#thighs of betrayal

[badcountryofficial]

1. RAINBOW TROUT R IN THE SALMON FAMILY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

2. Guys why do I want a tattoo of a rainbow trout and how hard would it go be honest

[doerot]

I've been seriously considering laser lately, well honestly for years now, but I'm stuck in a loop of will this improve my quality of life, or am I just submitting to beauty standards ?

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Bisexual Best Friend

Male Yandere x Fem Reader He just wants what's best for you. If he has to tell a few white lies now and again, then so be it.

When you first saw him, he had his tongue down your boyfriend's throat.

It sure as hell would not have been the start of a friendship, except...

He was the one who ran after you when you stormed out of the club, mascara and eyeshadow running in silvery streaks down your cheeks.

He was the one who hugged you and apologised and said your boyfriend was a piece of shit for doing that to you.

He was the one who got you home safe, cleaned off your makeup and left aspirin on your bedside table.

In your half haze of alcohol and tears, you clung to him and nuzzled into his neck and told him you were so grateful, that he was such a nice guy.

It wouldn't have been the start to a friendship and maybe it shouldn't have been. But you called him the next morning.

You apologised for being such a mess, stuttering just a little at the deep gruffness of his morning voice. He laughed and told you not to worry about, that you should've seen what a fool he made of himself when his boyfriend cheated.

You weren't sure how, but a phone call turned into lunch together. Both of you just a little tipsy from bottomless mimosas, his arm tossed across the back of your chair as he sketched out the horror of his last situationship.

"So you're gay?"

You should have noticed it then - the way he narrowed his eyes just a little, the way he let his fingers graze your bare shoulder, the way he seemed to take just a second too long to answer.

"Yeah. I'm into guys."

That was the first lie he told you. Not entirely untrue. He was into guys.

He was just into girls too. And he was especially into you.

He could have been honest with you, he could have told the truth. But you were still reeling from your boyfriend's betrayal, too guarded and hurt to let another man into you life.

And he so desperately wanted to be a part of your life.

The next time you asked him to hang out, you were so at ease. You hugged him when you saw him, your tits squished against his chest. You held his hand and dragged him along behind you. You fell asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He smoothed your hair away from your face and any idea of telling the truth crumbled.

He told himself he just wanted to be your friend. Lord knows you needed one after such a nasty break up. But anyone who looked at you together could tell friendship was the last thing on his mind.

He took you to watch his favourite band performing live and hoisted you up on his shoulder for the encore, his hands inching further and further up your thighs.

He took you to his favourite club and bought you drink after drink until you danced with him, your arms thrown back around his neck and your ass grinding into his crotch. It was only the pulsing neon lights that kept you from seeing his hard on.

He invited you over for a movie night and pretended to lose the AC remote, just so he could share a blanket with you and keep his arm around your waist.

And the longer it went on, the worse it got. You were cute and clever and funny. You could yap together for hours about fashion and music and video games. You brought him little presents every time you came over - small packets of his favourite sweets, a new flavour of ice cream, his go-to Starbucks order.

Could you blame him for wanting you?

He started calling you his wifey, even in front of his friends. Would crack jokes about getting married if either of you couldn't find a guy by next year. And you went along with it. Ran your hands up his chest and fluttered your eyelashes at him and called him your strong, handsome fiancé - oblivious to the way it made his heart race.

When he walked in on you changing, he kept his face deadpan and told you red was definitely not your colour, even as you scrambled to cover up and spluttered at him to get out.

"Why? You aren't exactly my type babe."

Another lie. Not even remotely true this time.

And soon you got used to him walking in on you. Started asking him for fashion advice while you were in just your underwear and heels. Started asking him to tie your bikini tops and unzip your dresses. You didn't notice him always slipping away afterwards, one hand shoved deep in his pocket. You didn't notice the way his hair was always slightly messed up when he got back, his cheeks just a little flushed.

And if there were ever any warning bells - any subconscious instincts that told you he touched you too much, hugged you for too long - they were drowned out by his parade of boyfriends and flings. Why would he be into you when he could be dating a ripped surfer or hooking up with his personal trainer?

You never realised you were the reason his relationships were always so short lived. He couldn't fall for any of them the way he fell for you. They were all just quick fucks to get the frustration out of his system.

He could have continued just like that - fucking a new guy every weekend and getting brunch with you right after.

But then you went and met someone.

He froze when you told him, his smile a rictus, hand clenched so tight around his wine glass that he was lucky it didn't shatter.

He gritted his teeth and managed to choke out a congratulations. You beamed at him, flushed pretty with young love. You squeezed his hand and said it was only a matter of time before he found his love too.

He had to excuse himself after that. Had to splash cold water on his face and fight down the urge to scream. God, why was he so fucking stupid? He should have made a move on you ages ago, back when you first met. If you rejected him then, at least it wouldn't hurt as bad as it did now.

He somehow managed to make his way back to the table and smile at you like you hadn't just clawed his insides to shreds.

"So when can I meet the lucky guy?"

When you got up to wash your hands he slipped your phone out of your bag. He scrolled through your gallery, over analysing every pic of your new boyfriend. Cute, but you could do so much better. And he wasn't even that much taller than you. God, are you really gonna date this loser?

You kissed him on his cheek when he left and he spent the entire walk home rubbing the spot and thinking up ways to get rid of this new... disruption.

Later that afternoon you called him up and asked if he'd like to come to a bar with you and meet your new man. And just like that, the wild ideas in his head clicked into place.

"Sure wifey, I'd love to come."

He showed up late and spilled a drink down your dress before you even finished saying hello. And while you rushed off to try and get red wine out of satin, he scanned the bar for your new boyfriend.

And when he finally found the bastard, he turned on all his pretty boy charm. Bought him a drink and slung an arm across the back of his chair and pretended not to hear when he said he had a girlfriend. Managed to get the guy flushed and stuttering even after he claimed to not be into men.

When he pulled your boyfriend into a kiss, the fucker had the nerve to actually kiss him back.

He was careful with his timing - going in for a second kiss as soon as he saw the flash of your dress through the crowd.

He pulled away just as you reached the table and looked up at you with oblivious innocence.

"What's wrong baby? Why do you look so shocked?"

Your boyfriend shoved him off and stood up to grab you, to claim he didn't kiss someone else, the guy just came onto him swear to God. But the damage was already done.

Who would you believe was at fault? Your best friend who didn't even know what your new boyfriend looked like? Or the asshole kissing someone else while you were gone?

You threw your drink in your boyfriend's face and called him a filthy liar. When you grabbed your best friend's arm and dragged him away, he struggled to hide his smile.

He took you back to his apartment and popped open a bottle. Poured you a drink and kissed your forehead and let his hand settle on your lower back.

"Men ain't shit baby. We're all just manipulative assholes deep down."

He let you drown your sorrows in the bottle and then pulled you onto his lap when you were too drunk to object.

"I'm the only man you need in your life, yeah?"

You sniffled, too drunk and hurt and dizzy to notice his hands moving to your bare thighs.

"Yeah."

"C'mon, say it. Say I'm the only man you need."

"You're the only man I need."

His fingers slipped under the hem of your dress and he pressed his lips against your skin, teeth oh so close to your jugular.

"And I'll take care of you. So just sit still and I'll make it all better."

[lxvvie]

Yours and Simon's relationship is fraught with betrayal.

And it's the little things that make it so.

You're wearing some of Simon's clothes out again? What did he do to deserve this?

You're not wearing Simon's clothes out? Again? What did he actually do to deserve this?

Simon taking his hand off your thigh while he's driving? Oh, wow. Breakup. Blocked. Delete. On the couch he goes.

You taking your hand off Simon just in general? What the actual bloody fuck, where did you two go wrong—

Using Simon's government name instead of one of his many pet names? Oh, that's what we're doing now, sweetheart? He will not tolerate this disrespect from you.

Simon calling someone else "sweetheart"? Wow. Guess who's no longer getting raspberries on their tummy?

You sticking your hand down Simon's boxers when your hands are bloody fuckin' cold? He doesn't deserve to live like this.

Similarly, Simon spooning up against you with his cold ass feet intertwined with yours to keep warm? This wasn't what you planned for your life.

Simon dragging you to the couch with him after he was exiled for the 398447420th time? How could he do this to you?

Yeah, it's the little things, alright.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 24: Somnophilia

Summary: Silco pushed open the creaking door of his apartment, the familiar scent of damp wood and laundry powder mingling with the faint aroma of your perfume.There you lay, a soft silhouette against the rumpled sheets. Your night gown rode high on your thighs, highlighting your soft and supple body to his vision. The material did little to hide anything from his gaze, you had been waiting his return. It was not lost on him that his lifestyle led to a lack of moments for intimacy, and yet here you were, pliant and pretty all for him. How tempting… Warnings: P in V sex, fingering, somnophilia, reader has a vagina, cum, etc. MNDI, 18+. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.  Kinktober Mention of the Day: @ivyunleashed This story was inspired by their artwork, linked here

Silco pushed open the creaking door of his apartment, the familiar scent of damp wood and laundry powder mingling with the faint aroma of your perfume. The night had been long, filled with whispered deals and the ever-looming shadows of Zaun’s underbelly. He stepped inside, the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders, bi-colored eyes revealing the true depth of his emotions. Always the strong leader, the iron fist that ruled the Undercity, now stood a bare and broken man worked over by the waves of the world. 

Discarding his coat on the rack by the door, the house was clean. You always made sure it was for when he arrived home, nothing to worry over in this place you had crafted into a safe haven. A note stuck to the fridge annoucing leftovers for him to consume was ignored in favor for trudging into the master bedroom a few doors away. Silent as ever, as not to disturb anything you may be doing, Silco was met with a sight that never failed to stir emotions within his hardened heart. 

There you lay, a soft silhouette against the rumpled sheets, bathed in the pale moonlight that streamed through the cracked window. Hair cascaded over the pillow, framing your serene face. For a moment, Silco felt the chaos of his life fade away. You were everything he wasn't: kind, gentle, a soothing balm against the harshness of your surroundings. He truly did not know how he deserved you. 

He moved quietly, not wanting to disturb you. The sight of your sleeping peacefully made his heart swell. In a world filled with betrayal and violence, you was a beacon of warmth, a reminder that there was still a little beauty to be found. When he had met you a few years ago, a florist on the edge of the Piltover/Zaun border, his mind could have never conjured the heavenly scene that lay before him. He could hardly fathom how someone like you could exist amidst the grime and despair of Zaun, yet here you were, a perfect contrast to the life he led. For all his machinations and ruthless ambition, Silco found himself captivated by the quiet strength you brought into his life. He remembered your laughter shared over late-night meals and whispered secrets under the stars—moments that felt like stolen treasures in a world that sought to take everything from him.

Silco sat on the edge of the bed, studying your features. Your brows were slightly furrowed, as if lost in dreams, and a soft smile played on your lips. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, watching as you stirred slightly but didn’t wake. He leaned closer, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m home, darling.” he murmured, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. But the words felt necessary, a promise he held deep within his heart. Your night gown rode high on your thighs, highlighting your soft and supple body to his vision. The material did little to hide anything from his gaze, you had been waiting his return. Expecting him, ready for him. It was not lost on him that his lifestyle led to a lack of moments for intimacy, and yet here you were, pliant and pretty all for him. 

Taking a calloused hand, he traced the outline of your curves. Admiring how the moonlight accuntuated all your features, casting an etheral glow about the room. You were his angel, there was no doubt. Yet as he sat here thoughts of corrupting your innocence filled his head. You had always expressed the idea of him taking you while sleeping was attractive, the conversation had occured no less than two weeks ago. He remembered it vividly, how shy you looked, the way your eyes glistened with lust. 

“You never have to ask, Sil. My body and heart are all yours, anytime you need me.”

Oh, how sweetly you had asked. How tempting the thought was then and especially now. He shouldn’t. A perveted old man such as him had no business in corrupting your body in this way. But you had given him permission, commanded his desires to unfurl even in the darkness of night. So, it was no issue, when his hands trailed up to cup the fullness of your breasts or when his lips came to kiss up the valley of your thighs; face coming to view your pantiless cunt. The smell alone was divine, you had worked yourself before his arrival. Slick still shone on your clit, pussy open and willing to indulge his every whim and wish. The ease with which two of his long fingers came to enter you was a small surprise but a welcome one. Taking his time to scissor you open and prepare you for his cock, paying special attention to that soft and gummy spot on your front wall that had you moaning in your sleep. 

His ministrations did not wake you but added to the growing wetness between your legs, thighs spreading unconsciouly to allow him room to work. Even in sleep, your body complied, loved his every touch and begged for it. Working his fingers up into you, allowing himself the pleasure to watch how you fluttered around him. Silco swore that there was no prettier a sight than the one in front of him. You shifted, mumbling inchoherently. He paused. He shouldn’t wake you, disturb you from your peaceful slumber. But everything in his body screamed at him to continue, to make you cum and moan on his fingers till pleasure rocked your body so much it awoke in a blissful state. 

Removing his fingers to unbutton his trousers, Silco used the slick that remained on his digits to prepare himself. Adjusting so he lined up with your entrance, he sunk slolwy into you. Inch by inch, letting out a gravely moan at the feeling of your warm and tight cunt. So inviting, practically made for him. You laid still, body adjusting to his length with ease, so used to taking him so well. Beginning to thrust in and out with delibarte motion, Silco soon found himself approaching his orgasm faster than expected. 

Unbeknownst to him, your eyes fluttered open, body finally recognizing the intrustion. Suprise spread across your feature, though your boyfriend’s actions were not unwelcome. Every plunge of his member caused jolts of arousal to shake your body through the core, illiciting a pornographic moan to annouce your awakening. 

“Feel so good my darling, always been so good for me. You like it when I fuck you like this, nice and slow? Use you for my own pleasure?”

You couldn’t help but nod, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your own orgasm rapidly approached. Silco’s thrusts started to become sloppy and heated, eyes closing and hair disheveled from the intensity. Soft grunts left his lips and with one final stroke, he spilled hot ropes of cum into you; spurring you into your own orgasm at the feeling of his hot seed within you. Calming down from your high, you brought you hand to caress his cheek gently. Admiring the way his chest heaved with each breath, how dialted his eyes were. 

“Welcome home, love.”

[meenaxskz]

when it's getting freaky but you clock out (hyung line) | skz reactions

genre : funny | light smut (so spicy ?) pairing : bf!skz x reader summary: you were feeling needy. Touchy. Flirty. And he was sooo ready. And then YOU FELL ASLEEP mid motion like some kind of sleep deprived gremlin. ✧ hyung line | maknae line

bang chan

The lights are low. His shirt is off. Yours is halfway there. You're straddling his lap and looking fine... in theory. Chan kisses down your neck, voice low and raspy. “You sure you’re up for this, baby?” You hum against his ear. “Mmhmm. I’ve been waiting all day.” He grins, sliding his hands up your thighs. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” you whisper, eyes fluttering. He leans in. “You look kinda tired-” “I’M FINE.” “Okay, okay,” he laughs. “No one said otherwise.” Two minutes later, you’re trying to tug his shirt over his head. Keyword: trying. Your hand just sort of… rests there. Stuck. Your eyes are barely open. “Baby?” he says gently. “…I want you so bad right now,” you slur. “You’re literally falling asleep on my nipple.” You blink slowly, still clutching the hem of his shirt. “I just… need like… a micro nap.” “A what now ?” “Like a… sexy nap.” He stares. “There’s no such thing.” “There could be.” You slump forward. He catches you with one hand and glares at your limp body like it betrayed him personally. “Babe. Hello?” Silence. “…Are you snoring?” He shifts slightly. Your grip on his shirt doesn’t move. Still holding on. Mid-thirst. Mid-sleep “Wow.” He gently lays you down and pulls the blanket over your half-naked body. Mumbles to himself, annoyed but fond. “I lit the nice candles for this. I took a multivitamin in anticipation.” You snore softly in response. “…You’re lucky I love you.” He kisses your forehead and lies beside you, dramatically adjusting the blanket. Because even when you rob him of ass, you’re still his baby.

lee know

You slide onto his lap with a smirk, arms around his neck. He raises an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.” “I was hyping you up in my head,” you mumble, trailing kisses along his jaw. “Oh yeah?” His voice drops, hands already gripping your waist. “And what’d your brain come up with, huh?” You kiss behind his ear. “Lots of things.” He groans. “Tell me ?” “Lemme show you,” you whisper, reaching for the hem of his shirt. It’s going great. In theory. Because once your hand slips under his shirt, it just… stops moving. Dead still. “Uh… kitten?” “Mm?” “You’re holding my ribs like a sleepy raccoon.” “I’m not… tired…” you mumble, head now resting on his shoulder. He looks down at your hand, frozen on his torso. “…You are literally drooling.” He leans back, blinking. “You’re joking.” You blink up at him. “No… no I’m good. Let’s do this.” “Do what, exactly? A nap??” “I’m ready,” you slur, still gripping his shirt. “You look like you got seduced by gravity.” Two minutes later, you are fully asleep. Still straddling him. Still holding his shirt. He stares at the ceiling, dead inside “I shaved for this.” In the dark, he mutters to himself “This is why I have trust issues.” He adjusts your body gently, lying you down while maintaining the last ounce of dignity. “This betrayal will not be forgotten.” You murmur something in your sleep. “…Mince the garlic…” He blinks. “Are you dreaming about cooking?” You snore, adorable and useless. He turns off the light. “Next time I’m charging a cancellation fee.”

Changbin

He closes the bedroom door behind him, licking his lips like a man with a mission. You’re already sitting on the bed, lips glossy, eyes half-lidded, smirking like the problem you are. “You’ve been testing me all day,” he mutters, pulling his shirt off. “I don’t know what you mean,” you say, dragging a finger across his chest. “I was just admiring the pump.” “Baby,” he groans, crawling over you. “You literally whispered ‘bet those arms would hold me down real nice’ while I was doing bench press.” “You did three extra reps after that,” you smirk. “Yeah, and now I want my reward.” It starts strong. He’s over you, one hand on your thigh, the other on your waist, kissing you like you’re air. You’re gripping his sweatpants, breath hitching. Then... Silence. No heavy breathing. No teasing hands. Just… stillness. “…Babe?” You don’t respond. He leans back and looks down. Your hand is still on his waistband. Your face is in his neck. And you’re breathing slow. Peaceful. Blissed out. “…No. No no no.” He gently pokes your arm. “Baby?” Nothing. “You better be joking.” He taps your cheek. “You were just moaning in my ear three seconds ago.” A soft snore answers him. He stares at the ceiling like the universe personally hates him. “I lotioned. I hydrated.” You shift slightly, still asleep, hand twitching like you’re dreaming about undoing his pants. He gasps. “Are you still holding on in your sleep?” You nuzzle into his neck and whisper, “Mm… strong thighs…” He actually chokes. “YOU DON’T DESERVE ME.” He lays you down carefully, pulling the blanket over your body like a man in mourning. “I could’ve been in heaven right now.” You mumble something again. “...love you…” He glares at you. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

hyunjin

Your lips are on his neck. His shirt is on the floor. Your hand? Boldly venturing south. Hyunjin lets out a shuddered breath. “Shit, baby, you’re driving me crazy” You smile against his skin. “I got you.” He moans, eyes fluttering shut, hips lifting to meet your touch. You palm him once...just once. And then? Nothing “…Babe?” Silence. He glances down. Your hand is still gently cupping him -lovingly!-but unmoving. Your eyes? Closed. Breathing? Suspiciously soft. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He stares at you. “Hello? You can’t just park and sleep. That’s illegal.” No response. He gently nudges your shoulder. “You knocked out mid-stroke. MID-STROKE, Y/N.” You snore softly. Hyunjin dramatically slams his head back onto the pillow. Five minutes later, he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, tragically pantsless, cradling your favorite stuffed bunny like it holds answers. “You saw that, right? You saw what she did to me.” The bunny stares, judging him in silence. “Look at me,” he mutters to it. “Do I look like a man who deserves this?” The bunny, of course, says nothing. He nods solemnly “Exactly.” He throws the blanket over you with unnecessary flair. “Don’t even try waking me up tomorrow with morning cuddles. I’m sleeping in spitefully.”

⤷ main m.list

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[theballadofharkness]

Make me a Mommy

Pairing: Agatha Harkness X fem!reader

Summary: Agatha is horrified and personally victimised when you go off the pill to switch medications and have to forego having sex unprotected… will you both be able to last weeks without it? Or will you decide to take a different course of action?

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: explicit smut, g!p Agatha, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, MDNI

A/N: so here is my first explicit smut fic… hope it’s okay my loves xo

You step through the door, kicking off your shoes with a sigh before making your way into the living room, where Agatha is curled up on the couch with a book in her lap. The fireplace is crackling softly, casting a warm glow across the room, and for a moment, you just admire her- your wife, your beautiful, gorgeous wife, looking utterly serene as she flips through the pages.

Then you clear your throat. “So… bad news,” you start, dropping your bag onto the armchair.

Agatha hums absently, not looking up. “Mhm?”

“The doctor wants me to switch birth control. Says it’ll fix my headaches,” you say, sitting down beside her. “Which means I have to be off it for a few weeks before starting the new one.”

Agatha freezes.

Her book lowers slowly, like you’ve just told her something catastrophic. Her brows furrow, lips parting slightly as she stares at you, her expression a mix of betrayal and horror.

“Wait,” she says, her voice flat. “So that means… no unprotected sex?”

You nod, biting back a smile at her reaction. “That’s what I just said, babe.”

Agatha closes her book with a thud, tossing it onto the coffee table like it’s personally offended her. “You’re telling me I can’t be inside my wife” she gestures at you, “raw” she gestures again, “for weeks?”

You snort, folding your arms. “That’s generally what ‘off birth control’ means, yes.”

Agatha gapes at you, like you’ve just announced Santa Claus isn’t real and you personally set fire to the North Pole.

“But-” she flounders, her hands moving wildly as if trying to grasp onto logic. “We’ve never not had unprotected sex.”

“We have,” you remind her, amused. “In the beginning. Before I went on the pill.”

“That was forever ago,” she grumbles, flopping back against the couch like the weight of this tragedy is simply too much to bear. “I’m a married woman, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, I know,” you tease, patting her thigh. “I was there for the wedding, remember?”

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” she mutters, rubbing a hand down her face. Then, narrowing her eyes at you, “Did the doctor say we can’t have sex at all?”

“No, we just have to use protection,” you reply, tilting your head. “Why?”

Agatha grimaces, like the word itself is offensive to her. “Protection?” she echoes, appalled. “You want me to go back to using condoms? Like we’re teenagers sneaking around in the back of a car?”

“Well, yeah, Aggie,” you grin, enjoying this way too much. “Unless you wanna risk getting me pregnant, that’s kinda the only option.”

You had wanted to bring it up. The words sat heavy on your tongue, right there, waiting, ‘Have you ever thought about kids?’ for a while now. But you knew Agatha. You knew the way she guarded herself, the way certain subjects made her retreat behind sharp wit and dry humor. You knew the ghosts that haunted her, the quiet fears she never quite voiced. And this? This was something she might run from.

So you swallowed the words down as you tried to stop yourself from thinking of tiny hands reaching for hers. Laughter ringing through the house. Agatha, rolling her eyes at some ridiculous mess but still cleaning it up. Agatha, braiding soft little curls with the same careful precision she used to weave her spells. Agatha, with a child pressed to her chest, murmuring some ancient lullaby into their hair. A family. Your heart ached with how much you wanted it. One day. Maybe one day.

Agatha groans, dragging a hand through her hair. “Baby, you’re killing me,” she whines, letting her head fall back against the cushions. “No raw, no filling you up? Just some sad, latex-covered half-measure?”

You laugh, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “It’s not that bad,” you tease. “You’ll survive.”

“Debatable,” Agatha grumbles, pulling you into her lap with an exaggerated huff. “Guess I’ll just have to remind you how good I am with my mouth instead.”

You shiver at her tone, but before you can respond, she presses a slow, hot kiss to your throat, her hands already wandering.

~

You’re standing at the stove, flipping pancakes, when you feel her eyes on you.

“You know,” Agatha sighs dramatically from the kitchen table, “this house just feels so… empty now.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Empty?”

She nods solemnly, stirring her coffee like she’s mourning something. “Mhm. It’s like there’s a void. A great, gaping hole in my life.”

You snort, turning back to the stove. “Let me guess- the void is unprotected sex?”

“I’m so glad you understand my pain,” she deadpans. “It’s like you get me.”

You shake your head, amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” she presses, her chair scraping back as she stalks toward you. “Am I really, sweetheart?”

You gasp when she wraps her arms around you from behind, pressing her face into your neck like a suffering widow. “I just love you so much,” she mumbles against your skin. “And now I have to endure this tragic separation between my wife and my-”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, wiggling in her grip. “You’re being very dramatic, baby.”

She nuzzles closer, squeezing you. “Just let me have this.”

You giggle, flipping the pancake. “My poor, suffering wife.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs, still clinging to you like she’s drawing strength from your presence. “I appreciate your support in this difficult time.”

~

You’re in the supermarket, picking out some vegetables, when you realize Agatha has gone suspiciously quiet.

Turning your head, you find her a few steps away, staring at a very specific aisle.

The family planning section.

You watch as she glares at the boxes of condoms like they personally offended her, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“Babe,” you call gently.

She sighs heavily, dragging a hand down her face. “I just never thought I’d be back here,” she mutters, sounding exhausted. “It’s like I’ve been… demoted.”

You choke on a laugh. “Demoted?!”

“Yeah,” she gestures vaguely. “I worked so hard to get promoted to no condoms, and now? It’s like I’m back at square one. Like all my effort meant nothing.”

You bite your lip, fighting a grin. “Well, it’s only temporary-”

“Temporary,” she mimics flatly, rolling her eyes. “Easy for you to say, sweetheart. You’re not the one being robbed of life’s greatest joy.”

You snort, grabbing a box off the shelf. “C’mon, let’s just get these and go-”

But before you can blink, she snatches it from your hands and throws it back onto the shelf like it burned her.

“No,” she says firmly. “We’re getting the thinnest ones. I refuse to be a peasant about this.”

You lose it, cackling as she grumbles to herself, flipping through boxes like she’s reading product reviews.

~

You’re curled up in bed, scrolling on your phone, when you hear the deepest, heaviest sigh known to man.

You glance over.

Agatha is lying on her back, staring at the ceiling like she’s contemplating the meaning of life, her arm draped dramatically over her forehead.

You wait.

Another sigh.

You set your phone down, propping yourself up on your elbow. “You okay over there, babe?”

“No,” she huffs, turning her head to look at you. “I’m suffering.”

“Oh no,” you coo, biting back a grin. “What’s wrong, my love?”

She squints, like you should already know. “I can’t fuck you raw,” she states. “That’s what’s wrong.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Baby, it’s not that serious-”

“Not that serious?” she gasps, clutching her chest. “Sweetheart, this is a crisis. We were so happy. We were thriving. And now-” She gestures vaguely at the air. “Now we’re living in hell.”

You burst out laughing, covering your face with your hands. “Oh my god, Agatha-”

“No, really,” she continues, scooting closer, resting her head on your stomach. “I miss my wife. I miss being inside my wife. I miss-”

“Okay,” you gently cover her mouth with your hand. “You’re so down bad.”

She makes an indignant noise against your palm before licking it playfully, making you squeal.

“Just saying,” she mumbles as she nuzzles your skin. “It’s been three days. I might die.”

“You’re not going to die,” you giggle, running your fingers through her hair. “You’ll be fine.”

She huffs dramatically, hugging your waist. “I better get a reward for all this suffering.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ll see.”

She groans, rolling onto her back again, dramatically flinging an arm over her face. Yeah. This is going to be a long few weeks.

~

It starts with a kiss.

Not the usual playful, teasing ones-no, this is desperate. Needy. You’re in bed, in Agatha’s lap, her hands firm on your waist as she devours your mouth like she’s been starving for you. And maybe she has. Because you started this. You’d meant for it to be just some lazy making out, something soft, something sweet. But then she groaned against your lips, fingers digging into your hips, and fuck- you were gone.

“Baby,” she murmurs, voice wrecked, breathing uneven. “You keep squirming like that, and I’m gonna-”

“Do it,” you whisper, rolling your hips against her again. “C’mon, Aggie. Want you.”

She grits her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut like she’s holding herself back. “Sweetheart,” she warns. “We can’t-”

“Fuck it,” you breathe, grabbing her face, kissing her hard. “Fuck it, Agatha. Please.”

She groans, hands trembling as they move under your shirt, pushing the fabric up, feeling you.

“Baby, we have to use protection,” she forces out, like she’s fighting for her life.

You shake your head fiercely, chest heaving. “No. No, I don’t want that. I want you. I want it raw. Please, Agatha, I-”

You’re going to kill her.

Agatha is trying- really trying- to be good, to be patient, to respect the fact that you’re still waiting, that you can’t let her have you the way she needs to just yet. But then you’re in her lap, all soft and warm, all giggles and needy little whimpers, pressing those sweet, sloppy kisses against her neck, shifting in her arms, looking up at her with those big, desperate eyes, and fuck she’s already breaking.

Her whole body jerks at your words, her breath shuddering as she grips your thighs, trying-failing-to stay in control. “You’re playing dangerous games, sweetheart,” she rasps. “You know I want that too-”

“C’mon, Aggie,” you whisper, breathless and sweet, rolling your hips against her, making her groan, making her ache. “Just a little. Just the tip, baby. Please.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” she groans, kissing you feverishly, hands everywhere, touching, claiming. “You really want this, sweetheart? You’re sure?”

You whimper, nodding frantically, arching into her touch. “Yes, yes, I- fuck, please, Aggie, I need it, I need you-”

And fuck, she wants to say no.

She wants to be good, to be careful, to be patient-

But then you grind against her, soft and sweet, and fuck, she snaps.

“Shit,” she grits, her hands shaking as she grips your hips, guiding you down, just enough to let you feel her, just enough to feel that tight, wet heat wrapped around the very tip-

And then you whimper.

Then your walls flutter around her.

Then you clench, just a little, just enough to make her see stars-

And it’s over. The last of her self-restraint snaps like a frayed thread.

“Oh, fuck-” she groans, her head falling back against the pillows, her control snapping as she grips your hips, dragging you down onto her cock, filling you up in one deep, desperate stroke.

And shit, you gasp, eyes going wide, fingers gripping at her shoulders. And Agatha just groans, burying her face in your neck, pressing a shaky kiss to your skin, trembling beneath you as she thrusts up. “I’m sorry, baby,” she rasps, voice thick with lust, with hunger, with need. “I can’t-fuck, I can’t stop now.”

Agatha is gone. She’s supposed to be careful. Supposed to be taking her time, waiting until you’re back on the pill. But you’re so warm around her, so tight, so perfect, and fuck, you whimpered when she filled you up, clenching down like you were made for her, and now? Now she can’t stop.

“Fuck,” she groans, her grip tight on your hips as she grinds you down onto her cock, dragging you over her slow and deep, like she’s trying to ruin you, like she needs you to feel every inch of her.

And you’re gasping, nails digging into her shoulders, lips parted, eyes glassy as you whimper, “Aggie-oh, my god-”

And that breaks her.

“Oh, you like that, pretty girl?” she rasps, voice thick, hungry, her teeth grazing your throat as she rocks her hips up, slow and deep, dragging against that sweet little spot inside you, making you whimper, making you shake.

“I-” You can’t even speak, just a broken little gasp, your body trembling as she fucks you, slow and deliberate, like she’s claiming you.

And fuck, she is. She grips your hips, dragging you down onto her cock, her mouth at your ear, her voice wrecked as she murmurs, “Thought you just wanted the tip, sweetheart.”

You writhe in her arms, whimpering as you shake your head, your fingers fisting in her hair. “Didn’t mean to-”

“Yeah?” she hums, her voice a tease, even as her hands are shaking, even as she’s trying so hard to hold herself together. “Didn’t mean to take my whole cock, baby?”

You squirm, burying your face in her shoulder, your whole body trembling against her. But Agatha smirks, her grip tightening, her hips rolling up in one, slow, deep thrust, filling you up so good, so perfect, making you cry out, making you tremble.

And then she grins, pressing a kiss to your temple, whispering, “Guess I’ll just have to keep fucking you until you mean it.”

Your voice is shaky, gasping against her lips as you clutch at her shoulders. “Shit, okay-okay, just-” You squeeze your eyes shut, your breath hitching as she drags you down onto her cock, slow and deep. “Just don’t- don’t cum inside, okay?”

Agatha groans, her fingers digging into your hips as she grits her teeth, her restraint hanging by a thread.“Oh, sweetheart,” she rasps, her head falling back against the pillows, her hands trembling as she holds you there, buried to the hilt.

But you’re squirming, grinding yourself down onto her, chasing that perfect friction, your voice all soft and breathless as you whimper, “It’s fine, it’ll be fine, just- just don’t stop.”

And fuck, she almost loses it. Because you’re so tight, so wet, squeezing down around her cock like you’re made for it, your body shuddering as you bury your face in her neck, whimpering her name, your fingers digging into her arms- and you’re telling her not to stop? Yeah, she wasn’t planning on it. She snaps her hips up, grinding deep, her breath coming out in a harsh groan as she fists a hand in your hair, tilting your face up so she can kiss you, swallowing your broken little moan.

“Yeah?” she grits out, her cock dragging against that sweet spongey spot inside you, making your whole body tremble. “You sure about that, baby?”

And you nod, your breath all hot and desperate against her lips as you gasp, “I-I can’t- Aggie, don’t stop, please-”

She flips you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress as she rolls her hips, deep and slow, her voice a wrecked little murmur against your throat.

“Don’t stop,” she mimics, her grin dangerous as she grinds into you, making you gasp, making you tremble. “Gonna be a good girl for me, then?”

You nod, your whole body shuddering as you cling to her, whispering, “Yes-yes, I promise-”

But Agatha just grins, pressing a kiss to your temple as she whispers, “Good girl. Now let’s see if you mean it.”

Her voice is low, gravelly, the sound sinking straight to your core as she rolls her hips, slow and deep, dragging her cock against that achingly sensitive spot inside you. You’re trembling, your thighs tight around her waist as you whimper, your fingers digging into her back, clinging to her like she’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your temple, her breath hot against your skin. “All fucked out already, baby?”

And shit, you are. Your body is shaking, your head tipping back as you gasp, your hips rocking against hers, chasing more, deeper, anything.

And Agatha just grins, her fingers tight on your hips as she pins you down, holding you still as she drags herself out of you- slow, torturous- until only the tip is left inside. Then, she snaps her hips forward, burying herself to the hilt, her cock grinding against that perfect, little spot inside you. Your back arches, a wrecked little moan breaking from your lips as you cling to her, your breath coming out in ragged gasps.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she grits out, her voice wrecked as she grinds deep, her hands shaking as she grips your thighs, spreading you wider, letting herself sink into you even more. “So fucking perfect for me.”

And you whimper, your head spinning, your body burning hot with want as you nod, breathless and needy, whispering, “Yes-yes, I-I am-”

And Agatha just groans, pressing her forehead against yours as she grinds her hips, slow and deep, drawing out every little whimper, every tremble of your body.

“Don’t stop, Aggie-please.” you whisper, voice all shaky and sweet

And fuck, she wasn’t planning on it. Her pace stutters, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as your body tightens around her, pulling her deeper, tighter, until she can barely hold herself together.

“Fuck-” she grits out, her fingers digging into your thighs as she grinds into you, deep and slow, dragging out every little shudder and whimper that spills from your lips.

You’re right there, your body trembling, your nails scraping down her back as you cling to her, your breath ragged as you gasp, “Aggie-I-oh, fuck- please let me cum- please- ah!”

She groaned at your begging, her restraint barely hanging by a thread. “Since you asked so sweetly, darling,” she murmured, her voice like velvet, before she filled you again with slow, deliberate strokes that left you gasping, toes curling, body melting beneath her.

Agatha let out a low, satisfied hum, leaning down to press a kiss against your parted lips as she stilled, letting you adjust.

“There you go,” she whispered against your mouth, her smirk returning as she rolled her hips just enough to make you moan. “Now- hold it for me.”

“I- I can’t,” you whimpered, nails digging into her shoulders as your body trembled beneath her. The stretch, the fullness of her, the way she was holding you right at the edge without letting you tip over- it was too much, too overwhelming.

Agatha tsked softly, her lips curving into a knowing smirk as she rolled her hips, slow and deep, making you sob at the sensation. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, dragging her fingers along your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet her gaze. “Yes, you can.”

You shook your head, gasping as she ground into you, pressing deeper, teasing that spot inside you that made your whole body shudder. Your thighs clenched around her waist, desperate for more friction, more everything.

“I- please, I can’t hold it,” you moaned, your voice a broken, pleading thing.

Agatha chuckled, dark and full of promise. “Yes, you can,” she murmured, lips brushing against your ear as she slowed her movements just enough to keep you dangling, just enough to keep you teetering on the brink without relief. “And you will.”

You let out a desperate cry, clinging to her as if she were the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

“Be a good girl for me,” she coaxed, her voice dripping with sin, her hand slipping between your bodies to press slow, torturous circles over your clit. “Hold it.”

Your whole body tensed, fire licking up your spine, the pressure unbearable. Tears pricked your eyes, every muscle straining with the effort of obeying her command.

“That’s it,” Agatha cooed, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, just as she gave a sharp, deep thrust that made you scream.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” she praised, nipping at your bottom lip as she kept you right there, teetering on the edge of bliss, refusing to let you fall just yet.

You sobbed her name, mind spinning, pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

“Just a little longer,” she purred, her smirk pressing against your skin. “Then I’ll let you come.”

“Please,” you choked out, voice raw and desperate, your fingers clawing at her back, her arms, anything to hold onto. “Agatha- please, please, please-”

She hummed, her lips dragging along your throat, her breath warm and teasing. “Such a needy little thing,” she murmured, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate grind, pressing deep until you saw stars.

You sobbed out a curse, every nerve in your body screaming for release.

Agatha smirked against your skin. “You’ve been so good for me, darling.” Her voice was honeyed, dark and dripping with approval. “I think you deserve it now.”

Your eyes flew open, barely able to process the words before…

“Come for me, sweet girl.”

The command shattered you.

The second she said it, she drove her hips forward with a slow, deep thrust, her fingers pressing just right against your clit, and you broke.

Your body arches, your head tipping back as a wrecked moan spills from your lips, your whole body shaking beneath her as your orgasm washes over you, hot and overwhelming, pulling her right over the edge with you.

“Shit,” Agatha groans, her hips jerking, her grip tight as she grinds into you, her body tensing as she lets out a deep, desperate moan.

You clenched around her, waves of bliss crashing over you. You pulled her closer to you, pressing your damp skin against her.

“Baby,” she grits out, her hips trembling as she tries to pull back, tries to do the right thing- but you’re clutching at her, your legs tightening around her waist, your body so soft and warm and perfect beneath her.

“Don’t pull out,” you beg, your voice breathless, eyes wide and glassy as you look up at her. “Please, Aggie, make me a mommy.”

Her head drops, a shudder racking through her whole body as a wrecked groan spills from her lips.

“Fuck,” she rasps, her resolve breaking as she grinds into you, so deep and slow, like she’s pressing the idea into you, sealing it into your very bones. “You want that?” she breathes, her hands tight on your hips, holding you in place as her nose brushes yours. “Want me to put a baby in you, sweet girl?”

You whimper, nodding frantically, your fingers tangling in her hair, your lips brushing hers as you whisper, “Please, Aggie, I want it so bad.”

That’s all she needed to hear. Her restraint snaps like a thread pulled too tight. A guttural sound rumbles in her chest as she buries herself in you, grinding deep, pressing her weight down like she could force the very thought of being filled, of being bred, into your mind, your body, your soul.

“Fuck, baby,” she rasps, her breath hot against your cheek. “Gonna fill you up so good, make sure it takes-”

You whimper, your hands gripping at her shoulders, your legs locked around her back. “Yes, yes, please-”

She grits her teeth, her rhythm turning slow, deliberate, dragging each thrust out like she wants you to feel it, to remember it. Her hands splay over your belly, her thumbs stroking over the soft skin like she’s already imagining the way it’ll swell beneath her touch.

“You’ll look so beautiful carrying my baby,” she murmurs, her voice low, reverent. “Gonna be such a good mama, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitches, your eyes going glassy, your body arching into hers. “Aggie-”

“I’ve got you, baby,” she soothes, pressing her forehead to yours, her hips rolling, her cock grinding against that spot that makes you cry out. “Taking me so well, fuck-”

Her movements turn shakier, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “Shit, I’m gonna-baby, I’m gonna-”

“Do it,” you plead, clutching at her, dragging her down, kissing her with everything you have. “Please, Aggie, give it to me-”

And with a wrecked, desperate moan, she does.

As the last tremors roll through her, Agatha collapses onto you, careful not to let her full weight press you down, but still keeping you beneath her, caging you in. Her breath is hot against your neck, her lips skimming your pulse, and she shudders at the way your walls are still fluttering around her, so tight and warm, like your body still doesn’t want to let her go.

“My perfect girl,” she murmurs, voice hoarse, reverent. Her hands splay over your belly, stroking, like she’s already imagining you full of her, already claiming what she’s just given you. “So good for me, sweetheart. So fucking good.”

You whimper, your body still twitching, hypersensitive and overwhelmed. “Aggie-”

“Shhh, baby,” she soothes, pressing kisses along your jaw, your cheek, your temple. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

She finally, slowly, pulls out, and you whimper again, your body clenching at the loss, feeling empty without her. But before you can protest, her fingers skim down your body, dipping between your legs, gathering the warm, sticky evidence of what she’s just done to you.

“Look at that, baby,” she purrs, her fingers trailing through the mess she’s made of you, playing in it, spreading it. “So full of me.”

Your breath hitches, your hips jerking when she teases at your aching clit, her touch featherlight, just enough to send a shockwave through your already wrecked body. “Aggie!”

She chuckles, low and wicked, watching the way you tremble, the way your body reacts to every tiny movement of her fingers. “Too sensitive, sweetheart? But you love it, don’t you?”

You shake your head, but you’re squealing, gasping, your thighs trying to clamp shut around her wrist- but she’s stronger, and she holds you open, torturing you with slow, lazy strokes.

“One more for me, baby,” she murmurs, her voice like silk, like she’s asking something so simple, so reasonable. “Just one more, sweetheart. I know you can do it.”

“Aggie- I- I c-can’t-” you whimper, your thighs trembling, your body overwhelmed and aching, but she doesn’t stop. If anything, the way you plead only fuels her.

“Oh, but you can, sweetheart,” Agatha purrs, her fingers still teasing, dipping, spreading her claim inside you. “My good girl always gives me what I want.”

Your breath catches, your hands gripping at her, desperate, but she just shushes you, her lips brushing against yours, her body looming over you as she keeps you pinned, her fingers wickedly slow as they play between your shaking thighs.

“So messy, baby,” she murmurs, circling your puffy clit with the evidence of what she’s just done to you. “So perfect for me, letting me fill you up like this.”

You sob, the sensation too much, too intense, but you can’t stop the way your hips twitch, the way your body responds to her.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Agatha encourages, her voice low, dripping with satisfaction. “You wanna give me one more, don’t you? Wanna show me how much you love being full of me?”

“I-I-” you stammer, but she presses her thumb firmly against your aching clit, and you jerk, your back arching, your mouth falling open in a silent cry.

“There we go,” she coos, her other hand gripping your waist, holding you still as she works you through the aftershocks, her fingers spreading her warm release back inside you as she keeps stroking, keeps teasing, keeps pushing you toward the edge she knows you can’t resist.

“Aggie- I- I’m gonna-”

“That’s my girl,” she groans, her lips brushing your jaw as she feels your body tense, your walls fluttering around her fingers, your whole body shaking as she finally pushes you over again. “Let go for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

And you do. You break, shuddering, whimpering, your body pulsing in her hold as she watches, devours the way you come apart for her, your overstimulated body giving in completely.

“So fucking beautiful,” Agatha whispers, her fingers finally slowing, easing you through it, soothing you as you pant, your body spent and boneless beneath her.

She leans down, kissing your cheek, your forehead, murmuring soft praises against your damp skin as she finally pulls her fingers away.

“You did so well, sweetheart,” she soothes, her hands now gentle, comforting as she gathers you in her arms. “My perfect girl.”

Agatha holds you close, her body still shuddering slightly from the intensity of what just happened, but all her focus is on you now- her precious girl, her perfect love, shaking in her arms.

“You okay, baby?” she murmurs, her lips ghosting over your temple, her hands soothing over your damp skin, grounding you, centering you in the aftermath.

You nod, still breathless, your fingers weakly clinging to her forearm where it’s wrapped around you. “Mhm… just tingly.”

Agatha chuckles softly, kissing the side of your head before reaching for a nearby cloth, gently cleaning you up, her touch delicate, reverent. “Tingly, huh?” she teases, but there’s nothing but adoration in her voice. “I’d say that’s a good sign.”

You hum, letting your body melt against her, your eyes fluttering as she continues to wipe you down, soothing every overstimulated inch of you. The warmth of her body, the tenderness of her touch, it’s all so perfectly Agatha.

Once she’s finished, she pulls you into her embrace again, tugging the covers up over both of you. “C’mere, sweetheart,” she whispers, tucking you against her chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

For a while, you just lay there, safe in her arms, the air thick with the lingering scent of sweat and sex and something undeniably intimate.

Then, in a voice so soft it’s barely a whisper, Agatha asks, “Did you mean it?”

You blink, lazily looking up at her. “Mean what?”

She tilts your chin slightly so you’re facing her, her thumb brushing over your lips. “About wanting to have my baby.”

Your cheeks warm, a mixture of shyness and something deeper settling in your chest. “I…” You swallow, nuzzling against her palm. “I did.”

Agatha inhales, her eyes searching yours, something unreadable flickering in their depths. “You really want that, sweetheart?” Her voice is hoarse, almost uncertain, like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing.

You nod, reaching up to cup her face, smoothing your thumb over her cheek. “I love you, Agatha. I want… everything with you.”

She sucks in a breath, her grip on you tightening like she’s afraid to let you go. “Fuck, baby,” she whispers, her forehead pressing against yours. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

You smile, a little sleepy, a little giddy, so in love with this woman it aches. “I think I do,” you tease, letting your fingers twist into her hair. “You got all shaky and sentimental on me, Aggie.”

She huffs, but there’s no bite to it, only warmth as she pulls you even closer. “Shut up, brat,” she murmurs, but then she’s kissing you, deep and slow, and you know-you know-that she’s thinking the same thing you are.

That this is it.

That you belong to each other.

And that maybe, just maybe, there’s a future waiting for you- a future where you’re hers in every way.

[tryagainenthusiast]

happy trail-gate…

summary , bf!jeong jaehyun has stabbed you in the back a million times….by shaving his happy trail :>

notes , this is so silly sorry lolol

you didn’t even notice it when he fell back onto the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up most of the space, arms stretching out over the pillows. its only until he watches you balance on the edge of the coffee table, teetering on the edge, tiptoeing to try and reach the flickering light bulb thats been annoying you for the past week that he stands up again, wrapping his fingers around your waist to keep you steady. he lets out a small laugh and your brows furrow, scowling at him from above. “you do this then.” your lips press together into a pout, pushing his shoulders gently.

he takes the lightbulb from your hands, a small smile on his lips, arms coming up to unscrew the faulty lightbulb, his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his midriff that you take a step back just to glance down at.

“what the hell?”

his eyes run down to your frame, your tense shoulders and wide eyes that depict a shock on your face that he has never quite seen before. you could fall down to your knees, face planted against the ground in pure agony. jaehyun almost looks a little worried.

”what’s wrong?”

”what…have you done.” you yelp, hands reaching for the bottom of his shirt, fingers curling around it to pull it up a little more. finally seeing the smooth skin of his lower midriff, a small sob escapes your mouth and jaehyun can’t stop his lips from curling up into a small smile. he doesn’t even try to stop you when your hands pull down at the waistband of his boxers, running a soft fingertip down the line where his happy trail used to be, in all it’s glory, all for you to admire.

gently, he pats the top of your head with a splayed out hand, fingers coming to ruffle strands of your hair. he doesn’t get it, but he’ll comfort you anyway.

you pull your hands out of his pants, stepping off the coffee table and throwing yourself back on the couch, pinching your nose bridge in genuine stress. “who did this to you?” you murmur, looking up at jaehyun, eyes narrowing. jaehyun thinks you are being awfully dramatic, he cant suppress the genuine chuckle that leaves his mouth, bending down to run a hand down your side, trying to ease the situation, “it was for a shoot.”

you let out another wince, squeezing your eyes shut. this might be the worst thing that has happened to you—ever. your boyfriend, unaware of how much this is affecting you, sits beside you, lifting your legs up to rest them on his lap, caressing his hands up and down them with a light touch. “it’ll grow back.” he scoffs. he can’t tell whether you’re being serious…he didn’t know you liked his happy trail this much.

his hands reach out to your waist, pulling your limp, defeated body up into his lap, cupping your cheeks. all he can do is press tender kisses to the corners of your frowning mouth, finding it terribly cute, trying to hide his smile as you whine against his skin, “bring it back…” your words are muffled against him and he hums against your lips, continuing to shower your parted mouth with small pecks.

“give me a couple weeks.” jaehyun chirps, finding his heart a little warmed, in an oddly affectionate way. you glance down, hands reaching to lift his shirt up once more, just to make sure it’s really gone while his hands rub up and down your thighs.

“i’ll make it up to you until then. i promise.” he croons, and the effort you have put into dragging the corners of your lips down is all for nothing. the betrayal you’re feeling dissipating into giddiness as jaehyun’s hands lay you down over the couch cushions, the palms of his hands cupped around your knees, hovering above you with an amused, dimpled smile on his face...

[baepsays]

Winter nights with Satoru, where despite the cold weather you'd sleep in just your underwear and a tank top. the reason entirely being satoru's like your own personal heater. Even assuming he will keep his hands to himself, or use a seperate blanket, or sleep on your respective sides of the bed—that's practically blasphemy. satoru would rather you take a dagger and stab him in his chest infinite times, until his blood and tears become one with betrayal and his love for you.

so you've essentially given up, taking precautions by turning off the heater before going to bed, sleeping in minimal clothing, especially the kind which is easy to peel off. because you better believe despite all the measures you take, you'll be sweating. summers are the worst. the air conditioner has nothing on this buring hot man (in more ways than one).

winters are no exception, which was evident from the sweat patch forming in your underarms. satoru is practically tangled up with your limbs like an octopus who's clutched up your hands and refuses to let go. his right arm smooshed under your right side, and his forearm curls at your ribs and goes all the way to your left side of the waist to grab on. you'd never understand how his limbs work really being a giant and built like jelly while being crazy strong goes against whatever explanation biology could ever come up with. his left hand, buried inbetween in thighs. his is face buried in the crook of your neck, gently snoring away next to your ears. yes this man practically has to sleep like he wants to make a skinsuit of himself and wrap himself around you otherwise, you're gonna get a gojo satoru moping around at work with dark circles under his eyes. this is the only time he gets decent amount of deep sleep.

honestly, at this point making attempts to get away from him is useless, the weighted blanket he insisted on buying (a necessity he called it), making it further impossible for any chance of fleeing.

but there was a way! right around 3 am every night—you noticed this after you get woken up from his heat around 2 am and lay there rendered unable to sleep—he stirs around. you do not frankly know the exact reasoning being this occurrence happening at such particular timing everyday, you simply do not ask questions and only thank whatever is out there helping you out. because lying in your own pool of sweat for an hour is exhausting. so around this time he would move around and switch the side he would be lying on. and you'd think oh great he'll let go then!

wrong. whatever Freud said about human subconscious might just be right, cause when he turns over, it takes him less than 5 secs to realize you're not there—skin to his skin—so he would turn back over, take you with him, tight in his arms again, to turn you over to the other side and continues holding onto you like a Koala bear. first time this happened you got scared he's gonna throw you off the bed or something. but now you've mastered the trick of slipping away at just the right window frame between him stirring around and grabbing you back to turn you over with him.

you'd slip out and head to the bathroom to maybe get a wet towel and wipe away the sweat and wash your face. sit down and catch a breath because, satoru would come looking for you in meantime, with his eyes still closed, a big definate pout adorning his face, and hair sticking everywhere—

"come back to bed sweets"

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To check out more of my stuff click this.

[benetnvsch]

megalomaniac is an bsd Ango Sakaguchi song send tweet-

[nemesyaaa]

feel it coming // older!rafe x daughter's bff! reader

summary : you're maybe not a good friend but at least you're a good girl.

warnings : +18 content. strong age gap. smut. older man/younger girl dynamic. smoking. smut. p in v. oral (f. receiving). friend/dad betrayal. reader isn't guilty. sweet burns by cigarettes. lil fantasy. daughter's best friend trope. sir/young girl nicknames. be aware of the warning before reading.

author's note : none.

You were everything bad, the bad daughter, the bad friend, the bad girl, always needy or whimpering for everything. you were so envious of your best friend because her dad was so kind to her. that's the treatment you've been craving for and always wanted but never received. so you started to want this attention, always beingat the house of your best friend even if she was not there. knowing that rafe was divorced was also such a boost for you because you could act like his wife while no one was there. you were sweet and innocent like a flower, but also very young. the same age as his daughter. you could be her, but you were far better.

So you were at home so often, doing chores, acting sweet and caring. You took care of his laundry, you cooked his meals, you put his beers on the fridge to get them cold, you ironed and took care of his shirts, also, cleaning the house as if it were your own.

Since his ex-wife left, his daughter was somewhere with her boyfriend, you kept Rafe company. It wasn't a pity concern, but he was almost forty and he needed someone to take care of him, but more importantly, to be there for him. You were there for him, you might have done too much, but he never complained.

You were also there for his friends when he invited them over to watch the games at home, bringing new packs of beer and making sure they had enough to eat. You didn't hesitate to cook again, and when you were tired, Rafe would let you rest on his lap, ignoring his best friend's stare.

At first, Rafe wasn't really into corruption. You were fragile, sweet, and kind, so easy to manipulate and break. You were a dangerous temptation, his daughter's best friend. He hated the way your eyes were always tearful and innocent, begging not to be ignored. How was he supposed to care for you when you looked at him like that as such a nervous and little thing, so eager to satisfy and please him?

And you were so young. Literally born in the same year as his daughter. He could bet you were a virgin. How could he not corrupt you when he was already eager to teach you everything ? Was it an old man thing? The urge to teach you everything, how to kiss someone, how to pleasure yourself, how to make you feel good, how better you will be with him rather than the other guys ?

You caught him lost in thought on the front steps of the house, the perfect time to go see him. You held a beer in your hands that you had already capped and you came to sit on his lap with your favorite innocent expression.

He was smoking a cigarette, the smoke blowing over his face. You thought he was gorgeous, and it was unfair, this handsomeness as he was getting older. He was also so big; you could feel it just by sitting on his muscular legs. But also his shirts, which compressed around his muscles. And his hands, you loved playing with them, old man's hands. That was your weakness. They were strong and huge. The veins were large, but they were thicker when Rafe was groping at you.

His gaze fell on you, before he placed the burning end of his cigarette against your bare thigh. You cried out, hurt by the sudden pain of the burns.

"It hurts... really hurts!" You sniffed, as he gently mocked your pout.

"I know it hurts, baby. But It also hurts to see you wearing such vulgar clothes, because you're such an attention whore."

"So you're punishing me?"

He placed his cigarette against the inside of your thigh, watching the light quickly burning your skin. He showed you how short your skirt was by running the nicotine stick along your inner leg.

" It's not like you hate that. " he said while pressing the cigarette against the wet spot of your panties, exposing your sweet lie.

“ You like the pain. " He continued by dragging the stick against your clothed drenching folds, before slowly pushing down the burning side.

Your cooed noisily, your head turning over to the side of your shoulder. Your legs were trembling from the sensation. That was hurting but you wanted more.

" P-please..." You pleaded out, tears running down your cheeks while muffling your pain. “ S-s-stop...we can't do this outside. ”

“ Always bragging your slutty behavior and now acting ashamed about some invisible neighbors ? "

" What about your reputation ? "

" I can fuck who the fuck i want. " He said firmly, switching his place with yours to put himself between your legs.

“ But I'm very young..."

" Right ? " He carefully answered before his fingers slipped into your pussy. " Make sure they know how much then while I'm taking care of your pretty little cunt. “

Your cheeks heated. You know he was better than you at those kinds of things, his fingers were skilled enough to make you feel so good that soft moans were escaping your mouth. He was fingering you softly at the beginning, little and gentle strokes preparing your sweet core for his thicker cock. You loved everything about his hands, but damn, his fingers were insane, they knew how to please you. You can feel the huge ones brushing against the wetness of your hole, ramming back and forth until your slick hang agape everytime he was fucking you. You squirmed when the pad of his thumb played with your throbbing clit, drawing small circles, his skin rubbing gently the swollen bud, while your core was clenched hard around his fast digits.

When you were comfortable enough, his fingers took a quicker pace, speeding his movements so fast that your own hand reached without your consent against his to attempt a slower rhythm.

“ Do that again, and i will make sure all the town know what we're currently doing. ”

You removed your hand so fast and his smile widened over his lips. He was moving so rapidly inside you, the bump of his knuckle hitting you hard, squishy sounds of your pussy getting fucked brushing your ears. you should be ashamed for enjoying the feeling of your best friend’s dad stuffing your sopping core with his fingers, but also for being wet enough to hear your own arousal wetting his skin. that was such a suffocating and weird feeling. but you were fingered too dumb to bother, and it's not like you wanted him to stop. “ Stop thinking. You don't need anything to worry about. ” He said with a hoarse voice, as his thrusts got powerful.

“ You're such a bad friend, little girl. ” He murmured while pushing roughly his fingers in your insides.

“ Think you're a better person for fucking your daughter's friend ? ” You teased back, bucking your hips widely against his soaked hand. “ I never said i was a good friend, but i can be really good , sir. ”

He moved his thumb against your lips to trace the line of your mouth, and also for shushing you. Another little cry came from your eyes because of the sweet attention he gave you, so you kissed the pad of his thumb, before sucking it slowly, your tongue rolling sweetly against his skin. He watched you sucking his finger, getting him wet with saliva and spit, but also disappearing in the inside of your mouth, the gasp sound of your throat following every of your back and forth.

You were such a dangerous temptation, the one that made him lose his mind. You could break his whole world he wanted. But he was still fingering you, pumping his fingers in and out until your folded slick left soaked on his skin.

"Keep that for me," he said, placing his cigarette between your parted lips. "Careful, sweetheart. The ashes burn, but you already know that."

It was cruel to point out your pain, still slightly warm and unhealed. But before you could reply, his mouth traced the outline of your burns, tongue slid against the hot skin while placing small kisses on them, easing the suffocating pain of the heat.

"How does it feel?"

"B-better..." you cried out.

"But you're still crying. Aren't you tired of being a fucking crybaby?"

"You're the one that makes me cry!" you answered and twitched at the hold of his hand on your thigh.

"I'm the only one, yea. Keep this in that dumb mind." he corrected you before pushing his tongue between your walls.

You really had a hard time holding the cigarette between your lips while Rafe's was eating you. His breath was heavy and hot against your dripping cunt, as he was giving you fat licks, swiping all his tongue over your pussy and clit. he's pushing it deep down your core, making sure you feel him inside your walls, while gripping tightly at your hips to make you stay still. all his mouth was over you, sweet rubs from his nose against your clit while his tongue was lolling the inside of your pussy. his hand was resting in your inner thigh, as his face was literally buried against your cunt.

The swirls of his tongue against your folds was enough to make you shiver, and breath senseless. while he was eating you out, his face glistened with your own wetness, his chin coating at your arousal. the taste of your pussy was so sweet that his mouth was sticking to it. he was crazy with his licks and was making you arche widely on the chair. you felt so good, insanely good that it was impossible for you to not move your trembling legs.

The moment he was inside you, you lost it. His dick was huge. you weren't prepared for the fatness of his cock but you couldn't think about it longer because he was driving his whole length inside your cunt, running all his inches step by step on your walls. Since the day his wife left, Rafe haven't sex with someone. you were the first one after such a long time and how bad for you, because he needed to release all the frustration inside your hole. And your pussy was perfect for that, so tight and immaculate. He was the first one inside it and he made sure to leave his print. He was going back and forth, slamming his built hips against your skin. All his thrusts were insanely hard and merciless, running on your fucked core to the point of lefting you dazy.

He knows how to fuck you, because he literally dreamed about this moment since you entered the house. He wanted to fuck your little hole for so long, fisting his own throbbing dick on the bathroom while you were with his daughter on the living room, watching some stupid movies or in her room speaking about useless boys.

And as the sweetheart you always been, you always wanted to help him. With dishes, laundry, dinner, groceries and every domestic task.

But what if he needed you for more ?

And now, he had you. all for him. Squirming and moaning against his hefty body, trying to escape from his evil strokes but you couldn't. He wasn't okay with leaving you, and especially, when he has his full aching cock buried inside your soiled walls.

He was looking at you with no shame while pounding inside you. His phone buzzed on the little table. but he ignored it. All his attention was for you. And you smiled through the pleasurable pain, through the hot tears and falling ashes on your skin.

But the second after, your phone buzzed too. but you decided to ignore it too. it wasn't like you could do a single move, and you didn't want to. You knew damn well who it was, and Rafe too. But the two of you were fucking nasty on here too care.

You literally came on his dick, soaking all his driving length. It didn't take long for him to join you, and release his seeds over your pussy.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't make you pregnant. He had his own limits.

You kissed him on the mouth, making sure to have a taste of his lips before leaving. you always loved the feeling of his warm tongue against yours, and especially this time. after a long make out, his rough muscle was highly soak and limp, following the movements of yours.

“ I really want to be with you. " You confessed. "Your age gap is not that strong..."

“ Not that strong ? I’m the dad of your best friend, angel. I shouldn't be playing around with such a young thing like you . ”

“ She's not that special for making you a dad. I could do this too...if only next time, you accept to breed me…” You said playfully, biting so hard the bottom of your lip while looking at him.

" Don't be a brat. " he warned.

" Then don't force me to be. ”

“ I can't believe i fucked you few minutes ago. ”

“ Too old to trust that dick anymore huh ? ”

“ Yes, I'm old enough, sweetheart but not for your fucking mom, so if you don't want your best friend as your beloved sister, care to shut that bratty mouth of yours before I'm making sure you finally have someone to call dad in your life. Now, go take a shower.”

Sometimes, he could be so mean. And you hated it.

“I’m better than all the women you can have.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I already have such a good relationship with your daughter.”

He almost choked with his breath as he heard your answers, didn't know if you were serious with that fucking attitude.

"I swear, you're really fucked up in the mind, young girl."

“And it’s just the beginning, sir.”

“I thought you were kind of sweet and innocent but you finally showed me your true colors.”

“I just love you so much.” you admitted. “I don't want to let you go with someone else.”

“Why don’t you go around boys your age?”

“Will you let me fuck with stupid boys my age?”

"You're free to do as you want." he lied. “I’m not your man.”

“But I don’t want to be free.” you confessed. “I want to be yours, chained to you. ”

[umamaki]

FALSE GOD ! caleb x reader

CONTAINS l&ds caleb, female reader, hurt/comfort, explicit smut, pwp, size kink if squint, caleb gloves mentioned, car sex, gendered pet names, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, edging, brief inappropriate use of evol, language, possessiveness, make up sex yay, lmk what i miss. wc 1.4k

NOTE i had an itch and i scratched it… 

divider by saradika_graphics

“There’s my girl.” 

The roof of the parking lot is supposed to be empty. Your car is the only one parked and you certainly hadn’t heard another pair of footsteps accompanying yours just now. 

You don’t allow yourself a chance to be startled by the familiar voice cutting through the night’s silence as the revolver once snug in your waistband is aimed at their throat. 

Nothing—nothing could’ve prepared you for who was at the other end. There did not exist a single universe where you would’ve been able to correctly guess, unless it’s one where dead men come back alive.

“Caleb?” It was barely a whisper, but the soft wind carried your voice to his ears. You falter and step back. The gun still points at him but it’s your arms that only slightly weaken. 

“So it really is you,” he looks different, matured. He’s grown taller and gained weight. There’s a mix of desperation and relief in the way he looks at you, “you haven’t changed a bit, Love.”

There’s a hint of a tease in his tone, but he doesn’t mean it. He watches you with bated breath, gauging your reaction. 

You finally snap out of it.

“What the fuck, Caleb? I thought you died!” Anger overcomes your initial shock. Betrayal, too. You raise the gun back at his throat, your grip on it tightening. 

“And here I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

“I don’t know where the hell you’ve been. But you know, you really had me fucking convinced.”

“Don’t be so naive. I did what I had to do.” 

“Like what, lie? To me? That’s bullshit and you know it.” His face gets blurry with every tear that begins to cloud your vision. You hastily blink them away, just to see him in clarity again. “You were my best friend.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He steps forward. He uses one hand to lower your gun away from his body, and the other to wipe the tears flowing down your cheek. He bows down to where his face is level with yours, “so let me make it up to you.”

He finally embraces you. His face is buried into your shoulder and he holds you so tightly that you can hardly muster up enough breath to tell him to relax. He smells like home. 

“I missed you, you know. I missed you the whole time. You’re my girl, after all.” He looks you in the eyes and there’s earnest in every part of him, you don’t doubt it. 

“I thought I lost you,”

“I’m here now. Let me take care of you, make up for the time we lost, hm?”

He ghosts his lips up over yours but waits for your confirmation. You don’t hesitate to close the gap. He immediately devours your mouth with his, kissing you back with such fervor that you are firmly pressed against the side of your car. 

You think you feel drops of rain fall down on you, but Caleb is quick. He opens the your back door and positions you at the entrance. 

“And look what I can do now,” his hands settle on the top edge of the door and you’re not sure why that is, until you feel an invisible force thrust you to lay across the back seats. The top of your head brushes against his knuckles but it doesn’t hurt. 

The door is slammed shut and Caleb is immediately back on you, wasting no time in kissing and sucking a trail down from your jaw to your neck. 

“We probably shouldn’t.” He’d changed over the time he was gone, that part was true. He carried around an air of danger and sin. However you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just the least bit tempted by it. 

“Yeah? Says who? There’s no one else here but us.” You gasp when he nips your neck where your pulse is, soothing it with his tongue afterwards. “You’re a big girl now, aren’t you? Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

His hands circle your inner thigh. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing to you. You’re practically soaked through to your pants. You regret what you said and shake your head, taking it back. 

“What is it? Use your words baby,”

“Don’t stop. Please, Caleb, don’t stop.”

He parts from your neck and lowers himself to make out with your tits through your clothes. The pressure coming from him and the friction of your clothes rubbing against your sensitive nipples causes a moan of pleasure to escape from your lips. 

You kick off your shoes and he helps with pulling both your pants and underwear off with one fluid motion. He positions your thighs to rest atop each of his shoulders, sloppily kissing the inside of them. Your hands naturally find themselves grasping his hair. 

“This all for me?” He begins with a tentative lick to your clit, but it’s not enough. You pull him closer to your heat through his hair, all the confirmation he needs to fully make out with your pussy. 

“Ngh—Caleb…” You whimper his name in between moans. Your heels involuntarily dig into his back, hard, but still he doesn’t budge. He sucks on your clit and licks at your folds with the same intensity as before. 

“You taste good, baby. All mine.” He rises to kiss you, failing to neglect your lower half as his gloved fingers plunge themselves in your aching hole, thumb rubbing circles on your clit. 

The warmth inside you increases with each thrust of Caleb’s fingers. Your moans become louder and you become limp in his hold. You’re ready to reach your climax, so when he abruptly rips his fingers out of you, you can’t help but let out a whine. 

You’re out of breath and confused. In your haze, he pulls off his belt and frees his hard cock from his pants, stroking it for a moment of relief. 

He was big. Not surprising, given the way his body fills up the enclosed space of your car. Everything about him was so, so big. 

He appears to be able to read your mind. “You can take it, can’t you?” To that you answer with a nod, eyes not leaving his length. “Good girl.”

You’re still sensitive from when he fingered you and the subsequent intrusion is a mix of pleasure and pain. He takes satisfaction in seeing you take him so well, inch by inch. He likes how your pretty mouth hangs open and how your belly rises and falls with each labored breath. 

After what feels like an eternity, he’s stretched you out to the hilt. You’re convinced you’ve never felt so utterly and completely full as you do now. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He presses a hand down on your stomach solely to feel himself inside you. 

“Just, move. Please—” You’re growing desperate and restless. 

“Is that the tone you want to use with me?” He draws back so only his tip remains inside you. “But since you said please…” You scream when his cock slams back in and starts going at a ruthless pace. You hear lightning strike in the distance.

“Fuck fuck, Feels s’good Caleb—” 

“That’s it, pretty girl. You’re doing so well. Missed this so much.”

Your orgasm comes fast this time. It’s blinding and encompassing and it takes all your breath away. He takes you through it, continuing his pace and rubbing your clit for added relief. He follows suit soon after, finishing inside you with one last thrust and collapsing on top of you without pulling out. The weight is comfortable, warm. 

Your windows are covered in a layer of fog and the rain outside has become a wet downpour. The muffled sound of raindrops surround the two of you and you think you could fall asleep in this exact moment.  

“I’m still mad at you.” Your hands find their way back to playing with his hair.

He chuckles and his whole body vibrates as he does, “I know, Babygirl. I know.”

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about older bf!simon that can’t get it up.

seriously.

friday night at the end of a long week, curled under his arm- not an inch of your mouth that his tongue hasn’t covered.

the palm of your hand has been working him over his trousers for what feels like the better part of an hour.

no dice.

“m’sorry, sweet’art”

simon looks spent, absolutely knackered.

“s’all good, we don’t have to”

he groans, utter frustration written all over his face as he picks you up to plonk you down in his lap.

“but i want to”

he wants to, he wants it more than he wants breath in his fucking lungs. his body just can’t hack it.

ultimate betrayal.

burying your face where his neck meets his shoulder, your hand slips between the two of you. gently stroking his soft cock in your hand, you feel the tension start to leave him.

“can still play with it a little, f’you want?”

the sound of your voice, the heat of your hand- simon’s hips jolt when you pull back his foreskin to rub over the head.

his breath stutters as his chest deflates, arm wrapping around your waist so he could slip his fingers between your thighs.

“y’good to me, sweet’art- jus’ like that”

[brunchable]

Under The Mistletoe | B. B.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F! Reader Themes: Fake relationship, forced proximity, enemies-to-lovers(ish), rom-com Summary: When your meddling family won’t stop asking about you love life, you roped your arch-nemesis Bucky into pretending to be your boyfriend for Christmas dinner at your parents house. It was pay back for the massive favor he owes you, so he had no choice but to agree. A/N : This oneshot is part of my 4K Follower christmas themed celebration. I hope you enjoy this first one! Thank you so much for reading my stories! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The smell of pine and cinnamon wafts through the air as you adjust the cuffs of your sweater, glaring at the man currently making himself at home in your parents’ living room. James Buchanan Barnes—your nemesis, your tormentor, the human equivalent of a lump of coal—lounges on the couch like he’s been a part of your family for years. Your mom already adores him.

“James, more eggnog?” she chirps, holding out a festive mug.

“Of course,” Bucky replies with a smile so charming, you almost believe it’s real. Almost.

You, on the other hand, are clinging to your sanity by the thinnest strand of tinsel. He’s only here because he owes you. Big time. And because your family won’t stop asking when you’ll finally settle down and find someone “worth bringing home for Christmas.”

When you roped Bucky into this charade, you expected the bare minimum. A few fake smiles. Maybe holding your hand once or twice. What you did not expect was him waltzing in here, winning over your family, and actually knowing things about you.

“Y/N hates marshmallows in her hot chocolate,” Bucky says smoothly, stopping your dad mid-scoop. “She’s all about the whipped cream.”

You freeze in the doorway, clutching a tray of cookies like a lifeline. How does he know that? You never even told him that. Your dad raises an eyebrow at you, impressed, while you try to recover from the shock.

“Right,” you stammer, narrowing your eyes at Bucky. “Because you’re so attentive.”

He smirks, the twinkle in his eye more annoying than any Christmas light you’ve ever seen. “It’s a gift.”

× × × ×

The cozy living room, aglow with soft Christmas lights, feels oppressively warm. Not because of the crackling fire or the wool socks your mom forced everyone to wear, but because Bucky’s presence next to you is positively suffocating. His thigh, firm and annoyingly warm, is pressed against yours, and every time he shifts, your nerves jolt like a live wire.

“You’re twitching again,” Bucky murmurs under his breath, leaning closer so his lips almost brush your ear. “Relax. If you keep acting like this, your mom’s going to think I broke your heart or something.”

“Maybe I should tell her you’re insufferable, so she kicks you out,” you snap, voice low enough not to disturb the room. Your family is fully engrossed in Elf, but you swear Bucky’s gaze burns hotter than the fire.

“Go ahead,” he whispers back, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m her favorite now, you know.”

You resist the urge to stab him with the candy cane you’ve been holding for the last ten minutes. Instead, you muster your sweetest fake smile and clap your hands. “Well, Mom, it’s getting late, and I think Bucky has a long drive ahead of him—”

Your mom, standing with a tray of cookies like some sort of Christmas matriarch, freezes mid-step. 

“What?” she exclaims, her eyes wide and full of betrayal. “You’re not staying, Bucky? But I prepared Y/N’s room for the two of you!”

The room goes dead silent.

Bucky’s head swivels toward you so fast, you hear a faint crack. 

“She didn’t tell me about that,” he says, his voice strangled with barely concealed panic. He offers you a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t know we’d be, uh, bunking together.”

You grit your teeth, your face burning hotter than the fireplace. “That’s because I didn’t know,” you hiss, shooting a glare at your mom that could melt Frosty the Snowman.

“How could you make your boyfriend drive all the way out here just to send him back into the snow?” your mom demands, hands on her hips like a Christmas tyrant. “Absolutely not. He’s staying. Come on, Bucky, I’ll show you two to your room.”

“Our room?” you squeak, but your mom is already bustling out of the room, and Bucky, to your utter horror, is rising from the couch to follow her.

He pauses just long enough to lean down and mutter, “This just got a whole lot more interesting, sweetheart.” The grin he flashes is wolfish, and you resist the urge to throttle him with your flannel sleeve.

The room is straight out of a Hallmark Christmas special. The fireplace is lit, the bed is perfectly made with a festive quilt and decorative pillows, and the faint smell of pine fills the air. There’s even mistletoe hanging in the corner, mocking you.

Bucky steps in, glancing around, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and terror. 

“Wow,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Cozy.”

Your mom claps her hands together, beaming. “I knew you two would love it. Oh, and don’t worry, honey, I put the extra pillows in the closet in case you need them.” She winks at you, winks, before spinning on her heel and leaving you to your doom.

The moment the door clicks shut, you whirl on Bucky. “Don’t say a word.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, doll,” he drawls, wandering over to the bed and plopping down on it like he owns the place. He stretches out, arms behind his head, and sighs dramatically. “Comfy. We’re gonna have a great night.”

You stare at him, horrified. “You’re sleeping on the floor.”

He raises an eyebrow, patting the quilt beside him. “I don’t think your mom would approve.”

You throw a decorative pillow at his face, which he catches with infuriating ease. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? You’re the one who dragged me here.”

“You owed me!”

“And I’m paying you back,” he says with a grin, tossing the pillow back at you. “With interest, apparently.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I cannot believe this is happening.”

Bucky leans forward, his grin softening just a touch. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just one night. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Somehow, that promise doesn’t reassure you in the slightest. You glare at him one last time before grabbing a blanket from the closet and stomping to the couch by the fireplace.

“Where are you going?” he calls after you.

“To sleep.”

“Suit yourself.” 

You don’t have to look to know he’s smirking again. You grab another pillow and resist the urge to launch it at his stupidly handsome face.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

× × × ×

The fire had long since died, leaving the room shrouded in a cold that no amount of decorative holiday cheer could banish. You’d been curled up on the couch under a threadbare blanket that smelled faintly of cinnamon and humiliation for hours, but now you were shivering so hard you were worried your teeth might chatter loud enough to wake the whole house.

You shot a death glare at Bucky, sprawled out on the bed like a smug prince in his flannel pajamas, the quilt pulled up to his chin. The nerve of him actually letting you sleep on the couch while he hogged the bed like he didn’t owe you his very existence—or at least this ridiculous favor.

Finally, when your toes felt like icicles and you were seriously debating setting your pride on fire just to warm up, you caved. You untangled yourself from the blanket, muttering curses under your breath, and tiptoed toward the bed.

It would have been stealthy. It would have been smooth. Except your foot made direct, agonizing contact with the solid oak footboard.

Pain exploded through your toe, and you bit back a screech so feral you probably looked like a Christmas banshee. Instead, you crumpled to the floor, clutching your foot and mouthing a stream of silent profanities that would make Santa's naughty list blush.

“Mother F—!” you hissed at yourself, wincing as you hobbled the rest of the way to the bed. You crawled onto the empty side like some kind of injured burglar, trying to be as silent as possible. Your toe throbbed in time with your heartbeat, but you focused on one thing: the warm cocoon of blankets just inches away.

Finally, you slid under the covers, sighing as the heat from the quilt enveloped you. Bliss. Sweet, sweet bliss. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t even notice—

“Could’ve just asked, you know.”

You nearly launched yourself out of the bed in shock, your heart leaping into your throat. “What the—!” you whisper-screeched, clutching the quilt to your chest.

Bucky’s voice, low and laced with amusement, drifted through the darkness. “I was awake the whole time.”

“You—!” Words failed you as your face burned with embarrassment. “Then why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I was curious how far you’d go before giving up.” You could hear the grin in his voice.

“You’re the worst.”

“Debatable. I didn’t laugh when you stubbed your toe.”

“You heard that?!”

“Sweetheart, I think the neighbours heard that.” His shoulders shook with silent laughter as you stared at him, outraged.

“I hate you,” you snapped, yanking the quilt tighter around you and turning your back on him.

But before you could stew in your annoyance, you felt a hand reach over and pull part of the blanket from you, wrapping it snugly around your side. You froze as his voice softened, amusement fading.

“Relax. I don’t bite. Unless you’re still mad about the couch.”

“I am.”

“Noted.” He shifted, and his voice dropped lower, warmer. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You turned over, your curiosity finally getting the better of you. Facing Bucky’s silhouette in the faint moonlight streaming through the window, you squinted at him. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

He exhaled softly, like he’d been waiting for you to ask. Without a word, he reached over and flicked on the small lamp on his side of the bed, filling the room with a soft golden glow. The shadows on his face softened, and he turned to face you fully, propping his head up on his hand.

“I’m not used to a soft, warm, comfortable bed,” he said simply, his voice low and quiet.

That wasn’t the answer you expected. “Why not?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

Bucky’s gaze flickered to the blanket between you before settling back on your face. “I usually sleep on the floor.”

Your jaw dropped. “The floor? Why?”

He shrugged like it was no big deal, like it didn’t hurt to admit. “I have a bed,” he said casually, “but… being uncomfortable has kind of become my normal.”

Your heart sank at his admission. The way he said it—so matter-of-factly, like he didn’t even consider it strange—made something in your chest tighten. You swallowed hard, trying to shove down the wave of sympathy threatening to show on your face.

“Oh,” you said, clearing your throat, but it came out too soft, too affected. You forced yourself to straighten up, busying your hands by tucking the quilt tighter around you. “Well, uh… this bed uncomfortably soft, so, lucky you?”

You wanted to kick yourself for how awkward that sounded. But he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he just chuckled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. 

“Yeah, lucky me.”

The room fell into silence, save for the soft crackle of the dying embers in the fireplace. You tried to avoid his gaze, but something in the room caught your eye, and you froze.

Dangling right above the headboard, in plain sight, was a sprig of mistletoe. The ribbon holding it swayed slightly, mocking you with its festive cheer.

Your brain scrambled. How had you missed that earlier? Why on earth was it there? Did mom hang it on purpose? Of course she did! That woman was a menace.

You could feel Bucky’s gaze lingering on you, and your heart thumped louder with each passing second. You knew it was only a matter of time before he noticed the stupid sprig of mistletoe dangling above the headboard, so you needed to distract him.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, his brow quirking up in suspicion as he started to turn his head.

“Nothing!” you yelped, throwing the quilt over your face in a panic. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing. Goodnight!”

For a second, there was silence. Then, the soft creak of the bed as Bucky shifted, his voice low and amused. “Wait a second…”

You could practically hear the smirk spreading across his face as realization dawned.

“Oh, would you look at that.”

Your stomach flipped as you slowly peeked out from under the quilt. Sure enough, Bucky was staring right at the mistletoe, his lips curving into the most maddeningly smug grin you’d ever seen.

“Mistletoe,” he said, his tone practically dripping with glee. “Right above our heads. What are the odds, huh?”

“Coincidence,” you mumbled, pulling the blanket back over your face.

He chuckled, his voice warm and teasing. “You know what they say about mistletoe, don’t you?”

“Don’t,” you groaned, your voice muffled by the quilt.

“Oh, but I think I have to,” he replied, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “It’s tradition, after all.”

You peeked out again, glaring at him. “It’s not tradition if we just pretend it doesn’t exist.”

He tilted his head, mock-pondering. “Hmm. Ignoring it feels a little… Grinch-like, don’t you think? And you wouldn’t want to ruin Christmas, would you?”

“I swear to God, Bucky—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in, his face closer than you expected, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “What? Afraid you might enjoy it?”

You scoffed, your heart racing. “As if.”

You could practically feel your heart trying to escape your chest as Bucky inched closer, the infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something else there too—something warmer, more intent.

“Oh, so it wouldn’t bother you at all?” he teased, his smirk widening. “Not even a little kiss?”

“Not in a million years,” you shot back, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his grin softening, “you’re shaking. Maybe it would bother you.”

“Bucky—”

But you never got to finish. And just then, he leaned forward and kissed your lips. Warm, masculine lips were pressed to yours. It wasn’t rushed or teasing—it was warm, gentle, and infuriatingly confident. Like he’d been waiting for this. Like he wasn’t the least bit surprised by how perfectly your lips fit together.

Your initial plan was to push him away—firmly, dramatically, maybe even with a good shove to his ridiculously broad chest—but your brain short-circuited the moment his hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. Instead, you melted into him, your traitorous body leaning closer without permission.

It was supposed to be a simple, obligatory mistletoe kiss. But the way he kissed you made the world tilt, his lips moving with a deliberate tenderness that made your stomach somersault. He felt you quiver beneath his touch, but he wanted to comfort you—his tongue delved your mouth slowly and you parted your lips willingly and welcomed him. This was enough encouragement for Bucky; he sucked your tongue sensually, and you nibbled his lower lip.

Every kiss he gave felt like a slow unravelling and intense, as if he was savouring the act as much as the reaction it drew from you. Bucky’s fingers traced along your jaw, tilting your face toward him with a tender authority that left no room for hesitation. His thumb brushed over your cheek in a soothing rhythm, contrasting with the heat and urgency of his lips. When he pulled back, his eyes locked with yours—dark with desire, soft with something unspoken—before he leaned in again, claiming your mouth once more.

You let him in, your lips parting as his tongue slipped past, tangling with yours again in an unhurried, sensuous dance that sent shivers down your spine. He tilted his head, exploring every curve of your mouth, his kisses leaving a heated trail that set your skin ablaze. Your lips found their way to his jawline, pressing soft kisses along his stubble, the faint roughness amplifying the sensitivity of your own. When you returned to his lips, the hunger in his kiss mirrored your own as you teased his tongue with yours, your movements bold and enticing.

The shift in your energy didn’t go unnoticed. You felt him tense, his restraint hanging by a thread as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing into yours. His hands gripped your waist, anchoring you in place as his kisses became hungrier, pulling quiet moans and ragged breaths from you. The sound of your pleasure seemed to fuel him, his control slipping further as he pressed closer, his arousal hard and insistent against your thigh, a tangible reminder of the tension thrumming between you. Every kiss, every touch, felt like a declaration, his desire spilling over and igniting something equally fierce in you.

When he pulled back it almost felt like he had to force himself to but he stayed close, his forehead almost brushing yours. His eyes searched your face, his smirk gone, replaced by something quieter, something more serious.

“Well,” he said softly, his voice lower than you’d ever heard it, “guess the mistletoe’s not so bad after all.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. “Have I told you I hate you?”

“And yet, here we are,” he teased, though his smirk was softer now, his thumb still brushing your cheek like he hadn’t realized he was still holding you.

You pushed his hand away—gently, because you were not going to think about how good it felt—and flopped back against the pillows, groaning into the quilt. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course not,” he said with a chuckle, settling back onto his side of the bed. “Just a harmless little kiss. Totally meaningless.”

You peeked out from under the quilt to glare at him, but the way he was looking at you—soft, amused, and maybe a little too smug—made your pulse spike all over again.

“Goodnight, Barnes,” you muttered, burrowing back into the covers, determined to ignore the way your lips still tingled.

“Goodnight, doll,” he replied, his voice warm with amusement—and something else you didn’t want to think about.

The room fell quiet again, save for the faint crackle of the dying fire. But as you lay there, trying and failing to stop replaying the kiss in your head, you realized one thing: mistletoe was officially the most dangerous Christmas decoration of all time.

tags: @lomlbuckybarnes @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mostlymarvelgirl

@missvelvetsstuff @unaxv @carnal-vogue @bmyva1entine @wheredidiputmyfish

@thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @wanda-widow @filmologetica @awaywithtime @Thealyrs

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @winchestert101 @strawberrybisou @unaxv @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fynnwolff @veronicapaula

[shotmrmiller]

simon isn't a man you take home. he's for the literal streets. dresses like he's homeless because all that matters is that his throwing knives and handguns are pristine. the only reason his home is spotless is because he doesn't live in it, it's all for show. his pantry has only salt and mouse traps, his fridge a long expired bottle of ketchup and something that if anyone ate, they'd gain superpowers.

he's got a crazy look in his eye, and who can blame him after all that shit he's been through? gut-wrenching betrayal, unimaginable torture, then buried alive shoulder to shoulder with his ol rotting buddy, ol decaying pal? he joined the military a butcher's apprentice, and now he's an echo of what simon riley used to be, a fading silhouette that wanders the corridors in base. a ghost.

he has to play music whenever he's not at work just to keep the screaming voices in his head at bay, and it has to be loud enough to drown out the incessant high-pitched ringing in his ears. a cacophony of noise that wears his thin string of patience into in-existence.

he's a killer, he's a man who's donned his skull mask for so long that he's forgotten the face underneath.

you don't bring a man like him home. and when you eventually did, even your parents had agreed.

he looks one clown short of a circus.

he hovers over you like a ghost. (ha)

possessive, obsessive, paranoid.

he'll kill you if you try to leave him.

simon heard everything, not like they had tried to keep their voice down. it hadn't really mattered to him, empty words pelting knotted flesh only a sharpened knife could cut through. but you hadn't taken any of it.

his little hero, coming to his defense. it'd been the first time- in a long time- that his icy cold, tiny heart skipped a beat.

simon's always been his own savior. he saved himself from the shit life he had with his family by joining the army. he'd clawed his way out of his own grave, freshly turned soil stuck under his fingernails for weeks. he'd gone after the head of roba, in the name of vengeance. even now, he's a part of the justice league, the task force 141.

unsung heroes.

and here you were, standing in your parent's kitchen, all bared teeth and scalding temper- over him.

simon's so aroused that when he rises from where he's seated, he sways on his feet. there's no stopping him from briskly walking over to you and hoisting you up and over his shoulder, heading for the door.

there's no stopping him from throwing you into the backseat, and climbing in after.

you weakly try to stop him with stammered words, just wanting to know what the fuck he's doing but when simon starts to impatiently undo the button of your jeans, his confined manhood pushing up underneath you, it clicks.

you don't want him to stop when the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your slippery clit with expertise, thick fingers curling inside your swollen cunt.

you definitely don't want him to stop when his cock slides through your slick folds, his hand wrapped around his thick base. his tip pushes inside, mild discomfort already flaring. gravity then does the work, slowly sinking you onto him until his thighs are flush against your arse. the sweet, decadent burn of him splitting you in half sparking your nerve endings alight, from the waist to your knees.

you beg him not to stop when he fucks you in earnest; desire, sticky and wet, dampening the coarse trimmed hair of his cock. the air inside the truck muggy, heavy and thick with sex. he places his hand under your navel, right when he knows he is, and grunts when he gently presses down. the noises coming from you and your sodden pussy are obscene, lewd, downright vulgar and he wonders if you'd let him record it- to replace the banal music he usually listens to.

your breath hitches beautifully, and simon makes sure to watch how you let go of his shoulder to weave that hand downward to take yourself over the edge.

"impatient little pet, can't even wait f'me to get ya there, eh?" the low chuckle he lets out is cut short at the feeling of your slick walls fluttering around him, making him groan. he keeps his sharp gaze on you when your body tenses, back arching as you jerk fast, little circles over your pearl. he plants his feet and begins to thrust upward, your weight nothing to his strength and-

how beautiful you look in the pleasure he brings you.

it's cliche, truly, that he comes when you do, but he couldn't care less in this instance. your cunt squeezes him like a silken fist, a tight vice that milks his cock almost painfully so. his grip around your waist is bruising, but it only adds to the sensation- the delightful bite of pain prolonging your pleasure.

the base of his spine tingles from his climax, and his breathing is ragged. alive. your hands skim the wide breadth of his chest, as if brushing off the dirt he'd once been buried under.

his little hero.

you took him home, so now he takes you to his.

(...don't look in the kitchen, pet.)

[oceantornadoo]

ch7 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: oral sex both ways

masterlist | next

John Price thrives on routine. His days are filled with meetings and bloodshed, negotiations and betrayal. Routine keeps him sane.

Unfortunately, that resolution crumbled the moment he gained a wife. It’s getting harder and harder to leave in the morning, to ignore the fluttering of your eyelashes as you feign sleep. That’s what he blames for this break in routine.

The morning after, he stays for ten minutes instead of five. Counts the ticks of the old clock in the corner of his room as he memorizes the scent of your skin. You always end up with your head in the crook of his neck, legs tangled around his torso. He’s never been much of a back sleeper, but now it’s the last thing he cares about. It’s the sound of your breathing, the plushness of your skin, the brush of your chest against his. When he eventually gets up, he doesn’t look at the bed until he’s ready. If he glanced back at your eyes in half-slits, shifting closer to his pillow to soak up the remaining warmth he left in the bed, he would never leave the room. 

At night, though, he succumbs to his weakness. He creates a new routine.

It’s the start of a new week after the getting-off confession. John had business in Glasgow over the weekend, lonely and cold in his hotel bed, but now he’s back.

“So Laswell sent me the contract. I definitely have enough to pay in full, but I’m thinking of paying half and then doing installments for the rest so I can have enough for immediate repairs. What do you-John?” John’s nodding along to your rant, disappearing under the covers to the place he’s been thinking about all weekend. The blanket’s a bit heavy, limiting his breathing, but it’s worth it for the sight of your clothed cunt, waiting for him.

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.” Instead of following his orders, you peel back the cover until his head peeks out. “What are you doing?” He rubs circles into your thighs, reveling in their softness. John moves upwards, teasing the fabric of your pajama shorts. “You miss me this weekend?” He murmurs, not sure if he’s talking to his wife or her cunt. Both seem happy to see him, if that’s any consolation.

“No, I actually got the best sleep of my- hey!” He shoves his face into the triangle of your lap, sniffing with wonder. “Fuck, I missed ya.” You’re silent at his admission, but your hand finds a hold in his hair. “You did?” It’s soft and unsure, forcing him to rip his focus away from your pussy. “I did.” You bite your lip adorably. You tug him forward, gripping his scalp hard, until his face is in front of yours. 

“Maybe next time, you take me with you.” Absolutely not. He was meeting with a new prospective manufacturer, shady and dangerous. He was not putting you in any sort of danger. John shakes his head, heart clenching as your face falls. “Not the kind of place fer you, baby. Gonna let me eat you out now?” You nod, but your face is still hard with repressed emotion. He kisses your forehead, trailing down to your cheek, then nose. “Give us a kiss then.” It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed him first, the notion sending blood straight to his cock. The kiss is short and sweet. Can’t believe how quickly you’ve gotten him under your spell. Two bloody weeks. He pulls away, a final kiss laid to your jaw. “Keep talkin’. Don’t mind me.”

The new routine continues for weeks. He gets you off a different way every night, from fingers to tongue to plain old grinding. And then he goes to sleep with you tucked to his side, taking care of himself in the morning. John needs you to be the one to ask to fuck, to reciprocate. The alternative leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Plus, every time he gets you off, you fall asleep immediately, like it’s the only way you’ll go to bed. It’s terribly endearing.

A month in, he starts noticing changes. The furniture in the sitting room, for one. They used to be 18th century relics, designed to make sure a guest didn’t overstay their welcome. Except now they’re eclectic, blue and green against the cream walls. The couches look comfortable, like you could spend a whole day there. The paintings change as well, from Rembrandt to Monet and Picasso. The impressionist works, blues and greens and yellows, work well with the new furniture, making his flat seem like a home. When he asks you, all you do is shrug and say something smart about updating his old man apartment. He leaves bite marks on your thighs that night. 

It’s a beautiful Friday night when John gets home early, around 9. He usually gets text updates from Terrance, your commandeered security guard that Price assigned to you full time, about your movements. You’ll usually get home at 7, but nothing yet. Two hours late. He calls Terrance and gets his voicemail. Highly unusual. Calmly, he presses on your contact's name, and it goes to voicemail. Three times.

Fingers shaking, he calls Kyle.

“Sir?”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“My fuckin’ wife, Garrick.”

“Isn’t she with Terrance?” “No one’s answerin’ their goddamn phone.” Gaz sighs on the other end, like this is an inconvenience and not his wife they’re talking about. Keys click, then a mouse, before Gaz answers. “They’re at the bookstore. Been there since this mornin’, sir.” John drags a hand down his face, then grabs the keys to the car he barely uses. 

“Garrick, this is the last time you take more than three seconds t’ know where she is. I want a full team on ‘er at all times. I won’t hesitate t’ assign someone else as my Head of Security, someone who isn’t lettin’ their judgement take over their goddamn job. Copy?” He hasn’t dressed down one of his men, especially Kyle, but he’s tired of the man’s judgement on this marriage. What’s done is done. “Yessir.” John hangs up, too miffed to say goodbye. He’s got a wife to find.

-

Your bookstore is coming along well. It’s been over a month since you’ve been married, a month of John’s fingers and tongue loosening you in more ways than one. You swear you’ve developed stronger thigh muscles, simply from the orgasms he coaxes from you night after night. And then he just goes to sleep. You’ve felt his cock in fleeting touches, brushing against your thigh or hard in his lap as you grind on him. He never takes it out, never drags your hand in that grueling way men do with shady eyes and slimy smirks. Every night, he asks you if you hate him, and every night, your lie convinces him less and less. 

And every night, you think of how adamant he was against you joining him. His insistence that it “wasn’t the kind of place for you.” Your old problem with him has faded, a mess of childhood fears rolled into new ones. In its place are your insecurities, the word bastard floating through your head every time you think of his rejection. The clause in the marriage contract. It rolls together into a simple thought: he doesn’t trust you. That’s why he’s barely let you in on his business, content to stick with late night chats and orgasms. It should be fine, it should be what you wanted, but instead you feel a hollow hole in your heart where the word ‘friends’ lives. Even friends should share their secrets. 

But back to the bookstore. Your new baby. This first month was full of cleaning, dusting out odd corners and greasing creaky door hinges. You listed a hiring notice on online job boards, looking for an assistant to help with the grunt work. Which landed you Phil, a wonderful addition to the team. He was around your age, an American with sandy blond hair. Handsome in a basic way, something you noted and never thought of again. Terrance ran a background check on him, something you gladly consented to, and insisted on helping you interview him. It took a week of recon, but he was officially your new assistant as of two weeks ago. An amazing help around the store, handy with tools. You’d told Phil that you were the daughter of a lord, a minor lie to explain the bodyguard. He shrugged it off, the ex-pat seemingly used to the oddities of London.

Now that the space had been cleared, it was finally time to paint. Terrance insisted that he couldn’t help too much, his main duty too important, but with the help of Phil, you convinced him to paint the walls with you. You all left your phones in the half-fixed office, donning plastic sheets to protect from paint splatter. Your business plan, formed from your downtime during the day and shaped by your late-night conversations with John, was to have a store section and a community section. The community section would be at the front, with a beautiful light blue accent wall, perfect for book influencers. It would be surrounded by comfy couches and warm lighting, complete with a cafe space you intended to build out. Your idea reminded you of the library waiting hours away, with its own fireplace and furniture. You decided to recreate that cozy feeling and bring it to the public.

Farther into the building there would be bigger shelves for rows and rows of books, organized by type. The color scheme was influenced by the one in your home, as you decided to hand paint metal shelves light blues, greens, and yellows. Most would be bought, but you were planning a book drive far out for people to donate old books and get discounts on new ones. It’s an idea you had wanted to do in Manchester but never got around to.

Now that the front of the store was cleared out and bare, it was time to paint. The hours fly by as you paint the light blue wall while Phil and Terrance work on a cream wall on the other side. When you blink, the sun is already down, and your watch is flashing 10PM at you.

“Guys it’s almost ten! I think we ought to lay down the brushes for tonight.” Phil opened his mouth to respond but is cut off by a harsh pounding at the locked front door. It was supposed to be clear, but there was newspaper on all of your windows to prevent the glass from getting paint on it. Frowning, you moved to open the door, but Terrance stopped you with his arm out, his other hand reaching for his gun. “Go into the office, ma’am.” You followed his command reluctantly, Phil following on your heels as you went into the back office. It didn’t have any windows, so it was a space you did not want to be in for a while. Phil looked nervous, running his hand through his hair and tapping his foot on the ground.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Phil. Probably one of the neighbors complaining about our music.” You insisted on a jam session as you painted, blasting music from a speaker you stole from the Castle. “Shady things happen in London no matter what time, boss.” You shrug, picking up your phone to quell your nerves. A glance at your notifications explains everything.

Oh no.

You burst from the office, phone already returning one of your many missed calls. That’s when you ran into your husband, face hitting his hard chest with a harsh oof. “Christ, sweetheart, gave me a near heart attack.” John steadied your shoulders with his large hands, anchoring you in his grip. His brow was furrowed, eyes crinkling in worry as he scanned you up and down like he was looking for injuries. “You didn’t answer-” “Everything good out here?” Fuck. Phil.

“Who are you?” It was a tone you’d never heard come out of John’s mouth. You imagined it was his mafia man voice, gruff and short like he had a better place to be. John shoves you behind him, reaching for his gun. You rolled your eyes, hand covering his to stop a potential shoot-out. 

“John, he’s my-” “Assistant, sir. Good to put a name to the face, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You could practically hear Phil winking, laying on the Southern charm. You wrestled out of John’s grip, stepping out from behind his back. Phil’s hand was out for a handshake, but John hadn’t taken it, scanning the man up and down with suspicious eyes. “Funny, ‘cause I’ve never heard about you.” John tore his gaze away to catch yours, eyes slanted in anger. “I don’t have to tell you everything, John. I’ve got my own life, you know.” He looked almost hurt at your words, which couldn’t be true. Sure, you were fucking, but it’s not like this was a normal marriage. You knew he wouldn’t have wanted Phil working with you, just on the basis of him being a man. You didn’t want to be micromanaged by your own husband, so you simply hadn’t got around to telling him. 

“C’mere.” John tugged you towards the office, his grip hard. You could hear Terrance telling Phil to go home and wait for an update. Probably for the best. You imagined Terrance following him out, then debriefing with John’s driver about how much of an asshole their boss was.

“Why didn’t ya tell me?” John asked, arms crossed and face red. He’d shut the office door but remained standing since there wasn’t any furniture yet. “Because I knew you’d get like this.” You spit out, crossing your arms to mirror his. “Fuckin’ concerned fer the security of my wife? Tha’s a bad reaction?” You took a step back from him, crossing your arms tighter so you could pinch your waist, a reminder to stay strong.

“Controlling and caveman. This is my place of work, John, and you’ve embarrassed me in front of my coworker.” He doesn’t meet your eye, staring at the door so hard it might burst into flames. He looks like a predator ready to pounce, muscles trembling from restraint. “Ya don’t realize how many enemies I have. Every person needs t’ be checked.” Did he think you were stupid? “I had Terrance check him out. I know you don’t want me around your work, but I’m not an idiot, John.”

His rejection of your offer to travel with him weeks ago had stung more than you cared to admit. He clearly didn’t trust you, only seeing you as someone to fuck around with. You didn’t realize how far that lack of trust went.

“He should’ve reported it to Gaz.” John mutters. “He did. I know that for a fact.” John ran a hand through his hair, then dipped down to tug at his tie. “He didn’t fuckin’ tell me. Christ, he’s worse than I thought.” You wanted to ask what that meant, but you bit your lip instead. He obviously didn’t want to tell you.

“Look, I know I’m a bastard and you had that goddamn clause in the contract, but you can trust me. I’m not running around behind your back.” That got John’s gaze to snap back to you, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Tha’s wha’ ya think this is about?” You nod, suddenly unsure. “Sweetheart, that was Gaz’s idea. T’ see if you’d argue. I intended for you to ask fer another cheatin’ clause fer me, but ya didn’t so I let it go. ‘S nothin’ like tha’. Plus, I didn’t know ya then. I know ya now.” Oh.

“So you trust me?” What about the trip? You wanted to ask, but you figure that would show your hand too much. John nods slowly, uncrossing his hands to put them on his hips. “Don’t care tha’ yer a bastard. ‘M not fuckin’ anyone else, either. I’m just concerned fer yer safety.” He takes a few steps towards you, gauging your reaction to see if you step back. You don’t, uncrossing your arms and praying they don’t shake. He grabs your hands in his own, blue eyes swimming with openness. There are so many things you want to ask him about: your childhood, his father, the future. They all fall to the wayside when he leans down to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips against yours. “If I didn’t trust ya, ya wouldn’t sleep in my bed.” He kisses your forehead, then cheek, before pulling back. “I need ya t’ believe me.” He demands it seriously. A sudden rush of affection hits your heart. He looks so truthful, so concerned, and you want to show him that same care back.

You lower to your knees. John steps back, unsure. “Sweetheart, ya don’t have to.” You shake your head, beckoning him to come near. “I want to.”

John tugs off the blazer he’s wearing, folding it into a light pillow. He squats down on his haunches, eyes on yours. A warm hand brushes your knees, urging you up so he can slip the blazer under them. He then stands; blue eyes dark as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Go’on, baby. Take whatever you want.”

You reach for his black belt, unfastening it with trembling hands. It unclips with ease, and John’s hands, hairy and veiny and strong, cloud your vision as he unfurls it from his belt loops. You continue downwards, undoing the midnight black of his button. You unzip slowly, licking your lips in anticipation. His fingers brush back the creases on your forehead, trailing down to brush the shell of your ear. “Feel ok?” You nod at his question, cupping him through his boxers. John releases a sharp exhale, a heady sense of power coming over you. You work the pants down fully to give you room, petting him this way and that.

Finally, you peel down the dark fabric of his boxers. He’s hairy but well-maintained, similar to his fuzzy torso you’ve felt in bed. His cock is thick and heavy, wet with precum as it slaps against his upper thigh. You tuck his boxers down to give you room, then start exploring. Kitten licks to the base of him, his hair tickling your nose. Your hand joins you to squeeze his balls, eliciting a sharp groan. John tugs on your hair, more out of instinct than control. “You feel ok?” You throw his words back at him, a cheshire smile growing as he moans again.

“Christ, those fuckin’ hands.” He responds. You move to start stroking, licking him from base to tip. He tastes like salt and musk, but clean with the scent of pine. It’s the most addicting scent on earth. After he’s wet and leaking, you steady yourself with a hand on his upper thigh and the other on your husband’s cock.

You finally take him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his tip. You hum and his grip on your hair tightens. “‘M gonna fuck yer mouth sometime.” You let go of him with a pop, leaning backwards. “Not tonight?” He shakes his head, reaching down to pump his cock in your absence. “I’m a few strokes from cummin’, sweetheart. You look too goddamn good on yer knees.” That earns a grin from you and a renewed sense of vigor.

You suck him hard this time, your hand making up the length you can’t cover. You work yourself into an easy rhythm, up and down as he cradles your face. It’s much softer than you’ve ever experienced from a man, careful and protective. He wasn’t kidding about how close he is, harsh pants emitting faster and faster from his chest. “Where d’ya want me, baby?” You don’t respond, keeping him in your mouth. All you do is blink sweetly, willing your eyes to look bigger than usual. “Fuckin’ perfect, my wife.” That sends a jolt to your heart, and you have to stop yourself from accidentally biting down. Instead of responding, you stroke faster and faster. His abs tense, and you pull back just slightly, letting him coat your tongue and lips. It’s salty but not bitter, a marker of how fucking healthy he is. You lick your lips, swallowing thickly. His thumb brushes off a bit from your nose, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck hard, like you did the night he first fingered you. He continues cleaning you up, careful and quiet in his movements. John tucks himself back into his pants and offers you a hand to help you off the floor.

“Your knees sore?” He whispers. You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed despite not having taken your clothes off. “C’mere.” He tugs you into his arms, tucking you under his chin. “We good?” He asks. You want to say no, want to ask him all the questions swirling around in your head, but all you do is nod and hold him closer.

-

In the car, John’s hand on your thigh, your phone vibrates. It’s Phil.

Everything ok?

Yep! Marital problems, all good.

Your husband is intense.

He’s a sweetheart for me, all that matters 🙂

Good to know. See you tomorrow.

His tone is odd, but you shove that thought from your mind. John squeezes your hand, and you tuck your phone away, content to focus on your husband. Phil is the farthest thought from your mind.

-

um. smut. now they're like friends with problems? idk enemies got boring.

-

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