hard enough to knock breath from your lungs. "Ouch," you sigh. Then Shauna's grip immediately loosens, and her eyes briefly flicker with worry before she hides it. She obviously overdid it a bit, but she'll apologize to you later.

"Lesson time," Shauna murmurs. The captain's hands frame your face with terrifying gentleness.

"You belong here," Jackie whispers, thumb pressing your lower lip. "Not in some skank's mouth at a party. You know we love you, right, baby? And Shauna and I hate it when that happens. If you don't get enough, we'll make it up to you double, but don't do that."

Shauna vibrates against your collarbone as her hands slide up your thighs. "Let's make sure you remember.» You breathe anxiously. You knew your girlfriends' ways - you knew they could be like this if they wanted to. It was important to them to let you know that the three of you belonged equally to each other. And that it couldn't be any other way, but you really didn't think you were being flirted with! Although it was obvious. She was constantly staring at your pretty breasts and trying to undress you with her eyes. You saw it, but chose to ignore it. You weren't exactly sure why, but you weren't that stupid, obviously. Jackie and Shauna wouldn't like you if you were a complete idiot.

So you just lean your back against the wall, as if it could save you, and look at the floor in shame instead of at your girlfriends. "I... I'm sorry about this. I really don't know why someone always tries to flirt with me," you admit, "But I love you both." "Oh sweetheart," Jackie's sweetness undercut by the way her hands untie the ties of your dress, "you don't get to play naive with us." Her thumb swipes roughly across your cheekbone, smearing the tear you didn't realize had fallen. "We've seen that look a hundred times - the way their eyes drop to your tits, that stupid little smirk they give when they think they've got a chance." Shawna’s eyes darken as her hands slide up your sides possessively. "Should've seen your face," she growls, calloused fingers finding the hem of your dress. "All wide eyes and bitten lips while that bitch mentally undressed you." The fabric tears slightly as she yanks it upward, cold air hitting your thighs. You feel uncomfortable in your clothes - they even bothered to take off your favorite party dress completely, although, knowing them, they probably did it on purpose. "Like you didn't fucking know."

Jackie’s teeth graze your jugular as Shauna's palm slaps your bare thigh, the sting making you jump.

Shauna's teeth replace Jackie's at your neck, biting hard enough to bruise as her hand snakes between your legs. "First lesson," she growls against your skin, fingers pressing insistently through damp cotton. "You don't stand there looking like fucking dessert unless you want to get eaten."

"I d-don't want to be eaten-" you mumble, stumbling, your breath almost catching from so many insistent touches. You find it hard to stand against the wall, wanting to move onto something soft, but you don't think you've earned it yet. "I don't want anyone but you, I'm so sorry..." you mumble, sighing and twitching as Shauna's fingers brush against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. Your hips jerk instinctively, wanting more. Jackie's lips brush your temple as she pins your wrists above your head, her voice honeyed poison. "Shhh, baby, we know," she murmurs, her hands sloppily running down your chest, groping at your hard nipples. “But your body is such a fucking liar.” She helps one of your thighs stay in the position Shauna wants.

Shauna's growl vibrates through your skirt as she rips your panties sideways. "Should've worn the ones we bought you," she snarls, calloused thumb spreading you open. "The black lace with our initials." Her finger trails up, stopping just above your clit. "This cotton shit's for strangers." “Look at me,” Jackie demands, tilting your chin up, "You're so cute right now. You're so loyal and good, aren't you? I never doubt you, baby..." "Don't praise her too soon," Shauna interrupts sharply, turning to you, "Do you think we like being this crazy?" Her finger circles your clit roughly, making you wetter. "You make us animals."

The bed creaks as Shauna suddenly yanks you down onto it, forcing your back to meet the softness of Shauna's mattress. Shauna's bed was always soft, and you took great pleasure in sleeping on it when the three of you had sleepovers, letting Jackie get in the middle. "Second lesson," she rasps, shoving two fingers deep without warning. Her other hand smacks your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "You come when we say." Jackie straddles your face, trembling as she peels her lace aside. "Clean up your mess," she whimpers, nothing sweet left in her voice now. Her thighs clamp your ears as Shauna's palm muffles your moans, fingers curling cruel and perfect inside you.

You felt like you were being torn apart. Okay, it was intense - sex with your girlfriends was often like that, especially when they were both in a good mood, but you still weren't used to this tension in the room just because of you and what you did. You really loved the attention, yes. You were very attractive and it was just something you had to accept - girls loved you and looked at you.

But still, you always wanted attention only from Shauna and Jackie. And it was sincere. You just maybe sometimes didn't know how to ask for it. And then you began to unconsciously use the attraction of others to you as a crutch. True, you didn't know if you could do it, but... some ideas pay off.

You moan into Jackie's pussy as your hips tremble from Shauna's fingers inside you, filling all your wet space. You don't take your submissive and mistake-licking gaze off Jackie's eyes, confusedly watching how exactly she squirms on your face, using your tongue as a means of self-satisfaction and how hard she squeezes your head with her thighs. You want to cum so much, but Shauna has forbidden it: and you can't even utter a word, since your mouth will be busy until Jackie is completely sated with you. Jackie's moans pitch higher, her thighs trembling like violin strings against your temples. "That's it, Y/N," she gasps, fingers twisting in your hair as she grinds down harder. "Take your apology right from the s-source..." Her hips stutter, flooding your tongue as she comes with a shattered cry. But when she collapses back against the headboard, her touch turns tender—thumb brushing your spit-slick chin, voice syrupy with false sympathy. "Poor thing. All that work and you're still dripping."

Shauna's fingers curl upward, pressing that sweet spot that makes your vision blur. "Think she's learned yet?" she growls against the shell of your ear, palm smacking your ass again when you buck against her hand. The yellowjacket poster above the bed stares down judgmentally as she drags you upright by your throat. "Look at you," she sneers, forcing your gaze to the mirror across the room—to the mascara streaks, the bite marks blooming like ink stains, Jackie's lipstick smeared across your cheek like war paint. "Our dumb little attention whore." "I'm... I'm sorry." You mumble, whining as you feel the wetness between your legs. "I'm really sorry, I won't do this again. Just... just let me come, please? I love you so much." You slur, letting yourself squeeze your thighs together. How cheeky of you. Shauna's palm cracks across your inner thigh, the sting blooming hot as she pries your legs apart with brutal efficiency. "Squeeze again," she growls, calloused fingers digging into your quadriceps hard enough to bruise, "and I'll tie these ankles to the bedposts with your own fucking hair." Her other hand twists deeper, knuckles pressing mercilessly against your g-spot as she leans in to lick the tears from your cheek. "You come when your mouth remembers who owns it." Jackie’s hand slides over Shauna’s flannel-encased collarbone, her coral nails contrasting against the sweat-damp cotton of Shauna's tank top. "Now Shauna, maybe we should let her cum if she begs hard enough? I mean, I feel sorry for her already. She's our little girl, right?" Jackie pouts, trying to get to Shauna's heart, although it feels like a game. Usually you are the ones who fuck Jackie, you remember. But apparently, for this game, Jackie gave herself over to an experiment in behavior. You couldn't say you didn't like it. "Please, please, please-" You give in immediately, not even daring to resist. Not even hearing Shauna's response. You need it so much, oh god, you want this release, and only after this will you be able to rest forever. "I need it so much. I'm sorry, I'm guilty before you," your ears turn red from your own confessions. "Just let me cum-" Shauna smirks contentedly as she pulls her fingers out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing. "You want it?" she purrs, her free hand sliding up to clamp over your mouth. "Prove you're ours." Her teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder as she nods to Jackie—a silent command.

Jackie's lips curve into a saccharine smile as her hand lets go and pulls your hair, her fingers toying with the gold necklace she gave you last month. "Let's make it a prayer," she coos, "Beg properly this time. Tell us who you belong to while looking in the mirror. Every word wrong adds ten seconds before you come."

Shauna's fingers plunge back in with a wet slap, her rhythm brutal as she forces your gaze toward the reflection—toward Jackie's pristine perfection contrasted against Shauna's disheveled fury. "Start talking," Shauna growls, her palm muffling your first broken syllable as Jackie takes your chin, wanting to entice you to look in the mirror.

You groan loudly, your head resting so tiredly in Jackie's hands. You turn your head towards the mirror with a feeling of shame and unfulfilled duty. You fucking hated this mirror. "I..." You bit your lip, looking at yourself and hesitating. Fuck, you've never admitted this to yourself before. Shauna's fingers twist viciously inside you, the heel of her palm grinding against your clit with enough pressure to make your legs shake. "Eyes open," she snarls, using her free hand to wrench your face toward the mirror. The reflection mocks you—Jackie's lips pressed to your ear, Shauna's teeth buried in your shoulder, your own face flushed and tear-streaked like some debauched saint in a Renaissance painting.

Jackie's voice drips false compassion as she traces the bite marks on your collarbone as Shauna pulls away, apparently satisfied with her bite on your body, making you whine and squirm. "It's okay to say it, sweetheart," she murmurs, her breath hitching when Shauna's thrusts make you jolt against her. She kisses your cheeks haltingly, leaving marks on them. "We already know the truth. Just let it out so we can make you feel good."

The words clot in your throat like spoiled honey. Shauna's laugh is dark as she slows her fingers to a torturous crawl. "Think she needs more motivation." Her free hand snakes up to pinch your nipple hard through your dress, the fabric suddenly abrasive as sandpaper. "Count of three, or I stop completely. One—"

"Yours!" The confession rips from you like a splintered bullet, voice cracking as Jackie's nails dig crescent moons into your hips. "I'm yours, both of you, only ever—fuck—"

Shauna's fingers piston into you with renewed fury, her grin feral in the mirror's reflection. "Louder."

"YOURS!" you scream to the girl in the glass—to the trembling mess with Jackie's lipstick smeared across her cheekbones and Shauna's handprints blooming on her thighs. "I belong to Jackie and Shauna, I'm—oh god—I'm your dumb little—"

Jackie's mouth crashes onto yours, swallowing your sob as Shauna finally lets you break. The orgasm tears through you like a forest fire, your back arching so violently you nearly headbutt Jackie. Shauna rides you through it with brutal precision, her free hand clamping over your mouth when the pleasure borders on pain. "That's it," she growls against your sweat-slick temple. "Take what you earned."

The mirror fogs with your panting breaths as Jackie gently wipes tears from your cheeks, her voice syrup-sweet again. "Good girl." Her thumb brushes your swollen lower lip. "Now let's discuss your punishment for making us wait so long." You haven't had time to recover from your previous orgasm when you look at them in shock, feeling your heart drop into your heels. "W-What?" you ask, sounding like it's more of a squeak. Your eyes dart between Shauna, who is positioned between your legs, and Jackie, who is sitting next to your head.

You don't know what to do when they start giggling and quickly lose their old temper.

Jackie's laugh breaks first, her fingers immediately softening as they card through your sweat-damp hair. "Oh baby," she coos, pressing featherlight kisses along your trembling jaw, "you should see your face." Her hands flutter over you like nervous doves — brushing sticky strands of hair from your forehead.

Shauna's already across the room rummaging through her soccer duffel, broad shoulders blocking the lamp light. When she turns back, her calloused hands are surprisingly gentle wrapping her favourite red flannel around your shoulders. "Drink," she grunts, pressing a water bottle to your lips, her thumb wiping a stray droplet from your chin when you choke on the first sip.

"Shh, we've got you," Jackie murmurs, arranging herself behind you so your back rests against her chest. Her signature sweet perfume envelops you as she rocks gently, her lips moving against your ear. "We just... God, when we saw her touching you—" Her voice cracks. "We wanted to kill someone at that moment. You had to come back very, very quickly, and she literally stole you!"

Shauna's knee hits the mattress as she straddles your legs, her usual scowl softened at the edges. She presses her forehead to yours, "You're ours to protect," she growls low enough that only you can hear it. "Even from our own fucking selves."

Jackie's fingers interlace with Shauna's over your heartbeat, their shared warmth seeping into your bones. "No more parties for a week," she declares, nuzzling the crown of your head. "We're staying in. Making you watch 10 Things I Hate About You until you can recite the poem scene."

Shauna's snort ruffles your bangs as she tucks the blanket tighter around your hips. "And eating those shitty rainbow cookies you like," she adds gruffly, her calloused palm lingering on your cheek. "The ones that taste like Play-Doh."

The yellowjacket banner above the bed flutters in the sudden breeze from Shauna's window, moonlight painting silver stripes across your tangled limbs. Jackie hums the chorus of "Kiss Me" off-key into your hair while Shauna's thumb traces absentminded plays from last week's game on your thigh. Their synchronized breathing slowly steadies yours, the earlier frenzy dissolving into something warmer, softer—a shared language written in heartbeat rests and tangled ankles.

The three of you loved each other. But sometimes you really felt like your girlfriends liked to torture you a little. But at least the torture was sweet.

#jackie taylor x reader #shauna shipman x reader #x reader smut #x reader #yellowjackets #female reader #jackieshauna x reader

325 notes · View notes

scary-grace · 3 months ago

Text

self-indulgent little hurt/comfort oneshot. Established Tomura/f!Reader, no quirks AU, angst with a happy ending. CONTENT WARNING: discussion of suicide and the aftermath of a suicide attempt. This fic is recovery oriented, but please scroll past if you find the content triggering at all.

reentry

The couch in the therapist’s office isn’t very comfortable. Tomura shifts around awkwardly, trying to find a place to lean back that doesn’t make his broken ribs groan with pain, but he’s not having much luck. He thought therapist couches were supposed to be comfortable — sprawl out, kick his feet up, take a nap while some guy tries to analyze his dreams. This doesn’t feel right.

Then again, Tomura tried to kill himself two weeks ago, and he just got released from the hospital half an hour ago. Of course he doesn’t feel like he fits into the world any longer. That’s what happens to people who try to leave — try, and fail. Not that Tomura was planning to fail. His plan was pretty foolproof. Except for one thing.

“Tomura,” the therapist says, and Tomura looks up. “Let’s switch chairs.”

“No,” Tomura says. “I’m fine.”

“You have —“ the therapist consults Tomura’s discharge paperwork “— six broken ribs from CPR, and they aren’t giving you anything stronger than naproxen. And all my clients complain about my couch.”

“Get a new couch, then.”

“Sure,” the therapist says. “Between now and then, switch seats with me.”

“No,” Tomura says. He crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back, and his ribs increase their bitching from a groan to a scream. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If you’re going to be here, you might as well be comfortable,” the therapist says. “You don’t get extra XP for toughing it out. At least not in here.”

“XP?” Tomura snorts. “Did they tell you I like video games or something?”

“Maybe,” the therapist says, unruffled. “Are you switching or not?”

“Fine,” Tomura says. He gets up, grimacing, and the therapist does the same — at which point Tomura realizes that the therapist is a lot taller than he is. “Uh —“

“Thanks.” The therapist plops down on the couch, leaving Tomura to sit down in the chair, which is more comfortable than the couch by a long shot. “So. Which one sucked more — the last two weeks or the two weeks before that?”

“Are you serious?” Tomura laughs, because it feels like the thing he’s supposed to do. “I spent the last two weeks eating hospital food and going to therapy groups and having people look in my mouth to make sure I took my pills. The last two weeks have been shit.”

“But you weren’t on an involuntary hold,” the therapist says. Tomura grimaces. “Once you were medically cleared, you could have left at any time. But you chose to stay. Which leads me to believe that the two weeks before that were worse.”

It’s quiet for a second. “What did you say your name was?” Tomura asks.

“Yamada Hizashi,” the therapist says. He sprawls out on the couch and props his feet up, house slippers and all. “Let’s talk about the other two weeks now.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what they do in inpatient. They pack your head full of distress tolerance and emotion regulation skills and make you do a safety plan, but outpatient is where we get into making sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“How do you know I don’t want it to happen again?”

“Voluntary inpatient,” Yamada says. Tomura rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying — that seems like a lot of shit to go through for no reason.”

Tomura’s tempted to report that there is a reason — so everybody will get off his back long enough for him to make a plan that will work this time. But his heart wouldn’t be in it, not the way it would need to be for him to convince anyone. He might not want to die anymore, but he still doesn’t want to keep living and feeling like this. “A month ago,” he starts. “A month ago I had to testify against the guy who adopted me.”

“How was that?”

“It blew.”

“Yeah?” Yamada sits up. “Tell me more.”

There’s not a ton to tell. Tomura’s testimony was pretty straightforward. Everything that he remembers from his childhood fit pretty neatly into the charges his fake dad was facing from the other victims. Not that Tomura’s a fucking victim or anything. Yamada’s eyebrows go up when Tomura says that, but he doesn’t interrupt, and Tomura goes awkwardly on. “Anyway. I said all the shit, and then the defense attorney got to cross-examine me. He tried pretty hard to trip me up and make me perjure myself. And —“

“And?”

“And I guess triggered me,” Tomura says, fed up. “My girlfriend was ready to chew his head off for that one, but I was fine. I told her that, but she didn’t buy it.”

Looking back, Tomura knows why you didn’t buy it. Why you were never going to buy it, and you were right not to. “Your girlfriend,” Yamada says. “She was the one who found you?”

Tomura’s stomach clenches. “I was fine when we left the courthouse, but things started getting worse. I felt like shit. About everything. Nothing felt good anymore, not even the stuff I like. It all came back up, and it felt so bad. I remembered —“

“Do you need to take a break?” Yamada asks. Tomura gives him a weird look. “You’re scratching.”

He is scratching. Tomura hasn’t done that in a while — or at least he hadn’t, a month ago. After the trial, he was scratching constantly. He pulls his hand away from his neck and forces it down onto the arm of the couch. “I don’t need a break. I need to get this out or I’ll end up right back where I started.”

“Sure, maybe. But think about how we got here. You’re telling me it started with having to vomit all this stuff back up at the trial, and now you’re about to do it again.” Yamada shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against talking about this stuff and I’m not scared of it. What I am worried about is getting into it when you don’t have the tools to calm yourself back down. Do you know what diagnosis they gave you in there?”

“Unrepentant asshole disease?”

Yamada snorts. “Good one. It’s PTSD,” he says. Tomura blinks. “That’s part of why you’re here with me. One component of my practice is something called EMDR — eye movement desensitization and reprocessing — which is designed in part to take the punch out of the things that trigger you. But before we work on that, we start by building some stuff.”

“Building stuff?” Tomura glances around Yamada’s office. “I don’t see any legos.”

“Nah. We’re building stuff in your mind palace,” Yamada says, and cracks a weird grin. Tomura opens his mouth and Yamada keeps talking. “You’re about to tell me that your mind palace is a dumpster fire, and I’m going to tell you that it’s garbage can, not garbage can’t —“

Tomura snorts, then cringes. Yamada notices but doesn’t comment. “And we’re going to build another, smaller dumpster in there. A container for all the shit feelings that this kicks up for you. We’re also gonna build a safe room — somewhere you can go that feels secure and peaceful. Got any places like that?”

“No,” Tomura says. Then he second-guesses it. “Maybe —”

“We’ll get into that in more detail next time,” Yamada says. “Today I just want us to focus on what you were thinking and feeling leading up to the attempt.”

“Isn’t that gonna trigger me?”

“That’s why we’re talking about it in here,” Yamada says. “I want you to be able to notice your feelings and thoughts when they start to take a turn, because that’s the spot where you can interrupt it.”

“Interrupt it,” Tomura repeats. He feels his hand creeping back up towards his neck and yanks it down again. “How?”

“That’s a good spot for your distress tolerance skills,” Yamada says, “but I’d also recommend reaching out for help. Telling somebody you’re struggling.”

“No,” Tomura says. “They don’t need to deal with my shit. They’ve got shit of their own.”

“Yeah. And based on your discharge paperwork, all your friends and your girlfriend came to visit you in the hospital,” Yamada says. “That’s a way bigger hassle than just being there when you need someone to talk to, right?”

Tomura’s not going to get into that. “I did this stuff. On my safety plan.”

“Yeah. But if asking for help isn’t something you’re used to, it helps to plan out exactly what you’ll say,” Yamada says. “And before that, we need to work on recognizing when you need to say something. Ya dig?”

Tomura tries to imagine saying something. Turning to you and telling you he’s thinking about dying, that he loves his friends and loves you but can’t take living when he feels this sick. How would you even answer? Nothing you could say would fix it, and wouldn’t it make you feel bad? To know that Tomura wants to die and —

“You love your girlfriend. Think about which is worse for her,” Yamada says, and Tomura realizes he spoke aloud. “Hearing that you want to die, or coming back and finding you in the middle of it?”

“Don’t guilt-trip me.”

“It’s not a guilt-trip. Just a question.” Yamada shrugs. “Let’s look at it another way. If it were her and not you, which would you rather —”

“I get it, okay?” Tomura’s not going to run away from it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to harp on it. “I’ll make you a deal. We can talk about anything you want as long as it’s not that.”

“Deal,” Yamada says without blinking. “Walk me through the day of.”

They spend the rest of the session working on identifying and naming the kind of feelings that lead to Tomura wanting to off himself. It’s a harder job than Tomura thought it would be. Therapy is weirder than Tomura thought it would be. He can’t decide if it’ll be helpful yet. But it’s somewhere to go that’s not work, so it’s probably worth it for that alone.

Towards the end of the the session, after they’ve scheduled the next one, Yamada hands Tomura the reminder card and leans back against the couch. “This thing is even worse than I remember,” he remarks. “Who’s coming to pick you up?”

“My girlfriend.” Tomura still feels weirdly proud when he says that, even though you’ve been together for going on three years. “She was supposed to get me from the hospital, but her job said they’d fire her if she took any more time off work.”

“She’s been taking some time off?”

“That’s what she said,” Tomura says. “Why are you asking about her?”

“She’s clearly an important person in your life,” Yamada says. Important. That’s understating it. “She also lives with you, which means she’ll be in a position to observe how you’re doing. As she was before.”

“I think she’s okay. She’s been okay when she visited,” Tomura says. “She goes to therapy and everything. Since before I met her.”

You go every week, like clockwork. Tomura couldn’t really figure out why, since you seem normal. “She probably talked this out with her therapist already.”

“I’m sure,” Yamada says. “Still, go easy on each other. Reentry from inpatient is tough, even if you’ve got a soft landing. Go ahead and hang out in the lobby until she gets here. I’ll see you next week.”

“Next week,” Tomura agrees. He puts the reminder card in his wallet, in front of his ID, and slinks out onto the lobby. His ribs are still broken, but as long as he’s not leaning or lying on something, he’s okay.

He can see your car parked in the parking lot outside, and you’re leaning against the hood, holding something. As Tomura opens the building and steps out into the weak winter sunlight, he sees that it’s a bouquet of flowers.

You look so pretty standing there, and you smile when you see him, and as Tomura picks his way across the parking lot, your smile grows. Nothing about seeing you fixes what’s wrong with Tomura, but seeing you feels good even when nothing else does. That safe, calm place thing Yamada was talking about — Tomura’s pretty sure it’s somewhere, anywhere, with you.

You open your arms as Tomura reaches you, and he walks into your embrace without breaking stride. You’re careful when you hug him, but Tomura hangs onto you tight, letting his head fall against your shoulder and turning his face into the side of your neck. You smell really good, like always, and your body is soft against his sharp edges, and what Yamada told him to do before feels a little easier to imagine now. He’s told you a lot of things, and they haven’t scared you away just yet.

“Hi,” you say. “How was it in there?”

“It was okay,” Tomura says. “He seems like he has ideas about stuff. And I don’t hate him yet.”

“That’s a good sign.” You hug Tomura a little closer, then let go. You hold out the flowers. “Here. These are for you.”

Tomura wants to hold you, not the flowers, but he takes them anyway. “Why did you get me flowers?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. “It just felt like the right thing to do. Do you feel up for a walk?”

“Huh?”

“I thought it might be nice to get some fresh air before we go home,” you say. “What do you think?”

You’re tense. Tomura’s standing close enough to you that he can feel it. “What’s the real reason?”

“We need to talk,” you say, and Tomura’s blood turns to ice. “Not about anything bad. It’s just — everybody’s coming over to hang out, and some of them are already there, and I want to talk to you beforehand, first.”

“They’re all coming over?” Tomura asks, surprised. “Even Kurogiri?”

“Even him,” you say. You must have had to bring out the big guns to get Kurogiri to stop by. He’s really busy, and the stuff he’s working on can’t exactly be interrupted. “I’d just like to talk to you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Tomura says. Yamada’s building is across from a park. “Over there?”

“Perfect.”

The two of you walk in silence for a little while, Tomura holding the flowers, your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, just above the bandages. You were the one who said you and Tomura needed to talk, so Tomura waits for you to speak up, and you do. “Is there something I could have done that would have stopped this?”

“No.” Tomura feels your grip on his arm tighten slightly. “This was all me. Are you — okay?”

“How are your ribs doing?” you ask instead of answering. “When they brought you in they were worried about a sternal fracture, but they never told me anything more about it.”

“No, just the ribs,” Tomura says, and you nod. “Are you going to answer me?”

“No, because this isn’t about me. I’m not going to make this about me.”

“It is,” Tomura says. “We’re together. We live together. You’re the one who found me.”

“I’m the one who broke your ribs,” you interrupt, and Tomura stops walking to stare at you. “You were still alive when I got there, but you stopped breathing while I was on the phone with emergency services. I’m the one who started CPR.”

Fucking hell. “I didn’t mean —” Tomura breaks off, struggling for a nice way to put it. “It wasn’t supposed to be you. You weren’t supposed to find me.”

Tomura put a lot of thought into killing himself. He waited until a weekend you went home to visit your family, so you’d be around people who love you when you got the call. He didn’t want anyone to have to find him, but he knew someone would, so he asked one of his neighbors if they could watch Moro for a few hours, telling them he’d pick Moro up at ten-thirty. When he didn’t come to pick Moro up, the neighbor would figure out something was wrong and call the cops, and the cops would find Tomura once it was already too late. It should have worked. It would have worked, except —

Tomura thinks about what you would have seen when you got home and feels misery rush up and over his head. “It wasn’t supposed to be you,” he says. “Why did you come back?”

“I got a bad feeling.” You won’t make eye contact with Tomura. You’re staring off into space in a way that looks too familiar, a way Tomura understands deep in his bones. “I get anxious sometimes over nothing. I can cope with anxious. But this was, like — they say people get a sense of impending doom before they have a heart attack. It felt like that. And I knew I was fine. So it had to be you.”

Tomura didn’t tip you off somehow. He didn’t hint or leave something undone or do anything to make you think that when you kissed him goodbye it would be the last time you ever saw him. Tomura did everything right. And you still knew. “So you turned around.”

“I almost killed myself hanging a u-turn across four lanes of traffic,” you say. “I called emergency services before I even got out of the car. But your plan was too good. Even with all of that I was almost too late.”

The two of you are still walking, somehow. Tomura stops, and so do you. “And ever since they told me you were going to make it,” you say, your voice tight and shaky, “I’ve been wondering if you’re mad at me for coming back. If you wish I hadn’t broken your ribs. If you —”

“No.” Tomura’s still holding the flowers you gave him. He doesn’t want to put them down. “I feel like shit about what happened.”

“I don’t want to make you feel like shit —“

“I know. It’s not you. It’s me. And my therapist said I have to tell you how I feel when I feel like that.” Tomura wonders if it would be stupid to walk back to Yamada’s office and tell him he needs another hour of therapy. “Everything felt so bad. I wanted it to stop and I didn’t care how, and I didn’t see another way out. But I want to. That’s why I stayed in the hospital and I’m seeing a therapist and I’m going to keep taking the stupid antidepressants even if they make my dick stop working —“

Your mouth twitches slightly. “They make more than one kind of antidepressant. We can find one that doesn’t do that.”

“Fine.” Tomura doesn’t actually know if his antidepressants fuck with his libido. He hasn’t been on them long enough, and the PTSD is probably enough to kill any mood for a while. “I want to find another way out. And I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to if you hadn’t come back. I’m not mad. I just — I wish you hadn’t had to see that.”

“Do you wish you hadn’t done it?” you ask, then cringe. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Tomura doesn’t want to have to tell Yamada he lied to you about stuff. He has a feeling Yamada will hassle him about it next week. “At the hospital they said people regret it right after they do it. That’s why so many people call the hospital on themselves. And I —”

Tomura trails off, considering the moments before he passed out. Remembering how he thought he’d feel lighter, and how he felt so much heavier instead, a huge weight pressing down on his chest with nowhere to go. He didn’t feel peaceful. He felt wrong. “I thought it was probably too late to stop it. So I didn’t try. But I would have if I’d thought it would work.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, let it go, and Tomura wonders if you’ve been worried about this the whole time. If you expected him to get mad at you for saving him. “I’m sorry I put you through all of this today. I felt like I had to know.”

“My therapist said I have to get used to talking to people about this stuff,” Tomura reminds you. Your mouth turns down at one corner. “It’s fine. I probably owe you a lot of explanations anyway.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say. You wipe under your eyes. “Let’s go home. Do you want to grab anything on the way?”

“Is there food at this party you’re throwing?” Tomura asks. You nod. “I want to go home.”

It’s quiet on the drive back to the apartment. Tomura has his hand on your leg, since you won’t hold his hand while you’re driving, and he watches you. You’re a good driver, so safe it’s almost boring. It’s hard to imagine you driving the way you must have to get home in time to stop him.

Tomura would drive like that if he thought you were in trouble. If he got stuck in traffic he’d get out of his car and run the rest of the way to you. Tomura wonders if you know that. Maybe not. If you did, you wouldn’t have thought he’d be mad at you for bringing him back.

“Hey,” he says, and because you’re at a stoplight, you look at him. “I love you. You know that, right? Even if I don’t say it a lot —”

“I know,” you say. “You don’t have to say it for me to know.”

Sure — but Tomura’s thinking about what Yamada said. Saying how he feels. Maybe that goes for feelings that aren’t bad, too. “I know you know. I’m still gonna say it. Get used to it.”

The corner of your mouth pulls up in a slight smile. You detach one hand from the steering wheel, lift Tomura’s hand off your thigh, and kiss it, only letting him go when the light turns green. “I love you, too.”

“I know.”

Tomura thinks about the flowers you got him. His friends who are waiting for him at home. His dog, who’s probably going to ignore him for a month to pay him back for leaving. His broken ribs and the fact that he definitely lost his job and the knowledge that even as he’s getting better, he has a lot of shitty days ahead. But Moro will forgive him eventually. Tomura’s friends still love him, and so do you. Even amidst everything that’s gone wrong, Tomura knows there’s plenty of things worth hanging on for.

And if he ever needs a reminder, you’re right there. Next to him as he walks back into his apartment, next to him as he hugs his friends and Kurogiri, next to him all night long and still there in the morning. There’s no way Tomura can forget. He remembers every time he looks at you.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

163 notes · View notes

bentosnackbox · 18 days ago

Text

“Girl, just let me know / We can take it slow.”

lyrics: “Break from Toronto” *(2013 – PARTYNEXTDOOR

part one

MENTIONS : situationship, mentions of sex, gojo, suguru and shoko r also in the same age range, unprotected sex, pussydrunk!megumi, backshots, ghosting, alcohol, blunts, partying, college AU, fratboy megumi kinda..?, sexting, cursing, athlete megumi, pro basketball player megumi.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ IN THIS AU !!

DISCLAIMER : MDNI ( i’m not responsible of what you see on the internet, but still cmon guys let’s not lmao)

guys this is my first time writing a fic… like ever!! so don’t expect it to be good i’m still working on it lol.

also if u see me make a grammar mistake it’s cuz english isn’t my first language, so there will be some mistakes sadly 🫩

i plan on writing more fics if this blows up or i get comments n likes asking for more… anyways !!

there will be more parts cuz i’m too lazy too put everything in one part lmao sorry

master list: part one, part two, part thee

12 PM CAMPUS NEWYEARS PARTY | January 1st 2025

“you like that? you like when i hit it like that? yeah i know you love this dick baby girl.”

i let out a moan as he hits that sweet g spot religiously over and over again knowing how much i love it.

“who got the best dick girl? c’mon talk to me baby.”

“you do gumi!!” i scream out moaning while he gives me the best backshots ever.

“good girl” he groans as he comes inside earning a moan from me.

just as i’m about to come on his dick i hear a knock on the bathroom door with satorus voice coming through

“what y’all doing in there? c’mon out”

i look at megumi with wide eyes and put my panties back up with my mini skirt, not even bothering to clean up.

he pulls his boxers and purple jeans back up.

i turn to megumi “what the fuck do we do now?”

“relax baby girl s’ not like we’re in a relationship anyway, we’re just friends making each other feel good.”

just friends.

just friends?

oh so this meant nothing to him? i was just one of his side bitches?

i get it we’re best friends since 6th grade and have been inseparable ever since

fucking each other wasn’t anything new

but the first time we actually did it was in the first year of college at his house

his girlfriend of a month cheated on him and he found out over a leak of her fucking his best friend yuji got sent around

i came over to help him get over her and watch a movie

little did i know i would get my pussy eaten

also i knew megumi was gorgeous and a player but damn this shit actually felt real for once

atleast for me.

“yeah right, um just friends” i say snapping back into reality as i notice i zoned out

he gives me a smirk and kiss on the cheek before finally opening the door

satoru is standing infront of the door, drink in hand waiting for us to open up

“the fuck were yall doing?”

“none of ur business” megumi says smirking and rolling his eyes shoving him out the way while dragging me behind him

we walk over to the drink bar and sit down on the stools

“watcha wanna drink baby?”

baby? after he said we’re just friends? and he says it like it means something

am i going fucking crazy????

“a piña colada please” i give him a fake smile, not like he can tell a difference from what’s fake and real

he’s rubbing my thigh up and down as we wait for the drinks

“gumi?”

“yeah baby?”

“i gotta use the toilet real quick”

“aight baby don’t take too long tho”

i never came back tho.

i ran back to my dorm in 6 inch heels tripping on the way there crying all the way there

mascara smudged, lashes falling off, wig a little lopsided

what the actual fuck ?? like cut the cameras bitch

who does this nigga think he is?

i block his number on messages, block his ig and twitter

best thing to do right now is focus on myself and keep my life clean

after all it was a new year’s resolution of mine.

______

06:00 PM talking with my roommate about the situation to recover | January 19th 2025

“omg he’s such a bastard”

i nod sobbing as i eat my ben and jerry’s ice cream while gossiping with my bestie a.k.a shoko!

we’re having our monthly gossip rant session in our matching bonnets, doing face masks while eating ice cream

i haven’t heard from him since the night it happend prob cuz i blocked him lol

and maybe that’s for the better.

for both of us

he isn’t around campus much ever since he got a deal to get signed to the memphis grizzlies in summer of last year

the only times he’s around is when there’s party’s or a holiday coming up.

“and he proceeded to say ‘we’re just friends’ baby you deserve someone better. need me to beat his ass?” shoko said ready to throw hands

i giggle “girl no it’s okay really-”

i get interrupted by a text message notification

unknown number

| can we talk now?

| are you done being mean?

no. fucking. way.

i stare at my phone with wide eyes not even listening to shoko rant about how annoying her classmates are and she notices

“everything okay y/n?”

i show her the message

“it’s megumi. i recognize his texts from a mile away”

but

how tf did he get my number.

shoko sees my anxiety kicking in again by the way i’m biting my nails right now

“calm down y/n, just ghost him it’ll work out trust me”

i nod ignoring his text messages

i ignored him.

oh i tried ignoring him.

but turns out he’s down bad

like the yearning type.. yup

______

10:18 AM on the following Monday | January 22nd 2025

i’ve been getting non stop no caller id calls

like non. fucking. stop

it’s crazy

new messages came through

unknown number

| stop fucking ignoring me deadass

| that’s fucking annoying.

fuck.

i’m in the middle of a lecture and he’s texting me?

shit i gotta think quick

“calm down y/n, just ghost him it’ll work out trust me”

and so i ghost him for the next 2 days until…

______

06:26 PM Wednesday in my dorm | January 24th 2025

shoko is out on a work dinner

and i’m bed rotting in my bonnet watching love island on my macbook

“they did my girl huda so fucking dirty!!”

i say as i’m eating my ben and jerry’s cookie dough ice cream again

*i get another message*

unknown number

| you haven't been texting me or calling me at all

| what the hell's your problem?

shit

wait can he see that i read his messages?

since shoko isn’t here to stop me i decide to text back

| i need some space

| from everyone, it's not just you

read 06.38 pm

he texts back almost in the blink of an eye

| SPACE????

| bitch if u wanted space you should've been an astronaut

| answer the goddamn Phone when i call you.

shit he’s mad.

NOTE : guys comment if y/n should pick up or ghost lmao

i enjoyed making this kinda fun tbh

again first time making a fan fic so don’t judge ok..

97 notes · View notes

smuthospital · 2 years ago

Text

⭐️Yandere Kylar x Reader⭐️

Premise: You're a streamer, and your biggest fan really really likes you

Warning: Non-con, kidnapping, gn reader

Minors DNI

Bright lights flash in your eyes, your fingers rapidly bashing buttons on your keyboard, your other hand furiously clicking your mouse. You whine as your character suddenly falls to the ground, dead.

"Ok, guys! Ok, I get it! I know I'm not that good at this game! No need to tease me!" You laugh. Inside, you're a bit peeved. These stinky bastards aren't here for your gameplay so they better shut up. Shut up and enjoy their eye candy. You're currently streaming an online first-person shooter. You made your little hobby into a little side hustle not too long ago. Guys love watching hot people play games and it's proven to be profitable. "I'm cute? Well thank you, Mr. Husband!" This guy is a regular. Gotta give him those shout-outs he practically pays for.

As much as it hurts to deal with these weirdos, It helps with expenses. You've even seen Robins username pop in and out quickly, probably hoping you didn't see. At first, you were uncomfortable with acting all sweet for your audience, but you warmed up to the idea when it started staving off your bastard Landlord at the orphanage you live in, Bailey. You play games dressed sexy, say sweet dumb things and the money comes pouring in.

These poor, lonely guys send you money in hopes you'll give them a crumb of attention, and you do. Sometimes, you say their names. You don't exactly care that you're taking their money at all. It's a gift! It's not like you forced them to give you money, nor did you even ask. They just want a chance to get in your pants and you're not gonna stop them from dreaming. You can't count the number of times people in the chat have asked if you have an onlyfans.

You'd never, of course, date one of these pigs. You imagine your viewers are stinky, slimy, greasy and would cum in their pants at just seeing you in person. Their whole body is probably sticky to the touch and shower maybe once a month they probably have piss filled mountain dew bottles on the floor next to their pc and shit stains on their seat. You're pretty sure a few guys in the comments are jerking off as you stream this very second.

A few times, you've received ominous messages in the comments from different users, almost threatening you for some ridiculous problem they have with you. How you play, what you're wearing, or just your face, so you make sure to always hide your location and are very vague about your personal life. You're used to them being weird, saying things about what they'd do to you if they were alone with yo- Just have to learn to ignore it. You calm yourself down.

"Well, that's enough for today, I'm getting sleepy! It was nice playing with you today. I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight, love you!" You blow a kiss at the camera. You see people commenting their 'i love you too's and whining about how you could stay a bit longer' in the chat before you disconnect. You made $540 from that two-hour stream. You received most of it from the same person. Mr.Husband. Not one minute after closing the stream, you get a message. You thought you disabled direct messages? You notice that it's to your personal account that's open on another tab from an unnamed account. No bio, no profile picture.

New user: Hey

New user: Do you want to meet up sometime? For coffee?

You: Who's this?

New user: I'm Kylar. You can get to know me when we get coffee.

You: Uh no? How the fuck do you know me?

New user: I love your streams, pretty. Drop the fucking attitude before you piss me off. I knew you'd be more of a bitch off-camera. You just look too good to be good hearted. You have to be taught obedience. You're lucky I care about you so much.

You: Keep your tiny prick away from me. I never want to see you in my presence. Disgusting. Ugly pig. Do me a favor and never ever leave your dirty cave. Go fuck yourself

New user: Wanna watch?

*New user has now been blocked*

You stand up and walk away from your computer. how the fuck did he find your actual account? You don't even have your real name anywhere. You start to undress, not noticing your computer's camera has flicked on again.

In a dark room, a man fists his massive cock slowly, eyes trailing up and down his obsession through the screen. His mind is filled with all the things he wants to do to a little cock tease like you. Ruin you, break you, crush you under his weight, teach you a lesson for whoring yourself out. A cute treat like you should have better manners "Pig...tiny prick. Ah, (y/n) I can't let you just say those things to your husband." he watches as you slide your underwear down, eyes zeroing in on the crevice between your thighs as you bend over. He shudders as hot baby batter coats his chest and thighs, continuing to roll down his cock in fat globs.

Two days later, you're walking back home from a late shift at the cafe. You plan to stream when you get home.

Something is watching you.

Cold sweat dribbles down the back of your neck. You shiver, the cold night air doing nothing to calm you. You can feel eyes drilling holes into your back. You picked up your pace, your eyes darting all around. Who is it? What do they want? You think you can hear footsteps not far away. They're getting closer. You break into a sprint and make it to Danube street before you're tackled to the ground. All air is pushed from your lungs, depleting you of oxygen. You do your best to fight against your unseen attacker, but they're far too strong. You try to scream, but only a wheeze comes out. The man roughly picks you up like a sack of potatoes under his arm and carries you into a mansion nearby.

He walked down a flight of stairs and threw you to the ground. You tried to scramble away, but he grabs your ankle and drags you back to him. You get a look at his face in the dim light. He's handsome, but his expression strikes fear in your heart. Fury is the only word you can think of to describe it. You scream and flail your limbs wildly, trying to get him the fuck off of you. You hear a crack and before you realize what happened, your cheek is burning. "Shut." Smack "The." Smack "Fuck." Smack "Up." He's seething by the end. Your head was knocked back into the ground by the last hit. A dribble of blood runs down your nose, your cheeks completely red and moderately swollen. You're no longer trying to fight him, head far too foggy to do anything but lay there in pain.

"I'm sorry, baby." He huffs, calming down a bit. "Don't fight me and that won't have to happen again." He wiped at the blood on your face with his thumb, cradling your cheek. A blush creeps over his face along with a deranged smile as he stares down at you with his unblinking eyes. "You're just so perfect. Everything." You feel a bulge forming atop you where he's straddled. He pants heavily as he looks you up and down. Hot tears slip down your swollen cheeks at the realization that you can't get yourself out of this one.

You lie completely still as he palms his crotch in front of you. "I...I'm kylar...you said I have a small prick, (Y/n)... That wasn't very nice. You should say things like that to your husband." You stare at him in awe...it's..the guy from the chat. did he find you? He's crazy. He's insane. He's gonna kill you. Your chest heaves up and down uncontrollably. You feel blood rushing to your ears, feeling the most fear you've ever felt in your entire life. He takes notice of your panic attack and tries to calm you. "H-hey! Shhh, it's ok, just breathe!" You don't hear a word he's saying and thrash wildly again. Your legs kick underneath him, but his body doesn't budge an inch.

You freeze when you feel his lips smash onto yours. He grabs your wrists in one hand above your head, effectively immobilizing you. It feels like he's trying to eat you, no longer caring about your little tantrum. "Just stay still." He mutters as his large hands roam up and down your body like he's waited his life for this moment. You feel his ever growing bulge rub against your stomach. He grabs your hands before you could try to fight him again.

"...You know...I've been giving you my good money, (Y/n). All because I knew how hard it was to live on your own. But now you're here with me. You'll be my personal house whore." You feel his breath hit your cheek. "Please...let me go. I didn't do anything to you!" You're full on sobbing at this point and to your horror, you feel his cock twitch against you.

"Oh fuck! Keep crying for me like that, baby." He's clawing your pants. Your eyes dart around the room for anything that can help you, but your blood runs cold when you just see hundreds of photos of you plastered all over his walls, some even on his ceiling. You hear a loud tear. This animal ripped your pants and underwear in the process of ridding them from your body.

You're a shaking mess as he cups your sex in his hand. "K-Kylar, please!" You cry, trying to appeal to his humanity. He groans, a little wet spot of pre cum appears on his crotch. "Say my name again." He demanded. His fingers rim around your hole, threatening to dive in. You quiver at the feeling. He unzipped his pants and you feel something impossibly large, heavy and hot slam onto your stomach with a thud.

He releases you momentarily and moves himself lower on your body, his head between your legs. His arms circle around your thighs in a vice grip. He takes a strong whiff and lets out a moan. You feel his tongue slide up and down your sex as his fingers plat around with your hole before dipping half a finger in. You're too dry, it hurts! You whine and struggle, uncomfortable. His finger dips all the way in, uncaring for your pleasure. You scream as he continues to thrust his finger inside you as his mouth engulfs your sex. He removes his finger and lifts himself off you. You sigh in relief.

That relief dies as you feel his meaty cock push at your hole. He begins to push in, but your hole resists. It's too big. He lets out a sound of annoyance before spitting on his hand and rubbing the liquid up and down his cock. It does little to help aid in his entrance. "This may hurt a bit…a lot actually." He wicked grin stretches across his face before he rears his hips back and forces his cock through. You let out a blood curdling scream he rips through your insides. He's only halfway in, your walls desperately trying to push him back out. He holds onto your waist and pulls you into him, bottoming out. You feel like you're bleeding, but you're too afraid to look down.

You can hardly breathe. His cock feels like it's in your stomach. Your body twitches, hot tears slipping past the corners of your eyes as you wheeze out please for mercy. He only looks down at you in awe at your beauty. "Oh, you're so cute like this! I knew you could take it! I know it hurts now, but just give it time." His thumb rubs at your tears. There's nothing you can do to get out of this. You feel completely helpless.He pulls himself out, and slowly goes back in, groaning. "Fuck, you're so tight" he grunts. You close your eyes and hear a flash. Your eyes snap open to see he's holding a camera. A blinding light fills your vision along with a 'click'. This sick fuck.

You let out an involuntary moan when he shoves himself into you at just the right angle. He presses himself deep inside you, holding himself there, his cock hugging your sweet spot. "Ah (Y/n)! (Y/n)! (Y/n)!" He chants your name like a mantra at each thrust, but you can barely hear him. All you can do is feel him. Hurt hurts so bad but feels equally as good.

You can't help but let little sounds of pain and pleasure spill from your lips as his hips ram into yours. You look up to see his eyes are completely rolled back. His lips press wet kisses to your cheek. You feel a knot start to build in your lower stomach without your consent and you feel yourself lift onto cloud nine. "Oh (Y/n), cum for me! Cum for your husband!" He moans. You feel shame and pleasure wash over you as you do just that. You clench around him, his breath hitches in his throat at the feeling. He slams into you harder and harder. The over stimulation is killing you now. It's too much!

You think he might break something inside you, you think his dick might knock your brain out of your skull with how hard he's pounding. You feel like your organs will never be the same. "Gonna get you pregnant, gonna breed you again and again. Gonna have my babies. We'll be great parents!" His muttering awakens what's left of the fight in you. "Ah! N-no, stop! I-I can't!" His hand slams over your mouth, his bottomless green eyes staring directly into yours. He lifts your legs up and puts them over his shoulders in a tight mating press.

He hits your special spot and your eyes roll back. He can reach far deeper like this. He slams into you with one final thrust, pressing into you with his full weight. You can't breathe. The over stimulation finally comes for you and you cum all over his cock again. You feel his cock twitch before unloading what seems to be an endless supply of semen into you. You can almost hear the wet sound of him cumming inside you. Your lower stomach rises by the sheer volume of cum produced. You wonder if he used to be a bull at Remy's farm or something. That thought quickly vanishes along with your whole mind as your brain is unable to produce anymore thoughts.

With a satisfied sigh, he pulls his slipping wet cock out of you, a rush of lightly pink cum following after, quickly stopping when he plugs you up with a small plug. His cock isn't even fully soft. You pray he doesn't decide he wants a round two. "That wasn't so bad, now was it? You were crying for nothing." He pants. He kisses your temple before picking you up by your waist, once again like a sack of potatoes in one arm. He walks over to a mattress on the floor and drops you on it, your body softly bouncing on top before settling in a heap. He had a mattress the whole time and still fucked you on the cold, dirty cement floor!? You hear a click and see he's chained your right angle to the wall. He smiles at you and pevks you on the lips the way a husband would before leaving to work. His mood did a 180. He's so very cheerful, his handsome face cheerfully grinning down at you like you're a cute little kitten.

"You did really well today, (Y/n), my love. I'll be back tomorrow. You won't get dinner tonight because you fought me so much, but you'll learn to behave. I want to treat you better, so please be good for me. Goodnight." With that, your new 'husband' stands up to his full height and walks upstairs, leaving you in the cold pitch darkness of the basement.

#lemon #non con #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #dead dove do not eat #degrees of lewdity #kylar the loner

1K notes · View notes