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pathologicalreid · 2 months ago

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central nervous system | s.r.

in which you are drugged on what should've been a routine case

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: being drugged, threatened sexual assault, season 10, blood, broken glass, in a bar but reader doesn't drink, jareau!reader. word count: 1.7k a/n: oh dear. this week was so eternally long. work was crazy busy i worked overtime and almost ended up in the hospital which all led up to me taking the lsat today. crazy shit, but margovember will prevail. also! i'm hoping to get masterlists updated tomorrow if that's something you've been waiting on.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” an unfamiliar voice intrudes on your private thoughts, looking around the bar that you had been planted in to see if you could catch your UnSub before he had the chance to attack someone else.

He sets a glass in front of you, and you drop some cash on the wooden surface, you shrug, “I’m in town on business.”

The bartender laughs heartily at your response before shaking his head, “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—that’s a line I hear a lot.”

Your face warms at the recognition that the bartender was flirting with you, but this is a man who gets paid to be nice. You take his words at face value and sip at your drink, “Well, I have no reason to lie to you,” you squint at his name tag, “Jackson.”

He wipes down a spill, hooking the rag over the sink, and smiling at you, “Well, it’s nice to meet an honest woman.”

Following him with your eyes as he walks away, that last comment rubs you the wrong way, but Jackson Gleason was the bar manager, and Garcia had already cleared him from the suspect list.

You find yourself wishing Hotch had sent you into the bar with an earbud to communicate with the team, but instead, you were handed a phone, preprogrammed to alert the team if you hit the power button. There was a plainclothes officer somewhere in a corner to keep an eye on you, and the rest of the team was at the precinct or in an unmarked van outside.

Kate had coached you to the best of her abilities, but this wasn’t your first time going undercover. Catching serial rapists was more her speed, but she was pregnant, which immediately took her out of the running. Sipping from the thin straw in your glass, you let your eyes wander around the bar, antique posters and advertisements are littered across the walls, and someone just started playing Radiohead on the jukebox.

Eyeing the phone in your purse, you sigh, stirring the ice in your cup listlessly.

“Can I get you another? Maybe something stronger?” The manager offers, returning from the employees-only door with a new package of straws to restock the bar.

You shake your head, holding your empty glass out of him to take, “The same thing is fine.” Ignoring the fact that you don’t drink—you couldn’t drink on the job; all you’d been given was a coke.

He raises his eyebrows at that, “Suit yourself,” he says, ignoring the fact that you were trying to hand off your already dirtied glass to him and filling a clean cup with ice and coke.

Brushing it off as company policy, you thank him for the drink, placing another few dollars on the bar and smiling at him. Over your shoulder, you glance at the plainclothes officer, engaging in an animated conversation with another patron over whatever sports game is playing on the TV. You suspect he’s a little too good at pretending to be off the clock.

You make a face at the straw in your glass, and the bartender notices, “Sorry, just ran out of plastic.”

Taken aback, you use the paper straw anyway, sipping at your drink while you still can—knowing the straw will inevitably disintegrate.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice something wrong, a dull ache in your chest exacerbated by a slight rise in your body temperature. Your fingertips feel hot like they would after coming inside from the cold. You look down to find the emergency phone in your purse, but your head droops with your eyes, every controlled movement before a struggle.

“Hey,” Gleason says, jutting his chin in your direction, “You don’t look so great.”

A different version of yourself would’ve given him snark in return, but that different version of yourself would’ve been able to feel her extremities. “Woah,” You breathe, trying to swing your legs off of the stool only to find that you’re much higher from the ground than you initially thought.

When you lift your head again, whipping it back so hard you’re afraid it might fly off, he’s standing directly in front of you, “Why don’t I take you out back? You can get some fresh air,” the offer is innocent enough, but it rubs you the wrong way. His hand is on your waist, at the very least you know that’s wrong—you have a boyfriend, and it’s not this guy.

No, your boyfriend is outside of the bar in a van, waiting for your signal because you’re… oh. “No,” you whisper, trying to get your breathing under control. “I’m— Where’s my phone?” You’re digging through your purse as he stands you up and guides you to the back of the bar, closer to a large exit sign.

Sirens are going off in your head, but even they sound separated from your situation. “I can call a cab for you,” he assures you, leading you by your arm and closer to the back door.

“No,” you say again, “I really need my phone…” his grip tightens on your wrist, practically dragging you out of the bar while you use your free hand to find your phone, pushing the power button before it slips out of your hand, clattering to the ground. “That really hurts,” you tell him, now able to give more of your focus to evading the man who was most decidedly not Jackson Gleason.

Pulling your arm back, you manage to break free from him, the momentum from your struggle sends your hand flying into a picture frame, shattering the glass and causing the UnSub to spin on his heel. “Look at what you did,” he seethes, gripping your hair at the back of your head and forcing you to look at the shattered glass.

Your mouth gapes at the sensation of your hair being pulled until there’s a rush of cold air and he pushes you forward, into the waiting arms of someone else, “Woah, hey, I’ve got you,” Spencer says, keeping you off of the floor and, with the help of someone else, carrying your dead weight over to one of the booths.

Spencer clambers into the booth seat first, seating you in front of him so that your back is pressing against his chest. You let out a low groan when he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping your body from flopping onto the sticky hardwood.

“Do you know what you took?” He asks, pressing his face into your hair so that the two of you can keep your voices down.

Vaguely aware of the way his fingers are pressing into the pulse point on your wrist, you shake your head, “I didn’t take anything.”

He hums in response, “You were drugged. I— I’m so sorry we didn’t realize who it was sooner. By the time we realized there was a discrepancy in Jackson Gleason’s file, you had already pushed the alert button,” he tells you, being careful not to move around too much. “Can you lift your head for me? It’ll help your breathing.”

With tremendous effort—and some help from Spencer—you lift your head, letting it rest on him. Now, you can see that the majority of the bar has cleared out, Rossi watches you nervously from the bar, telling Spencer something about paramedics. You huff, “Where’s JJ?”

“She’ll meet us at the hospital, love,” he answers you, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Trying to adjust yourself, you shake your head indeterminably, “No, it’s… I need my sister. I need my sister.” Somewhere—a past version of yourself, perhaps—you knew that JJ was at the hospital, speaking with one of the survivors.

Spencer speaks with someone that you can’t see, they’re standing in your periphery, a mangled blur of a person. Moments later, something cold is pressed to your face, and the sensation makes you jump, “Ow,” you whine, though it doesn’t hurt.

“Ducky?” Your sister’s voice rings through the phone, and you’re surprised to hear her using your nickname. Although, your status as JJ’s little sister tends to come through when you’re hurt.

You hum into the receiver, “Hi, J,” you greet wearily.

A sigh of relief is her next response, “Hey, Derek said you’re waiting for the paramedics to take you to the hospital, and I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive. Does that sound alright?”

“It’s cold in here,” you mumble, wondering if Derek is the blurry shape remaining in your periphery.

There’s a pause on her end before she speaks up again, “I’m sorry, Ducky.” There it was again. “You’ll be okay though; you just have to wait it out.”

You nod as a jacket is laid out on your lap; Spencer must’ve heard you mention being cold to your sister. Your boyfriend whispers something to you, “Spencer says the paramedics are here and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

JJ laughs slightly on the phone, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay?”

“Yeah, J,” you whisper, letting someone take the phone from you. You frown at Spencer, “I don’t feel quite right.”

Helping you get on the gurney, Spencer holds your hand while an EMT wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, “He likely gave you a central nervous system inhibitor.”

You nod slowly, wrinkling your nose when the other paramedic shines a light in your eyes, “I am nervous,” you answer. Trying to listen to the medical personnel as they explain what’s going on, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. One of them crudely wraps a cut on your hand to staunch the bleeding, but you couldn’t even remember when it started to bleed.

Anxiously, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t bite down on your lip,” Spencer instructs, “You could bite right through it and not even realize.”

Releasing your lip, your eyes widen at him while he pulls a blanket over your shoulders. “That’s scary,” you whisper.

“I agree,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It is scary.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margovember

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webism · 2 months ago

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Choso Kamo is desperate enough as it is, always eager to be touched by you, to taste you on his lips—it's hard to handle. Add a (rather expensive) block of aphrodisiac chocolate to the mix and you think you've made a mistake.

You told him to take only one, and to wait for you to get home to do so. You wanted to take them together and see if what the packaging promised was any true — that you’d be ‘sweating for sex’ in fifteen minutes flat.

But he didn’t listen, or didn’t care to listen, because you’re still out for lunch with your friends when your phone rings and Chosos contact lights up your homescreen. You have to excuse yourself to take the call and answer with a sweet, unsuspecting ’hey, baby,’ that makes Choso nearly orgasm on the spot.

“You have to come home.”

“What?” You think maybe you’ve misheard him over the chatter of the sweet little cafe you’re stood in.

“Please, baby, please come home. I need you so bad it hurts, I’ve cum twice thinking about you because I didn’t want to bother you but it’s not enough and I’m hot everywhere and my stomach hurts because I need you so bad and—”

He never listens. You grumble the entire way home, your annoyance sparking flames over the burning heat in your core at the thought of your pretty boyfriend at home quite literally sweating for sex. You have to remind yourself to be upset at him for not listening because otherwise the thought of him, hot skin stuck to your bedsheets as he fucks into his fist wishing it was you, floods your mind instead. You wonder if he fucks different like this, if his typical gentle touch will be replaced with something needier—you’re of half a mind to deny him his pleasures, but that would be a disservice to yourself as well.

When you step through your front door, you’re hit with the heavy scent of sex that usually permeates the room after you and Cho have been particularly energetic in between the sheets. It’s confusing, because how can one man fuck himself enough to change the temperature of the house? But it also goes straight to your cunt, a desperate sort of need blooming in your stomach that mirrors your boyfriends.

The house is quiet, though, despite the fact you half expect Choso to be crying with need. Maybe he finally got it out of his system, called you home for nothing and is probably too spent to fuck the new need out of you.

But as soon as you step into the bedroom, you’re met with the sight of your beautiful other half laid out on the bed as he fucks his fist so desperately in one hand you’re surprised his speed isn’t painful. His other hand is lifted to his mouth and caught between his teeth in a pathetic attempt to stifle his moans—the walls of your apartment are thin, at least he’s of sound enough mind to consider your neighbours.

When his eyes lay sight on you, though, his crazed strokes still and he’s climbing off the bed in barely a second to bee-line straight to you.

“Take a breath,” you manage as he grasp your hips and starts manhandling you to the bed.

“Can’t,” his voice is heavy.

“Cho—“ you’re pushed down onto the bed, your lover following to climb on top of you and attach his lips to the column of your neck.

“I need you.”

And need he does, you can feel it in the way he slips your clothes from your body with such intent you barely notice it happen. You can feel it in the way his kisses light fire against your skin as he works down your chest, ribs, stomach, hips and finally reaching your aching cunt.

A swipe of two fingers through your folds is enough to tell Choso you’re as needy as he is… almost. You aren’t quite soaked in sweat and nearly teary-eyed with want. But you’re fucking soaked.

“Did you eat them too?” He asks, voice laced with want—he’s desperate for a taste of you, and allows himself a moment to swirl his tongue around your clit as your eyes widen in response.

“No… I just—fuck, Choso, right there.”

You could kill him for pulling away from you, your wetness glistening on his pretty lips as he pouts at you. “Need you. I’ll make you feel so good, I promise, and I’ll eat you after I just…”

“Fuck me, Cho,” you allow him, partially because you don’t think you could go much longer without his length completing you.

“I love you,” he whines as he rights himself and slaps his cock against your pretty pussy a few times before pushing into you with a gasped “I love you I love you I love you.”

And it might be the raw intimacy speaking on your behalf but you swear you can feel his love through the way he fills you with his cock. You’re two halves of a whole and finally conjoined through overwhelming pleasure… the stretch is uncomfortable, sure, Choso has a length he doesn’t know how to handle, but you don’t care when the way he practically drools once he bottoms out is so desperate.

And god does it feel good when he starts to move. He’s so eager and desperate that rather than the gentle thrusts he usually makes to test the waters of your comfort, he’s straight into rutting against you like he’s in heat—which, in a way, you guess he is.

Choso pulls your thighs up between the two of you and works himself into a mean mating press that has him reaching depths inside of you he’s never kissed with the tip of his cock. He can hardly see straight, pussy drunk already and babbling away about how good you feel wrapped around him, how he’s yours, all yours and always yours.

“All for you,” tears prick at his eyes the closer he comes to his fourth or fifth climax of the day—the sun hasn’t even begun its descent. “My cock is for you, my cum, my heart—I’m all yours I belong to you, please take me, god you take me so good.”

He’s crying. Desperation stains his cheeks as he distracts himself from the hot tears by kissing you with trembling lips as he tries to push impossibly deeper into you. Your legs ache, you’ve never been split open so deep and you’re not sure you’ll ever stop grieving the loss when Choso finally pulls out of you.

You don’t think you’ve ever cum this fast either, but the moment Choso starts holding his breath and knitting his eyebrows together as he does when he’s about to finish, you feel that wave of dizzying euphoria wash right through you—from head to toe you’re hit with pleasure like waves crashing on the shorelines, and you shake underneath your lust-drunken lover.

“Oh baby,” he fucks you through it, chases his orgasm so strong it hurts, tightens his balls and makes him wonder how he’s not cumming dry yet. “Feel so good, I’m sorry I know it’s a lot I’m sorry, I love you I love you.”

It’s a blur, but you feel full with his cum and never do you want him to pull out. You think you’re still shaking, but Choso has you fucked so deeply into the mattress that you wouldn’t be able to tell even if you had the energy to care. He’s still twitching inside of you, each minor movement sends static up your spine. You might’ve just seen heaven, you think.

And with a shaky breath, and pupils so dilated with need he looks high, Choso presses a wet kiss to your lips, pulls back and in as sorry of a tone he can muster:

“Im sorry, baby, I need more.”

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#choso smut #choso x reader #choso kamo smuut #choso kamo x you #choso kamo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #kamo choso #choso kamo

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vampiefemme · 3 months ago

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a blurb in which ellie’s a sex shop worker you’re becoming very, very well-acquainted with <3

18+ mdni! shoo!

you’re on the verge of what would be your most earth-shattering orgasm to date when your vibrator betrays you.

your naked body, painted with a thin layer of sweat, sprawls over the wrinkled sheets of your bed, the damp fabric clinging to your skin as you gasp for breath. you’re working the vibrator over your slick folds, through the creamy spend of your previous orgasm, and every sensation below your waist is pure ecstasy. it hasn’t taken long to bring you right back to the edge - your back arches of its own accord, your eyes squeezing shut as a flurry of daydreams passes through your head.

all of them, it turns out, involve the very person who’d sold you the vibrator buzzing between your legs. ellie.

her hands on your hips, your ass, your throat. her mouth on your neck, her tongue on your clit. you can almost feel the warm puffs of breath she’d huff down at you as she fucked you, splitting you open with her strap and leaving you empty-headed and spent.

the mental images alone are enough to send you reeling, and right as you’re about to pass the threshold into the white-hot, blinding pleasure of another orgasm, the persistent hum of your vibrator abruptly cuts off.

you could throw up. you could cry. you could exercise sound logic and just charge the damn thing, but instead of any of the above, you find yourself rummaging through your drawers for whatever clothes you can find. sweats and a band tee, a mismatched pair of socks. nothing else.

ellie’s behind the counter again when you pull the door open. the shrill chirp of the entrance sensors draws her eyes to you, and you’re unsurprised to find her smoking a cigarette, body huddled over the edge of the counter. her brows lift in surprise when she sees you.

“back already?” she asks, putting out her cig leisurely. “must’ve gone really well. or maybe really poorly?“

you don’t miss the way her eyes roam over your figure, lingering on your chest; you’re not wearing a bra, and the peaks of your nipples are visible beneath the thin fabric. your back straightens.

“it died.”

“oh,” ellie says. “did you… charge it?”

“no, i wanted to—i thought maybe i could try something else.” you chew at your lower lip, casting a glance at the wall of toys from which ellie had plucked your vibrating bullet the first time you’d come here. you turn back to ellie just in time to see something dark glimmer in her eyes. she nods.

“yeah, of course. think you’re ready for something more intense? c’mon.” she nods her head towards the toy section, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulder. you follow her and watch as she surveys the wall of toys, the sheer volume of packages just as overwhelming as last time. ellie reaches out for a hot pink box, shiny lettering spelling out Boss Lady across the top. you grimace.

“what kind of name is that for a sex toy?” you quip, reaching for the package. ellie snatches it out of reach.

“ah-ah, sweetheart, don’t doubt the Boss Lady. she packs quite the punch.”

“really, now?” you ask, cocking a brow. “you know from experience?”

ellie just smiles, dimples in her cheeks. “if the name is just too cringy for you, we can find something else. but i recommend her—i think you’ll have lots of fun with her.”

“okay, fine. you pulled my leg.” you reach for the box again, and ellie lets you grab it this time, her gaze on you as you flip the package over and read through some of the metallic pink text adorning the back. the only rabbit vibrator you’ll ever need, it reads. powerful dual stimulation will keep you satisfied!

it occurs to you then, as you follow ellie to the register and dig in your pockets for some cash, that you should probably be embarrassed. here you are, a week after your first ever vibrator purchase, ready to fork over some hard-earned cash for a second one—one with a questionable name, no less. your cheeks warm as ellie regards you from the other side of the register, the heels of her hands pressed to the counter. there’s a knowing look on her face, her lips curled into the faintest hint of a smirk, that dark look from earlier still dancing in her eyes.

god, she probably thinks you’re a sex addict. she totally thinks you’re a sex addict.

“is it weird that i’m back so soon?” you ask, before you can think to filter yourself. ellie’s brows knit together in confusion.

“huh? no, no, not at all—we have plenty of regulars, you know.” she types something into the register, eyes still fixed on you. “i’d say it’s weirder that you’re here at two in the morning.”

you blink. “two?”

“two twenty-one, to be precise.” ellie nods at the clock on the wall, the hour, minute, and second hands made of three different flesh-toned penis cutouts. “but hey, i get it. your vibrator died.”

you clear your throat. “how much do i owe you?”

“hm. well…” ellie drums her fingers on the cash wrap’s countertop. “i’m feeling generous tonight. answer one question for me, and Boss Lady is yours for free.”

“i’m awful at trivia,” you confess.

“trivia? jesus.” ellie barks a surprised laugh. “i’m not—it’s not trivia.”

narrowing your eyes, you shuffle up to the counter and nod. “okay, fine. ask away.”

ellie moves in closer, too, head dipping ever so slightly to allow her to peer down at you. it takes everything in you to keep your eyes from lingering over her frame and drinking in every inch of her: the bold lines of her forearm tattoo, the burn-holes in the collar of her shirt, the faint kiss of freckles on the bridge of her nose. but while you attempt to reign in your wandering gaze, ellie doesn’t hold back. she takes her time looking you over. bites the plush, pink swell of her lower lip.

then: “what were you thinking about?”

“huh?”

“earlier, when you were touching yourself. before the vibrator died. what were you thinking about?”

“that’s your question?” you chew on the inside of your cheek. embarrassment roils in your stomach; she has to know that, while your body writhed in the center of your mattress, cunt twitching and gushing, you’d been thinking of her.

ellie smirks. “you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.”

“no, it’s… it’s okay,” you murmur. your palms are clammy and you force your gaze to Boss Lady, waiting patiently on the counter for her chance to help you see god. “i was thinking about, um… you, actually.”

you’re still staring at the gaudy pink package on the counter, hands squeezed into fists at your side. you can feel the half-moon indents of your nails digging into your palms, and just as the silence stretches a bit too long for your comfort, ellie laughs.

it’s a wicked thing, a biting sound. all self-satisfaction and enthrallment. you dare to steal a glance at her, and she’s grinning like a maniac, her cheeks tinged the prettiest shade of red.

“can i tell you something?” she asks, stuffing a hand into her pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. her fingers glide over the cash register, clicking at a few buttons, and she slides the money into each respective slot before pushing the drawer closed with a satisfying click. “i’ve been touching myself to the thought of you, too.”

mouth going dry, you gawk at ellie like she’s got four heads; she simply beams at you like she didn’t just admit that she’s thought about you with her hand between her legs. she leans over the counter, one strong hand reaching towards you to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“you seem nervous,” she says.

“i’m—i don’t…” you trail off, cheeks positively flaming.

“tell you what,” ellie begins, retracting her hand. she moves back from the counter and crosses her arms over her chest. your eyes flicker over the whorls of ink that decorate her skin, biceps flexed just so; your cunt throbs. “you can go now, if you want. i won’t stop you.”

“or,” she says, voice dipping low, husky, “you can lock that front door, and i can show you how much fun you can have with your new toy.”

she reaches a hand out and taps the box for emphasis, and you’re struck by how at ease she seems. how comfortable she is with your mutual attraction and the opportunity to act on it. it lights a fire in you, one that engulfs every last trace of doubt.

you lock the front door, of course.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams #ellie smut #ellie tlou #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams tlou #ellie fanfic #ellie x fem reader #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fic #my writing

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ningbohengqiprecisionmould · 2 years ago

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6CAV round lid mould

The round lid of the meal box is used together with the box, and the production cycle of one mold is less than 6s; Applicable machine: 350T high-speed machine

#Thin-walled Box Packaging Mould

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wlwloverwrites · 2 months ago

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Discrete Packaging

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Warnings: vaginismus, mentions of pussy jobs, use of sex toy (cock ring, fleshlight & wand vibrator), no penetrative sex, breast play, pet name (princess), overstimulation, thigh fucking, smut (18+)

Summary: Ready to try something new, you order some helpful toys and play with Logan.

A/N: shout out to people with vaginismus or just really tight pussies, yall gotta be one of my favorite genders! (Joking tone)

No pressure to read, just tagging some of my favorite writers for Logan: @moonlight-prose @joelsgoldrush @eupheme @inkedells @superhoeva @ozarkthedog @gh0stsp1d3r

Main Masterlist

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY WORKS ON OTHER PLATFORMS

The mansion’s hallways are lonely. So lonely, your footsteps echo as you climb up the stairs in search of your Logan’s bedroom. Three sharp knocks on the door serve as a warning before you twist the knob open and walk into the spacious room.

“You know, it’s so unfair,” you call out, making sure to lock the door as you make your way to the bed. You pout before continuing, “Your room is so much bigger than mine.”

“Perks of being a sub,” the voice of your mutant boyfriend calls out from the private bathroom.

Fresh out of the shower, Logan’s hair drips onto his bare shoulders. Loose strands of hair fall on his forehead as he uses the towel thrown over his should to dry the rest of his hair. A pair of dark sweatpants hang low on his hips as the tangled drawstrings fight to keep the thin fabric from falling down.

Your eyes are glued on him as he makes his way to you, sitting on the edge of his bed. The familiar smell of his shampoo fills your nostrils, the scent only getting stronger when he stands between your split knees. A smile creeps on your face when his hand gently tilts your chin up to face his towering figure.

Rough hands find your cheeks. Logan’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip and taps it when your eyes find his. His eyes are soft then closing as he leans down to press an innocent kiss on your lips, a ritual hello.

“Hi, Princess.”

A smile creeps up your face as you mumble your hello back. You reach for another kiss, but Logan twists away from your hold, the hands that found themselves playing with the drawstrings of his sweats fall.

“Got a package,” he states, handing you a bulky box.

Embarrassment creeps up your skin as you stare at the box sealed with a bright pink label reading an itemized list. Big, bold vulgar words paired with your full name make you cringe. Nervous eyes then find Logan’s amused ones staring down at you.

“They said they had discrete packaging,” you whine with shaky hands raising the box to one of Logan’s fists.

The sound of his claw extending and retracting is sharp. In one blink, the pink tape seal is broken.

“Just be glad it was me who got the package. Could you imagine if Charles-”

You jerk your knee, hitting Logan’s before he can finish his sentence. He only quiets downs when he sees what’s inside the box. A clear double-orifice and spongy-like sleeve stares at Logan as you pull out three other items out of the box. A small bottle, no doubt some type of water-based lubricant, a black silicon ring, and bulky device with a mushroom head and long charging cord attached.

“They are supposed help,” you mumble shyly as you discard the box beside you.

Reflecting on your failed attempts at having sex with Logan you remember nails digging into his biceps, hissing his name, and begging him to stop when the tip of his cock tries to shove itself inside you. Trying hard to ignore the flashbacks of the burning sensation that lingers between your legs after Logan’s pulls away as he apologizes profosely.

Even when you tried again a couple weeks later, you remember Logan’s painful groans when your walls spasm and squeeze uncontrollably around the head of his cock.

Because of these past experiences, penetrative sex has never seem like an option, hence the purchase.

“What’s that?” The question falls past his lips before he can stop it. His eyes glued to the toy you have in your hand, the sleeve only slightly bigger than your fist.

Throwing the toy aside and making a mental note to clean them, you stand up and wrap your hands around his waist, fingertips tugging on his elastic waistband. Looking up at him with a smile, “I’ll show you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow never came.

Logan got called to a mission, so days turn into weeks and the unpackaged, washed toys sat untouched in his top drawer.

So that’s how you find yourself in the middle of Logan’s bed, breathing in his lingering scent.

Hugging his pillow to your chest, tangling your bare legs in his sheets. Your night shirt clings onto your body, nipples pebbling through the thin material. Your sleep shorts failing to cover your ass when you stretch your leg over Logan’s second pillow. You try your best your best to ignore the heat between your thighs and let sleep take you.

Even in your sleep your mind wanders back to the time Logan suggested to try something new, reassuring you that he wouldn’t hurt you. His firm hands manhandling you so your legs are thrown over his shoulders as he grind his cock over the thin material of your underwear.

Remembering the way he cursed your name and teased you for soaking through your panties. The soaked material clinging onto your lips allowing Logan’s leaking cock to rub against your clit. His arms that hold his weight caged you in, his forehead pressed against yours as you breathe out his name.

Recalling how you bit your lip to stifle your moans every time his cock bumped on your clit, lifting your hips to chase your orgasm. With his lips on yours, you cried against his mouth as you came, further soaking your panties. It wasn’t long after that Logan groan out your name and spilled onto your panties making them all sticky.

With a loud huff you blink your eyes open. Throwing the bedsheets off your sweaty body and gasping when you see a dark figure by the door that’s getting closed shut.

“Logan?”

“It’s me, Princess.”

Still sleepy, you stand on your knees, reaching your arms out for him. Instinctively, his legs carry him to you, hands grip your waist, and lips kiss yours.

His ritual kiss isn’t soft nor sweet. Instead it’s desperate and harsh, almost bruising.

Groaning into your mouth, his teeth find your bottom lip, demanding you to let him in before his tongue is exploring your mouth. One hand on your waist, the other is cradling your face pulling you impossibly closer to his frantic lips.

“Missed you so much ,” you almost whine between kisses. Tugging that the roots of his hair, his lips now trailing over your jaw.

He groans into your neck, inhaling your scent. His mind wanders back to the way his body missed you when he was gone. Waking up with an achy cock which led him to spitting onto his palm and kicking off the sheets. During his late nights, he painted the shower walls with the loud curse of your name.

“Missed you more.”

Pulling away, you laugh when Logan frowns. Bare feet hit the cold wood floors as they take you to Logan’s nightstand. His eyes fail at following your curious hands, instead they focus on the skin peeking from your booty shorts as you bend over.

The sight of you bent over, the thin cloth doing a half-ass job in covering your pussy, has him shamelessly readjusting himself in jeans. He wants nothing more than to tug your shorts to the side and lick you up. Distracted, he misses your request to lie down.

“What’s that, Princess?” He asks softly, eyes still glued to your ass.

This time you’re on your hands and knees, a wire in one hand as the other holds your weight as you look for an outlet. A blind hand repeatedly misses the outlet you swore was just there. Dropping the wire, angling your head to see the outlet before trying again.

“Can you lie down for me and close your eyes?” Your voice comes from under the bed as you finally find the outlet and plug in the toy you’ve been wanting to try for months.

Blood rushes to your head when you stand back up, a wand vibrator in one hand as the other one digs for more in Logan’s top drawer. Curious eyes watch you as Logan kicks off his boots, tugs his shirt and denim jeans off. Lying on the bed, his lashes kiss his cheeks as he waits patiently for you.

The bed dips as you kneel your way over to Logan’s body. The muscles in your inner thighs stretch as they widen to accommodate his thighs. Instinctively, Logan’s hand find your waist and with his precision, you’d think his eyes are open.

The mushroom-tipped device rests by Logan’s steady arms as you sit the stretchy ring on his rising chest. Lastly, you place the clear toy, the one you’re most excited for, next to the wand.

“Logan.”

He hums, his fingers run squeeze your waist, eyes still closed.

“Wanna try something.”

“We can try whatever you want, Princess.” He almost purs. Dark eyes flutter open and meet yours, filled with love and longing. He missed you.

You smile at his nickname for you, holding your weight with the hand on his chest before leaning down to kiss him. The kiss is sweet. Another ritual hello.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

Fingers dig into the meat on your hips as you shift over his body and reach for the small bottle of lube on the nightstand. In no time, you’re back on his lap, tugging his underwear down, and smearing a drop of lube on the head of his semi-hard cock.

Wrapping your hand around his cock, smiling when you hear a soft sigh of your name. You stroke his cock, once then twice before you reach for the black ring resting on his chest.

Logan stares down at you, using his elbows to hold himself up. His stomach flexes as he watches you drag the stretchy, yet stiff ring over the base of his growing cock.

“Does that feel okay?” You ask softly, eyes glued to his glistening cock.

“Yeah,” he growls, hips shifting beneath you when you work your fist over the tip of his cock.

You can feel him grow in your fist, his cock throbs in your hold. Logan’s chest falls with each huff and moan of your name. His abs flex repeatedly as your hand works faster.

Sneakily, you grab the orifice next to Logan and position the toy above his cock. Eyes try to find his, but his head is thrown back as he groans and shifts beneath you.

Logan can only suck in a deep breath when the tip of cock is swallowed by the textured orifice. Logan’s moans only get louder at the tip of his cock peeks out the other end of the toy.

“You’re so hard.”

The praise goes straight to his cock as he shifts once more. His eyes rolled to the back of head. His desperate and grabby hands have now slipped under your sleeping shorts. His hands find your ass and squeeze.

Mesmerized, you watch as you repeatedly pump his cock, squelching sounds fill the room as Logan’s cock leaks uncontrollably.

“Feels so good.”

You giggle before shushing him softly, worried his volume would wake the others sleeping just down the hall.

“So tight.”

A pang of guilt hits your stomach but Logan’s lips are quick to find yours. His sharp nose bumps yours as the hairs on his face tickles you. The soft sounds of his lips kissing yours fills your ears, one of Logan’s calloused hands caress your face.

He smells like cigars, but you can still smell hints of wood.

His groans only get louder when you squeeze the toy around his cock. Your weight traps his flexing thighs, his constricted movements cause you to bounce in his lap. The image of you riding his cock flood Logan’s mind as his hip thrust to meet yours.

“Let me look at you,” he begs beneath you, lazily tugging at your shirt.

Slipping his cock out of the toy, you giggle when it slaps against his stomach, almost touching his belly button. Quickly, you slip out of your shirt, allowing for his hands to find your breasts. You sigh his name softly when he tugs harshly at your nipples. The act making them harden under his touch.

Distracted by your breasts, Logan pays no attention as you reach over him for the bulky device next to him. It isn’t until soft sounds of vibrations make him perk awake. You laugh at his face. Sweat builds on his hairline, his neck is flushed, and his lips are swollen.

Eyes fall down to his cock, the tip of his cock, angry and leaking. He stares at you as you let the bottle of lube dribble onto the mushroom head of the device. The white top glistens softly before the vibrating toy is pressed against the base of his cock.

“Fuck.”

The curse escapes past his lips before he can hold it. Hands massaging your breasts fall and wrap around your wrists. His grip stops yours from trailing the toy up to his leaking tip. Rather then fighting against his hold, you drag the toy down and press it against his balls.

The sound that escapes his lips has blood rushing to your cheeks and squirming on his lap. The squirming beneath you gets more frantic, almost as if he doesn’t know if he wants to run from or towards the vibrations. The black ring around the base of his cock strains slightly as his cock twitches again and again.

“I want-” his words are cut off by a moan when you shove the wand past his hands and onto his tip.

Claws threaten to peek out when you whine his name and call his cock pretty. The praise goes straight to his cock as he dribbles more precome onto the already shining wand. “I want you.”

Before you can ask him anything, firm hands find your waist and flips you over so he’s on top of you. Your legs wrap around his waist as your heart pounds. The wand buzzes next to you as your hands caress his face. Lips smash together as his hips down to grind against you.

Most purring into the kiss, you take in how hard his leaky cock feels against your pussy. Your sleep short do little to protect you, sticky with your slick. Nails scratch at his back, painting pink lines that fade in seconds. Desperate hands pull at your shorts as he presses soft, wet kisses on your jawline.

“Want you to feel good.”

“But you can’t go inside.” You fight back pathetically, still you help him tug off your shorts.

“Don’t need that.” He reassures softly as he takes control of the buzzing wand and presses it against your throbbing clit.

Squirming beneath him, your nails dig crescents into his shoulder blades. Your thighs threaten to shut, but his large body stops you. Gasping when Logan finds a glowing button and ups the vibrations. The cord attach to the bulky device brushes over your sensitive nipples making you whine.

Another click reaches your ears and the vibrations get stronger. Subconsciously, your hand, similar to Logan’s, reaches down to grip the device. You don’t know if its because you wanted to shut it off or push it away, but Logan doesn’t allow for either. Instead his words send a shiver down your spine.

“Move your hand.”

His tone makes your hands fall limp as you have no choice but to moan his name. With a fuzzy mind, you reach for the clear toy and slide it over Logan’s cock. His grip on the wand falters causing the vibrations to travel lower. The unmistakable feeling of fear fills you as your muscles tighten. Your thighs trap Logan’s hips as your body subconsciously fights to cover itself. Embarrassment then floods your body as you shy away from his touch, you hate when this happens.

“Sorry.”

Logan shushes you with a kiss and pressing the wand back on your clit, a vibrating distraction. With a shaky breath, you fuck Logan’s cock once more with the toy. The sounds of his wet cock sliding in and out of the toy makes you whine. Slowly, your body relaxes and takes in the pleasure.

Your hand works faster as you feel your orgasm built back up and approaching fast. Logan takes in how your chest rises with each breath, how your free hand reaches to massage your left breast, squeezing as you beg for more. Quick to satisfy for your needs, Logan’s mouth works on your breasts. Sucking your nipple and letting it go with a wet pop. He presses wet kisses on your breast before sucking on your other nipple. Teasingly, his teeth bite at your nipple, the final straw.

Your mouth falls open as you let out a silent gasp. Your thighs shake as you gush over all the mushroom tipped toy, and over Logan’s leaky cock. The wand doesn’t stop, instead it’s pressed harder against your sensitive clit.

“Come on, princess, one more.”

Your head shakes no as your hands reach to pull the wand away. Logan lets you, but the wand is replaced with his cock.

The clear orfice is long forgotten as Logan hooks your legs over his shoulders and slaps his cock against your pussy. The wet smacks make you whine his name, your body jolting at every slap.

“So wet, Princess,” he praises, nudging the head of his cock against your clit. “Soak my cock.”

Your hamstrings ache when he leans down to kiss you, your knees now touching your chest. The stretch makes you whine and Logan groans at the new sensation of your thighs hugging his cock paired with your pussy wetting the underside of his cock. His eyes roll back, rough hands squeeze your thighs, closing them tighter.

For the last time you cry out his name as your clench repeatedly around nothing and gush on Logan cock once more. Your sweet moans push him over the edge and suddenly he’s moaning your name just as loud. Fingertips dig into your thighs, no doubt bruising them, as his cock spills all over your stomach and leaks on your glistening pussy.

You watch with a smile as Logan comes down from his orgasm. Sore legs fall to wrap around his waist as he stands on his knees. The look of admiration covers his face as he stares down at you.

“Did you like it?” Suddenly shy, you avoid eye contact.

Your eyes fall to Logan’s cock, watching as he removes the cock ring with an overstimulated hiss. The wand is still next to you, buzzing softly before you reach to turn it off. He didn’t know about your purchase, he only found out about the toys because the discrete packing.

“Loved it, Princess,” he approves softly.

With a genuine smile, you finger taps your lips twice, beckoning him for a kiss. Never has he made you feel like your condition has turned him off. Instead, he has always been the one reassuring you that penetrative sex is not necessary in your relationship, but you wanted to work on it he’s more than happy to help.

“Come on I’ll run you a bath,” Logan says sweetly, staring at you confused when your jaw drops.

“Your room is way better than mine. Can’t believe you have a bathtub.”

Logan smiles, pulling you up to stand on your feet as your name figure almost skips to his bathroom. Wide eyes stare at the other spacious room as you mutter a small curse against Charles.

“Only way to fix that is if you move in with me.”

“Might take you up on that.”

Please please please reblog!!! Leave a comment! Or send something nice to my inbox. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this fic :) Plus it encourages me to keep writing!

#i suck at ending fics #sorry :(#char: logan howlett #type: smut #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x you smut #Wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine x you #wolverine x you smut #X-men #X-men wolverine

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belovedcloud · 8 months ago

Text

Boxes

pairing: older! neighbour! leon kennedy x fem! reader

✎ notes: older leon has been rotting my brain recently, especially DI leon ugh. i'm making another fic with him but I honestly might do vendetta leon. i just know this man would help you out with moving in.

➤ WC: 3K

➤ CW: strangers to lovers? pet names: sweetheart, love, baby, darling, good girl. reader is seen to be in their low 20s whilst leon being 38. leon feeling ashamed of himself for liking you, mentions of ada, helena, claire. leon has a fleshlight. touch starved Leon. both you and Leon are a bit tipsy. tit play, leon eating you out, p in v (unprotected sex), aftercare.

MINORS DNI!

Carrying boxes was strenuous. You moved in a few weeks ago from your parents house, it was time for a new start. Although, your arms seem to regret the decision as you lift up the remainder of your boxes to the 12th floor. But it wasn't as bad when you had a certain man by your side. Leon was lucky enough to see you struggle your way up the apartment complex. Your first meeting with him had a slight tinge of embarrassment but soon died down as you got to know each other soon enough. With Leon carrying all of your heavy belongings such as your disheveled chairs and whatnot - you could see the strain on his muscles, it was attractive without a doubt. Despite the fact that he was older than you, the way he carried himself with looks and personality made him extremely enchanting. He was a man of charisma.

Today was like no other, however, it was the last lot of boxes you had stored in your parents house. Therefore, it shouldn't be that hard right? Leon was coming to help you out anyways, he insisted.

A few minutes passed, your back towards your car as you wait for Leon to come out of the complex. A similar silhouette appeared, Leon closed the door behind him - approaching you with a small smile. "Last set today then?" He spoke out to you as he opened the trunk of the car. "Yeah, good for you right? Your old back won't be cracking every 5 minutes" You teased leading to Leon giving a low chuckle as he looked at you. "Old? You wound me." He laughed out as he took an airy box. "I don't look that old do I?" He passed the package to you, taking a hefty one for himself. "No... no, you look good." You mumbled out, hoping he didn't take the compliment in a different way. "Good? I'll take it." Leon gave you a smirk as he shifted the box, walking towards the door. You hurried up behind him, ensuring you didn't make yourself look weird. Entering into the complex with a nervous look on your face. Even though moving in was arduous, the thoughts of not speaking to Leon daily made you feel quite upset. How would you even make up an excuse to see him? Knowing him for a few weeks was short but the way you linked with each other was different. It was like you were friends for years, comfort was found within you when you spoke to Leon. If only you knew how he felt about you.

Leon felt bad. He felt ashamed that he found you so attractive. The way your shirt hugged your body and your jeans show the curvature of your ass and your thighs strained. You were so much younger than him - he couldn't help his mind wandering to images of you whilst he laid in his own bed. Wishing it was yours. He built your bedframe, he helped you place the soft clean mattress on top. Yet he felt pure filth in his self as he thought of your body on his. His hands intertwined with yours as ideas of fucking you flooded his brain. Night after night it would be the same for him, his cock thrusting into his hand or fleshlight. He tried to think of anyone else but you. Ada, Claire, Helena could only stay in his mind for a mere 20 seconds before his brain cogged back to you. You. It wouldn't help hearing you over the thins walls as you touched yourself. The softest but most pornographic moans leaving your lips. Leon only wished that it was him making you sound that way, but it was wrong. What would his friends think if he dated you? He believed he was out of your league - if only he knew about the sinful thoughts you had about him too when you indulged in your own pleasure. Two fingers thrusting into your cunt wishing it was his, gushing all over your thighs as images of him engulfed your brain.

"Stay here, I'll get the last few boxes for you." Leon maintained a steady voice shaking out the immoral ideas in his head. Keeping a level-headed smile he gave you a small wave before you could argue back. Seeing his back turned towards you, your eyes subconsciously wandered on it. Soon landing onto his biceps, subtle veins leading to his hands as he went stood in front of the elevator. Snapping yourself out of your trance, you unpacked the two boxes you and Leon took up. Placing the glasses into the kitchen cabinet and hanging up clothes was therapeutic in some way. Helping you calm yourself from your thoughts on Leon as you felt a wet patch on your panties. Pouring out a glass of wine for two as you waited for Leon to come back.

"I think that's it.. unless you have some hidden ones in your car?" He joked as he placed down the final box to the side, looking up to see you with two glasses of wine in your hand. "Oh?" He smiled, stretching his back before walking to you. "Seems like you need this then." You giggled passing him the glass, Leon rolling his eyes as he took it. "Thank you for the past few weeks helping me move in... I was wondering if you wanted to relax for a bit?" You murmured, sitting down on your couch. Leon soon accompanying you. "How can I say no?" He gave you a slight smirk as the rim of the wine glass pressed against his lips, the alcoholic liquid sliding down his throat.

A bottle or two of wine later caused the both of you to erupt into laughter and giggles - getting to know each other quite well. You learned that Leon worked for the government, although not being able to go into grave detail, he was an important figure for the USA. It wasn't long until you also explained what your job was, explaining in why you chose your path. However, you felt hot. Way too hot as you sensed his eyes gaze all over you. Lingering onto your lips and eyes as he looked at you with such awe and fascination. Leon felt warm within himself, you were like a new light that he had been longing for. You spoke without care, refreshing for him as his job withheld such secrecy. An urge secreted in him as your soft lips moved with grace. He yearned for you, and it was becoming evident from the pained strain in his jeans.

Taking another sip from your drink, you spoke without thinking. "How's your love life?" Shit. Was that too personal? Hoping for the best outcome you fiddled with your glass as your eyes wandered to his face, trying to decipher what expression he had. "Boring. If I'm being honest with you, I haven't dated anyone for years." A deep chuckle elicited out of his throat. The rasp laced in his tone giving you a shiver. "Seriously? You're joking." A giggle came out of you. Was he actually single? "Nope. But I'm surprised you don't have a certain someone here. You've got a boyfriend haven't you?" Leon hiccupped out, the alcohol making him feel fuzzy. To his surprise, your head shook side to side. "No, I'm single alright." You said with a soft smile plastered on your face. Leon genuinely couldn't believe it. A woman like you single? "Now that's a surprise." Leon grinned as he finished his 4th glass of wine. "Well, I'm sure you'll be able to find a man of your age. Although most of them are probably a pain in your ass." He laid back onto the couch, his arm behind his head. Again, your eyes couldn't help but avert to the flex of his bicep. This time, it didn't go unnoticed.

"You're right." A sigh came from your lips, "Which is why I don't usually go for guys my age." You admitted, making Leon confused. So who did you go for? "Hm? So you like younger men?" He asked, staring into your eyes with his own lustful ones. Praying that what you were looking for was the opposite of young. A mellow giggle followed out of your mouth as you shook your head once more. "No, I like older men." Leon's smirk became wider as those words left your mouth. Maybe he had a chance after all. Perhaps his wrongful thoughts were okay with you - that you wouldn't mind a man near twice your age to fuck you. "Really sweetheart?" A low groan drawn out his throat, his eyes basically fucking you. That same heat returned to you, just much more insatiable.

It was like a flip in you switched, your body longing for touch as so for Leon. Sloppy kisses shared between you two as Leon's hands gripped the fat on your hips. Subconsciously grinding himself into you as he felt your clit throb on his crotch. Your quiet whimpers muffled by the crashing of yours and Leon's lips unmethodical rhythms as saliva was shared. "F-Fuck.." A moan left Leon's lips, his head clouded by lust as he tapped your legs. "Wrap 'em around me darling." He demanded as he held you up, your legs squeezed tight around his waist - your irregular breathing echoing in his mind. Leon wasn't going to just fuck you on the couch, he wanted to show you his love. Heavy footsteps followed behind him as he nudged your bedroom door open, placing you gently on your newly built bed. "Let's see how well I built this frame, yeah?" Leon joked as he littered your neck with butterfly kisses. Pinning you down, stopping your squirming beneath him. "L-Leon..." That was enough to get him going, the pornographic moan after the lustful mumble of his name had his cock throbbing for more. He wanted you, he needed you.

Leon's hands slowly crept under your shirt, caressing your chest as he kneaded your tits. Pinching at your nipples to elicit another whine out of you. Your soft, mellow skin opposed his calloused hands. The hands that killed bioweapons were fondling with your tits, shakily taking off your shirt to show them in true beauty. "So fucking gorgeous." Leon groaned out, without a doubt in his mind he shoved his head in between your breasts. Your whimpers echoed throughout your bedroom, just to be stopped as you gasped when you felt his knee part your legs. Rubbing your clothed clit as he sucked on the plush parts of your tits. His hands methodically unbuttoned your jeans, slowly pulling them off you as he saw your pretty laced panties. They would've looked so innocent if it wasn't for the soaked wet patch in the middle of them. "All this for me baby?" He murmured, enchanted by how wet you were. You could couldn't help but frantically nod your head, needing to feel his touch somewhere else. "P-Please Leon.. need you to touch me." You moaned gently, your hips bucking for any type of touch. Who was he to say no to such a polite question? "Alright sweetheart.. C'mon spread your legs f'me." He ordered and you obeyed, feeling like mush in his hands.

The pads of his fingers played with the lace and the little bow at the top. Cute. Slowly, he slid your panties to the side, your slick leaving a small strand attached to the material. Leon was mesmerized by the sight, yet you felt embarrassed. Trying to close your legs failed as his strong hands pried you open. "Don't close 'em love, you're so beautiful. Let me appreciate you, yeah?" He groaned, feeling himself rut into your fresh linen sheets. Leon positioned himself in front of your clit, feeling his mouth water as he looked at it. His eyes flickering to you before asking "Do you want me to carry on darling?" His hot breath tickling you, a soft moan squeezed out your throat. "Yes.. Please Leon.. Want your tongue on my clit." Leon gave you a deep chuckle in response, his eyes flickering back to your clit. "'Atta girl.. Didn't know you were so dirty." He whispered before licking your slit, slowly capturing you in his mouth.

This was pure filth. Your moans alongside the wet sounds your pussy was making as Leon's pistoned two fingers in and out of you. His tongue skillfully flicking over your clit as his baby blue eyes watched your reactions. Your fingers felt themselves entangled in Leon's hair, pulling at his strands as choked moans fell out of your mouth. Chasing for that sweet release, you subconsciously bucked your hips, allowing for Leon's nose to press up against your clit. Deep, shallow moans trembled into your clit as Leon was determined to make you cum. He wanted all of you, he needed you to be ready for his cock. "C'mon, give it to me baby." He pressed his tongue against you, curving his fingers in you in the right spot. "L-Leon... I'm gonna.." Your sentence was soon cut off by the shaking of your body as the coil in you snapped. The orgasm took over your body, your lips chanting his name as you pulled on his hair. Granting you a groan from Leon as he swallowed your cum. "So sweet." He chuckled, pulling himself off you. Before pulling your face close to his, allowing you to taste yourself as he kissed you.

Leon felt a hand tug on his shirt, your pleading eyes staring into his blue ones. A smirk tugged his face as he took off his shirt. Slowly unbuckling his belt, removing his jeans alongside it too. Your cunt ached to be fucked, your mind telling you that only Leon could satisfy your needs.

He pulled down his boxers, a pretty dark red tip beamed at you. Glistening with pre-cum smeared all of it. You couldn't help but stare as Leon's face flushed a light pink. "Fuck.. Don't look at it like that sweetheart." He moaned softly, positioning himself right up against your entrance. "You ready?" His hand slowly caressed your face, a nod coming from you as he intertwined his hand with yours. He was big. Real fucking big as you felt yourself stretch open, your eyes rolling back in pain mixed with pleasure. Fuck. Leon could've came right there as he saw your expression change. You were so attractive. He slowly rutted himself into you, moaning your name as his hips sputtered. "Y-You alright?" He stuttered out, you were so tight. "Yeah.. I'm okay. You can move Leon." A soft smile appeared on your face, he couldn't help but reciprocate it back. He moved his hips, his thrusts soft - but it was hard to keep it that way after a minute. His thighs started to slap against yours as his dick pistoned into you. Leon threw his head back in otherworldly pleasure, moaning sweet nothings as he felt himself lose himself inside of you. You were no different. Your moans and screams increased in volume and pitch as you felt him pound into you. Your legs shaking in pleasure as you felt that same coil tighten in you again. "My good girl.. f-fuck so fucking good f'me." Leon growled, feeling his body become weak to your pheromones. He buried his head into your neck, marking you with lovebites. He felt his dick throb as his hips moved without thought.

"Leon.. I'm gonna cum again.. Feels too good." Mewls escaped from your throat as your hands scrapped at his back. Scratching him. The pain mixed with pleasure was enough for Leon to start panting as he felt himself get close. "Cum for me, please cum for me baby.." He whined as he thrusted into your sweet little pussy. You were so pretty for him, his good girl. The marks on your neck slowly started to become more evident, a smirk appeared on his face as he saw you scrunch up your face. His hand snaked down to your clit, slowly rubbing it. Giving you a whole new sensation as you felt his dick pulsate inside you. "I.. I.. Leon!" The coil in you snapped again, twice as hard as you creamed all over his cock. He didn't stop smacking himself into you, a white ring forming at the base. Leon started to chase his own high. "Take it, take it, take it." He chanted as he felt his hips stammer. The clapping of your skin quickly died down as Leon jerked himself out of you, rubbing his dick as his cum splattered all over your stomach. You couldn't help but think how handsome he looked as he threw his head back, moaning your name.

After both of your highs, Leon practically collapsed on top of you. "G-Get off.. You're so heavy." You tried to push him off, a laugh escaping Leon's lips as he pulled himself off of you. Pressing a soft kiss against your lips. He climbed out of your bed, pulling up his boxers and walked out of your bedroom. Soon, he returned with a damp cloth in his hand with two bottles of water in the other. Whilst wiping you down, Leon flashed you a quick smile and passed you the cold bottle. Your lips pursed the top as you gulped down the liquid. "C'mon... Let's shower." He took his hand into yours, lifting you up from your bed and carrying you to your bathroom. Your hot thighs pressed against the cold counter as he flipped the shower on. "Hey guess what." Leon couldn't help but giggle out the sentence. Your eyebrow cocked up as you looked over to him. "What?" You asked him with a smile on your face.

"At least we know I built the frame right." He laughed out, finding himself hilarious. "Oh shut up." Your laughter soon followed along.

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! thank u for reading :)

-> masterlist

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil smut #leon smut #leon kennedy older

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puck-luck · 2 months ago

Text

hallmates | quinn hughes

warnings: voyeuristic themes (thin walls), masturbation (fem), dirty talk, wet dreams, drunkenness, quinn pining but barely, garland mentioned before i found out he followed trump and tucker carlson on instagram..., PROTECTED p in v (for once), the smut in this is not as strong as previous pieces of mine, use of Y/N. pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader summary: when fem!reader moves in next to qh, there are two instances where she forgets just how thin the walls are. the second time, quinn is sure to remind her. wc: 5746

Your first grown-up job out of college has been great. You like your coworkers, you’re not bored with your daily tasks, and they gave you a very generous relocation package for your move to Vancouver. You were lucky enough to find a nice apartment with the money, and you paid the first three months’ rent easily. It’s your first one-bedroom apartment, finally living on your own for the first time in your life, and almost everything is perfect.

Almost everything.

Your one gripe is that you can hear your neighbor through the wall when he gets home from his job at weird hours, or when he has friends over during weeknights when you’re trying to prepare for work the following day, or even when he hosts holiday parties for what sounds like fifty-plus people.

It happens often enough that you’re annoyed when his presence makes itself known, but you’re not the kind of person to go over and tell him to knock it off. Plus, you decided that you’d give him a pass because it’s not like he’s doing it on purpose.

Well, that, and he’s cute.

The first time you met was on move-in day. You were lugging your suitcases up the stairs leading to the apartment and he offered to help you carry them in. He took them both– one in each hand– and lifted them like they were nothing. He brought them all the way to the lobby, then smiled softly at you instead of saying “You’re welcome” when you thanked him. You had to talk to the security guard to get your key before ascending up to your floor in the elevator, and in that time, the cute boy had disappeared. You hadn’t caught his name, but you had texted your best friends and informed them that there was at least one hottie in your building.

You learned his name the second time he helped you carry something up the stairs. You had gone grocery shopping at the market down the street and had conveniently forgotten your reusable bags. Before you realized your mistake, you had gone a little crazy with the fruits and vegetables. You’d had to pack all of your goodies into two bursting paper bags that one of the vendors had on hand, and they were filled to the brim. You made it all the way to the bottom of the steps to your apartment when the handles of the bags tore off and all of your hard work was suddenly for naught.

The bags went crashing to the pavement, dirty and littered with the fallen leaves that hadn’t been corralled when they first made their way to the ground, and the prized red onion that you were going to chop up tonight as part of your dinner rolled about a foot away.

All in all, you should’ve been glad it was the onion. You always peel the skin off of an onion before you cook it, and you always wash it thoroughly before cutting it up, but you reacted like it was the end of the world. Your prized onion was tarnished by the ground, which was silly, because they come from the ground in the first place.

The onion rolled all the way to your neighbor’s feet. He was arriving home with a friend, a short brunet with floppy hair and a mustache. “You okay?” Your neighbor asked. He picked up the onion and cradled it in his palm.

“I’m fine,” you replied. “Just not sure how I’m going to carry all of this upstairs without the handles.”

“We’ll help out. You live next to Huggy, right?” The friend said, bending down to lift one of the bags. He cradles it in his arms and your neighbor does the same.

“Huggy?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

Your neighbor, in the meanwhile, had blushed beet-red and stooped down to pick up the other bag of groceries. “That’s me. It’s a nickname.”

“Huggy Bear,” his friend cooed, bumping his arm and knocking your neighbor off balance.

“It’s Quinn. My name. You can call me Quinn,” your neighbor said, diverting your attention from the silly nickname.

“How do you know which apartment I live in, Quinn?” You questioned. You walked alongside the men as they took your groceries up the stairs, into the elevator, and into your apartment.

Quinn had cut his friend off by replying first. “Moving in makes a lot of noise. I live next door and we share a wall. You weren’t really quiet when you built your bed. I’m glad you have somewhere to sleep, but I could live without the expletives.” He reveals the information with a smile, the same slight curve of his lips that you’re starting to really admire.

That was that. They dropped the groceries off on your kitchen counter and you thanked them for the help, then sent them on their way.

The third time you saw Quinn– well, it started this whole mess. He’s been nice to you twice, so you thought you would repay him with the best thing you could think of: brownies. You’d just gotten the recipe from your aunt to make them from scratch and, hey, he’s a guy, right? Guys like baked goods.

The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Not that you’re trying to get to Quinn’s heart. You wouldn’t mind it, but you’re not… trying.

Thirty minutes later, you’re knocking on Quinn’s door with a plate of brownies. Half of your goods are on the platter, ready for Quinn to dig into. The rest are on your counter, their yummy scent rising in waves from them like in a cartoon and waiting for you to return.

You only know that he’s home because you can hear him through the wall. After he told you that the walls were thin, you’d been noticing the same thing. It wasn’t just when he gets home or when he has people over. You can hear him moving around and cooking throughout the day. You can hear his sports channels through the wall– yes, that’s right, channels. Multiple. You’re not sure, but he might have two or even three TVs.

Long story short, Quinn’s home. It takes him a few minutes to come to the door when you knock. “Who is it?” He asks, voice muffled through the door.

“Your friendly next door neighbor,” you reply. “With a plate of fresh brownies.”

The lock slides open and Quinn appears from behind the door. You hold the plate out to Quinn and he takes it from you with one hand. The other rests above his head on the doorframe. He leans over you, smiling softly.

Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. You don’t know where you were going with this. Your eyes are drawn to his neck, which looks muscular and, well, biteable.

“Enjoy the brownies,” you squeak out, then you turn on your heel and bolt away.

Like any normal woman who is shocked by her sudden visceral attraction to her admittedly-hot next door neighbor, you call your best friend. She talks you through it for a little while, then starts to stray into enemy territory: “Go out, Y/N. Get your mind off of it. Have a drink, get a little tipsy, then go over to his place and tell him how hot you think he is. You’ve never heard a girl’s voice, right? I feel like you would’ve, if he has a girlfriend. The worst he can say is that he’s not interested.”

When you try to weasel out of it, speaking in low tones so that Quinn doesn't hear you through the wall, she reminds you that your resolution for this “new stage of your life” was to stop being so anxious about what someone could say to you. You had declared that you wouldn’t let your own anxiety affect your ability to be vulnerable, especially not with the people that you find attractive.

Damn your best friend. How dare she look out for you. She even promises to call you in four hours to check in on your drunkenness.

You make plans with the girl in your office that you’ve been taking lunch with. She’s also new– not compared to you, but within the past year. She remembers what it was like to be brand new to Vancouver, so she’s eager to go out with you and offer up her friendship. She takes you to two bars in the downtown area: when the first one gets too full with what she calls “the sport crowd,” you move to the next.

Your coworker’s favorite liquor is tequila. After three shots, which make you cringe despite filling your stomach with warmth, she pulls your troubles out of you. You tell her all about your “sexy” roommate– that’s right, Quinn has been upgraded from “hot” to “sexy” as a result of the alcohol– and she encourages you to try and bag him, just like your best friend did. She agrees that there’s no reason not to and that you should be fine because you’ve been bolstered by the tequila.

She tells you about the person she’s currently seeing and how confusing it is, rambling on and on. When the time comes, and you’re still out, your best friend does call. You talk to her for a second, then she meets your coworker through speakerphone, and they bond over the fact that they both think you should hook up with Quinn.

You party into the night, getting more and more loopy. Your confidence skyrockets by the end of the evening and your drinks are tasting like water. You’re probably too far gone to actually talk to Quinn tonight, but who cares? You feel good. You needed a night out like this.

By the time you’re getting in the Uber, there’s a goofy smile that hasn’t left your face since maybe your fifth drink. You’re able to stumble up the stairs to the lobby and gleefully greet the nighttime security guard at his desk, then you ride the elevator up to your floor. You look up and see yourself in the mirrors on the ceiling of the elevator, which is a treat for Drunk-You. It’s almost a shame when the elevator dings, having finally reached your floor, and you have to leave.

You walk down the hall and consider going up to Quinn’s door, but your phone vibrates in your pocket and you dig it out. It’s the newly minted group chat between you, your coworker, and your bestie. It distracts you, and the clock in the top left corner informs you that you’ve gotten home at a crisp 1:30am, so you decide to go to bed.

You go to bed, alright. You get ready, you get comfy, and then you remember Quinn’s neck.

The skin looked so soft. The hair from his beard had started to creep down towards his adam’s apple, but it was neatly maintained. You can imagine how scratchy it would be in your palms, or against your cheek when he graces you with a little kiss, or against your neck while he sucks hickeys onto your skin… or against the sensitive expanse of your own thighs.

You know just how sensitive and delicate the skin is on your thighs because it’s where your fingers are dancing.

As you drift off, mind still foggy from your drinks, your touch starts to feel much more like you imagine Quinn’s would. His big fingers, on that manly hand, would touch you so carefully. He’d be so determined to play you like a fiddle.

As you imagine your very sexy next door neighbor touching you, you’re making a lot more noise than you realize. It starts with a whimper here and there, then crescendos into actual moans and desperate keens. You’ve shoved your face into the pillow below you, but it does very little to muffle your moans– considering you’re a big fan of breathing, your face is more turned to the side so that you don’t actually suffocate yourself while in the middle of getting off. Your middle two fingers are shoved into your cunt, your index finger erratically sliding against your clit.

“I know, baby, you feel so good. You want it so bad, don’t you?” Quinn’s imaginary and gently deprecating words wash over your brain like an intrusive thought.

You bite your lip and turn into the pillow, pleading with him belligerently into the cushion. You’re fighting for your life in this little fantasy, feeling so overwhelmed, and the man you’re imagining isn’t even here. But, in your mind, he’s the one with his fingers inside of you, making you gasp out his name once when his finger passes over your clit just right. In your mind, he doubles down and turns you into a mess. The drinks clogging your mind are able to make it feel more real.

You’re so caught up in your own pleasure that you forget just how thin the walls are. You miss the sound of your neighbor tossing and turning in his bed, even standing at one point and pacing around his bedroom.

It’s only after you come that you hear his bedframe creak with the weight of his body and the faint music that he seems to be playing– maybe just as white noise to fall asleep. You write it off and succumb to the clawing hands of your own slumber.

You see Quinn again the next day. You’re heading to work with a heavy hangover weighing on you– why did you listen to your best friend when she told you to go out on a Sunday? Why did you listen to your coworker when she brought out the second and third round of shots?– and Quinn seems to be heading to his own job. You still don’t know what that is.

You meet him in front of the elevator, waiting for its doors to open and let you in. You’re honestly not sure if the movement will make you feel more sick, or even push you over the edge and make you dizzy and on the verge of throwing up, like getting out of bed did when you woke up later than you meant to and you had to rush to get ready. Everything is too bright.

Quinn yawns three times in two minutes. You’re the only two in the elevator and the silence is growing more uncomfortable than the ache in your head, since you consider Quinn to be your… friend now? General acquaintance, distant crush, or next-door neighbor might be a better categorization.

“Long night?” You ask.

His cheeks turn pink, bizarrely, and Quinn seems determined to face straight forward. His eyes look a little more deer-in-headlights today, rather than the calm and serene blankness that you’re used to. Not that you’re used to looking into Quinn’s eyes. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologize, feeling for him. You’ve been the victim of a restless night many times over, so you know how dreadful it is the following day. “Do you know why?”

Quinn swallows harshly. “Um, I have an idea.”

It’s a weird answer, only because he doesn’t elaborate any further. You keep waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. That is, until the elevator arrives in the parking garage under the complex, when Quinn starts to head one way towards his car and you start to go the other way to your own. To make things even more confusing, Quinn says in a very stilted voice, “Thanks for the brownies.”

Then, like you did when you dropped the brownies off the previous day, he bolts.

At first, you’re confused, but you let it go. Maybe he was late for work. At least he took the time out of his day to thank you for the brownies, right?

You consider gifting him some of your sleepy-time tea, since he was having trouble sleeping and it’s clearly affecting him. Then you think to yourself that if you kept bringing Quinn treats, you would seem like a cat dropping a mouse at their owners’ feet… so you decide not to.

You feel vindicated with your choice in the coming days. Each time Quinn sees you, his eyes go wide and he scampers away as quickly as he can. It proves itself to be very confusing because he was so nice before.

After a tough week at work, and another near-miss with Quinn, you’re just… tired. It’s been a weird few days. What you really want is to snuggle up in your bed, throw on some ambient music, drink a glass of wine, light a candle, and fall asleep early– after blowing out your candle, of course. You’d be damned if you were the reason the entire apartment burned down in the middle of the night.

You’re lucky enough that your plans for the night work out. You get to settle in with a book– a spicy romance novel that your coworker recommended to “take the edge off if you won’t knock on Quinn’s damn door.” She seems to think that the reason you’re having a bad week is because you haven’t hooked up with Quinn yet. You don’t think there’s any correlation.

There does seem to be a correlation between the spicy book, the mention of Quinn, and what happens later. You fell asleep with your book open against your chest, having been lulled to sleep by the comfort of your own home.

It starts simple. Quinn’s lips are sliding against yours, his hand resting securely on your waist. You’re laying in bed and you’ve got a thigh over his hip, grinding into his generous length. Before you know it, and in dream-land it seems like a flash, Quinn’s length is inside of you. He’s got a thumb on your clit while the other plays with your hair, sweet kisses gracing your lips. Quinn’s content teasing you, thrusting as shallowly as he wants and leaving you whining for more.

“Quinn,” dream-you insists between kisses.

“Not enough for you, sweetheart?” dream-Quinn chides playfully, his voice riddled with fondness. “You weren’t even supposed to take my cock tonight. But no, you just had to be full. You couldn’t be content with warming me either, huh? You need me to fuck you whenever you want. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Quinn, I need you,” you confirm, whining a little bit and pursing your lips so he finds them again.

“Music to my ears,” Quinn tells you with a smile. “Let me make you come, yeah?”

“Quinn,” you moan again, his touch reducing you to a mess that can only say one word: his name.

You wake to a loud knock on your apartment door. “Y/N!” The person calls, and it sounds like a man, which alarms you in your freshly awoken state.

You roll out of bed and tug on your bathrobe, which you had thrown in the dryer during your first stint in bed, the one that had sent you into sleep. And– and– had sparked that weird dream that has you wet in your panties and wishing Quinn had been there when you woke up.

You tie the belt of the robe around your waist and look through the peephole– it is Quinn. Your wish came true, in a bizarre way. He’s here and he looks concerned. He’s lifting his hand to knock again, but you open the door.

“Quinn, what’s–”

“Are you okay?” He asks. He’s wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, as well as his tennis shoes. He probably just slipped those on to come over here. “You were saying my name. I heard you through the wall. You said you needed me. Are you hurt? Is something wrong?”

The barrage of questions leaves you rattled. You blink in surprise, trying to process all of his inquiries. “What?” You ask, squeezing your eyes shut hard to try and wipe the sleep away.

“You were saying my name,” Quinn repeats.

You squint, crossing your arms over your chest. “I was asleep,” you say, aware of how confused you sound.

“You were asleep,” Quinn repeats. He blinks twice, then repeats himself, sounding more sure. “You were asleep.”

“I was asleep,” you agree.

Quinn goes to leave, then faces you again and tilts his head to the side. “What were you dreaming about?” He asks.

You feel your face flood with embarrassment. You’ve never been good at controlling your expression. “It was nothing.”

“Was I there?” Quinn checks. “Is that why you were saying my name?”

“You were there,” you confirm, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him and he leaves.

Quinn smiles. He looks extra handsome when he smiles. He was smiling at you in your dream. He was doing a lot of good things in your dream. If only you could fall asleep and jump right back in– you were so close and his cock was filling you so well.

“What was I doing in this dream?” Quinn crosses his arms and takes a step closer to you.

You move closer to the door, keeping your hand on the doorknob, ready to slam it behind him as soon as he heads back to his apartment. “I don’t remember,” you lie. “You know, most people forget their dream within ten minutes of waking up.”

Quinn nods, still smirking. “You didn’t forget this one, though, did you?” He teases knowingly.

“Bits and pieces.”

The next thing Quinn says is Earth-shattering.

“Were you dreaming last time, too?”

You wish you could melt into the floor or camouflage yourself against the wall. You had a theory that Quinn had heard you getting off through the wall the night that you were drunk, although you don’t imagine that he understood your wanton noises. That was why he was running away so much.

But… he’s not running away this time. He’s here and he’s pressing you for more and more details.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swallowing hard.

“The last time you were saying my name,” Quinn prompts. “Were you asleep then, too?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t think so,” You reply, scrubbing over your arms. It’s a sign of being uncomfortable. Hopefully Quinn picks up on that and goes, sparing you any further humiliation. You’ll never talk to him again. He’s heard you make sex noises twice, and now you know that he knows. It’s embarrassing.

Quinn takes another step forward. He’s right in the doorway now, inches away from stepping across the threshold and entering your apartment. “If you have another dream,” he says, pushing his long sleeves up to his elbows and revealing his arms. He dips his head, lowering his voice to a timbre that has you growing damp again. “You know where to find me.”

Like a final stamp of approval on an official document, Quinn touches the knot at the front of your robe. It’s a brief, fleeting touch and it’s so close to where his hands were originally planted in your dream.

He turns to leave and gets all of three steps away before you call him back. “Quinn.”

“Mhm?” He asks, knowing smile on his face.

“How, um… how much did you hear?” You scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

“The first time?” Quinn asks. “Or this time?”

You don’t really want to know the answer, but you nod anyway. “Uh...both?”

“Well,” Quinn says. “Today, you didn’t seem to get very far.”

No thanks to you, you think bitterly. I would’ve liked to see how that dream ended.

“But the first time, I heard everything,” Quinn informs you with a little shrug. “You… you sound really pretty when you come.”

It’s a sheepish admission and it has your jaw dropping. You fishmouth at him for a second, unable to think of something to say. He can just say shit like that? What? How?

“I guess I was hoping…” Quinn licks his lower lip, then looks you up and down. “That if I interrupted you this time, I’d get to… experience the real thing. Not just listen in through the wall.”

“You want…” you trail off, overwhelmed by the information he’s giving you. Quinn wants to have sex with you? But he’s your neighbor crush– this is a new development in the dynamic that you were not expecting. You’re not usually the kind of girl whose little crushes are reciprocated, at least, not like this.

Quinn raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to complete the sentence. When you don’t, he asks another question. “What was I doing in your dream, Y/N?”

“We, um, we were in bed,” you stammer out, feeling unsure. He wants to know– he’s made that very clear. Still, you’re somewhat reluctant. It might be coming off as coyness by accident.

“Can I come in?” Quinn asks. “I need to get the full picture. I don’t know what your bed looks like.”

You stand aside and allow him in. You close, and, out of habit, lock the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom. You try to see it through his eyes for the first time, although you’ve been living here for a while, so it’s hard. It’s just your bedroom.

“So this is where we were,” Quinn says. “Then what?”

“We were laying down,” you explain.

Quinn starts to take off his shoes, then his socks, then he climbs into your bed. “Like this?”

You feel lightheaded. What is he doing? This is so bizarre.

“Kind of?” You reply. You join him. “It was more like– this?” You pull at his arm until he lays on his side, facing you. You face him, bringing his elbow up so it rests on the pillow.

He asked, you remind yourself. He wants to know. He asked. It’s weird, but you’re just showing him.

You resolutely avoid his eyes, which have been trained on your face this whole time. Your cheeks are probably going to remain stained pink from the constant blush on your skin. You lay your head on the curve of his arm, then touch his cheek. Just his cheek. You’re still avoiding his eyes. It’s getting harder. “And then, um, my leg was over your hip, too.”

“Like this?” Quinn asks, bringing his warm palm to the curve of your knee and guiding your leg into place. He leaves his hand there.

“Like that,” you confirm faintly.

All of your neurons are firing like crazy, making you question if this, too, is a dream. Has your subconscious gotten so meta that you can’t decipher what’s real and what’s fake?

“What else did we do?” Quinn’s voice has dropped to a whisper. His hand is still on your thigh.

“Well, your hand was here,” You say, correcting him and bringing his hand to your waist. “And you…”

Quinn gives your waist a little squeeze. “I… what?”

“You were kissing me,” you say, your voice barely a breath. This can’t be real.

Quinn surprises you. “Good,” he murmurs. “I’ve been waiting to do that.” He leans in, letting his lips ghost over yours before he meets you completely. He’s hesitant, waiting for you to relax with him.

You don’t fully, still confused from waking up and the fact that this happened so quickly and in such a bizarre way. When he pulls away, you voice your confusion. “Are you real?” You question under your breath.

Quinn chuckles, leaning in to kiss you again. “I’m real.”

He continues to kiss you. Over and over, until you finally melt into his touch and start to do exactly what you were doing in your dream– grinding against him.

“Were you doing this in your dream?” Quinn asks. He’s helping guide your movements and you can feel him swelling beneath you. He’s not wearing underwear– you can tell. You want it, bad, and now that you’ve been kissing him, you’re more willing to explain the rest of your dream to him.

“More,” you breathe out. “I needed your cock inside me.”

Quinn makes a noise of surprise, but the way he kisses you after you say that reveals his enthusiasm.

“And you were talking to me,” you reveal as Quinn starts to meet your rolling hips. “You were– you were teasing me for being so needy.”

“What was I saying?” Quinn’s hand twitches against your waist, pulling you closer. He licks into your mouth briefly, then pulls back. “What had you begging for me, sweetheart?”

“Making fun of me,” you exhale. “Saying– I couldn’t get enough of you. That I was greedy and that I couldn’t be satisfied with just warming you–”

“Warming me,” Quinn repeats quietly, interrupting you.

You talk over him. “So you had to fuck me, but you weren’t really fucking me– you were just, inside, barely moving and your thumb was on my clit.”

“As if I could hold myself back like that,” Quinn scoffs. You grab the sides of his shirt and tug petulantly, bringing him in for another kiss. You’re addicted.

“Show me,” you invite. “Show me how you’d fuck me. Show me what you’d do differently. Please. You came all the way over here– I want to make it worth your time.”

Quinn groans into your mouth, bringing his hand from your waist to the tie of your robe. “Really?”

“Don’t make me ask again,” you say. “I was so close in my dream.”

Quinn reacts to that in the same way. “Fuck, let me get my fingers in you first–”

“No.”

“No?” Quinn repeats, pulling away from you.

“Not no,” you correct, bringing your hands to his waistband and snapping the band impatiently. “Just– I want your cock. Just your cock. Please fuck me, Quinn.” You kiss him sweetly one more time. “Please?”

“Undress yourself,” Quinn says. “I want to see all of you.”

“You too,” you reply. “Take your clothes off.”

As you undress, untying the knot of your belt and tossing the robe to the floor of your bedroom, you talk. You take your big t-shirt off, asking, “Condom?”

Quinn digs into the pocket of his sweats, having shed his shirt. He pulls out a foil– just one, sadly– and tosses it to you.

You catch it, tearing the edge of the packet and taking out the ring of plastic inside of it. You push your panties down with one hand, while Quinn loses his sweats. As soon as his cock is revealed to you, hard and pink at the tip, you jump into action. You’re rolling the condom on quickly, unable to help yourself from pumping his shaft a few times.

“Quit,” Quinn remarks, batting your hand away and laying back down. He’s on his side, pulling your thigh back over his hip and resuming the position from before. He puts his hand under your jaw, then guides his cock to your opening. He pushes in, rolling his hips until every single inch is sheathed inside of you. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good.”

“You’re big,” you reply, holding his shoulders and tilting your pelvis forward to encourage him to move. “Filling me so nice, Q.”

“Q,” Quinn echoes, his voice sounding a little strangled. “That’s– that’s nice.”

You wonder if he’s holding back. He always seems to when it comes to talking to you. After a while, maybe he’ll give you something more than his shy words and his hesitant admissions. He’s in your bed now, but he’s still holding back.

He starts to rut against you, finding a rhythm in which his cock slides in and out of your heat. The movement is smooth because you’re so wet from dreaming about him, then kissing him, and now having him inside. Even though there’s the barrier of protection between you, he’s warm and you can feel the way his skin stretches over his veins and his tip. That, combined with the scrape of his member against your fleshy walls, creates something so warm inside of you that you can’t help but ask for more.

Quinn gives you everything you ask for like he can’t imagine doing anything else. Soon enough, he’s holding himself up slightly by his elbow so he has some leverage to fuck into you harder and faster.

You’re moaning, pulling him closer and threading your fingers through his hair. “Quinn,” you’re saying, repeating the word that inspired him to come over in the first place.

He’s saying your name, too. He’s whispering it into your ear and into your mouth as he presses kisses wherever he can reach. He thrusts, he says your name, he kisses. He thrusts again, he says your name again, and he kisses you again. It’s an endless cycle, a perpetual loop. It’s soft and sweet, even though the way he’s fucking you is anything but. His thrusts are sharp and pointed, hitting the right spot inside of you as often as he can.

The kiss to your neck is your undoing. He’s sucking a bit, biting down just barely, and his tongue works against your pulse point. It’s too much, too full of something deeper. You let go, making the noise he likes so much– the noise that he said was pretty, and he meant it, even as bashful as he looked when he said it. Your moan mixes with his name again.

Quinn spills into the condom shortly after, touching you reverently and letting his hips jerk and twitch through his release.

You feel innately close to him, like you’re part of him. It’s bizarre how one hookup with your cute neighbor leaves you feeling satisfied and unsettled– ‘unsettled’ because, well, why would you feel so close to a man you’ve slept with once and only had a few genuine conversations with?

Quinn eases your thoughts by letting you know that he feels, at least, a little bit similar to you.

“Can I take you to dinner?” He asks. “I’m busy most of the time, but I want to take you out. Let’s make time to have a real date.” Quinn pauses. “Unless you don’t want to– if you just want this, that’s okay. I just– I’d feel stupid if I didn’t ask.”

You touch his mouth, effectively silencing him, even though you hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to feel his lips move while he spoke. “I’ll go to dinner with you,” you agree. “If you sleep here tonight.”

Quinn smiles. “Done.”

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#quinn hughes #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n #qh43 #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hockey smut

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codnasties · 3 months ago

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kinktober ₊˚ · ♡ ·˚₊ ghost & price ₊˚ · ♡ ·˚₊ hike

you wanted to go on a hike but didn't want to do it alone, so both ghost and price offered to accompany you as well as their expertise, just in case. it was lovely having those to to share the trek with, having someone to talk with, to share the experience and also as a bit of protection.

but the first thing you needed to protect yourself from was john's hands, because he tried to keep them to himself, but the view of your ass clad in those pants was way too tempting. so he decided to give you what you both classified as a playfull slap, but he actually intended to let you know he was enjoying the view.

the problem is that it wasn't just one, they kept coming, and you somehow ended up bent over, with price's hands teasing your round behind throug your thin pants. but he soon discarded those, pulling them down and giving him a view of your pants clad pussy and your ass cheeks that were rapidly turning red.

the smacks on your behind didn't stop, one after the other, maybe a teasing slap over the wet patch that was starting to show though your knickers. but he soon discarded those too.

once price had had his fill, he grabbed you by the waist and with easy he lifted you off the floor and placed you over a fallen tree, giving him easy access to your butt ad cunt in that bent over possition. it was a split of a second what it took him to get his aching hard cock out of his pants and push himself into your tight walls.

and you may ask, where's ghost? well, he was enjoying the view of your reddened cheeks and dripping pussy, adoring the image of you bent over that tree getting your pussy fucked by his captain. he was letting him have his fun first, all while palming his raging hard on through his pants.

but that didn't last long, the feeling of your tight and soaking wet walls made price, who hadn't fucked a pretty thing in a long time, cum a lot faster than he would have liked. a few strokes into you and he has already realising his seed. as much as he wanted to cum inside of you, he didn't have your consent so he pulled out -what a waste if you ask me -.

but even if joh felt like he didn't give you enough and that he may have disappointed you, there was simon ready to save the day. in the blink of and eye he was fully naked and ripping the little clothing you had left on you off. grabbing you and making you sit on his big and angry cock.

he made you bounce on it, graving handfuls of ass to guide you until he came deep inside of you. all that gave price a show while he was recovering and getting himself ready for next round. also, that cum was going to be some amazing lube.

and that cum as lube was very much necessary when you got up from ghost's lap and sat of price's once again hard cock, and simon taking place right behind you, fully sandwiching you between both of their strong and muscular bodies, and pushing his member into your weeping and already stretched to it's limit cunt, fucking you at the same time as price.

both of their dicks being hugged by your walls and the men relishing in the feeling of that and rubbing against the others cock, the sensation making the three of you moan and groan like crazy.

price soon came inside of you - because that's just what he had in mind since he put his dick in you the first time-, filling your already full hole even more, covering both your walls and his and ghost's cocks with it. but simon doesn't. he takes his dick out after his captain came and gets you on your knees.

he makes you clean his shaft, inevitably having a taste of price's seed mixed with the one he had left indie of you before, using your throat until he cums down it. he may even paint your face with it to give you the complete package and full experience.

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usedpidemo · 4 months ago

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Cruel flower (Jo Yuri)

“You sure you really like my dress for today?”

For the record, this is the fifth time Yuri has asked you this question. Whether or not you disagree, your choice doesn’t matter. She’s going to show off, and for good reason.

You’re not the only one anticipating some antics on stage.

To be fair, they’re not exactly the kind of antics you’d expect, as though one makes a fool of themselves like it was part of a humiliation ritual. Yuri is much more intricate and flirty, as seen with her choice of outfit for today’s performance. It’s tasteful with a hint of sexy, yet easy on the eyes. The kind that leaves your mind questioning as to why she dresses herself like someone she’s not, even if you enjoy staring at her bewitching appearance.

She makes your heart race in countless ways you never knew could happen.

“I mean—even if I said no, you’ve already made up your mind. So what is the point,” you tell her, covering your mouth, your gaze peering down at the garter and stocking combo completing her floral ensemble. To say they complement her would be an understatement; even by her relatively tame standards, this is a little too bold and showy for her fans.

But the thing is, it’s not her normal audience she’s performing for. Thousands of fans are lined up all over the convention floor, mainly to see their more popular favorites. Not helping matters is that she’s one of the rare handful of soloists, the number which you can count with just your fingers, which typically don’t generate as much interest as an average group. Right from the start, she’s fighting an uphill battle, and this is her one of the limited opportunities to steal everyone’s hearts and attention, especially on a bigger platform.

Yuri turns around from the mirror, having put on the finishing touches of her makeup, facing you with a dour, mocking pout. “You’re no fun.”

Indifferent, you brush her off. Her contemptuous responses are part of the package, something that encompasses your daily routine. The less you entertain her, the better and the wiser you are, especially during these more serious times. You’ve learned that you find yourself less likely to fall in danger when you don’t give Yuri even the smallest of openings.

Unfortunately, it’s a lesson you have to be reminded of more often.

“But you gotta admit, I look really good, right?” she questions you, as if you haven’t been ogling her from the moment she presented herself to you in just her lingerie, garter and stockings. The dress is just the cherry on top of what you consider near perfection.

It’s intentional trolling at this point.

“I don’t know,” you tell her, hiding no hint of sarcasm. “Could use a little less”—you suddenly stammer—”You know—”

“Could use a little less what, babe?” Yuri approaches you, seated on the couch, pressing her palms on your knees, smirking, plotting. The thin layer of dress sweeps forward, revealing some cleavage and her necklace. She’s all up in your face, her lips nibbling on the ridge of your ear, her neck flashing a still fresh hickey from earlier in the day, her hot breath sending chills down your spine—her favorite form of showing affection.

If you had any less restraint, you’d take her on this very couch, rip off her clothes and fuck her on said mattress in every position imaginable. Forget the crowd, much less the fact that you’re in a backstage room, where the walls are paper thin, so much so that even the slightest sounds can be heard from the outside. No matter how you spin it, there’s always clear and present danger waiting for the most inopportune time to strike. This is how Yuri gets you: by putting you both in the most uncomfortable situations possible, career be damned. It isn’t due to a heightened sense of thrill under duress, but it’s just the way she is. Insatiable.

As easy it would be to fold right then and there, you make it a point to keep her in check, much to her disappointment. In a way, you’re kind of her unofficial co-manager, except you just so happen to share the same bed with her.

“No,” you tell her, holding face, holding her by the wrists, rising from the couch and leading her against the makeup table. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Fuck you,” she replies, not hiding her frustration. She matches your stern glare with of her own, but she comes off as more of a spoiled child than an actual threat. There’s more charm to find than seriousness in Yuri’s cutesy features. “You really are no fun at all, asshole.”

Releasing your grip on her hands, you make a concerted effort to fix up her loose dress, then leave a peck on the cheek. All while you admire the little details that complete her look. You can’t help but kiss her softly, inadvertently calming her down. Undoubtedly, she’s pretty, but she’s even more special today.

“It’s only a what? Thirty minute set? It’ll go by in a breeze,” you tell her, as if she hasn’t been going through the festival circuit just the other month. On her part, it feels way longer since she performed in public, and that’s in no small part to her spending all her spare time with you more than anything or anyone else—to the point of being overly attached.

Yuri sighs, rolling her eyes, hating the notion of being away from you for more than a few minutes. She makes one last hail mary effort to lead you on by wrapping a leg around yours, but you immediately catch on and put her in place. She’s so visibly miffed, that it’s easy to feel any sort of sympathy for her, but you know this little devil is going to exploit your kindness and bury you in the process.

“Please,” she pleads in her softest tone, ready to drop to her knees on command. “I don’t even need you to fuck me like a whore, but—please—let me suck your cock instead. Let me take a warm load down my throat and I’ll be good to go.”

Try as hard as she can, the idea passes through one ear and comes out the other. You don’t budge. Not in the slightest.

“Please, babe—promise I’ll let you use me anyway you want.” Right on cue, Yuri sheds tears, eyes wide and bargaining. “I’ll let you tie me up and tease me with your toys like the bad girl that I am. Just give me this one thing. Please.”

Still, nothing she does changes your mind. You even toy with the fact she’s needy as hell. “Didn’t you just call me an asshole, asshole? Why would I let you suck my cock, let alone shove it anywhere near you or inside you?”

Her facade immediately disappears in place of self-defense. “Oh come on. I call you asshole all the time, asshole. Since you like that word so much, here: asshole, asshole, asshole. I bet it’s because it reminds you of how much you love using my—”

Unamused, you interrupt Yuri by backing her against the table again, imposing your superior stature over the frankly petite idol. She doesn’t look intimidated, and for good reason: you won’t do a damn thing to hurt her. Despite the clear assertion of power, it’s actually the opposite—she recognizes that you’re falling into her hand and gets off on bothering you.

“Go on. What are you gonna do? Spank my ass? I bet you’d love to do that to me now, do you?” Yuri’s chuckling, grinning wickedly through every word, knowing your attempts at punishing her only serve to derive her pleasure instead. Either way, it’s a lose-lose situation. Fold and risk your frisky relationship to the public at your expense, or only delay the inevitable and continue to be tormented at every chance she gets. The trouble never ends.

You end up backing away and leaving her alone in the room. You remember; it’s a miracle. “Just—act normal,” you tell her, sounding defeated as you open the door.

—————

For the most part, she does.

Yuri is a natural performer, as usual. She never really needed you to begin with. You found her like this. Any sign of weakness or doubt is virtually unrecognizable.

Being near the front has its benefits. For one, you’re merely a stone’s throw away from Yuri, meaning you don’t have to strain your eyes or constantly turn to the screen. No LED panel can truly display Yuri’s in all their glory. It also means when her earpiece randomly stops functioning, you’re a few inches away when she decides to entertain the fans with typical fanservice: giving high-fives, completing hearts, partaking in pictures, and so on. While everyone around you has their phones and lightsticks raised, you’re just watching along, basking in the moment, watching your girl do the thing she loves the most, besides doing you.

Yuri passes by your section, and immediately recognizes you on sight in the midst of the crowd. She throws a wink and a kiss in your direction—much to everyone else’s delight, but not yours. Apart from that one scene, there isn’t much fanfare or anything fanciful that you haven’t already seen from her. After only five songs, she bids farewell to the audience.

Minutes later, you reunite with her backstage at her assigned dressing room.

“Well well,” says Yuri, waiting by her lonesome at the makeup desk as you enter, sounding self-indulgent. “I did it, babe. Wasn’t so hard.”

Of course. Yuri can keep herself in control; she just chooses not to. It’s hardly a surprise to anyone, especially you.

“Were you expecting a cookie?” you comment, making sure her head doesn’t leave orbit.

“Don’t be such a bitch,” she retorts, pouting her lips, irked at your remark. “Just say I did a good job. Being kind costs nothing.”

“And being an asshole also costs zero,” you retaliate, never letting up on the sarcasm. “Good job.”

“And? You’re missing one more thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, growing slightly crabby. “What? Isn’t a simple good job already enough?”

“C’mon.” Yuri steps forward with all the confidence in the world. The change of attitude in the room is sudden, abrupt. One quick shove sends you stumbling back onto the couch. Before you’re able to react, she straddles herself on your lap, having all of the leverage. “You know I gotta get my reward after every performance, babe.”

No matter where you turn, you end up back at square one: against Yuri. Her hands lead your wandering gaze toward hers. “God, Yuri, no—”

She shushes you, places a finger between your lips, shaking her head in disapproval. “I did my part. It’s only right that you have to return the favor. That’s the rules.”

“What rules?”

Yuri laughs. Shoots you this inviting, alluring look that’s asking—begging—for trouble. A perfect encapsulation of who she is whenever you’re alone together. Her fingers begin to pick through the buttons of your dress shirt, your countenance slowly unraveling as dread and danger clouds your mental functions. No amount of ignorance can save you. You’re trapped.

There’s your answer.

As if that wasn’t enough, the finger between your lips is now replaced with hers. A kiss. Deep. Tender. Passionate. She’s engrossed in the moment, cupping your face to pull you down with her, forcing you into submission. There’s no escape. Whatever resolve you have left she gradually weakens, until you eventually close your eyes and reciprocate those feelings back at her, too.

It’s a good thing you locked the door beforehand, as if you knew this was going to happen.

You’re stuck in this fervent position for what feels like an eternity, when in reality, it’s only been a couple of minutes. Despite the precarious state you’re in, there’s something sincere when it comes to Yuri. Probably because she’s the only person on this planet with a face that could look innocent while clearly committing the act. Still, she’s up to no good, and she has you exactly where she wants you to be.

She pulls away from the kiss, her eyes glazed, her lips melding in the shape of a moan, even though you’re still clothed—for now.

“Jesus, Yul, we really should—”

A second kiss interrupts your desperate plea. Yuri doesn’t want to hear any part of it. She knows what she wants. No amount of resistance will deny her this opportunity. She finishes unbuttoning the last of your shirt, slipping it off before throwing it aside, caressing your bare shoulders. All this while shaking her head.

Pulling away from your lips again, she slips one of her dress straps down her shoulder. “I don’t fucking care. I want you now.”

Clambering off your lap, Yuri tugs at the hem of your pants, jutting your hips forward. You can only watch helplessly while she strains her lanky arms, unzipping your trousers, pulling on them again and again until they pool around your ankles and shoes. Her eyes fixate on your groin, gleaming at the welcome sight: a growing bulge beneath your boxers.

“How long have you been hard for me, hm?” She swipes at your erection a handful of times, each touch eliciting an airy groan from your lips. Biting on her lower lip, the sensation arouses her even further. “Did I dress a little too sexy for you today?”

If you could talk at that moment, you would say yes. The entire time you’ve been watching her on stage, your primary focus was her outfit over everything, including her soulful voice. As flattering as the simple but sexy ensemble was on its own, it’s even hotter in motion. It reminds you of when you first met in a similar place. Instead of thousands in attendance, it was only a handful of patrons at a small bar. And out of the dozens she could have ended the night with, it happened to be you. From the moment you laid your eyes on each other and exchanged smiles, you knew there was never going back.

You’re aimlessly pulling at strings, hoping to find a way out, a miracle. Instead, you’re digging your grave even further. The other strap falls down, pulling the rest of her dress along with it. Not of her own volition, with the culprit being your own hand. There’s nothing worth saving at this point, not even yourself.

What a way to surrender. You haven’t answered her question formally, yet she understands what you were going to say.

Yuri leans forward, her attitude as bold as it's ever been. Despite her pretty smile, the hint of cleavage right in front of you sweeps away your gaze. Every part of her is a sight for sore eyes. She shudders, closes her eyes, slowly grinds herself against your throbbing bulge, finding your place beneath her even more suffocating. You can only sink back on the couch, moan along and let her neediness weigh you down.

As the garment slips further down down her lithe frame, landing at the waist, you bury your head against Yuri’s neck. Romantic as it may look, it’s anything but. She keens against your ear, her nails scratching at your nape—all while you clamp down on her collarbones. Her whines sound needy, wanton, shameless. Her voice echoes beyond the four corners of this room, removing any pretense to any innocent soul passing by. Conveniently, music from the main stage is loud enough to cover your little act.

Maybe she really had it planned out all along.

While Yuri remains preoccupied by her senses betraying her, you reposition her away from you towards the table. You never let up on the passionate kisses and bite marks till her creamy, pale skin glows a deep shade of red. Then you twiddle with the zipper on her corset, sharply yanking it down, almost snapping the clasp in your haste to undress her. Fortunately, you manage to push the rest of her lingerie down to her waist, enough to where you can feel her bare figure with your hands.

Asserting your control—something you should have had the entire time—you lay Yuri face down on the sofa, clambering yourself on top of the powerless idol. Manhandling her is as easy as breathing; she folds at the slightest push and prefers to be used as a means of personal release.

Reaching from behind, you rest a hand on her chest. You squeeze; she yelps. The feeling of her nub held between your palm while drawing out little, saccharine noises from her dirty lips scratches that sweet spot in your brain perfectly. It’s an addicting sensation you can’t get enough of. She is unable to fight back, her nails digging deep into the fabric of the couch, desperate to hang on, only to find herself going weak at the knees.

More and more, you find yourself losing control, becoming more ravenous. You quickly shed your boxers, pushing them down as far as your knees, your struggling cock freed from its restraints. Your noises are turning more primal: less human, more animalistic, as your grip on Yuri tightens. You lay her body flat on the couch, make use of what little space is left, before digging between her legs to strip the panties beneath her skirt.

Part of you wants to slip a finger or two in there and play with her clit. It’s inconsequential, if not a small diversion from what really matters. Until you remember just how far off the beaten path you’ve already gone. If you don’t fuck her right then and there, you just might lose it.

Pressing the head of your cock along her lips, you come to a predictable conclusion: she’s soaking wet. Wet enough to raise some deep concerns. Your breaths tense up as you slowly enter and the walls pulse around you; the gap between you and her couldn’t be any narrower.

The groan you release as you bury yourself to the hilt is worth a thousand reliefs. Nothing is as satisfying as that first entry into Yuri’s tight, suffocating pussy. Every single time.

“Oh—fuck—” you blurt, immediately overwhelmed by the rapid surge of heat. In response, she lets out this sharp, echoey moan, stretching her head ever so slightly forward as she endures the stabbing sensation. The feeling doesn’t last long; you pull back, her walls pulsating against your cock, only to plunge right back in.

The little discomfort soon dissipates for pleasure. Yuri’s so intoxicatingly tight, so hot when you fill her with your cock. That’s why despite the uncomfortable scenarios she puts you in, you always fold, because you feel right at home in her cunt. It would be a disservice to take her like some dainty, delicate doll. And you wonder why she’s always so needy.

Spreading her thighs wider, you fuck her, slowly foregoing the comfort of a slow grind in favor of a erratic, torrid pace. Each thrust you deliver is hard, emphatic strokes, as if to prove two points: that you don’t take lightly to her antics, and that you will always overpower her. You shouldn’t be deriving any joy from this, but you’re loving every second using her as she wanted: as an outlet for your frustration.

As for Yuri, she’s just as pathetic and helpless as always. Reduced to a heaping pile of moans and mewls. Her national position. Her favorite position. You should be wondering just how incredibly manipulative and conniving she is, getting you to act out for a little miscreant like her, when she should have known her place by now. Ultimately, there’s no point; there’s nothing that will get her to change her wicked ways, and every consequence only serves as her motivation to push you even further.

The sounds filling the room are almost indistinguishable. Whether it’s the supposed thumping on the door or skin against skin, you don’t know. You’re twisting her dark hair around your finger, and her keen and shriek are one and the same. Meanwhile, your other hand can’t decide between her waist and her ass, both sensitive and satisfying to the touch. You’re both too engrossed in each other’s pleasure to care about anything other than the relentless collision of your bodies. At this point, you’re certain it is, in fact, a knock on the outside, but it will eventually disappear. They all do.

Yuri is shaking, violently trembling, gripping to the couch’s handles, desperate for air. ‘More—harder—fuck me—’ she begs in repetition, every word spilling like a prayer. It’s amazing how she holds up against you. You wonder if her goal is to be seen like this—to be recognized as the fucktoy and brat she is. You can only contain her for so long; it’s only a matter of time before it blows out of proportion. That’s the thrill of the chase—to avoid being found and to escape with an inch of your life.

Your grip around her hair reaches a fever pitch, your teeth gritted and your breath heaving. You want to say you’re close, but that’s basically asking for trouble. Still, you can’t bear it any longer. “So close, Yuri. I’m gonna cum—”

“Fucking do it. Cum all over me. Inside me. Anywhere you want,” is her response, with you pressing her down on the couch out of fear any more filth from her lips will upend you quicker, when in reality, you were already in the process of falling apart. As far as vulgarity goes, it is among her tamest. You’re delaying the inevitable by only a few precious moments.

Then she cums. Unannounced, out of the blue. For all you know, she could have been screaming into the void the way her cries are muffled by the sofa.

Her juices flood your cock, almost making you snap in return. The feeling overwhelms you beyond definition; it takes every last bit of resolve not to break down right then and there. With a sharp draw from her warmth, her slick leaks from her cunt, spills down to the couch. Coating every inch of your shaft, the suffocating heat of her pussy pulls you right back in, and that final thrust sends you over the edge.

All that pent-up want and tension, unglued in an instant.

Ignore that you let out this hoarse, powerful grunt from the depth of your lungs as you fill Yuri’s cunt with every last drop you have, as if you haven’t been fucking her multiple times a day for the last two weeks. The spillage on her skirt and dress doesn’t matter; as long as she feels every last speck of your cum inside her. You find solace on her shoulders, pushing your throbbing cock deep into her cunt over and over as you blast fleck after fleck that seemingly never ends.

Eventually, you crash down on the other side of the couch, opposite where Yuri’s face rests. Taking a minute to catch your breath, you get a glimpse of your handiwork: your cum continuously spewing from her sopping cunt, down to the now soiled linen, the damage long-lasting, if not permanent. Had you torn the dress and skirt concealing her inner thighs, the signs wouldn’t have been any more obvious.

It takes a little longer than normal for you to gather your bearings. After all, you were straining your legs in a crowded room an hour before this little escapade. But you’ve been through worse—way worse.

When you finally regain some of your strength, you grab the still exhausted Yuri by the waist and bring her in front of the dressing room mirror. Her bare chest is in clear view, with her dress all crumpled up at the midsection; it’s going to require more than a simple fix.

“Look what you made me do, you fucking brat,” you hiss, giving Yuri a thunderous slap on her ass. She sees it as not a punishment, but as a reward for pushing you far beyond your comfort zone.

She can barely move a muscle, but is able to respond in spaced out breaths. “Told you it was better than the bedroom.”

You respond with another spank. Then another. A few more. More than you can count. Each hit as thunderous as the clap of her cunt. You know it’s not going to stop her; she knows you can do nothing else.

Her hands cling to the desk, her breaths still heavy, while you slowly rip through the skirt, foregoing any logic. You catch a peek of even more of your handiwork, her ass burning with the same fiery red as the rest of her shapely body.

Spreading her supple cheeks, you line your cock between her pussy and her legs, resting your head forward beside hers. Grabbing Yuri by the hair, you tilt her face down, moaning against her ear as your bodies entangle together. “Fuck you, Yuri. Sincerely, fuck you, fuck you. Fuck. You.”

With half an eye opened, you catch a glimpse of your reflection, and it’s as messy as you expect. Yuri’s mouth is spread in a deep, wide ‘O’ shape, still riding a prolonged high, while your fingers are all over her. On her breasts. In and out of her hair. The image is arousing enough that you instinctively push your bodies forward. You can feel your cock hardening again.

But right as you get into a rhythm, a knock on the door again snaps you from your shared daze.

“Well? Bodyguard, you better go and get that,” she says with a slight smirk, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

You throw your head back, groaning in despair. “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, much to her delight and laughter.

Yuri shimmies from your clasp, picking up pieces of her now ruined dress before walking to the bathroom, while you hike across the room to gather your wear. If there’s one thing about sex with her, it’s how filthy it gets. Clothes scatter everywhere, she’s loud enough to draw attention, and despite everything, it’s hot and messy in all the right ways. You end up fucking her in positions you never thought you’d ever try.

You barely make yourself presentable as you pick up the door, only to be greeted by a blonde beauty on the other side. Her dress immediately stands out; it’s simpler in both design and color (a plain black all over), yet so daring, it makes Yuri seem conservative by comparison. She knows what her best assets are and how she’ll flaunt them for all to see.

What also sticks out is her natural accent. “Hey. Don’t mind if I ask, but is Yuri around?”

With the narrowest of turns, you manage to ascertain her presence, or lack thereof. “You barely missed her, Somi. She just left.”

“Did she tell you where she went?”

“No idea.”

Somi pouts. It’s a familiar look. “But I just heard her voice here. It was really loud!”

“You just gotta text her. I seriously don’t know where she went off.”

Her eyes wander down to your ragged appearance, a stark contrast to your blunt tone. The loose belt, the partially unbuttoned shirt, the rolled up sleeves of varying folds. It’s a disaster of epic proportions, and you can barely hold it together. “You sure nothing’s happened in there?” she asks, hiding the littlest of grins. “You look kinda rough.”

“I’ll be fine. Just had to deal with”—you pause, a moment stretched out longer than it should have any right being—“some stuff.”

“Right.” Her eyes peek into the back, even with your best efforts to gently block her view, only to find nothing and no one. She considers her options, before saying, “Surely I can just wait till she comes back? I mean, you’re her bodyguard—”

“I don’t think that’s a great idea.” You shut her down immediately. “When she returns, I’ll let her know you were looking for her.”

There’s that trick again: a loose strap sliding down her shoulder. Her hand is glued to the doorpost, unwilling to move, expression undeterred. “I’ll just wait here. We still have a final goodbye to do for the fans. Don’t worry. I just really need to talk to her.”

Her friendly smile turns into a mischievous grin.

It’s deja vu.

—————

The goodbye never comes.

Some poor random idol has to take Somi’s MC job at the eleventh hour because she’s nowhere to be found. Despite security’s best efforts, she couldn’t be seen, and neither is Jo Yuri, for the last sighting of the two is them leaving the venue by themselves, one after the other. Apart from a handful of disappointed fans, their absence can be hardly felt by everyone else.

Not a soul knows where they went—and they never will find out, nor will they ever care. Only you may have the smallest of clues, for you are buried between two pairs of legs, preoccupied with eating out pussy while your hands squeeze on a couple sets of breasts in the cover of a hotel room.

—————

(A/N: HE HAS RISEN, BABYGIRL! *IRIS INTENSIFIES*)

(For real, what a trip these last two months have been. I'm feeling conflicted about it all. I could easily have published like five to seven fics in that time period, but no! Life gets in the way sometimes, and let's just say it gave me roadworks that stretched on for miles on end. I already told you about the flu/cough arc, and it's all in the past now. Like I said, college has started up for me, and this could be my final academic year before I have to deal with thesis/internship shit before eventually graduating, so I really am on borrowed time. I really should have used my time better when I was healthy, but it is what it is.)

(I really wish this was longer, considering the gap between the last fic. Writing these past two months has been hell, like I had writers' block on steroids, if that even is a thing. I fucking scrapped two fics, including one that was 7000 words in before I made the executive decision to restart the entire work from scratch. I don't know. I'm very perfectionist about the process. Writing is hard, man. Everyone's been killing it lately (including some incredible returns) and I don't know where my place belongs in this. But what matters is that you've been waiting for me and giving me best wishes during some really challenging times. With only four months left to go, let's finish the year on a high. Got nothing else meaningful to say, Yuri's KCON outfit is just really fucking hot. This would feel wrong if I didn't mention Box somewhere, so shoutout's to them XD Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #yuri #jo yuri

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gojhoes · 11 months ago

Text

my good neighbor

synopsis: You've lived next door to Geto for nearly a year, yet your neighbor remains all but a mystery. But as for you- he knows everything about you, from the shampoo you use to the books you keep by your bed.

warnings: MDNI 18+, NSFW contents: geto x fem!reader, yan(?)!geto, age gap, breeding, masturbation, no curse au, dubcon(?), somno, p-in-v wc: 6.3k

It all starts when an Amazon package with your name on it somehow ended up in Geto's mailbox. He would later refer to this occurrence as his greatest gift from God; the most blessed twist of fate to ever work in his favor.

A pink cardboard box sits on his counter, jarringly bright in comparison to the deep neutral design of his apartment. If the package's appearance wasn't proof enough, printed on top is an address nearly identical to his own, except his is 3-D, not 3-C. Clearly, it belongs to the tenant to his right- an easy mistake to be made by someone who reads hundreds of names and address every day.

Geto knows that he could march back down to the mail room and leave the package in the correct mailbox. He could walk away without another thought but given that the box is this specific shade of pink, he figures it might be something you're really excited for. You're probably wondering about it right now, peering confusedly at the 'Delivered' notification from your email. Besides, you both live on the third floor, so he'd be saving you an extra trip. He's just being a good neighbor.

But then he starts to think- he recognizes this shade of pink. His ex-girlfriend had once received a very similarly shaped package in the same color. Inside that package had been a vibrator that he'd grown quite familiar with over the course of their relationship. Could it be the same thing boxed up right here addressed to you?

Your door is cracked when steps out of his apartment with the package in his hand. From this angle, all he can see is the door to the coat closet directly to the right of the entrance. In his apartment, the same closet is on the left, confirming his suspicions that your bedrooms do, in fact, share a wall.

It also meant that your living rooms were connected, but Geto was already well aware of that. Yours seemed to be the gathering place for all of your friends and given the amount of chatter that trickled through the wall every evening, you had quite a few of them. Not that he minds- he works nights as a pharmaceutical lab tech, so it's not like he's there when you're having your get-togethers.

It was less bothersome during the week than on the weekend, which was when you hosted your entire gaggle of acquaintances for what sounded like game night. He was still working out the details of all the different voices, but over time, he'd developed the ability to recognize certain voices by the pitch and cadence of their speech.

It hadn't been on purpose, but the walls were stupidly thin, hardly a step up from a curtain. It was impossible not to eavesdrop, especially when the voices dwindled to only yours and another that was undeniably male. Geto'd glue himself to the wall trying to hear what the two of you were getting up to, but it seemed you weren't that kind of girl.

Or maybe Geto was assuming incorrectly that there was any type of romance going on. But for the last several weekends, he would hear the two of you chatting, then it would be quiet for a bit, as if you were pausing the conversation to make out. He has not, however, heard any sounds of pleasure from your side of the wall, and that alone has piqued his curiosity.

However, during the day, your side of the wall typically was quiet. Just as he would be getting out of the shower in preparation for bed, he'd hear your alarm blaring right at 7am. If it was loud to him, he could only imagine how your ears still functioned properly after such repetitive torture. He'd hear you getting ready through the walls and smell the coffee you brew while you take a shower. By eight o'clock, there is a jingle of keys followed by hours of silence, and he sleeps just fine.

It had to have been nine months or so since you'd moved in, yet Geto hasn't laid eyes on you even once. Your apparent opposite schedules have managed to keep the two of you from crossing paths despite living just inches from each other.

As he stands between your neighboring doorframes, he thinks about how strange it feels to know someone's daily routine despite never having glimpsed you. Based off your schedule and the lively nature of your social life, he's deduced that you must be an undergraduate student at the nearby university. He himself had graduated the semester before, but the rent was cheap and moving was too much of a hassle.

But what were you, 19? 20? With your own apartment, an 8-3 schedule, and enough time to hang out with your friends nearly every day? He couldn't be sure of your age, not without seeing you, but your behaviors made him sure that you were young.

Geto glances down at the box again, reading your name aloud to test the sound of it on his tongue. He eyes the opening of your door again, craning his neck to see what else might be behind it, but no dice. Maybe if he should just go in and leave it on the counter. He would get to see your place and hopefully satiate this prolonged curiosity, even for just a moment.

Besides, you've left your door cracked. Every front door in the building locks automatically when closed, so technically, it would be your fault if this was a robbery situation, regardless of the value of your things. It's too tempting- he's been too intrigued by the box clutched in his hand. It was fate for the two of you to meet this way. Every time you held it to your clit as you came, you'd think of the moment you saw him with the box in his hand at your door.

His hand hovers over the doorknob- is he really about to do this? Wherever you've gone, you'll likely be back any minute if you've been so careless about your door. No, it's not the right time. He's already nervous about how you will react, even more so knowing he's going to be seeing you for the first time.

You know when someone just sounds hot? The music your body makes is so human, yet so graceful and controlled until your friends come over. You sound perfect when you're just simply existing by yourself. He feels, in so many ways, that he knows you so well already. It wouldn't take him any time at all to learn how to give you what you want. Maybe he'll tell you that, if the moment presents itself.

He's fortunate yet again for the lack of insulation used by the contractors. There is a rushed set of footsteps echoing from the stairwell at the end of hall, giving him enough warning to take a step back until he's standing just the perfect distance between your two neighboring doors. He looks up as the footsteps close in, and his heart skips a beat when he finally, finally sees you.

"Hi!" you chirp. "You must be my neighbor."

The last few steps you take give him enough time to drink you in. You can't be older than 20 with plush lips and a pretty smile, one that lights up your face and showcases your lack of smile lines. And what you're wearing makes his mouth go dry. It's a baby blue pajama set with thin straps and the shortest goddamn shorts Geto has ever seen in his life. He's staring, he knows he is, but you're even more gorgeous than he could've imagined. Your hand shoots out to shake his, small and soft enveloped within his grasp for just a wink of time.

It's not enough, not even close to satisfying the desire you've instilled in him. He forces himself to look at your face and not at the tops of your tits threatening to spill out of that useless pajama top. God, and he can see your nipples straining against the thin fabric-

"I believe this belongs to you," he says, holding out the pink box.

Your face lights up impossibly as you pull it into your hands, and Geto thinks he might die right there. He smiles at your excitement; he was right- you were excited to get this. God, he would be so good to you if you'd let him.

"Oh, thank you!" you say enthusiastically. "I've had a lot of packages go missing lately, so it's really nice to actually get this one. Thank you so much."

You're practically worshipping him with the sinful sweetness dripping from your words. So well-mannered. Would you be this polite if he brought you into his bed and offered to give you his cock? Would you smile at him as you are now, and say please every time you ask him to fuck you? He'd do it for you- he'd give you everything simply just for being such a sweet girl for him.

Geto smiles and introduces himself. "It seemed like a pretty important package."

He catches the way your shoulders tense and the slight flush of your cheeks- shit, was it actually a vibrator in there? Clearly, you're embarrassed, so it would make sense, but there's no need to be ashamed of getting one.

But you're smiling sweetly again, any trace of worry wiped clean. "It's nice to finally meet you, Geto," you say, and he swears that he sees your eyes flick down to his lips.

He hums, tilting his head to side as if to study you. "Likewise."

You send him one more polite smile before disappearing into your apartment. As he's closing his own door, he's imagining you making a cup of coffee like you do every morning. Are all of your pajamas that pretty? He's met you once, but already he can tell that you're a princess. He bets your parents pay your rent and send you money for groceries anytime you ask. A girl as sweet as you was probably well-accustomed such doting and pampering.

Someone was taking care of you, but were they making sure you were safe? Who was reminding you to keep your doors locked? You were a young pretty girl living on your own in the city- anything can happen. Clearly it seems that you need someone to look out for you, and who could possibly be better for the job than him? He lived so close by already; checking on you would be no problem at all.

And after seeing your perfect thighs in your little shorts, the swell of your breasts straining against the blue fabric...he'll do anything if it means he might get to see that again. He'd come up to you from behind and wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your ass against his hips. One hand holding your chin as he kisses the side of your neck, squeezing your thigh with the other...

You need him. Someone older and more mature to nurture you properly. Besides, he was just being a good neighbor.

That evening, he rearranges his room so that the head of his bed is flush against the innermost wall of his apartment, the one that he shares with you.

*** Geto will admit that somewhere deep inside, he does feel guilty. This part of him is disgusted and ashamed, constantly wishing he could be different and cursing himself because he's not. But he was going to make you love him. Once you let him in, you'll wonder why you hadn't come to him sooner. You'll see- he'll prove it to you, and then you'll understand that everything he does is for you.

But the rest of him, the more dominant parts of his personality, run rampant once he's fallen for you. He isn't acting right, deep down he knows that, but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. He wants to know every secret you might be hiding. The home a person keeps says so much about them, and he wants to know everything. You won't have to hide from him, not ever, and he'll make sure you know that. Maybe he's obsessed, but can you blame him? You're just so perfect.

He's starving for you, but he's got to be subtle; if he's too forward, he risks upsetting you or scaring you away. He doesn't want to stress you out, either, but it's essential that he sees your apartment. He needs to check your locks, especially the one on your balcony and make sure that you're keeping up with your cleaning.

It means taking advantage of the several minutes you leave your door cracked when you've gone down to the basement to do your laundry. Every Saturday afternoon, before your friends come and steal you away, you gather your basket and leave your deadbolt extended to avoid locking yourself out.

He's managed to pull it off twice, the first time being harder than the second. It took him three days to work up the courage to even try thinking of a plan, but after moving his bed to the wall, closer to you, he's descended quickly into absolute agony. It's a stroke of luck- no, of fate- that has made you put your bed against the same wall- and he can hear everything.

A few days have passed since the package mishap, and by that point, Geto had almost forgotten about the contents of the box. That night, just as he's getting ready for a shift at the lab, he hears a strange buzzing as he's brushing his teeth. It's an electric toothbrush, so his first thought is that maybe it's time to replace it. But as he rinses out his mouth, he finds that the buzzing had not ceased. It's go to be you, he thinks, immediately drying his face and flying over to the wall to press his ear flush to it. He's just in time to hear the beautiful, merciful sound of a mewl escaping from your lungs.

A shaky breath passes his lips. He's dumbfounded by the pleasure that flows through his abdomen when he realizes what you're doing. He'd totally been right about the package. Even through the wall, he's able to recognize the same vibrations. Maybe he's just been Pavlov'd, but immediately he can feel the blood rushing south as a faint throb starts in his cock.

He knows without a doubt that you've got the cutest pout on your lips, maybe a few strands of hair falling into your face as you lay your head back. "Feels good," he whispers, despite knowing that you can't hear him. Do your hips buck up into your hands, or do have those plush thighs squeezing them tight while you try to cum?

Is this really happening right now? Heat creeps up his neck and high on his cheeks as another moan, albeit quieter this time, blesses his ears. He can't stop his hand from finding his cock and palming at himself as he eyes slip shut.

He's dying to know- he wants to see you right now, wants to watch as you spread apart your folds and fuck yourself until you're trembling. He needs more, he needs everything that you can give him- and you will give him all that you can. He knows you will because you're just that good of a girl.

Fuck. He's got to get to work on time before the cultures expire and he fucks up three weeks' worth of data, but you are killing him with each sweet little moan that leaves your mouth. He's picturing you on your knees with your ass in the air, two fingers pumping in and out of your tight cunt while your other hand has a death grip on the vibrator.

He's waited so long to hear your pathetic little whines as you fuck yourself as fast you can on your too-short fingers. You're so desperate, and with how hard you're trying, it's obvious that you're getting frustrated. He wants to help you- it's clear from your desperate cries that you need him to. He would help you cum, over and over if that's what you wanted. "It's okay," he breathes. "Keeping going, it's okay."

Using a vibrator for the first time can feel almost painful if you're not used to the intensity. You're so overstimulated that you're struggling to reach the orgasm you chase so desperately. He feels genuine pity for you as cry out, "please! so close...mm." If you'd just asked him, he would've been able to introduce it your sensitive clit the right way.

He's begging you more, anything you could give him. He knows you'll do it for him soon. You were just that good of a girl, and maybe you were too sensitive to cum without a little bit of a help. If he was inside you, you'd have creamed all over his cock by now, too fucked out to ride him anymore as he pounds into your pretty pussy from behind.

As much as he would love to see you beg for it, he truly thought that you deserved to cum and felt frustrated for you. You were such a sweet girl; the only reason it took you so long to try your new toy had to be because you were nervous. Good girls deserve the best orgasms, after all.

Shit, were you still a virgin? Did you even know how to make yourself cum yet? That would explain why he hadn't ever heard those pretty sounds before. Fuck, you were going to make him lose his goddamn mind if you didn't cum in the next 60 seconds. "Y-you'll cum for me, right? I know you can do it."

Geto did not make it to work on time that day, quintessentially ruining over 300 specimens all because you wanted to play with your pussy right as he had to leave for work. It was terrible timing, but he can't say he regrets bringing himself to one of the best orgasms he'd ever had without even touching you. It wasn't enough, though, just hearing you. He needs to see it, needs to feel your warm, tight cunt squeezing him dry while you moan into his ear.

A plan comes to him, albeit a risky one. The next time you leave to do your laundry, propping your door open like always, he slips into your apartment. It's an inverted copy of his own- the same appliances, same gray tiles, a balcony at the back of the living room. Your apartment is so girly, so shamelessly you, and not to mention spotless. Geto makes a poignant effort to keep his place clean, but only a control freak would keep their apartment this organized. You must be an anxious person- but that's okay, because he'll be there to help you through it.

Two minutes pass- you should be back any moment, and while he has an idea of what he'll say if you catch him, he really wants to avoid scaring you. He can't have you feeling scared around him, so he turns to leave- he can always come back another time after he's more prepared. But then he sees a set of keys lying on your counter, and the gears in his head start turning.

You've left your door open, so you'll be able to get back in- he doesn't have to worry about that. He knows you won't be leaving anytime soon. He's confident that he'll have enough time and he doubts that you'll notice your apartment key missing if you're not actively needing it. So, he pockets the whole set and slips right back out as silently as he'd come.

Early on Monday morning, Geto waits until he hears the jingle of your keys and the click of the deadbolt as it slides into place. The smell of coffee lingers, and his clock reads 8:06, but he can't risk you coming back, so he forces himself to wait a little longer. He's nearly vibrating with the anticipation of getting so much unadulterated time in your apartment. The copied key in hand is representative of everything he's done to get closer to you. This observation will help him learn who you are- what shampoo you use, what you keep on hand in your fridge, what toys you have hidden away.

He decides it's been long enough when 20 more minutes pass, and Geto makes a beeline for your bedroom. Compared to the rest of your apartment, your room is much more lived-in. The white comforter topping your bed is rumpled, exposing light pink sheets under a plethora of stuffies and pillows. He's more interested, however, in the nightstand on the side.

He pulls open the single drawer and sure enough, there's the white vibrator that you've been using quite often lately. Aside from a bottle of lube, there's nothing aside from some medications and a pair of nail clippers. His suspicion that you're a virgin persists from your lack of sex toys- no wonder you were so embarrassed when he hinted at the contents of your package. Already, he was half-hard thinking about how good he was going to make you feel. He was ecstatic to think that no one else had touched you yet. Whoever that guy was, the one you your often spent evenings with alone, wasn't going to stand a chance.

Geto steps away to make toward your bathroom, and feels something soft under his foot. He glances down and bends to retrieve the black lacy thong you've left so mercifully on the floor. It's foul, it's intrusive, it's perfect- he brings the fabric to his face and breathes in your scent. His cock throbs in his pants, begging for attention- for your attention, but he can't have you yet. No, it has to be perfect because you are perfect, and you deserve nothing less.

He shoves the thong in his pocket before going into the ensuite bathroom.

Later that week, the universe finally gives him a break.

That fateful Friday evening, he calls in sick to work. His throat is a bit sore, and he knows the ache in his muscles isn't from last night's workout, so he opts to take his temperature, which reads 38.2°C. He knocks back some cold medicine before burying himself in the blankets on his couch, dozing in and out as the effects sweep him away.

He's roused by a rap-rap-rapping on his front door, and even through his medicated haze, his heart jumps- is it you? Is he really about to get this lucky? He glances at the clock above the stove to see that it's half-past 11, and from the din coming through the wall, he knows that you've got your friends over. As he crosses to answer the door, he does feel a bit better aside from the persistent fog clouding his brain.

And it is you, dressed in a pair of jeans and a pink top that shows off your midriff. Your cheeks are painted with a light flush and your hair is bit disheveled, obviously tipsy from the way you're swaying a little. He smiles at you, drinking in the soft curves of your hips that he's been dying to dig his fingers into.

"Hey," you say. Your speech isn't quite slurred, but there's a lilt to your words that says all he needs to hear. "I'm so sorry to bother you like this, I know it's a little creepy, but-"

He doesn't mean to cut you off, but the words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them. "No, it's no trouble at all. Bother me all you want."

You're tipsy enough that the line works- you even laugh a little, and the sound makes his heart skip a beat. Every sound you make is so sweet

"Right," you say. "D'you have a wine bottle opener by chance?"

He shoots you his best disarming smile. "I do."

"Could I borrow it for a moment? I promise I'll bring it right back, I'm right next door."

He'd give you his left lung if you asked for it. He considers inviting you in, but the state of his illness deters him. All the lights are off in his apartment and he hadn't bothered to change out of his gray sweats and black sweatshirt. His hair is down, likely tangled and flat from dozing on his couch. No, you deserve to see him at his best- he'll get you to come over soon enough.

"Of course," Geto says. "Just a second."

He leaves the door cracked in the same way he's seen yours over the last month. Your fingers linger on his own when he places the wine opener in your hand. Even that slight contact sends a wave of excitement through him.

"Swear you'll come right back?" he teases, smirking a little.

You smile again, making him fall even harder when shoot him a wink before disappearing back inside of your apartment without a response. If this was your way of flirting, he's even more enamored with you. So coy, yet so sweet as you look at him over your shoulder before the door closes.

Geto goes into his kitchen to heat up a bowl of broth. Your tits sat so pretty in that little top- did you always dress like that? Not too revealing, showing off just enough to drive him mad with desire. He didn't get to see your ass, but if it was anything like he remembered, he knew that those jeans would cling to it like a film.

As he's sipping on his soup and scrolling mindlessly through his phone, there's another knock. He's on his feet and at the door in seconds, not even bothering to hesitate to swing it open so he can see you again. This time, you're holding a bottle of rose (because of course, you are) and his wine opener.

"Can you do it for me?" You're looking up at him with what he swears is a pout, and with how you bat your eyes through the question, how can he refuse? It would be criminal not to help, especially when you're asking so nicely with that cute look on your face. "None of us can get it open."

He's delighted that you've asked him. Were there no boys over there to help you? Did you choose him over them, or were you truly just too clumsy to do it yourself?

He cranes his neck to see if anyone else stands in the hall, but it seems deserted save for you, so he pushes forward. Geto does his best to seem mildly disinterested yet nice, not wanting to scare you away with the words he really wants to say. If he didn't fuck this up, maybe he wouldn't have to wait so long to get you to come back. His plan would get to move so much faster, but he had to be careful.

"I should probably do this over the sink," he says, reaching out to retrieve the bottle from your grasp. He purposefully lets his thumb brush the tip of your pinky- enough to test the waters, but not so much that it can't be played off as sheer coincidence. As he turns to go into the kitchen, he says over his shoulder, "Feel free to come in, by the way."

The suggestion is very forward considering you've said less than 20 words to the guy since moving in a year ago. Had you been of a better state of mind, you would have politely declined- you barely knew the guy even if your beds were separated only by a few inches of drywall. But you can't deny your curiosity; not once have you glimpsed what lies on his side of the wall. So you indulge yourself and step over the threshold, making sure to pull the door as you do so.

There's no way he's getting this lucky right now. All the plotting, the strategic timing of your meetings, and his careful research are finally paying off. You are walking right into his apartment without him having to lift a finger. He doesn't think you can get any more perfect- he hasn't even touched you yet, and you seem to already know what he wants. It was proof that the invisible string was real.

You stand at a safe distance on the side of the bar opposite from his, watching intently as Geto works the wine opener into the cork. There's a satisfying 'pop' as he gives it a firm tug. What would've taken you an embarrassingly long amount of time is accomplished with one quick flex of his forearm and a small grunt of effort.

"What's the occasion?" he asks.

You stare at him blankly. "Huh?"

He returns the wine opener to its rightful drawer, drawing out the motions to maximize how long he's got you in his apartment.

"It's champagne, so I figured maybe it was for something special," he explains. "Or are you just fancy like that?"

You're smiling at him again and his heart soars. He prays that you'll always look at him like that, and only him, but he gives no indication of the depth of his feelings. He wraps his hand around the neck of the now-open bottle and extends it toward you as he rounds the side of the counter.

"You could say that," you reply with a giggle. "Thank you..um, it's Geto, right?"

He nods. "Anytime. What's mine is yours."

It comes out wrong- way too intense to say if he's trying to stay above ground with you. But you don't seem to mind. If anything, the flush on your cheeks deepens as you take the bottle from him. From where he stands, he can make out a faint scar dragging across your exposed collarbone. He wonders what it might feel like to run his tongue across you delicate skin and leave marks. Would you keen into him and clutch at him as the quick, sharp pain pulls a whine out of you?

"Um, I'm sorry if I'm ever loud or anything," he says. "I work nights, so I think we have opposite schedules." A white lie, but he doesn't want you to leave yet. If he just keeps you talking, maybe he'll get the chance to ask you to hang out. He's desperate, honestly, but he tries to hide it as he stands between you and the front door.

Your face lights with a carefree wave of your hand. "Oh no, I can hardly tell you're there most of the time. I'm a super heavy sleeper, too, so don't worry about it."

He hums and shoots you a grin. "Guess I've been worried for nothing, then."

"Same to you, though," you continue. "I have people over like, all the time, I know they can get really loud."

It's awkward now, as you stand there with your eyes darting around the room and occasionally meeting his. You're nervous, he realizes, shifting your body in a way that makes your hip jut out. He doesn't want you to leave, but he's less apt to make you too uncomfortable, so he makes to walk you out.

"Thank you again," you say, smiling at him widely. He returns your thanks, and watches you disappear into your apartment once more. Already, his mind is reeling as he checks the time. Your friends should be leaving in a couple of hours- the noise usually diminishes around 2am, which will be no trouble to stay up until.

And he makes it despite taking another dose of medicine, having long since grown used to being awake during these hours. You should've have mentioned that you were a heavy sleeper, because now he has to do this.

His clock reads 3:10 when he quietly turns the lock with his copy of your key. The lights are off and it's silent, such a vast difference from the earlier commotion. He leaves his keys on the counter in case there's an unfortunate jingle when he finally enters your room.

You sleep naked- god, you make it so easy for him to love you. Your lips are parted and the passive rise and fall of your chest signals just how deeply you're sleeping.

He slides a hand between inner your thighs, unable to help himself any longer. He teases at your entrance to see how wet you are, dipping his fingertip in just far enough to get a taste of you as he brings it up to his mouth.

And fuck, his index finger slides right in and your cunt flutters around it.

But you don't stir; there's not even a hitch in your breath as he curls his finger into that spongy tissue that he's sure should've roused you. You weren't exaggerating about your being a heavy sleeper, and Geto silently sends praise to whatever gods that were helping him pull this off. However many drinks you'd had earlier were keeping you pulled under the sea of unconsciousness.

He thinks about sliding his hands under your thighs and burying his face between them, licking and sucking at your clit to properly taste you. Surely you'd have to wake up from that, but his patience is wearing thin.

He needs this- he needs you. He's so desperate to finally sink into you, to fuck you like he's been aching to for months. His hands are on the waistband of his sweats and he's pulling out his cock, the tip already weeping as he thumbs at his slit. He wraps his hand around his shaft and starts thrusting into it, finally letting himself begin to unravel as he lets out a pleasured sigh.

God, he doesn't know where to start. Your perfect tits bounce ever so slightly with every rise and fall of your chest. The collarbones he's been wanting to bite are so vulnerable and delicate, sitting right there for the taking. But he doesn't want to ruin the moment by waking you from too much stimulation. He leans over your still body, holding himself up on his palms as he glimpses your pretty face.

He feels that he might die if he doesn't fuck you right now, lining up his cock with your entrance before he buries himself inside you.

"Ohh, fuck," he breathes. So tight, so warm, so perfect- his own perfect little pussy, so much better than anything he could've imagined. He fears that he might cum right then, digging his fingers into the sheets in attempt to steady himself. Even in such a deep sleep, you're soaking his cock with each slow thrust. Are you dreaming about him fucking you right now? Is that how your slumbering brain is making sense of all the pleasure?

Once he's got some semblance of control, he rolls his hips into yours, sinking back into you until. It's too good, and he needs more, he needs to have his cock as deep as you'll take him. He moves his hands to your knees and bends your legs until your thighs are pressing against your chest. It's desperate, the way he fucks you, but somehow, you remain as still and quiet as you'd been when he first came in. Your body jostles with each thrust and he sees the tip of your tongue creeping out from between your parted lips- fucked dumb, even fast asleep.

He knows he should probably pull out, but he's too fucked out to think straight, not to mention the cold medicine running through him right now. It's not right, but with how fucking good you feel, he doesn't care. You're going to wake up with his cum dripping out of your aching cunt, wondering obliviously if your period came early. Traces of him will be all over you and he just knows you'll love the feeling. He can already tell you're going to be his little cumslut- you're too sweet to deny him such a pleasure.

His thrusts get faster until his balls are full on slapping against your ass and his muscles tense all over. You're squeezing him so fucking tight, it's a wonder he's lasted this long, especially with how needy you've made him.

An involuntary flutter of your cunt sends him over the edge. His orgasm wracks his entire body and he's trembling with each spurt of his cum that covers your gummy walls, uncaring as to what consequences might await him. He moans out your name, panting as he empties every drop into you, and you just take it so well. Just as he's about to pull out, your eyes flutter open ever so slightly.

But you're so tired- you don't even notice that it's Geto hovering over you before they slip shut again. "Mm," you murmur. "Wh-what are you..mm." The words trail off, and a moment later, your breaths are soft and even again as sleep takes you once more.

You're adorable. He slips out of you as gently as he can, he waits until he can see his cum start to trickle down to the curve of your ass. He lifts a hand to stroke your cheek and brush away the stray hairs on your face, but he doesn't want to risk waking you when you're already so sleepy. With how pliable and motionless you are, it's clear that you need your beauty sleep.

As he slips out of your apartment and back into his, he can't help but think of how lucky he is. He's so lucky- how is it that fate has blessed him so richly? He was going to make you his. You were going to get so addicted to his cock, to his scent, to his taste that you'd never dare to leave him. You'll belong to him, free for him to use and praise as he pleases. But he will always reward you for being his sweet girl.

And, he thinks, you are so so lucky to have such a good neighbor.

i felt like a mad scientist the entire time i wrote this. if you've thought about trying to write fanfic, JUST DO IT because sometimes it's really fun.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #geto suguru #suguru geto x reader #geto smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru smut #somno breeding #yandere #yandere geto suguru #obsessive love #idek

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izzyy-stuff · 6 months ago

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐑 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

bsf!beomgyu x fem!reader

in which your roommate keeps going through your packages, so you decide your next order will get delivered to your best friend's place instead.

wc 3.9k

warnings pet names, best friends to ???, sex toy, mutual masturbation, fingering, oral, unprotected sex + creampie, overstimulation I might have forgotten some

You were lying in your bed, your back against the wall, and a book in your hands. After spending the whole day at your job, a calm evening with your favorite book was something you needed.

You looked up at the sound of something falling coming from the hallway. Your roommate, you assumed.

“Are you okay there?” You called, carefully listening to see if she would answer. But instead, you saw the door of your room open in one swift motion, making your eyes widen. “I am stealing these two,” she proclaimed, holding up two red tops. Clothes you ordered, you realized. “No, you’re not,” you answered calmly, closing your book and putting it on your side. “Those are things I paid for.”

“But they would look so cute on me!” She protested, putting one in front of her shirt to show you. “See? It fits me perfectly!”

“Put it back into the box.”

You saw her pout as she turned around, murmuring something you couldn’t hear. You shook your head in disbelief, reaching for your book again. “And stop going through my packages!” You yelled after her, only being met by a simple “Yeah” from her.

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t count much on what she said. She would open your next package again, no matter what it was or if you told her not to. You didn’t know why she did that, but it had been months since she started, and you had no idea what to do with it.

That was why you were at your best friend's apartment now, complaining about it while he sat in his gaming chair, only partly listening to what you were saying as he had his left earbud in his ear to hear the game on his screen, too.

“I don’t know, just order it to my place,” he proclaimed, unbothered. You knew he didn't care about your rant at the moment. He was too focused on his game. “Nice!” He yelled as he killed another enemy. You flinched, unprepared for the scream. “Can’t you turn the game off for a minute and actually listen to me?” You mumbled, becoming annoyed at how you always had to compete with some computer game for his attention.

“Sweetheart, this is League we are talking about. No, I cannot turn it off,” he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe you seriously asked him that. “I just need to finish this fight, and then you’ll have my full attention. Give me ten minutes, yeah?”

“Sure, Gyu,” you mumbled back, looking down into your lap.

Beomgyu, your best friend, has been in your life since high school. You two grew to be inseparable over the years, going through thick and thin together, but there was still something you couldn’t get used to, no matter what. He loved calling you nicknames as if the two of you were dating. Things like sweetheart, love, and angel were something you heard almost every day, but it still got you flustered each time.

“Okay, I am all yours now, angel,” Beomgyu turned around on his chair, taking out his earbud to prove his point. You glanced at his monitor, noticing he had won the game. You smiled slightly, your eyes falling on your best friend right after. “So as I was saying,” you started again. “She still keeps going through all my stuff. She is home more often than I am, so she always gets to it first, and then the next thing I know, my package is opened, and half my clothes are missing,” you huffed, fixing your hair so it wouldn’t get in front of your face.

“Like I said, just get it shipped here. I don’t care as long as you will come to pick it up, and I don’t have to get it to you,” Beomgyu shrugged, his eyes following every movement of your hand as you tugged your hair behind your ears. “You wouldn’t mind? I swear I will try not to order that many things.”

“Anything for you. You know that,” Beomgyu nodded, catching the redness in your cheeks as the words left his mouth. His lips formed a smirk, but he kept quiet. He knew the memory of you blushing at what he said wouldn't leave his mind anytime soon, though.

And just like that, you started putting his address under all your orders. It didn't matter if you ordered new clothes, lingerie, or books, you always shipped it to his house because you knew he wouldn’t open it. No matter how much of a tease and asshole he was sometimes, he still had some respect for you.

♡⸝⸝

You whined as you opened your eyes at the sound of new messages on your phone. Ready to curse out whoever was texting you, you grabbed your phone from under your pillow, closing your eyes again when the screen light almost blinded you.

Beomgyu has sent you a voicemail. You read from your phone, scoffing. Of course, it was Beomgyu. Who else would bother you so early? You tiredly clicked the play button, putting your phone down next to you and closing your eyes again, deciding to go back to sleep right after listening to it.

“So, first of all, good morning, angel,” he proclaimed, his raspy morning voice echoing through your room. You weren’t ready for that. Nothing could prepare you for how close he sounded. It felt as if he was lying right beside you, whispering those words in your ear. You found yourself whisper-moaning, his voice sending shivers all over your body. You were fucked. Or more like - you needed to be fucked.

“Second of all, I just got one of your packages. It’s light, so I assume it’s some clothes? I know I usually let it be as it is until you decide to pick it up, but I will be close to your apartment later so I can drop it off,” he informed you, but if you were honest, you weren’t even listening to what he was saying. All you could think about now was how the word Angel rolled on his tongue and how you needed him to call you that in his morning voice again.

“That’s all I need. Sorry if I woke you up. Just let me know if I should bring it or not, alright? Okay, I need to get ready. I’ll talk to you later, sweetheart.”

You breathed out as the voicemail finished, your thighs rubbing together without you even noticing at first. It’s been a long time since you last had good sex. That must be why you were behaving like this. It had nothing to do with your best friend's voice and his habit of calling you nicknames. Definitely not.

“Oh, for fucks sake, Beomgyu,” you whined, your eyes now opened as you reached into your top drawer. You hesitated as you grabbed your vibrator, glancing at your phone again. It was wrong. You knew you shouldn’t be horny from your best friend’s voice, but you couldn’t help it.

You pressed play once again, your hand slowly sliding into your pajama shorts as he greeted you good morning. You were wet already, and it was all thanks to his stupid hot voice. You whined as your finger carefully thrusted into your cunt, trying to turn on the vibrator with your other hand but failing miserably. “Fuck, what now?” You grunted, glancing at the toy. “No, no, no, do not die on me now,” you cried, seeing as it refused to turn on. It wasn’t that long since you charged it, so you knew there wasn’t a problem with that.

You threw it aside, giving up on trying to figure it out as the voicemail came to an end again. It was too short. Not only Beomgyu's voice note but also your fingers. You needed something more.

An hour later, you were back in your bed. After finally managing to finish on your fingers, you went to take a shower before you ran off to your room, taking your laptop. You scrolled for a little longer than you had expected you would before you finally found a new sex toy you liked. You knew you needed to buy the rose toy right after stumbling upon it.

You hesitated as you started filling out the shipping address, biting your bottom lip. You knew you couldn’t have it delivered to your apartment. It would be a disaster if your roommate got to the package before you, but sending it to Beomgyu didn’t sound much better. After everything that happened in the morning, you weren’t sure if it was a good idea to ship it to his place.

Still, you wrote down his address. In the worst-case scenario, you would blush as he handed you the package. There was nothing worse that could happen.

Or so you thought.

“Yes, angel?” Your best friend asked immediately as he picked up your call. You cleared your throat, almost forgetting everything you wanted to say the moment he spoke. “Uhm, about the clothes. You don’t have to get it to me today,” you proclaimed, glancing at your laptop. “I just ordered another thing, so I’ll pick it up on Friday.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind taking it to you, really.”

“It’s fine, Gyu,” you shook your head. “I’ll come get it on Friday.”

“Okay,” he nodded, deciding it wasn’t worth it to convince you. “We can do our movie night then too, what do you think? Instead of Saturday if you’re already going to be here,” Beomgyu suggested.

“Why not?” You agreed, smiling when he started telling you about a movie he already had in mind. This was how you two were supposed to be. Friends who talk about unimportant things on a call. Not lovers or anything similar. That was the last time you got off to his voice. You told yourself confidently. You had to get rid of whatever weird crush on your best friend you were getting.

♡⸝⸝

Beomgyu groaned as he saw his character die, his head hitting the back of his chair. Nothing was going his way today. It was already the third game he lost, and Soobin’s laugh wasn’t helping much. “Man, you suck today.” Beomgyu rolled his eyes at him, about to press ready again when his doorbell rang. “Well, good thing I am ending for today then.”

“Hey, don’t get pouty now. Let’s keep playing,” Soobin tried to stop him from leaving, but the next thing he knew, Beomgyu was already off the game. “You’re not seriously pissed, are you?”

“No,” Beomgyu shook his head, disconnecting his headphones and taking his phone with Soobin still on the call to the door. “But someone is at the door, and my girl is coming later, remember?”

“She is not your girl,” Soobin reminded him. “She basically is,” the younger male argued immediately. “Anyways, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Soobin shook his head at him. “At least make a move on her if you want to call her your girl.” With a quick “Mhm,” Beomgyu hung up the call, putting his phone into his pocket as he opened the front door, being met by the delivery guy.

“Y/n y/l?” The older male asked, looking up from the package at the boy. “That’s my girlfriend,” Beomgyu proclaimed, reaching his hand towards the package. “Do you need me to sign anything?”

“No, no need,” the delivery guy shook his head, tilting his head as he looked at Beomgyu. “I guess not all young guys can fulfill their girlfriend’s needs,” he laughed, handing him the box.

Beomgyu stared at him confusedly, not saying anything as the older male left. He had to blink a few times to get back to reality, closing the front door again. He looked down at the box in his hands, and then, it hit him. He noticed the shop’s name written right above his address, scoffing. You were unbelievable, sending sex toys to his house as if it was nothing. He was sure you were crazy.

He sat on the couch in his living room, putting his phone on a speaker and placing it next to him so he would have his hands empty. You picked up almost immediately, creating a smirk on his face as he tore open the box.

“Is this what’s popular now?” He wondered, the sound catching your attention immediately. “A rose toy? Is that what you’re into?” He continued, making your eyes widen. “Beomgyu, what are you doing?” You asked, a wave of anxiety rushing through your whole body. “Calling you, what else,” Beomgyu answered, and you swore you could see the smirk on his face. “We agreed I would call you when your package arrives so you can come over. So I am calling.”

“You should come fast. I am curious how this one works,” Beomgyu mumbled, hanging up on you before you could say anything else.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hid your head in your hands. Why did he have to open that box from all the possible ones you had sent to his house?? You whined, having no idea what to expect from him. He always made fun of you. That was somehow his love language, so surely he didn’t mean he was curious for real, right? You’d like to believe that was the case.

♡⸝⸝

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you knocked on the familiar door, more nervous than when you came to his place for the first time. It didn’t take much longer for your best friend to open the door for you, a grin on his face.

“Do not look at me like that,” you warned him, feeling hotter the more you looked at him, his dark eyes staring into yours. “I am not looking at you anyhow, sweetheart,” he grinned even more, making you scoff as you walked past him inside. You were too nervous to look at him any longer.

“Whatever, I am just going to get my stuff and leave,” you mumbled, noticing your box with clothes next to his couch. “Where’s…” You started, sighing. “The other thing?” You turned around to face him, your eyes widening when you saw him holding up your new sex toy. “Fuck, Beomgyu, give it to me,” you tried to take it away from him immediately, but he only raised his hand higher, taking advantage of the fact that he was taller than you. “Wish you said that in a different context,” he leaned down to your ear, sending shivers all over your body.

“Shut up,” you blurted out, knowing your face was red like a tomato. “Make me,” Beomgyu smirked, not taking his eyes off you. “You’re crazy,” you mumbled, stepping back so you wouldn’t be as close to him anymore. “I am crazy? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted when you sent a sex toy to me?”

“N-No!” You stuttered, suddenly questioning what was going through your mind when you ordered it. He was right. You were the crazy one here. “I just didn’t want my roommate to open it because it would be embarrassing!”

“But I opened it instead.”

“And you’re an ass for that,” you stated, taking a step forward again when you saw his hand slowly falling down at your words. However, when he registered your movement, his hand was in the air again, only causing you to jump at him. “Maybe I am,” he nodded, his empty hand wrapping around your waist and bringing you even closer to himself so your bodies were now touching. “But it’s your fault.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you protested. “Actually, it’s your fault. You are the reason why I had to order it,” you proclaimed, poking Beomgyu in his chest. “If it wasn’t for your stupid voice and-” you closed your mouth again, swallowing everything you wanted to say next when you saw his eyes. You realized he wasn’t joking when he said he was curious how the toy worked. His eyes had written all over them that he wanted to fuck you. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he breathed out, and the next thing you knew, his lips were pressed on yours, his grip on your waist tightening to make sure you wouldn’t run away.

You froze for a second, trying to figure out what was happening, before your hand found its way to the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as you kissed him back. You started moving to the back, keeping his lips on yours. You quickly pulled away, glancing behind yourself to find the couch with your eyes before you kissed him again. “Mhm, bed,” he mumbled against your lips when he noticed you were trying to walk to the sofa. “Please,” he added.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this for,” Beomgyu whispered, now hovering over you on his bed, his lips unable to leave yours. Your sex toy was placed on his desk right after you went into his room, long forgotten by now. Or you thought it was. “The toy, love, please,” he begged as his lips moved to your neck. “Show me how you use it,” he said, making you moan as he sucked on your sensitive spot. “Need to see you.”

His hands slowly moved under your shirt, getting to your back so he could unbutton your bra. You quickly caught up on his actions, pulling up your shirt and throwing it somewhere on the floor. Beomgyu took down his shirt right after you, your eyes falling on his torso. “Like what you see?” He chuckled, his eyes landing on your chest as you took down your bra. “I could ask you the same,” you smirked. “God, I absolutely do,” he nodded.

You hesitated, biting your bottom lip as you looked at him. “You want me to show you the rose?” You finally asked, as if you didn’t already know his answer. You saw his eyes lit up as he got off the bed, rushing to his table to grab the sex toy again. “More than anything,” he answered as he returned to you.

You sat up, your back against his wall now. “Okay,” you nodded after giving it another thought. “I wanna see you too, though.”

“See what?”

“How you masturbate,” you piped quietly, immediately regretting it when you saw the smirk on his face. “Your wish is my command,” he smiled, sitting down on the other side of the bed so he would be facing you.

“Fuck, Gyu,” you moaned out, your legs now stretched apart as you held the rose vibrator on your clit, your head thrown back from all the pressure. “Mhm, angel, just a little bit more,” Beomgyu groaned, his cock in his hands as he kept his eyes on you and your cunt. “I’ll make you feel even better,” he proclaimed, making you clench around nothing.

“Gyu, need you right now,” you cried, making him chuckle as he sped up his hand movement, getting closer to finishing. “Almost there,” he groaned. Beomgyu needed to be inside you probably even more than you needed him, but he said he would show you how he masturbates, so he needed to finish what he started first.

You heard him moan your name and knew that was his end. As if it was a signal for you, you came at the same time Beomgyu did, catching your breath as you threw the toy on the other side of the bed, knowing there was something even better coming your way now.

“Beomgyu, please,” you begged him, not caring that your legs were already shaking. You just needed him. “I am here, angel,” he assured you, placing his lips on yours again. You whined when he pulled away, his hands grabbing onto your knees as he opened your legs properly.

Before you could even register his movements, his head was facing your pussy, his fingers sliding between your folds. You gasped when you felt him thrust two fingers into you, his tongue on your clit right away, sucking on it as if his life depended on it. Your lewd sounds filled the room soon after, his head buried in your cunt as he ate you out, making you cum for the second time.

“Beom- ah,” you moaned again, drunk on the pleasure you were feeling thanks to him. You wanted to pull away from him, unable to continue for much longer, but he held onto your waist, pulling you back to him when you tried to run away, keeping his nose in your wetness as he kept tongue-fucking you. “God, do that sound again,” he groaned into your pussy. “It’s- It’s too much,” you cried.

“I need your cock inside, Gyu,” you moaned when nothing else seemed to work on him. He refused to pull away from your cunt, no matter how much you already squirted. Finally, he looked up at you, catching his breath. “I don’t think I have any condoms. Let me do this for you instead,” he mumbled, his head between your thighs before you could even say anything. “Fuck,” you groaned. “Go raw.”

And suddenly, he was up again, his eyes sparkling. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Just please, fuck me already.”

Beomgyu held onto your ankles, pulling you down so you would be lying down instead of sitting, hovering over you, just admiring your body before his lips found their way to yours again while he gave his cock a few pumps, getting himself ready. “Hold them up, yeah?” He said, pushing your knees to your chest.

He aligned his tip with your hole, his precum leaking down your cunt onto the bed sheets. “I am going in,” he stated, making sure you were ready as he thrust his hips towards you. You moaned out immediately, not expecting him to push in his whole length. “Beomgyu!” You gasped as he sped up his thrusts, your eyes rolling back. You were right before. Your fingers were definitely little compared to his cock.

“Fuck, you feel so tight,” he groaned, his hips slapping against your ass. Your mouth was wide open now, your sounds filling the room again. Your pussy clenched around the cock inside you, feeling every vein of his. “Need to fill you up already.”

“Fuck, Gyu. I am going to cum.” Beomgyu’s grip on your waist became tighter as he kept you in your place. “I am almost there, too,” he said, his moans mixing with yours as he felt your cum on his cock. It took him a few more thrusts as he chased his orgasm before releasing inside you, his cum mixing with yours.

You whined as he pulled out of you, letting go of your knees. Your legs fell on the bed immediately, shaking as the mixture of your and Beomgyu’s cum leaked out of your hole. “That was…” you breathed out.

“Amazing,” he finished instead of you, making you nod.

“Are you staying for the night?” Your best friend asked, lying down next to you, still naked, as he stared at the ceiling. You turned your head towards him, your eyes carefully observing every part of his face. “If you want,” you mumbled, making him turn his head towards you, too.

For a moment there, when his eyes gazed into yours, a quiet “please” escaping his lips, you caught yourself wanting more than just a friendship from him. You needed him. On a whole different level than what a best friend could give you.

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie ✶⋆

↪ Izzy speaks… it's 5 minutes before midnight right now, and I only proofread vaguely, but when I already finished it, I wanted to publish it too, so here it is

831 notes · View notes

revasserium · 3 months ago

Text

chapter one: a shadow of the past

roronoa zoro; 3,225 words; angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, mostly enemies in this chapter, tragic!backstory, flashbacks, slightly canon divergent, baroqueworks!reader, no "y/n"

summary: in which zoro will always find you, even if you don't want to be found

a/n: not much to say here other than enjoy! :)

< to the table of contents

It would be months before he sees you again, months before he runs across the typeset of your codename, on a wanted poster with an obscene amount of Berry tacked underneath — more, he thinks, dully, than the last time he’d seen it.

MS. DOUBLE-NINES — WANTED — 90,000,000 BERRY.

“Agent from Baroque Works… seems like a bad lot,” Sanji says, frowning as he squints at the poster, smoke curling from between his teeth.

“Yeah, dunno about that,” Zoro reaches out to rip the poster from the wall, crumpling it in his fist.

“There a story you wanna tell us, moss-head?” Sanji asks, slating Zoro a long glance.

Zoro scoffs, “Barely,” but at a hard look from Nami, he relents, rolling his eyes, “they sent someone called Mr. 7 to recruit me a while back.”

“And…?” Nami asks, probing as the three of them turn back towards the bustling street market, Usopp and Luffy already halfway down the street, chattering about lunch.

“And nothin’. I took care of him.” Zoro makes to toss the crumpled poster onto the ground but he pauses, glancing down at his hands, “the Marines still owe me his bounty though.”

Sanji laughs, even as Nami scoffs.

“Well, let’s try to stay out of their way till we get out of here,” Nami says, eyes caught on the poster in Zoro’s hands, “at least in the Grand Line, there’ll be bigger fish for them to fry.”

Zoro wets his lips, staring down at your disfigured face before tossing it aside.

“If you say so.”

— — —

You have the most delicate hands — nimble fingers and soft, marshmallow palms. You’d cradle the miniscule wooden knife just so, slipping the dulled edge along the tops of the homemade wagashi, making marks in perfect intervals until the cake resembled a flower, just so.

“Okay, now who wants a piece?” you’d ask, giggling as the boys all scrambled over themselves, raising their hands and hooting like monkeys.

Zoro always held back, feigning disinterest, even though his mouth would water just the same.

“Here, a piece for you too,” you’d say, after giving everyone their due share. Behind you, the other boys would always be squabbling for an extra slice, fighting over the crumbles left on the thin rice paper packaging.

“Don’t want it,” he’d say, looking anywhere but at the tantalizing slice of wagashi, the soft lotus-paste insides nearly translucent, the pastel mochi exterior the perfect amount of sticky and sweet.

His mouth goes dry as you hold it up in front of him, cupped in your palms like just-found treasure.

“Everyone else got a piece,” you say, as if that’s reason enough for him to forgo his abstinence.

He swallows.

“Don’t move.”

His eyes flicker open to the shape of you, crouching by his hammock, a knife held to his throat. Outside, the night is thick and moonless, the seawater lapping softly at the sides of the ship.

Zoro huffs out a breath, “Or what?”

He blinks, the afterimages of the dream still solid behind his eyelids.

“Not sure yet, but I’d bet you wouldn’t like the answer, either way,” you say, your voice barely more than a hiss as you shift the blade from one hand to another and he feels the sharp edge of it skim along his skin.

You’re careful not to break any skin as you pull back, ever so slightly, allowing him to sit up.

“What’dyou want?” he asks, moving slow, fingers inching towards his swords, propped by the hammock’s side.

“Nothing too much,” you answer, “just a free ride off this island. And the next time you dock, you’ll never see me again.”

Zoro scoffs, “That a promise?”

Even in the dark, your grin slants crescent-moon sharp. Zoro blinks again, his mind fighting to reconcile the image of you as a child over the shadow hunched over him now, holding a knife to his throat.

“Something like that,” you say, your eyes flickering down to where his fingers are inches from his swords. Zoro sighs, tugging his hand back.

“Fine — but one condition,” he says.

You hike an eyebrow, “From where I’m sitting, you’re not exactly in the position to be making demands.”

Zoro smirks, folding his arms across his chest and stretching out on his hammock.

“And from where I’m sitting — we’re one alarm away from my entire crew wakin’ up. And… they might not be as good as you one on one but… all together?” he shrugs, “I mean, you do the math.”

Your lips curl into a contemptuous snarl, but you don’t fight him on it. Instead, you pull the knife away, tucking it into your belt.

“Fine. What’s your condition?”

Zoro peers at you from a half-lidded eye, “Tell me what happened to you.”

You puff out a laugh, leaning back against a wooden barrel, propping your arm on your knee.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

Zoro motions towards the darkened window, “We’ve got a lotta time.”

You turn your head away, “Maybe tomorrow,” you say, your voice low and fractured.

Zoro frowns, “You made a promise.”

You cast him a faint, woeful smile, “Yeah, but I never told you when I’d tell you the story.”

— — —

The next morning, you awaken to a wide-eyed stare from a boy who couldn’t have been much older than you, grinning ear to ear.

“Hi!”

“W-what the —”

You scramble backwards before realizing that your back is already pressed against the wall.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up!” the boy leans back, still grinning, propping both his hands on his hips as he stares down at you. Behind him, you can see the shape of Zoro, leaning by the door, swords at his side, a smirk on his face.

“What the hell’s going on here?” you ask, shooting him a dirty look, “you made a promise,” you spit the word back in his face.

Zoro shrugs, “Yeah, but I never said your free ride would be a secret.”

Your eyes narrow into slits as the boy standing over you claps a fist to his palm, turning towards Zoro.

“Oh! I remember now — we saw her on one of the wanted posters! You’re uhm — Ms… Ninety-Nine?”

You wince, sighing as you push yourself up and dust off your trousers, “Miss Double-Nines, but… close enough.”

Zoro snickers.

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m the Captain of this ship! But… I gotta say, your name is way cooler. Did you get to pick it yourself? Or did someone at Bara-Rock Works give it to you?”

You fight down the twitch threatening your left eye as your gaze slingshots to Zoro and back to Luffy again.

“Uhm — someone… assigned it to me. And it’s Baroque Works.”

“Right! Yeah — that one!” Luffy smiles, seemingly unbothered by the implications of you being a member of a known criminal organization.

“Breakfast! C’mon — before it goes cold!” a voice calls down the hallway and a moment later, a blond-haired man in an all black suit peeks his head around the doorframe.

“Ah, our special guest is awake — so what about it, Ms. Double-Nines? Any requests for breakfast? I could do a few eggs, sunny side up, with a side of toast and some freshly made tangerine-butter. Or, we’ve still got some batter left over from the blueberry pancakes yesterday. Take your pick.”

You blink at the man with one shoulder propped against the doorframe, the other supporting a half-done cigarette, bringing it to his mouth for a casual puff.

Zoro lets out an annoyed grunt, “What blueberry pancakes? You gave me left-over potato mush for breakfast yesterday.”

The blonde turns to Zoro with a vindictive smirk, “You really think I’d waste the good stuff on someone with the palette of a forest slug?”

“Oh! I want the eggs! And can you make the sausages you made the other day, Sanji? Those were the best!” Luffy bounces out of the room with a bright smile as Sanji chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but you’ll have to wait a bit for those!” he calls down the hallway after Luffy’s rapidly retreating form.

You glance from Zoro to Sanji and back again, your stomach a mess of knots, your heart skidding strangely inside your chest.

Sanji slates you a helpless look and a lopsided smile, “C’mon then — can’t miss breakfast. Most important meal of the day!”

Introductions, as they are, take the better part of the morning. Though by noon, you’re still unsure if you’d stepped into some strange alternate universe where you’d miraculously escaped the dark tangles of your past, and into some idyllic, sun-lit story full of great friends and endless adventures.

“Mm, that’s a pretty name, but I still think Ms. Ninety-Nine is cooler,” Luffy says, when you finally tell them your name — the one that had been yours for your whole life before you’d been forced to become someone — no, something else.

“It’s Ms. Double — nevermind,” you sigh, shaking your head, feeling an incredulous laugh bubble out of your chest.

“So… you trying to leave Baroque Works?” Sanji asks, casually adjusting his fishing lines as Nami pours over a hand-drawn map of the East Blue, a pair of tiny glasses perched on her nose. Of all the members of the Strawhat Crew, she’d been the least overtly welcoming, staying quiet and keeping her distance.

And, judging by hardness that lies just on the other edge of her smile, you can’t blame her. She knows a liar when she sees one; you do too.

“Something like that,” you say, glancing away.

Zoro lounges against the main mast, his eyes closed.

“So! You must be a really good fighter!” Luffy says, tugging on his own fishing lines till Sanji nudges him away.

“I —” your voice catches and you look away, “I’m alright.”

“I heard that only the best fighters in Baroque Works get codenames with numbers,” Nami says without looking up, her tone casual. Her hand is steady as she traces a long line through the center of the map.

“It’s… a bit more complicated than that,” you say, your fingers twisting in your lap.

“Complicated how?” Nami asks, finally looking up, her gaze bright and hard and unrelenting.

You lick your lips, shrugging, “It’s just… you don’t have to be a great fighter to be… useful.”

And something about the way you say that makes everyone stiffen. By the main mast, Zoro shifts, peering open an eye to stare at you. But before he can say anything, Luffy jumps up, pulling hard at his fishing rod.

“Look! I think I caught something!”

That night, when they drop anchor, the ocean is still, and the summer air is almost too sweet. Luffy proposes a toast, to a new friend, he says, and Sanji has never turned down a toast to a pretty girl. Even Nami, who had been cautious all day, lured by the sweet tangerine wine and the tantalizing summer air, flashes you a small grin as she raises her glass.

You manage to choke down the wine passed the scream curdling at the back of your throat.

And then later, when the Millions come calling, no one notices the way you slip away, pulling all the fire towards you until you’re too far to be saved.

“Stay back!” you call, even as one of the Millions hauls you onto the deck of a smaller ship by the hair.

“Gum-Gum —“

“Wait,” Zoro places a hand on Luffy’s arm.

“Huh?”

Zoro frowns, pointing to a spot of white on the railings. Luffy stares down at it for a second before Sanji peers over his shoulder, reaching out to dab at the smear of white powder.

“It’s… rice flour.”

In the kitchen, they find a tray with a series of tiny wagashi mochi’s, simply made, but each perfectly shaped and dusted with a fine powder of sweet rice flour.

There’s a hastily scribbled note that just says — Thank you. I’m sorry.

— — —

It takes them the better part of a two weeks to track you down.

And when they do, it’s to an island of sand and trees and not much else.

“What… is this place?” Nami asks as they all hop onto the bleak little stretch of beach.

“It’s a holding ground,” a voice answers, rich and feminine. They all look up to see a tall figure, arms crossed, a cowboy hat perched atop her head. Her hair looks like it’s been cut with a slide-rule. She makes no move to attack, but Zoro still finds his thumb ticking at the hilt of his sword.

Beside him, Sanji looks conflicted at the thought of fighting such a beautiful woman.

“Miss All Sunday,” Nami says, her bo staff clicking clicking into place as she takes half a step forward.

The woman allows herself a grin, dipping the brim of her hat.

“Ara… if it isn’t the Cat Burglar.”

Nami scoffs, “Let’s cut the song and dance — we’re looking for a friend of ours. You might know her — goes by Miss Double-Nines, I think.”

“Friend?” Miss All Sunday lets the word simmer in the air between them, blithely checking her nails before pinning them all with a hard look, “we at Baroque Works aren’t known for making friends outside the organization.”

“Yeah well, maybe our friend’s just different!” offers Luffy, grinning widely, his chest puffed out.

Miss All Sunday regards them for a moment more before shrugging and slipping into the shadows of the giant tree she’d been leaning against. Zoro and Nami share a look before stepping forward to follow her, Luffy, Sanji, and Usopp half a step behind them.

The forest is a twist of ancient trees, their canopy high and thick enough to completely blot out the sun. Beneath the preternatural dark, the woods are spine-chillingly quiet. There’s no rustle of leaves, no hush of wings or skitter of claws. Nothing moves, save for their slinking guide and their own, weapon-laden bodies.

No one dares to speak; even Luffy keeps quiet, his mouth set in a straight line, his eyes tracking the lithe form of Miss All Sunday as she leads them through the undulating terrain.

“Ah… you’re in luck,” Miss All Sunday says, her voice a silken whisper as she stops in front of a massive tree, it’s roots as thick as the Merry’s main mast, it’s trunk so wide it’s impossible to see around. Miss All Sunday adjusts her hat, sweeping her hand through the air much as a hostess would when presenting a prize, “she’s awake.”

It’s you, or at least the shape of you, caught in the massive tangle of tree roots, your arms held to your sides, your body half-swallowed by the trunk of the tree itself. Your lashes flutter open at the sound of Miss All Sunday’s voice, and when your gaze finally lands on them, it goes wide —

“W-what —”

“We’ve come to rescue you!” Luffy says, grinning even as he revs up his arm.

The cigarette dangling from Sanji’s lips falls he leans back to inspect the grotesque sight before him.

It’s Nami who catches Zoro with an arm around the waist, tugging him back to relative difficulty. It’s only then that Zoro realizes how hard he’s breathing, how there’s red seeping like spilt blood into the edges of his vision.

“I — I told you not to follow me!” you say, your voice cracking over the words, your skin nearly translucent as it strains over your ribs.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Yeah well — we never said we’d listen.”

You drop your head, your throat bobbing around a mirthless laugh.

Everyone jumps at the sound of clapping, loud and slow and measured. A moment later, a man in a fur-lined coat with a thick set of stitches across his face steps out from behind the massive tree, a cigar caught between his teeth, a steely glint to his eyes.

“Well done, well done — if it isn’t the infamous Strawhat Pirates,” the man says, crossing his arms and taking a long puff of the cigar.

Luffy takes a step forward, “We are just here for our friend!”

“Your friend?” the man says, an eerie smile splitting his lips as he takes the cigar between two fingers and glances towards you, “you didn’t tell me you’d made new friends, Miss Double Nines?”

You wince at his words, twisting your head as he blows a stream of smoke at your face.

Zoro jerks forward, only to be caught again — this time by Sanji and Nami both.

“Ah, but this is wonderful! We should give your new friends a proper welcome, no?” the man opens his palms, laughing heartily before the forest around them shudders. And then, everything beneath them turns to sand.

It is not a long fight, and Zoro only remembers it in faint flashes — the base rumble of the earth shifting beneath them, the sky-splitting crack of tree trunks as the forest around them roils and breaks. Through it all, he remembers the sound of your voice, calling out something before it’s muffled by a pair of too-large hands —

And it isn’t till he finds himself standing on the thin stretch of beach with the rest of his crew that his mind returns to him, jarred and unsettled, but lucid.

The man with stitches across his face grins, your body caught beneath his arm like a rag doll. He laughs as he tosses you down onto the sand at this feet.

Both Zoro and Sanji charge forward, only to stop in their steps as the man cocks a gun and levels it at the back of your head. He grins, tilting his head.

“Go on,” he says, “she’s right there, isn’t she?”

Sanji crouches down, his eyes narrowed. Zoro’s jaw clenches as he adjusts his hold on his swords.

You shake your head, your hair a dark spill around your shoulders, peppered with sand as you push yourself up onto hands and knees, your gaze imploring as you look up at them.

“Don’t.”

Zoro feels something inside him snap at the broken register of your voice.

He charges forward just as the man reaches down to grab a fistful of your hair and tug you backwards, pressing the muzzle of the pistol to the side of your head.

“Let her go, and I might let you live,” he snarls between gritted teeth.

The man grins, savage and unbothered, shaking you like a marionette on tender strings. You let out a soft groan as he digs the gun further into your temple.

“Ah… I’m not sure I like being threatened on my own turf,” the man says, his voice soft as he trails the gun along your face down to your throat before pressing it the soft spot just beneath your chin. Your eyes squeeze shut.

“Wait —!” Zoro’s voice cracks like a gunshot over the word, desperation wriggling it’s way up his throat till it’s spilling out of his mouth.

The man’s eyes go dark at the sound, his mouth splits wide on a savage grin as he trails the gun back up to your temple, caressing the trigger with almost lethargic ease, clicks down the safety — and shoots.

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