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zepskies · 3 months ago

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BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Before we tune back into some 1940s drama, I just wanted to thank you all so much for your wonderful responses on Part 1 of this series. 🥹 It’s my first time doing a story like this, so I’m very happy you liked the jumpstart here. 💖💖

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra

Word Count: 3.7K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hints of PTSD, flirting, dancing…

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Part 2: Devil May Care

After you got home from work the very next day, your apartment was entirely empty.

Predictable. Michael was still out.

This time, you counted it as a blessing. You rifled through every corner, cabinet, pocket, and drawer in search of evidence—anything you could use to prove, without even one shade of a doubt, that your husband was the unfaithful scoundrel you knew him to be. You knew it, deep in your gut. In your very soul.

You even rifled through Michael’s desk in his office, through every single folder, drawer, and booklet. You’d never done such a thing before because he was a particular man about his things, and you respected his privacy.

That was done now. In your search, you found a useless ball of rubber bands and old coupons. You took his father’s old collection of fountain pens, which you knew Michael was precious about, and threw them haphazardly onto the desk to make room for your seeking hands through the rest of the drawers.

You even came across a small, crumpled photograph from your wedding day. This one made you pause.

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

You sighed and let the picture fall from between your fingertips. It swayed onto the desk’s mahogany wood surface, and rested there. You shook your head and returned your attention to your task at hand, holding your hands to your hips.

The problem was, you didn’t see anything incriminating here…until an idea finally occurred to you. You went into Michael’s closet. You sorted through the suit jackets he still needed to get drycleaned and pressed again.

In one of the pockets, you found a receipt.

You brought it to Sam Winchester’s office the following morning before work, along with some documents of your household expenses. Like you did the afternoon before, he identified the receipt as one for the Cotton Club, a nightclub in the Upper East Side. You had never been there in your life, but you heard it was one of the new go-to spots in town. It was the kind of place you used to wish Michael would take you to, once in a while.

“It could be a lead or it could be nothing, but I’ll check it out, along with these,” Sam said. He gathered the financial documents you gave him as well.

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Winchester,” you nodded.

“You can call me Sam if you like,” he said, kind, but still professional. You smiled. Unbidden, it reminded you of his brother.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.”

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.”

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement.

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

Biting the inside of your lip, you gave into the urge to ask the question.

“It was nice of your brother to walk me home last night…what is he up to today then?”

“Ah, well, he’s out to lunch with a young lady he met last night,” Sam replied, with a somewhat wry, but still amused tone to his voice. You frowned.

“Last night? Does your brother meet a lot of women after 9:00 p.m.?”

Sam chuckled. “He’s not usually wanting for company.”

“I see,” you said flatly. You should have known. The devil-may-care grin on that man was too charming to be anything less than the mark of a shameless flirt. Maybe even a scoundrel. Lord knew you couldn’t take any chances either way.

Dean returned from his day out with Vanessa. She was a nice enough girl, a knockout blonde too. She was smart, studying to be a schoolteacher. But she also tended to twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn’t really remember much of what she said. She did look good doing it though. Not to mention, she let him feel her up while they kissed in one of the alleys, between the ice cream parlor and a drycleaners.

He predictably found his brother whittling away life in his office. Dean dropped his coat and hat on the hanger with a flourish. Sam raised his head from his work with an amused smile.

“Had a good day, did you?” he remarked.

“I can’t complain,” Dean agreed. “Especially when a beautiful woman’s involved.”

Sam shook his head. Before September, he hadn’t seen Dean in three years. Yet some things just didn’t change.

“You gonna see her again?” Sam asked.

Dean made a noncommittal sound. “We’ll see. The day is young, brother.”

Sam raised a finger. “Speaking of which. Mrs. Milligan came by this morning. I’ve been looking through her husband’s finances.”

“Oh really?” Dean sobered as he approached his brother’s desk. “What’d you find?”

“Overall, things seemed to be in order, until I noticed something strange,” Sam said. Dean lowered into the chairs opposite his brother at his desk, and they went over it all together. Sam appreciated another set of eyes on this, with the understanding that Dean would keep the information to himself.

Starting roughly eleven months ago, there was a check signed to a Mr. Johnson for a moderate sum. Three weeks later, another check, this time a bit larger. For the past few months, Michael Milligan had been making these payments at least once a month, sometimes as much as three, albeit in different amounts.

“He might just have a gambling problem,” Sam said. He rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Or it could be what she’s worried about,” Dean pointed out. “The name could be an alias. Maybe Mike’s paying for someone’s services…or paying her bills, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He checked the dates on the documents again and shook his head. “Mrs. Milligan told me they got married about a year ago, here in the city. It would mean this guy started stepping out on her a month after the wedding.”

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.”

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

A wall of sound. That was the Cotton Club—the band on stage playing jazz tunes, loudly, if skillfully; the clanking of glasses as drinks rolled past; the clamor of heels and leather shoes as couples swung on the dance floor; and the added layer of people raising their voices to compensate. The room was filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, fighting against perfume and cologne and musk and sweat.

It was a bit overwhelming for Dean at first. He tried to ease himself into the scene with Sam at his side, even if he did jolt at the cork of a champagne bottle popping open. Sam noticed, but he mercifully didn’t say anything. He thumped a hand on Dean’s back to steady him under the pretense of a brotherly pat, adding a smile for good measure.

Sam was there to keep a lookout for Michael Milligan. Dean would help, but it wasn’t like he was being paid for it. He was largely aiming to have some fun while his brother was all serious, focused on the work. Dean was here for the community nightlife.

The beautiful, beautiful community. As a matter of fact, there were lovely ladies everywhere. One sultry blonde was singing an upbeat, jazzy tune at the mic. Dolores Daye, said the banner above the stage.

Dean’s attention shifted from the stage to the scattered round tables outside the dance floor, as well as the chair lined up at the bar. His gaze caught on someone familiar—on you, sat at a table by yourself. His eyes widened. He slowed to a stop while Sam went on ahead.

You were stunning, almost unrecognizable in a shimmering black dress that hugged every lush part of your figure, with sleeves that draped off your shoulders. His eyes drew down your crossed legs, the sheer pantyhose, leading to a pair of tall, shining black heels.

You wore a hat and partial veil that covered half your face, but he knew it was you. Those lips of yours were familiar on sight. Now they were painted red, dark and luscious.

“Dean?” Sam questioned him. He’d turned back when he realized his brother wasn’t keeping up with him. Dean subtly pointed you out. Sam raised his brows, but then he noticed what you were doing. You had a glass of wine in hand, and you seemed to be watching someone.

Every now and then your gaze would travel across the room, where your husband Michael was sat at a table filled with other men and women. They were laughing, drinking, playing cards.

Sam and Dean shared a conspiring look, one that said they had the same thought. They went over to you.

Sensing you were being approached, you looked over and found the pair of tall, familiar men with a widening of your eyes. That pretty mouth of yours fell open in surprise.

“What’re you doing here?” you whisper-hissed. You beckoned them to sit down so they weren’t standing out so much while talking to you. Both Winchester men were broad-shouldered and tall as oaks.

“The same thing you’re doing, apparently,” Sam said, once he and Dean were sitting across from you at the table. He showed you the camera he had hidden in his coat pocket. “I’m going to see if I can get a read on what your husband’s up to, maybe collect some evidence.”

You let out a rush of breath. “Good, thank you.”

“Until then, maybe you’d be more comfortable at home,” he suggested.

Dean knew what his brother was getting at. This wasn’t the kind of place for a woman to be hanging around…unaccompanied. Not a respectable one like you, who clearly wasn’t used to being in a roaring nightclub. Plus, if Michael did slip up here, it wasn’t exactly going to be pleasant for you.

You still shook your head stubbornly. “No. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Sam almost sighed, but Dean shot him a nod. Right then, they had an understanding. Dean would stay and look out for you while Sam tried to get closer to Michael. Sam left you and Dean together at the table thereafter, and Dean ordered a drink for himself. You sipped at your wine.

Dean glanced at you in appreciation. You really were beautiful…and not just tonight. Though he had to smile at your “disguise.”

“You think that getup is gonna fool your husband?” he remarked, gesturing at your form.

Your lips pursed, but you kept your head angled towards him, so that your hat and veil continued to hide your face from Michael’s direction.

“It has so far,” you retorted. “And this isn’t a getup.”

You smoothed slightly self-conscious hands down the skirt of your dress. Dean smiled.

“All right, I’m sorry. Poor choice of words,” he said. He dropped his chin and raised his brows, earning your gaze under the hat. “It’s quite a dress, sweetheart.”

I’d like to see you out of it, he thought, even though he immediately stamped it down. You weren’t exactly available, no matter how delectable you were. The interesting part was, you didn’t seem to realize it as you fidgeted in your seat, a little self-consciously.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you snipped.

His lips tugged at a smirk. He tilted your hat up a little so he could see more of your frowning face.

“Want me to do better?” he teased.

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, I’m distracting?”

You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him.

It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

“How about this,” Dean said. He finished off his whiskey and held out a hand to you. “Dance with me. You’ll have a better vantage point to spy on Mike over there.”

“Keep your voice down,” you shushed, glancing around.

Dean just smirked. He beckoned you again with a raise of his brows.

You hesitated, but you still eventually dropped your hand into his. He stood before you so he could help you to your feet. You allowed him to escort you over to the dance floor, and all the while you fought off your nerves. You were only doing this because he had a good idea; this would help you keep an eye on Michael without looking so out of place, a woman drinking alone at the table.

The band was playing a moderately paced song, which was good. You weren’t in this to be swept into the air.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, once he had you in his arms. His hands were respectably placed on your waist and in your hand. You knew you did have to relax though. Already you were too stiff while tentatively holding his hand, your other resting on his shoulder.

“I haven’t danced in—in a while,” you admitted. You were a little nervous as you began swaying with Dean, letting him lead you. He turned you about with ease, even twirling you under his hand.

“See? There’s nothing to it,” he said, welcoming you back into his arms. “When’s the last time you had some fun?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it. You and Dean shuffled about the dance floor in more complicated steps as the song increased in tempo. You were breathless in a good way. In a way that you couldn’t even remember needing to breathe as the golden lights sparkled in the corners of your eyes.

“He took me to a club like this once, about…I’d say month or so after we got married last year,” you admitted between spins. You had to hold a hand to your head to keep your hat on.

You were distracted enough by it all—the spinning, the laughter and tinkling glasses, the flashes of spotlight in between sultry dim shades, the heady smell of this man’s cologne, and his every touch, however brief on your body, but just as confident and measured. You actually told him the truth.

“I’ve been dying to get out more ever since, but…” you trailed as he spun you again, then winded you back into the growing familiarity of his arms.

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine.

“Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

You lowered your eyes, but not very far. They landed on his plush lips in contemplation. When your eyes met his again, Dean had a conundrum. He just didn’t think he cared all that much about the consequences.

His head began to bow towards yours, just when the song slowed to a stop. Almost without realizing it, he pressed his hand a little more insistently on the small of your back. You found yourself accepting that guiding pressure. Half-lidded eyes and heavy, mingled breaths in between…

“Let’s hear it again for Dolores Daye, everybody!” the host called out.

You snapped to attention and glanced over Dean’s shoulder at the singer. She waved goodbye to the crowd with a sensuous smile on her ruby red lips. Then she walked off stage in her glittering golden dress, and she grabbed hold of a man’s tie. That man was your husband.

Michael wore a wide smile on his face as she led him to his feet by his tie. He stood, his form looming over her, though she didn’t seem to mind—especially when his arm wrapped too familiarly around her waist.

It wasn’t the kind of embrace you would see between strangers, even for the sake of a good show for the crowd. Their faces became impossibly close, but it was just shy of a kiss as she laughed, a sound like fine crystal bells.

Dean noticed why you froze. He turned to look over his shoulder and his expression faded, becoming grim. He led you off the stage, and while keeping a discreet eye on the scene, he lingered at the bar in the center of the room. His arm stayed around your waist. He could tell himself it was to stay in character, but really, he just wanted to keep you grounded…that right now, you weren’t alone.

Here by the bar, it was far enough that Michael likely wouldn’t notice you, but close enough that you both could hear what was happening.

The host stepped down from the stage and joined Dolores and Michael, laying a heavy hand on your husband’s shoulder. Yet another clue that Michael showed his face here all too frequently. The host waved over his entire table of friends, Sam included. He’d managed to get himself invited to sit with them.

“Come on. Join us out back,” said the host, gesturing behind the curtain.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“For a card game or two, a little smoke, a nice little drink,” Michael said, grabbing Sam’s shoulder. “You in?”

Sam nodded. He glanced over and found Dean across the room with his eyes. They shared a brief, but telling look, after which Sam followed Michael and Dolores past the curtain discreetly. Meanwhile, you were already pulling away from Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go,” you murmured.

You went back to the table to collect your purse. You left the rest of your wine there with a few bills on the table to cover it, and you were off, walking brusquely to the front doors. Dean followed suit, laying some money down for his own drink before he followed after you. The clerk at the front brought you your coat after you handed over your ticket, and Dean did the same.

“Hey, why don’t I take you home,” he said, having to raise his voice even here over the noise.

“No, thank you,” you said thickly.

After you had your coat on, you hastened to the closest bus stop outside the club. It was late, it was dark, and it was cold. You saw your fragile breath on the air as you stood there in your tall heels, and you held yourself for more than one reason as you fought off bitter tears.

You bit your lip and blinked against the burn, but you still had to swipe a few droplets quickly from your cheeks. You tried to even out your shallow breaths. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and started squeezing whatever they found. Whatever was left.

Dean sidled up to you with his hands in his pockets. You heaved a sharp sigh, recognizing him just by his shadow casting beside yours under the streetlamp. You kept your face away from him as you wiped at your tears.

“Why do you insist on watching me be miserable?” you asked.

“Aw, come on, sweetheart.” He shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. “I know you’re upset. I just want to make sure you get home safe, that’s all. …You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.”

You slowly shot him a glance, but you didn’t budge. Your frown deepened along with your furrowed brows.

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said.

It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression.

Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs.

His words touched you, more deeply than he probably realized. Part of you still wanted to give a sharp retort, that you didn’t need a chaperone. You didn’t need him to swoop in and collect you like broken glass…but a larger part of you craved the company. You didn’t want to be alone.

Soon enough, the next bus pulled up at the curb in front of you. The doors opened.

Dean gestured with a sweeping hand towards the bus’s steps.

Ladies first.

With another small sigh, you climbed up without a word. You even accepted his helping hand as you did so. Dean stepped up after you, and the doors closed behind you both.

AN: Welp, Happy Valentine's Day! 😅💜 Quite literally an angsty ride here, but what should happen on this bus going nowhere...

Next Time:

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable, like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile slid into a smirk. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

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ethereal-moonglitter · 2 months ago

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┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚

┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁

☁

Down, boy!

A Dazai and Chuuya (separate) x Fem! reader

Author's note: I hit the idea from @hidden-oracle ! Ori and I were brain rotting about our selfship and she sent me a picture of that viral "Down boy!" image so here we are <3

One might assume he holds all the power—that he is the master. That his lover is wrapped around his little finger, hanging onto his every word, ready to obey without question. His charm is unmatched, he has had people on their knees. He had people begging for a smidge of his attention. After all, his strength is legendary, his presence commands both fear and awe. He stands unrivaled, untamed. How could someone like him ever be conquered?

The very thought is absurd. It’s impossible! A man so terrifying, so ruthless as him. And yet…

Yet that is far from the truth. The power does not rest in his hands but in hers. His lovely queen, the only one who can bring him to his knees with nothing more than a glance, a whispered word. The world may see a monster, feared and revered, but in her presence, he is something else entirely. A man so devoted, eager, so hers. And oh, how he loves to follow her every whim, to give himself over to the only one who could ever truly own him.

➤ Dazai Osamu

Old habits are hard to forget.

Violence is in his being as much as blood is. It’s a part of who Dazai Osamu is, of who he has become. It’s what he is known for. He didn’t become the youngest executive for nothing. Death follows him everywhere, a lingering shadow he can never quite escape. Even now, as a member of the Armed Detective Agency, his body still remembers the rhythm of battle, the instinct to strike first, to eliminate threats without hesitation. The path of bloodshed he once walked is not so easily left behind.

Sometimes, that past claws its way to the surface, unbidden, leading to moments of discomfort. The awkward pauses when his reactions are just a little too sharp, a little too lethal. Even when the agency is forced to collaborate with the Port Mafia? The ghosts of his old life press in even closer. Because no matter how much he tries to change, one truth remains. The darkness never really leaves him.

Especially now, with his beautiful girlfriend watching. He shouldn’t slack off, not when her gaze was on him, sharp and expectant. He could feel it, burning into him like a silent challenge, urging him to put on a show. And really, how could he deny her that? He glanced at her briefly, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. Just a little distraction, nothing more. But his opponent was quick, seizing the opportunity.

The strike came fast. The stranger was using a knife. It was efficient, practiced, lethal, aimed in between for his ribs, pircing the lung. The strike would've left anyone gasping for air. But to Dazai, it might as well have been moving in slow motion. His body reacted before his mind even needed to register the danger. With an effortless shift of his weight, he sidestepped, letting the attack slice through empty space as though he had never been there at all. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he rolled his shoulders, shaking off the moment as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Tsk, tsk,” he mused, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Taking advantage of a distracted man? How cruel.”

The enemy grew restless, fists tightening before launching another attack—this time a punch, wild and desperate. But alas, Dazai was faster. A smirk played at the brunette’s lips as he leaned back just enough for the strike to miss.

“Is that all? Really?” His voice was light, almost disappointed. “I was hoping for a bit of a challenge, you know.”

His opponent barely had time to react before he moved. Dazai was quick, precise, with no wasted effort. Fingers found a wrist mid-strike, twisting just enough to throw them off balance. Then, with a well-placed tug, Dazai sent them stumbling forward, effortlessly turning their own momentum against them. Dazai leaned in, his grip deceptively gentle as he murmured,

“Come on, you can do better than that, can’t you? I have to impress my girl, and you’re making this too easy.”

His tone was teasing, playful even, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—betrayed the truth. He was in control. He always was.

The opponent gritted their teeth, desperation creeping into their movements as they struggled to break free. But Dazai had already seen it coming. With a subtle shift, he applied just the right amount of pressure, forcing them to adjust their stance. And in that instant, his foot swept out in a fluid, effortless motion, delivering a precise kick to the back of their knee.

They collapsed forward, crashing onto the cold, unforgiving floor before they could even process what had happened.

“Oops,” Dazai chuckled, tilting his head with a mock look of sympathy. “Looks like you’re a little off balance there, bud.”

The enemy’s fingers twitched, scrambling for a hidden blade—a last, desperate attempt to turn the tide. With a sharp, reckless jerk, they thrust it toward Dazai’s hand, aiming to cripple him with the speed and ferocity of a cornered animal.

But Dazai had already anticipated it. He was always five steps ahead.

Before the blade could even graze his skin, he withdrew his hand with infuriating ease, as if he had simply grown bored of the fight altogether. The failed strike carried too much momentum, and the knife plunged deep into their own shoulder. A sharp, agonized yelp tore from their lips.

“Too slow,” Dazai mused, his voice dripping with amusement.

In one fluid motion, he plucked the blade from their trembling grip, twirling it between his fingers as if testing its weight. Then, with a lazy flick of his wrist, he pressed the cold steel against their throat, his smirk widening ever so slightly.

His opponent froze, breath hitching. The fight was already over. They both knew it.

Hidden in the shadows, she watched with intent. She had seen this side of him before, the effortless way he danced between mischief and menace, predator and charmer. But she also knew what he was thinking. She couldn’t let him kill the suspect, especially not with the rest of the agency watching. They also needed the suspect to find out where the missing children were.

Stepping forward, her voice rang out: “Down, boy.”

Dazai’s smirk widened at the sound of her footsteps. The sound effortlessly drawing his focus away from the trembling fool beneath his blade.

His grip on the knife neither tightened nor loosened, just lingered, as if savoring the moment. Weighing his options. But in the end, he knew that he could never disobey his lovely queen.

"Woof~!"

Her soft laughter sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. "Being so obedient today, Samu," she mused, stepping closer.

"Only because you asked so nicely, bella," he teased, voice low and honeyed.

With a dramatic sigh, he shifted to the side, giving her space as she moved in. He knew exactly what was coming, and as always, he was happy to let her take the lead. With practiced ease, she reached down, securing the suspect in handcuffs, her touch firm.

Dazai watched her work, his smirk never fading. Oh, how he adored her like this. Unable to resist, his fingers slipped toward her thigh, grazing her soft skin, savoring the warmth beneath his touch. The moment was too perfect to ignore. But as much as she enjoyed his touch, now was not the time. She shot him a warning glare, sharp and precise. “Hands off, we’re working, Samu,”

Dazai chuckled, tilting his head with a lazy grin. "You know, I just can’t help myself~" he mused, his voice playful. "Seeing you take charge like that? Ah~ it’s almost too much….. so breathtakingly alluring. My love, how do you expect me to behave when you’re this irresistible?"

Chuuya's under the cut!

➤ Chuuya Nakahara

Being a Port Mafia executive was a hell of a lot more work than anyone gave it credit for.

Paperwork stacked up like a mountain, mission after mission piling on top of each other. It was exhausting, monotonous, and downright boring. Honestly, Chuuya Nakahara would rather be doing anything else—like lounging around with his girlfriend, enjoying some peace and quiet.

But noooooo, here they were, stuck helping the damn Armed Detective Agency track down lost kids. Lost kids. Of all the things they could be doing, this was the one that required his attention? And of course, Dazai had to be involved! Making everything ten times more ridiculous than it needed to be.

Can they be any more useless? Dazai especially.

The two of them were walking into the abandoned warehouse that the Agency told them to go to. The creaking of the old wooden floorboards echoing through the eerie silence. The air was thick with dust, the scent of rust and mildew hanging in the air. The dim light filtering through cracked windows did little to reveal what was hidden in the shadows. What the hell were they even looking for here?

"Stay close," Chuuya muttered, his eyes scanning the dim, dusty warehouse for any sign of movement. The Agency had given them little to go on—just that it was urgent. Typical. They were useless anyway, they just had to pull the Port Mafia into it

Without thinking, he reached for her wrist, his fingers closing around it. To anyone unfamiliar with them, it might have seemed rough, the grip firm and commanding. But to her, the way his thumb gently caressed the soft skin of her wrist spoke volumes. It was possessive, protective, yet tender, a silent promise that no matter what happened next, he wouldn’t let anything touch her.

A shift in the shadows caught his attention, and without hesitation, he pushed his girlfriend back gently, positioning himself between her and the potential threat. He wasn’t going to risk her getting hurt—especially not over something as stupid as a damn undercover mission.

The figure stepped into the light, a sneer playing at the corners of their lips, revealing the glint of a weapon in their hand. The stranger clearly didn’t want them here. They said nothing, just waiting for the two fo them to make their move.

"Great," Chuuya muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Just what I needed today."

He didn’t wait for the enemy to make a move. In one blink fo an eye, his ability, Upon the Tainted Sorrow or gravity-manipulation, swirling to life around him. The air grew heavy as the room seemed to constrict, pulling the very weight of the enemy toward him.

"Stay out of this, okay?" Chuuya added, voice low and sharp as he glanced back at his lover. "I’ll handle it."

She didn’t mind taking a step back. As much as she loves the action, it was nice having to relax. She knew that Chuuya won’t let her join anyway. She made sure she was a good ways away but she kept her guard up incase anything happens.

The enemy hesitated for a moment, clearly underestimating the red head. It was the last mistake they’d ever make. Chuuya grinned, the thrill of the fight lighting up his veins.

The two were in a stale mate, just staring, sizing each other up. Chuuya’s eyes narrowed as his fingers flexed, already manipulating the gravity around him. His opponent, a tall figure cloaked in shadow, sneered back, their hands glowing with an ethereal energy as they conjured a shimmering shield around themselves.

"You're in my world now," Chuuya muttered, his voice low and menacing as the power surged around him, his signature gravity manipulation pulsing through the air. A dangerous glint sparkled in his eyes, and the ground beneath his feet trembled as he prepared to strike. Chuuya lunged forward, floating using his ability. He then quickly switched, increasing his gravity, as he went in for a punch.

His opponent smirked, raising their arms as a translucent barrier appeared between them and Chuuya. The shield shimmered like glass, catching the light as it expanded, blocking Chuuya's punch but Chuuya wasn’t deterred.

He swung his hand sharply to the side, still using increased gravity to harden his punches. The air around them thickened, the ground beneath the enemy’s feet warping, pushing down on them with crushing force. The opponent’s shield flickered and bent as the pressure mounted, but they quickly raised their arms higher, creating another layer of defense.

Chuuya grinned, his confidence never wavering. "You really think that’ll save you?"

With a snap of his fingers, the gravity around the opponent spiked, sending them hurtling toward the ceiling. The shield cracked under the immense pressure, but it held for just a moment longer—long enough for Chuuya to close the distance. He dashed forward, his movements fast and fluid, and with a swift kick, he launched himself into the air, using the distorted gravity to propel him upward. His opponent’s shield flared as they desperately pushed back against the gravity, trying to maintain their defense. But Chuuya was faster.

He grabbed the edge of the shield with one hand and twisted the gravity around it. The shield bent under the pressure, splintering like brittle glass. In that same instant, he shot a surge of gravity downward, slamming his opponent to the ground with a bone-shaking thud. The opponent struggled to get up, their shield flickering, weakened but not entirely destroyed. "You’re resilient, I’ll give you that," Chuuya taunted, landing gracefully beside them. "But you ain’t beating me,”

With another snap of his fingers, the gravity reversed, yanking his opponent’s body into the air. They gasped, arms flailing, struggling to summon another shield. But Chuuya wasn’t about to give them the time. He snapped his fingers again, and the gravity came crashing down, sending his opponent slamming to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Chuuya grinned darkly as he increased the gravity around his opponent, forcing them to their knees. "How about we end this, yeah? Can’t keep my girl waiting." His voice dripped with impatience, the power swirling around him as he prepared to finish it.

After all, when you’re an executive for the Port Mafia, mercy isn’t exactly on the menu.

“Down, boy!”

Chuuya’s gaze snapped away from the kneeling man, irritation flaring as he turned to face his lover. He blinked a few times, trying to process what the hell she just said. “What the hell did you say to me?” he asked, his voice laced with annoyance.

She met his gaze, her expression unwavering. “Did I stutter?”

The silence between them stretched for a moment as Chuuya stood there, eyeing her with a mix of frustration and something else—something he couldn’t quite place. Finally, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, ma’am,” he muttered, his tone reluctantly submissive.

“That's What I thought.”

“You're annoying,” He scoffed. Which caused her to laugh. “You love me though.”

#Moon's myths: Fics #darling light #BSD #Bungo Stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #dazai x you #fem! reader

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batboysanonymous · 2 months ago

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Obsession

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Rhysand was the most powerful High Lord in history, but when it came to you—he was nothing but a male on his knees, willing to destroy worlds just to touch you again.

TW: Rhys with a thigh kink?

A/n: I got a little spicy with this one, enjoy ;)

Rhysand had never been a patient male.

Especially not when it came to you.

He’d always been obsessive—possessive in a way that was dark and all-consuming, though he never restrained you. No, he was never one to cage you. He worshipped you too much for that. He wanted you wild, untamed, powerful. But gods,did he love knowing that no matter where you went, no matter who you fought alongside in the ring, no matter how many eyes followed you when you entered a room—you belonged to him.

And since you’d started training more with Cassian and Azriel, since the hours spent in the sparring ring had sculpted your thighs into something stronger, firmer, Rhys had only grown worse.

It had started subtly. The way his eyes would burn with an intensity that made your breath hitch whenever you moved—whenever you stretched after training, whenever you slid into his lap, whenever you so much as existed in his presence. Then came the possessive touches—the way his hands lingered on your thighs longer, the way his fingers traced along the muscles, the way he gripped them when he kissed you as if he needed proof that they were real.

Now?

Now, he had no restraint at all.

The moment you stepped into your shared chambers after another brutal training session, sweat still clinging to your skin, leathers molding perfectly to every curve of your body, Rhys was already moving. Already reaching.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you.

"Take these off," he rasped, his fingers curling over your waistband, voice rough, almost desperate. "Now."

You arched a brow, amused despite the molten heat pooling low in your stomach. "No hello, no how was training, darling?"

Rhys let out a dark, low growl, his violet eyes flashing with something primal, something almost dangerous. "Take. Them. Off."

A slow smile curled your lips. "Make me."

Something snapped in him.

In an instant, he had you pinned against the nearest wall, shadows curling around your wrists, trapping you there—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. Enough to claim.

"You’ve been torturing me for weeks," he murmured, pressing his body against yours, his voice dark silk. "Strutting around in these damned leathers, training like a goddess forged for war, letting these thighs—these fucking perfect thighs—taunt me, knowing exactly what they do to me."

His hands skimmed down your sides, slow, deliberate, before grasping your thighs in his palms, thumbs pressing into the muscle like he was savoring the way they flexed beneath his touch.

You shuddered, biting your lip.

"Tell me," he purred, dragging his mouth over your jaw, "do you have any idea how many times I've watched you in that ring, fists clenched, trying so hard not to drag you away?"

His fingers tightened, squeezing, stroking.

"Do you know how many times I've imagined dropping to my knees in front of everyone, right there in the training ring, worshipping these thighs the way they deserve?"

Heat flared through you, a sharp, unbidden gasp escaping your lips.

His smirk was wicked. "Oh, you like that, don’t you?"

You refused to answer, refused to give him the satisfaction, but Rhys was relentless. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. "You like knowing that I’ve barely had a coherent thought for weeks because all I can think about is you—" He dragged his mouth down the column of your throat, biting, soothing, marking. "All I can think about is the way these thighs flex when you move, how strong they are, how fucking perfect they feel around me."

A low, needy whimper escaped before you could stop it.

Rhys groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. "Say it," he rasped, his hands gripping your thighs harder. "Say that they're mine. Say that you are mine."

"Yours," you whispered, and Rhys shuddered.

In the next breath, your leathers were gone—ripped apart by shadows and raw hunger. You barely had time to gasp before Rhys was dropping to his knees before you, his palms running over your bare thighs, his lips pressing reverent, open-mouthed kisses to the muscle.

"Perfect," he breathed, voice wrecked. "So fucking perfect."

He squeezed, kissed, licked, bit, reveling in the way your body responded to him, in the way your breath hitched when he nipped at the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh.

"I need you," he murmured, looking up at you with violet eyes that were glazed with something dark, something devotional. "Right now."

You dragged a hand through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp, watching as his eyes fluttered shut from the sensation.

"Then have me," you whispered.

A guttural sound tore from Rhys’s throat, and then—

Then he devoured you.

His lips, his tongue, his hands—all of him—worshipping, praising, ruining you against that wall. His grip on your thighs never loosened, never wavered, holding you in place as if he’d never let go. As if he couldn’t let go.

And when you shattered, when his name fell from your lips in a broken, desperate cry, he pressed his forehead against your stomach, panting, shaking.

"Mine," he murmured, voice hoarse. "My mate. My everything."

You sank to your knees, cradling his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his with all the love, all the devotion, all the longing that had been burning between you for weeks.

"Yours," you whispered again, softer this time.

And when Rhys gathered you in his arms, carrying you to bed, there was no more teasing, no more games—

Only love. Only worship.

Only you and him.

Taglist: @willowpains, @fanficscuziranout, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch, @okaytrashpanda,, @mariaxliliana, @marina468

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

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dieseldame · 5 months ago

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𝗗𝗿𝗮𝘄𝗻 𝗯𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀

Sevika x Fortune Teller! Reader

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2,1K

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Intrigued by Sevika’s use of a tarot deck, Reader joins her for a game that takes an unexpected turn.

𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: Slow burn, fortune-telling, tarot, romantic tension, domestic fluff, Zaun setting.

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: I’ve recently gotten my hands on my very first tarot deck, and it’s been such a fascinating journey learning the meanings behind the cards and their symbolism. That curiosity sparked the idea for this story—combining Sevika’s no-nonsense attitude with the mystical allure of tarot readings. I wanted to capture the tension, the mystery, and the inevitability of fate in this piece. Enjoy!

The Last Drop was alive with the raucous energy of a late Zaunite evening. The air thrummed with music, laughter, and the click of glasses colliding in toasts. Smoke curled lazily from various corners, and the smell of spilled liquor clung to the damp floorboards. It was a place for the desperate and the bold, where fortunes were gambled and lives sometimes exchanged for coin or glory.

And at the heart of it all sat Sevika.

She leaned back in her chair with the air of someone who owned not just her table but the entire room. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she toyed with a glass of amber liquid in one hand and shuffled her deck with the other. The cards moved between her fingers like extensions of herself, each flip and ripple precise, hypnotic. Around her, a circle of admirers and challengers alike watched with bated breath. Another winning streak. Another pile of coin gathered at her elbow.

For Sevika, it wasn’t about the money—it was about control. She reveled in the predictable chaos of it all: the sweat beading on her opponents' brows, the way their bravado faltered under her calculating stare. She was the gravitational force pulling them all in. And she liked it that way.

But tonight, she felt it before she saw it. A shift in the air.

You had been watching her from the edge of the room, drawn like a moth to a flame. Something about her presence—the easy confidence, the intensity in her gaze—snared you and wouldn’t let go. It wasn’t just her skill at the table or the low rasp of her voice as she called her plays. It was something deeper, something unspoken, like the hum of an engine beneath layers of steel.

Before you knew it, you were moving. Through the crowd, past the jeers and cheers of the patrons. Closer to her.

She noticed you immediately, of course. Her eyes flicked up, sharp and assessing.

— Another challenger? — she drawled, her voice cutting through the din like a blade.

— Not quite, — you replied, your voice steady, though your heart raced. You gestured to the seat across from her. — But I’d like a hand.

Sevika arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. She nodded toward the chair. — Your funeral.

The deck moved between her hands again, shuffling with practiced ease. As you sat, you noticed the intricate designs on the cards—less a standard playing deck and more… something else. Tarot cards.

— Interesting choice. — you said, gesturing to the deck.

Sevika’s smirk deepened. — Keeps things interesting. You’d be surprised how much the cards know.

She dealt three cards in a smooth, deliberate motion. One. Two. Three. Face down.

You hesitated before flipping them over. Something about this felt… significant.

The first card revealed itself: The Tower, reversed.

The air seemed to thicken. You swallowed hard, your fingers brushing the edge of the card. — Your past. — you murmured.

Sevika chuckled, low and rough. — Go on, fortune teller. Enlighten me.

You didn’t know what compelled you to continue—whether it was her challenge or the magnetic pull she had on you. But as you spoke, the words came unbidden.

— The Tower reversed represents… chaos avoided. A disaster that didn’t destroy you but left its mark. You’ve rebuilt yourself, piece by piece, but the foundation still trembles. — You glanced up, meeting her gaze. — You’ve survived, but survival came at a cost.

For a moment, something flickered in Sevika’s eyes. Recognition? Pain? It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual mask of indifference.

— Lucky guess. — she said, though her tone lacked conviction.

The second card. The Eight of Swords, upright.

— Your present, — you continued, your voice quieter now. — You’re trapped. Not physically, but… mentally. You feel confined by something. Your choices, your loyalty, your circumstances. You’re strong, but even the strongest can feel caged.

This time, Sevika didn’t speak. Her jaw tightened, and her hand curled into a fist on the table. You could feel the tension radiating from her, a storm barely contained.

Finally, the third card. The Lovers, upright.

You froze. The card seemed to hum with its own energy, the vibrant imagery drawing your eye.

— Your future, — you said softly. — A union. Love. A choice that will change everything.

Sevika scoffed, breaking the spell. — Love? Please. I don’t need anyone.

You couldn’t help but smile, leaning forward slightly. — The cards don’t lie.

Her gaze locked with yours, a challenge in her eyes. — We’ll see about that.

The moment stretched, taut and electric. You could feel the weight of her attention, the way it pinned you in place. Finally, you stood, letting the tension break.

As you turned to leave, you glanced over your shoulder, offering her a teasing smile. — I’ll be seeing you, Sevika.

She didn’t reply, but her eyes followed you, dark and unreadable.

Months Later

Sevika’s apartment was quiet, save for the soft clink of pots and pans from the kitchen. The first rays of dawn filtered through the grimy window, casting long shadows across the room.

She stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind her. The weight of the day’s winnings—gold and coin stuffed into various bags—pulled at her arms, but she barely noticed. Her gaze was fixed on the figure in the kitchen.

You stood at the stove, humming softly to yourself as you stirred a pot. The warm, familiar scent of spices filled the air. You looked over your shoulder as she entered, your lips curling into a smile.

— Late night? — you teased, your tone light but knowing.

Sevika grunted, dropping the bags near the door before making her way toward you. She leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a mix of amusement and something softer, something she wouldn’t dare name.

— You’re cooking again. — she said.

— Someone has to keep you alive, — you shot back, turning to face her fully. — And I’d rather it not be through Zaun’s questionable street food.

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. Almost.

You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with mischief. — Come here, Sevika.

She didn’t need to be told twice. Crossing the small space in a few strides, she slipped her arms around your waist, pulling you close. Her body was warm, solid, grounding. You leaned into her, resting your head briefly against her chest.

— Miss me? — you asked, your voice teasing.

— Don’t push it, — she muttered, but the way her hands lingered on your hips betrayed her.

You tilted your head up, catching her gaze. — You know, — you said softly, — I told you the cards don’t lie.

Sevika rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, you leaned up and kissed her. It was soft, almost chaste, but it lingered just enough to make her breath hitch.

When you pulled back, she gave you a look that was equal parts exasperation and affection. —You’re insufferable.

— And yet, — you replied, your grin widening.

Without warning, she scooped you up, setting you down on the kitchen island with ease. Her hands framed your face as she kissed you again, this time with more heat, more intent. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you.

When you finally broke apart, your breathing uneven, your gaze drifted to the counter beside you. There, lying face up, was a single card: The Lovers.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and joyous. — See? I told you.

Sevika smirked, brushing her thumb over your cheek. — Maybe the cards know a thing or two.

And with that, the night gave way to something new, something bright, something undeniably yours.

ㅤㅤㅤ

#arcane #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika #fem reader

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lumillsie · 4 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ glass shattered on the white cloth ੈ✩‧₊˚

se-mi x gn!reader

a/n : I was originally only going to write the last scene and make it a fluff piece with a hint of angst as the request said, but I feared it wouldn't satisfy the angsty-fluff part 🙏 that being said, maybe did too much in the angst part but trust its a fluffy ending.

fear had infiltrated your very bones and made a home of your skeleton the very moment that chemical agent sent you to sleep in that polished, luxurious vehicle you found yourself in on the night you were brought to this hellscape.

you began to think you couldn't feel it anymore — that you truly succeeded in numbing yourself to it.

the sight of her — cornered against the ivory tiles of the wall as thanos' nameless sidekick slithered close to her in all of this unbidden chaos, made you realise that you were not numb to fear. your body stilled at the sight, and your eyes darted around the room in a desperate attempt to locate something you could use to incapacitate him. you thought of him as hyena-like from the moment him and the purple-haired rapper he trailed behind first approached you and the girl who'd taken you under her wing. you had no idea how spot on your assessment was until this very moment.

you knew she was going to die if you didn't succeed in wrestling that silver fork out of his hand, and all thoughts of self-preservation abandoned you at the thought of her lying in a pool of her own blood.

as you made your first step, a figure on the top of the tallest bed caught your gaze. min-su tossed his bottle on the top of nam-gyu's head, allowing it to break into a thousand of pieces and cut into the other man's skin. se-mi saw her opportunity to sink down and grab a shard in her hand and lunged at him. you made your way closer, the rowdy noises of violence concealing your quiet steps and grasped a shard in your own hand carelessly, as your skin screamed in agony.

he over-powered her, and he was about to slit her throat on the spot. you were no murderer, of course not — you could never willingly, knowingly take a life. but in that moment, you knew only one of them would live. and you knew that it needed to be her. there was no time for hesitation, so you didn't hesitate.

he was grasping at his throat as pools of crimson spurted down his neck and onto the pine green tracksuit. the white number 124 on his breast was drenched in liquid. the same liquid that coated your shaking hand and the shard that slipped its grasp the moment you saw he was no longer moving.

his eyes were empty — you imagined yours were too. you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, you wanted to rub your hands over and over again until there was no trace of his blood ever having dripped down onto them.

"we need to hide. now" she proclaimed urgently, her unmarred hand grabbing your soiled one. you let her pull you under one of the beds as she nestled in close to you, hopeful that you wouldn't be discovered before the violent event came to its conclusion. you could see now that she was shaking too. you allowed her to keep your hand in hers, and prayed that you'd both remain undiscovered.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the water rushes down from the faucet as red pools towards the drain. it doesn't look as thick anymore. it almost looks like wine now. se-mi's watchful eyes rest on you as you scrub the remainders of nam-gyu off your moist skin.

"I didn't get a chance to thank you, last night. you saved my life" she breaks the silence as her hands sink into her pockets. "if you hadn't done what you did... he would have killed me." you know the realisation is difficult for her too. if it weren't for a shard of glass, she would be dead now. the shards of glass shattered across the bedding reminded you both of what happened the night before when you crawled out from underneath the springs of your bed.

"so did min-su. he threw the bottle. I just..." you trail off, the words almost unspeakable. "I made a choice." you decide that's the right thing for you to say.

"I'm glad you're still alive." you declare, and if you were anywhere else in the world, it would sound strange and morbid and nothing like a declaration of affection. she understands what you mean. "I'm glad you're still alive, too" she says it back, and with her words a tinge of light makes its journey back into your eyes. a chuckle of relief escapes you, and soon enough you've both burst into giggles as hysterical tears drip down onto your cheeks.

the sight of the man you killed may return to haunt you in the night — but during the day, your thoughts are consumed by her. you want it to stay that way.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

your hands are gentle as you press the water-soaked cloth to the gash on her hand. the glass left its mark on her too — as did nam-gyu's attempts to bring her life to an untimely end with the fork he lifted from thanos' neck.

"stay still." you beg her, as you tear off a piece of the bedding to wrap her her hound. you make sure to shake it first, as tiny fragments of glass shattered across the floor. your movements are precise, and yet you're careful not to cause her anymore pain. God knows she's experienced too much of it recently.

"you've been holding out on me. could've gotten into a fight with that ass on day one if I knew you were going to patch me up" se-mi teases as she does her best to stop moving while you finish tying the cloth around her palm. you roll your eyes, but you can't stop the edges of your lips from curling up into an amused smile. "I guess it never came up" you answered with the same tone of voice, your mouth making a 'pop' sound as you drawled out the last letter.

"we should go see that band you like, when we get out." she remarks almost unexpectedly, and you find yourself caught off-guard. "you remembered that?" you pose the question, your eyebrows slightly lifting. "of course. I remember everything you've told me." she responds, and you know now that something really has changed between the two of you. before, she looked out for you — but she was sarcastic, reserved, almost distant. now she's itching to lean closer to you, and you know you'll let her.

"we can get ready together, wear matching jackets." you answer her proposition, as your hand finds hers this time. she holds it tightly, her thumb rubbing gentle circles into the soft skin. "we can." she agreed.

"if we're lucky enough, we can take min-su with us... and visit the nice old lady who invited me to her place for dinner." you add, a renewed hope forming in your bones. it's infiltrated you farther than the fear could. she nods at that, with an expression of genuine joy on her face.

the sight of it fills you with affection — and with courage too. you lean forward until your lips reach hers, and she places a hand on the back of your neck. as you pull apart, you make a silent promise to yourself. you'll get her out of there — and you'll do your hardest to get out too.

a/n : and that's it for my first fic in this format! I intended to spend more time on it but something came up and I wasn't able to dedicate as much time as I wanted to for it, but I'm still happy with how it turned out. as always, tagging more characters for maximum visibility but I only tag characters I write for, so you can feel free to request any of them 🙏 thank you so much for your time and let me know if you have any feedback or constructive criticism 🩷

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jamie-leah · 1 month ago

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Let Us Pretend

Oneshot

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You're in love with Bucky. He's not in love with you but you ask him to pretend for one night.

Word Count: 1,799

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ only, MDNI, its kinda sad ngl

A/N: This is smut with small plot. This is for my sad but horny friends, I see you (I am you)

Oneshot Masterlist Series Masterlist

The sobs wrack your body. Muscles shaking from trying to keep the sadness quiet in the late night. The darkness cloaks you, wrapped around your body like a blanket as you sink further into the corner of the large sectional sofa. While the tears that travel the expanse of your cheeks are silent, whimpers make it passed your lips.

Everyone is asleep, which makes the breaking easier. The ache in your chest, and the numbness in your fingers will keep you from sleeping, but you hope you can put the broken pieces back together before anyone wakes.

Or so you thought. Strong arms pull you into a solid chest. You’re not startled. If someone came to murder you, you would welcome it. It would hurt less. But you’re lucky the smell of metal, sandalwood and mint belongs to Bucky. The one the heartbreak is really about, he just doesn’t know it.

His hands draw soothing circles on your back and when the sobs turn to silent tears, Bucky pulls back to study your features in the dark. You do the same, your tears suspended so you can make out the furrow in his brow, and his lips turned down. His sharp jaw cutting into the darkness to carve out the silhouette you’d recognise anywhere.

“You and…”, Bucky trails off softly, not bringing himself to say the other man’s name. “You broke up.”

He states it simply, plainly. And though the words are soft, there is no emotion in them. He’s always remained neutral on the topic of your partners.

You simply nod. No explanation needed. You both know why. You love Bucky. And no man can compare when you’re in love, especially to a man like him. It’s a shame he doesn’t love you too.

He uses his thumbs to swipe the trail of tears, the metal of his hand cooling to your red stained cheeks. “What do you need?”. The hoarse words scratch against the gaping wound in your chest where your heart used to be.

You don’t give him the real answer, “make me forget. Let me pretend...for tonight.”

The request lingers so long between you, you think he’s going to get up and walk way any moment. And that’s what he should have done. He should walk away right now before he does something he can never take back.

But he doesn’t. His hands slide from your cheeks to the back of your neck, pulling, pulling, pulling until his lips meet yours. A ghosting of flesh before the pressure has you opening up for him. His tongue doesn’t hesitate, exploring your mouth in a way you’ve only dreamed about.

Believe it or not, you and Bucky have fucked before. But there was nothing gentle in it. I guess Bucky never wanted you to get any crazy ideas, like mistake it for loving you. Not that it made a difference to your silly little heart.

As you get lost in the kiss, Bucky brings one hand around your throat, a gentle steadying of the growing need between you. The other hand travels, slipping under your shirt, and brushes your soft skin. His hand skims across your flesh, as if mapping your skin to commit to memory. And the shiver escapes you unbidden.

When the air runs out and you break apart, you both slip your shirts up and over, discarding them to the floor. Bucky grasps your ankles and pulls slowly until you’re lying flat on the sofa, staring into the darkness and up at the ceiling.

He kisses up your bare legs until his fingers grip the waistband of your shorts. And as he kisses his way back down, he brings the shorts and panties with him, until they join your shirts on the floor.

You’re bare to him now, and despite the darkness and the fact that he’s seen you like this before, it feels different this time. You fight the urge to cover yourself under the gaze you can feel sweeping over your body.

Your own eyes track Bucky’s powerful body as he stands, his hands unbuckling the belt in his jeans slowly, like he has all the time in the world. As he steps out of the clothing, you watch his muscles ripple in the little light from the window, his silhouette making your hands itch to trace him.

His hands reach out to your legs, as they move up so does his body until he’s covering you. His hot skin against yours making you shiver in delight as you give in and let your hands trail across the dips and scars of his skin.

Bucky’s lips come back to yours with surprising tenderness, no urgency in sight as his tongue traces your lips before reuniting with your tongue. And as his tongue becomes familiar with yours, Bucky brings his metal hand up, up, up until he reaches your nipple. The contact makes you gasp, which Bucky swallows, increasing the pinch until you arch into his body.

His lips trail across your jaw and down your neck, until he bites the flesh where shoulder meets neck. He sucks at the same time as his hand finds your aching pussy. Your moan echoes in the darkness, your fingers digging into his flesh slightly.

Bucky runs a finger through your pussy, and when he’s satisfied that he’s left his mark on you, he pulls away until he brings his finger to his mouth. He sucks your juices from his skin and groans, “you always did have the sweetest pussy.”

Bucky wastes no time sliding down your body and diving face first between your legs. He laps at your wetness like a man in the desert and god help you, but you can’t stay quiet as whines flow over your kiss swollen lips.

His tongue plunges in and out, in and out, in and out until you’re aching for him to fill you up. Your hands weave into his hair and you tug, not sure if you want him to stop or carry on forever. His mouth glides up to your clit and you arch into him again, your pulsing centre seeking more pressure. And its not until you’re nearly crying for release does Bucky slide a finger into your hole at the same time he sucks on your clit, hard.

You cry out his name, shaking when Bucky hooks the finger inside you, prolonging your orgasm until you’re begging for more, “please, Bucky. Please.”

His finger slips out and up across your stomach, leaving a trail of your release in its wake until he reaches your nipple once more, “please what sweetheart?”

You almost don’t answer him, not in the way you want to, but the rush of endorphins either make you bold or stupid as you whisper, “make love to me, Bucky...pretend that you…”

You don’t finish that sentence. There is not need to because as his hands freeze, you know he understands how you would like to finish that sentence.

Bucky leans back and for one heart splitting moment you think he might actually walk away from your desperate request. Instead he lines his cock up to your entrance and sinks, inch by delicious inch into you until all you can feel is Bucky. All you can think about is Bucky. When he can sink no further he covers your body with his again, his hands cupping your face while his forehead rests on yours.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve always got you.” His whispered words may be just pretend but you swear you can feel your heart mending until it beats to the rhythm of his name.

He finally moves, his hips pulling out slowly before snapping forwards. The pace torturously slow, but the thrusts punishingly hard.

The slow pace builds your orgasm slowly, your body filling up with an energy you can’t release as you squirm beneath him. You litter kisses along his flesh, anywhere you can reach, anything to expel the tension in your body. The same tension you can feel in Bucky’s, his hands gripping your skin so hard from holding back, you know you’ll have bruises in the morning.

Bucky’s speed picks up, his breathing turning harsh as he says, “you’re so fucking tight, I can’t…”

So you release him of the shackles he’s straining against, nodding to him, “I know, Bucky. So fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

He hesitates, but when he feels you pulse and grip his cock harder he loses all the control he swore he’d keep just for tonight. He brings your legs to his shoulders, gripping your hips until he’s pounding into your dripping cunt. The slap of skin almost obscene in the quiet dark, your moans dancing across his skin until his chest swells with pride. The type of moans that only he can make you shout.

His metal hand finds your bundle of nerves again as he continues to hammer into your throbbing pussy. And when he feels you grip him harder and he hears his name like a prayer on your lips, he drives into you harder. A feral feeling unfurling in his chest as he rumbles, “fucking come for me baby. Come on my cock and show me who you belong to, because this pussy is always going to be mine. You’re always going to be mine.”

He has no control over the words spilling from his mouth as his balls tighten moments before your orgasm sweeps through your whole body. His words sending you to a place higher than you’ve gone before, his hot release filling you up as he pumps one, two, three, four times.

When you come back down from the high, you hear Bucky panting as he covers your body once more. And with his cock still inside you, he manages to move until he’s underneath you. He cradles you to his chest like you’re his most prized possession and for these last few moments, you pretend that’s true.

Neither of you discuss the words spoken, or what just happened between you. You want to pretend a bit longer that he meant them, and Bucky probably doesn’t want to break your heart any further. So, the silence stretches and settles onto both of you like a second blanket next to the darkness.

Eventually you feel the even rise and fall of Bucky’s chest, a slight snoring filters into the silence that has a small smile pull at your lips despite the growing ache returning to your chest. You untangle yourself from Bucky, who is so exhausted that he doesn’t stir.

You pick up a blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it across him. You pick up your clothes and silently leave the main room, vowing to leave the man behind there too.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky smut #bucky one shot

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aventurineswife · 5 months ago

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Hii can i request kafka with a funny and comedic reader? like jessica and roger rabbit type of dynamic, kafka swooning after reader because they makes her laugh... no pressure tho, thank you!

“They make me laugh”

Summary: Kafka finds herself inexplicably drawn to you—a comedic, chaotic whirlwind of absurdity. Despite her usual composed demeanor, your relentless antics and quick wit break through her cool exterior, leaving her laughing and swooning in equal measure.

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Humor/Comedy, Fluff, Light Romance, Opposites Attract, Femme Fatale x Chaotic Fool, Slow Burn(?).

Kafka sat in the dimly lit corner of the Stellaron Hunters' hideout, one hand swirling the crimson liquid in her glass, the other flipping through Elio's latest vision notes. A quiet, calculated serenity surrounded her—until you waltzed in.

“Kafkaaaa!” you hollered, your voice ringing off the walls like a loose bell. “You gotta see this! I invented the world’s first sentient whoopee cushion! It talks back! Look, look!”

Before she could respond, you plopped the deflated contraption onto a nearby chair. The device let out a dignified harrumph before stating, in a monotone, “You’ve made poor choices, sitting here.”

A snort escaped Kafka’s lips. The wine glass paused mid-air, a hint of mirth breaking her perpetually composed demeanor. She eyed you with that dangerously alluring gaze of hers, one brow slightly raised.

“Let me guess,” she said, voice dripping with silky amusement, “you’ve already tested it on Bladie?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said proudly. “It told him, ‘For someone so sharp, you’re a little flat.’ He chased me for three corridors, Kafka. Three. Worth it.”

Her laugh was soft but genuine, and the corner of her lips quirked up into a smirk. Most people feared Kafka for her cool, calculating nature. But you? You seemed entirely immune to her enigmatic aura, wielding absurdity like a weapon. She found it... fascinating.

“Do you ever take a break from being ridiculous?” she teased, leaning forward, chin resting delicately on her hand.

“Do you ever take a break from looking so good in spider patterns?” you shot back without missing a beat.

That caught her off guard. Her laugh came unbidden this time, smooth and melodic, a sound so rare you couldn’t help but grin wider. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“Impossibly funny, impossibly charming,” you listed with mock seriousness, counting on your fingers. “And impossibly good at finding all your weak spots.”

Kafka raised a perfectly shaped brow. “My weak spots? Careful, dear. I don’t take kindly to threats.”

“Not a threat!” you said, holding your hands up in mock surrender. “I just happen to know you melt like a popsicle in a furnace every time I say something stupid. Admit it. You’re smitten.”

She leaned back in her seat, fingers steepled. Her smirk grew more dangerous, yet her gaze softened in a way that only you seemed to elicit. “And if I am?” she asked, voice velvet-smooth.

You blinked, taken aback. Then, with a dramatic swoon that could’ve put any opera diva to shame, you staggered. “She admits it! Oh, woe is me, the dazzling lady with the wine hair is utterly captivated! Someone fetch me a fainting couch!”

Kafka rolled her eyes, though her laughter rang out once more, unrestrained and genuinely amused. You had the uncanny ability to crack through her carefully constructed façade, and she found herself enjoying it far more than she should.

“Come here, you absolute fool,” she said, tugging on your arm until you stumbled closer. She pressed a quick, teasing kiss to your cheek, leaving you momentarily stunned.

“See?” she murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I do like my comedy sharp.”

You grinned like a Cheshire cat. “And I like my mysterious femme fatales giggling at my antics. Guess we’re a perfect match, huh?”

Kafka only hummed, that dangerous smirk never leaving her face. “Oh, you have no idea.”

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #kafka honkai star rail #kafka hsr #hsr kafka #kafka #fluff #humor/comedy #light romance #opposites attract #femme fatale x chaotic fool #slow burn

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allthemeniveloved · 5 months ago

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hii, i’m not sure about what your policy for requests are, i only just came across your page but i have to say that what i have come across, i rlly love your writing! would you ever write something for charles? he’s a fav of mine and i think it would be so nice to read for him in your writing <3

Token

Summary: Tipsy moments around the fire with Charles.

wc: 1,163

ao3 link

Tags: Charles Smith x fem!reader, friends to lovers, fluff fluffy mcfluff, alcohol

a/n: I don't have a lot of practice writing for anyone other than John or Arthur but I'm open to learning and new ideas! This is short but I hope this is okay, anon. <3

The crackle of the campfire was soft but steady, casting flickering shadows across the tents and wagons scattered around Clemens Point. The rest of the gang had long since drifted to sleep, their snores and the rustling of the lake’s breeze the only accompaniment to the warm glow of the fire. It was a rare moment of peace, a quiet oasis in the chaos of life on the run.

You sat cross-legged on a log, a bottle of whiskey dangling loosely from your fingers. The warmth of the fire mingled with the pleasant buzz in your veins, and the evening felt… perfect. Across from you, Charles was working on a small piece of wood, his knife moving with slow, deliberate precision.

“Y’know,” you slurred slightly, a grin tugging at your lips, “I think you’re the only one who doesn’t turn into a blabbermouth after a drink or two. You’re like… mysterious or somethin’.”

Charles chuckled softly without looking up from his work. “Or maybe I just like to let you do the talking.”

You laughed, leaning back to gaze at the stars overhead. “You’re lucky I’m good at it then. Could you imagine if we both just sat here in silence? Wouldn’t that be somethin’? Just sittin’ here… staring at each other, not saying a damn word.”

“Sounds peaceful,” Charles replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

The two of you fell into easy conversation, laughter punctuating the quiet moments as the night deepened. He shared a rare story or two from his childhood, and you countered with your own half-remembered tales, each sillier than the last. The whiskey flowed freely, and the fire burned low, but Charles remained focused on his carving, his knife glinting in the firelight.

You couldn’t help but notice the way Charles’s hands moved as he worked, his fingers steady and deliberate, guiding the knife with a precision that seemed almost hypnotic. The muscles in his forearms flexed subtly with each stroke, and the rhythmic motion of his carving was oddly mesmerizing. The firelight cast a warm glow across his skin, illuminating the fine lines of concentration etched into his expression. A flush crept into your cheeks, unbidden, as you caught yourself staring for a little too long. Your thoughts wandered to how strong and capable those hands seemed, and you quickly shook your head, blaming the whiskey for the heat rising to your face. Get it together, you scolded yourself silently. You’re tipsy. That’s all it is.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of you. You leaned forward, your gaze zeroing in on the small object in his hands. “Alright, I gotta ask. What are you making over there? You’ve been at it all night.”

“You’ll see,” he said simply, his tone teasing.

“Oh, come on!” You groaned, nearly tipping off the log in your tipsy enthusiasm. “You’ve gotta give me somethin’, Charles. A hint? A clue? Is it for Dutch? Or maybe it’s somethin’ for Pearson’s stew pot.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Not for Dutch. And definitely not for Pearson.”

You squinted at him suspiciously, narrowing your eyes. “So it is for someone. Who?”

He hesitated, his hands pausing briefly before resuming their steady work. “Someone who deserves it.”

That stopped you short. Your heart gave a little flutter in your chest, and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the strange weight behind his words. “Well, whoever it is, they’re lucky to have you making something for ‘em.”

Charles didn’t respond right away. Instead, he turned the small carving over in his hands, inspecting it closely before finally letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s for you,” he said, his voice low but steady.

Your eyes widened as you stared at him, the warmth in your chest spreading like wildfire. “Me? Charles, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupted gently, his voice soft but unwavering as he held the carving out to you. His fingers brushed yours as he passed it over, and you couldn’t ignore the warmth that lingered where your hands had touched. “Here. It’s not perfect, but… I thought you’d like it.”

You stared down at the small wooden figure in your hands, the firelight dancing across its surface. It was a bird, its wings carved in delicate, sweeping strokes as though frozen mid-flight, each line etched with care and precision. Your breath hitched as your thumb traced over the details, the weight of the carving somehow grounding and disarming all at once. “Charles,” you whispered, your voice catching on the lump in your throat. “It’s… beautiful. I don’t even know what to say.”

He said nothing for a moment, his silence stretching between you like the taut string of a bow. When you finally glanced up, his gaze was fixed on you, dark and unyielding, filled with something that made your chest tighten. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant. “I just… I wanted you to have something from me."

Your pulse quickened, the words lingering in the space between you, heavy with an unspoken weight. “Charles…” you began, your voice trembling. The air seemed impossibly thick now, every crackle of the fire punctuating the steady drum of your heartbeat. His eyes didn’t waver, that quiet intensity rooting you in place.

“I mean it,” he continued, his tone steady but almost vulnerable. “You’re not just a friend to me. You never have been. And I’ve been too much of a coward to tell you that until now.”

The confession sent a jolt through you, a mix of shock and something deeper, something that made it impossible to breathe for a long, suspended moment. His expression didn’t falter, but his hands clenched briefly at his sides, betraying the nerves beneath his calm exterior. “Charles…” you tried again, but words failed you, caught in the storm of your emotions.

Instead, you acted. Leaning forward, you closed the distance between you, the world narrowing to the warmth of the fire and the space between your lips meeting his. His kiss was soft at first, a tentative brush, before deepening with quiet urgency, as if this moment had been waiting to happen all along. The scent of pine and woodsmoke surrounded you, grounding you even as your heart soared.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing unsteadily. A small, shaky laugh escaped you, and you smiled, your cheeks flushed and your hands trembling slightly. “I think… I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” you admitted, the words spilling out in a quiet rush, heavy with nerves and joy.

Charles’s lips quirked into a rare, soft smile, his hand brushing against yours in a gesture that felt both grounding and electrifying. The fire crackled softly, casting shadows that danced around you as the world seemed to fall away. In that moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other and the whiskey.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption community #charles smith #charles smith x reader #charles smith x female reader #charles smith x you #charles smith rdr2 #charles smith fanart #fluff #sweet Charles Smith #protective charles smith #high honor charles smith #rdr 2 fanart #rdr2 community #rdr2 fluff

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campingwiththecharmings · 1 month ago

Text

this was inspired by a conversation i had about this series with @missdictatorme legit over a year ago. she probably doesn't even remember we had it but i told her i'd credit her for the idea(s) all the same so, thanks, dolli 🥰 sorry this took so long lmao

(this is rated m, literally just pure, unadulterated smut, barely proofread---please forgive any bad Spanish translations, i tried 😭)

Warnings: possessive!jake, rough sex (possibly slightly dubconish if you squint), choking, mixed POV...please let me know if i missed anything

---

Jake mutters under his breath and swipes a hand quickly across his forehead, sweat from the heat beading on his skin. It’s sweltering, the heat oppressive even though the sun had set hours ago. He pulls uncomfortably at his suit jacket, adjusting the fabric as he waits for the conclusion of your business dinner. You and your father wine-and-dined people at this particular restaurant often, so much so that they’d taken to reserving an official spot outside just for Jake’s limo. You hated these dinners though, hated the fakeness, the schmoozing. You’d told him as much when you’d been together the evening before (your bodies naked and sated, your limbs tangled beneath the soft, cool sheets of your bed).

His head snaps up at the sound of a door opening, the bright sound of your laughter filtering through it. Your father and his partner exit first, pausing to hold the door for you despite being deep in conversation, you follow, looking elegant in your tasteful black dress. A man he’s never seen before exits with you, his attention fixed on you. His hand is on your lower back—low enough to allude to his intentions, but high enough not to be deemed inappropriate.

Nevertheless, Jake’s jaw clenches, his lip curling almost imperceptibly as he watches you pause mid-walk and throw your head back with a laugh. The man leans in, whispering in your ear and dragging another laugh from you. Jealousy bubbles in his gut as you press your hand on his arm, the two of you giggling and whispering conspiratorially.

Jake opens the door as your father makes his way over, schooling his expression and nodding respectfully as he quickly slides inside. Your father calls your name a moment later, pulling your attention away from your companion. You nod at him in acknowledgment before turning back to smile at the man, apparently reluctant to leave. Jake doesn’t hear what you tell him, but the man looks pleased as you turn away, greedily staring at your ass as you walk toward the limo.

You barely even glance at him as you pass, muttering a quick ‘thanks’ as you slide into the car beside your father. Jake tries to ignore the flicker of annoyance he experiences at your inattention, pushing it to the back of his mind as he rounds the car and slips into the driver’s seat.

As he drives, thoughts come unbidden into his head: Had you really liked that stiff, uptight rich boy? Is that the kind of man you were looking for? What was Jake to you then? A diversion? A good fuck? Just someone you were passing the time with until someone more…suitable came along?

Jake pulls up outside of your father’s place, jaw clenching. He expects you to get out here, to spend the rest of the evening there but, to his surprise, you don’t, instead telling him that you have an early start tomorrow in the morning. The ride back to your penthouse is silent, and he’s a little surprised when you make no effort to engage with him, just driving the knife in further. Jake is a little hurt, he can’t lie. Despite your respective circumstances, he’s grown quite fond of you and has enjoyed the time he’s spent with you (and not just the time he’s spent between your thighs). Silly him for assuming you returned his feelings.

Would you end things with him then, now that you’d found someone from your world to date (to marry, even)? Would you expect him to go back to being the hired help? To drive you around on your dates with that insipid asshole? The possibility that you’d think someone like that is better than him angers him…hurts him, even. He’s made you happy, hasn’t he? He’s treated you right, with the respect you deserve, not just as his employer, but as a person…as a woman.

This was never going to last anyway, was it? Your worlds are just…too different. It’s not like he’d ever have the opportunity to court you properly, to take you out and actually be seen with you. It’d probably ruin your reputation. And your father, what would he do if you chose someone like him? Would he go so far as to disown you? To humiliate you? To shame you?

Jake pulls into the parking garage, something heavy settling in his stomach as he parks and shuts off the car. He’s silent as he gets out and opens the door for you, idly wondering whether you’ll end it now or fuck him one more time and save it for the morning.

He’s not sure which he prefers.

The familiar scent of you tickles his nose as you walk by, so close your arm brushes against his chest, and he’s reminded of that first night, the night you’d worn that skirt, your hips swaying as you’d sauntered ahead of him. The ride up reminds him of the time you'd let him fuck you in the elevator—your chest and palms pressed against the wall as he'd taken you from behind, his cock pushing against your g-spot with every deep, sharp thrust, drawing the prettiest moans from between your lips. He'd made you come before you'd even reached the top floor (and later, he'd paid the security guard a hefty sum to wipe the footage from the system completely).

The elevator dings and the doors slide open as it reaches its final destination. As always, you take his hand, leading him inside. He goes without resistance, a lump he can’t seem to swallow rising in his throat. Normally he'd be on you as soon as you both stepped over the threshold, instead, he halts, his feet rooted to the marble floor.

“Jake?” you ask, turning to frown at him when you try to pull him closer and he doesn’t let you.

Anger flickers to life in his chest when your eyes meet his. How could you stand there acting like everything was normal, like you hadn’t just spent an evening flirting with another man? Had you done it on purpose, then? To provoke him? To put him in his place? His upper lip curls in a snarl, eyes darkening as he wordlessly holds your gaze.

He notes the curious glint in your eyes as he stalks over to you, feeling almost feral as he spins you around and quickly pushes you against the side of the table in the foyer. You yelp, breath hitching as he buries his face in the back of your neck, breathing you in, his hands greedily roaming your body as he mouths at your skin. He turns your head enough to capture your lips, his kiss demanding. You’re not used to this, not used to him being so forceful, to him being so dominant.

You like it.

Briefly, he releases your mouth, quickly unzipping your dress, his hands moving up to the neckline, fingers curling around the edge, brushing against your collarbone as he pulls. You don’t fight as he peels the garment off of you, exposing your lace-covered chest to the cool air. He lets it fall, the fabric sliding down your body to pool at your feet. He cups your breasts, teasing your nipples through the scratchy fabric of your bra. You arch into his touch, moaning softly as he latches onto your neck, teeth and tongue worrying marks into your skin.

Jake ruts against you, pushing his hardness against the cleft of your ass. What would you do if he fucked you right here? Right here in the middle of your grand foyer? He groans softly at the thought, fingers clumsy as they unclasp your bra. He hastily pulls it off, letting it drop carelessly to the floor. Briefly, he teases you with his fingers again, his touch dragging a delicious whine from between your lips. Then he moves, his hands sliding down, down to your matching panties. He shoves them over your hips, quickly slipping practiced fingers between your legs.

You’re soaked, your slick coating his entire hand. He groans, shoving his face into the back of your neck as he pushes two fingers inside you, grinding his palm against your clit. Your moan is choked, your legs shaking at the pleasure jolting through your body. Jake wraps his free arm around your front, his hand settling at the base of your throat. Gently, he squeezes, your pussy fluttering around the fingers he pumps in and out of you.

“Oh, you like that, princesa? Hmm?” he growls, tightening his grip on your neck.

A strained breath shudders from your lungs in response, your body arching into his touch, begging him for more. He groans, his cock twitching beneath his dress slacks as you writhe against him. You’re so wet, so wet he can hear you, the delicious squelch of your slick cunt ringing in his ears, making his mouth water.

He hopes you’ll give him the chance to clean you up with his tongue later.

You inhale sharply as Jake relaxes his hold on your throat, moaning brokenly as he increases the pace of his fingers, roughly fucking them into you. Normally, he uses a little more care, is a little more gentle, but tonight he just can’t seem to soften his touch.

Not that you seem to mind.

You’re moaning and shaking in his arms, your legs buckling beneath you as you near your peak. He should drag it out, tease you, make you wait, make you suffer, but…he can’t—he’s as addicted to your pleasure as you are.

He knows you’re about to come, can tell by the slight change in your breathing, in the tiny shiver that runs through your body…the gentle flutter of your cunt around his fingers. He’s so deep inside you, almost as deep as his cock gets, his fingertips brushing your spongy walls and pulling the prettiest, filthiest sounds from you. You babble incoherently, begging him, pleading for your release.

Jake tightens his grip around your neck and you gasp, your body shaking—practically seizing—as you soar over the edge. The hand between your legs is completely soaked, your release covering it as well as the insides of your thighs. Your body feels pleasantly fuzzy, the pleasure still humming inside you as you slowly come back down. Jake is warm and solid against your back, still fully clothed, unconsciously grinding his hardness against your ass. You moan softly, pushing back against him, and he groans, the hand between your legs disappearing as he moves to free himself from the confines of his slacks.

The sound of his zipper makes you hum and suddenly you can’t wait to have him inside you, stretching you open, pressing against the deepest parts of you. Still somewhat unsteady, you lean forward, bracing your palms against the table before you. There is a pause in the rustling behind you as Jake (presumably) takes in the sight of you bent over and ready for his cock.

His soft growl is the only warning you get before your naked body is pushed further down against the table, the cold marble making you gasp as your skin and nipples pebble. He grabs your arm, pulling it behind your back, and just as you open your mouth to object, he thrusts inside, stealing your breath. He’s merciless, plunging roughly in and out of your slick heat again and again, over and over. You moan, going slightly limp as each rough thrust sends wave after wave of pleasure through your body.

As it builds, Jake studies you, this position affording him the opportunity to admire you from an angle he does not generally get to view you from. He bites his lip, dark eyes tracing the delicate curve of your shoulder, down the slope of your back to where you’re joined. He groans, his grip on your arm tightening at the sight, at the image of you laid out before him, completely at his mercy.

Jakes feels the shiver that races through your body, hears the whine that escapes from between your lips, sees the way your back arches (which isn’t much given your current position), and he knows you’re close again. He slows, pulling you up so your back rests against his chest once more. He grinds up into you, slowly, a pitiful sob escaping you as your pending orgasm quickly recedes.

He shushes you, murmuring quietly in your ear as he languidly thrusts into you, telling you how good he is for you (and your pussy) and how no one else could ever make you feel this good (“Isn’t that right, bebita? Hmm? C’mon, use your words.”) All you can do is moan and writhe (and ultimately agree), so cock drunk you’re barely able to form a complete sentence.

Jake takes mercy on you, quickening his pace again slightly, his breath warm against your already heated skin as he mouths at the side of your neck. He groans as you flutter around his cock, your legs shaking again as you draw ever closer to the edge.

“Mine,” he growls, his voice dark and low in your ear as he fucks into you harder, faster.

You moan wordlessly, nodding in agreement. All your life, you’ve been the one in control, been the one with the power; what you say goes. Your father’s teachings (and money) have only ever reinforced this mindset. No one ever challenges you, no one ever tells you no, no one takes from you, they give.

Until now, until Jake.

Jake is the first one to call you his and mean it. He’s the first one who wants you (the real you), the first to take pleasure in bringing you pleasure, in taking pleasure in you. You trust him, know that he’s got you, that he sees you…that he cares for you.

The thought strikes you suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, just as you're on the precipice, about to topple over in oblivion. An inexplicable emotion fills your chest, almost overwhelming as it swirls around with everything else. You want to touch him, to hold him, cling to him as you fall, but with your arm still behind your back, it’s hard to move. His free hand slips between your legs, circling your clit as he whispers words in your ear that your brain is currently incapable of understanding. Without warning, you sail over the edge, moaning loudly as the dam of pleasure bursts inside of you once again, filling you with its warmth. Through the haze of your own bliss, you hear him reach his end as well, his body bowing forward as he spills himself into you, still holding you securely against him as your body goes slightly limp.

Jake braces himself against the table with his free hand as he tries to catch his breath, his harsh pants ghosting over the shell of your ear, making your shiver. This seems to remind him that you’re completely naked, and he pauses, cursing under his breath as he eases back, his cock slipping from your used cunt. He releases his grip on your arm and you hiss at the slight pain in your shoulder (and the ache between your legs) as you lean back against his chest.

He gives you a moment, mentally berating himself up as he holds you gently in his arms. A part of him is embarrassed—it’s rare that he allows his insecurities to get the best of him like that—but a deeper, darker part is quietly satisfied. Perhaps the next time you consider flirting with another man in front of him, you’ll remember this moment, the moment he’d completely wrecked you, claimed you.

That being said, he is also a gentleman, and he won’t stand idly by as his woman shivers naked right in front of him. Slowly, he pulls away, removing his jacket, and placing it gently on your bare shoulders. His large hands move up and down your arms in an attempt to generate some warmth beneath the jacket, and you sigh, settling back against his chest.

Your brain is still swimming, unable to form a coherent thought or respond to Jake’s soft questions in your ear. You can hear him murmuring something, know it’s directed at you, but can’t seem to understand the words. You hear Jake sigh, then feel the gentle pressure of him steering you out of the foyer. Gently, he sits you on your bed and guides you back toward the pillows. You’re dead to the world the moment your head hits the pillow, mind, heart, and body full of Jake.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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#my fic #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley smut #moon knight fanfic

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mapofthesea · 2 years ago

Text

producers!yoonmin x assistant!reader, fem!reader, bi!yoonmin

genre: smut with some plot, slight fluff

summary: There’s no telling just how long you'd been stuck in the windowless studio, and you’re just about ready to walk out and forfeit your paycheck for the week, until your bosses strike up an interesting bargain

warnings: swearing, slight arguing/playful name calling, mentions of alcohol consumption but no one is drunk, dom!yoonmin x sub!reader, unprotected sex (don’t do it), they're kind of in a situationship, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), masturbation, hair pulling, degradation, praise, spanking, choking, penetrative sex, some mxm, cum eating, big dick behavior and practice from both of them, hinting at feelings

a/n: this is mature content so if you are under 18 years old or uncomfortable with this, please do not go below the cut! I also do not proofread of edit my work so there may be some typos, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

When you’d first been hired, the request came through your temp agency, and you knew nothing other than the address before you showed up. By then you were no stranger to the life of an assistant; you had fallen into the line of work after failing to find a job in your field. The first few temp jobs were exactly what you expected. Fielding phone calls and delivering coffee to big wigs in uncomfortable, cheap dress clothes became your new normal for several months, so when you arrived at the gray office building you figured you knew what you were in for.

Yoongi and Jimin proved to be nothing like your previous employers, and their charmingly personable attitudes made them unbelievably easy to work for. At the end of your week as their temp, you had pouted and delayed your departure by attempting to tidy up their shared studio.

“You’re not a maid, you don’t have to do that.” Yoongi cooly remarked. Even with his ears sticking out endearingly from the sides of his beanie, his dark gaze made you freeze.

“I-I know, I just- sorry.” You withered under his attention, shifting from foot to foot as you waited for the anxiety to pass. “I’ll go. Bye Yoongi, it’s been super nice working for you guys.”

You kicked yourself as the wave of disappointment saturated your words. Yoongi hadn’t done anything wrong, and there was no reason to unload your sadness on him.

“What? I thought they told you?” Yoongi chirped. “We hired you. I expect you to be back tomorrow.” An unbidden smile cracked your face and you couldn't help but notice Yoongi had mirrored it.

“Oh, oh! Um, see you tomorrow then.” Your heart thumped embarrassingly fast as you skittered out of the office, only seeing the email full of praise from them once you were tucked into the comfort of your bed.

---

“Remember when you used to be nice to me?” You hiss at the man who had just fully sat on your shins, uncaring that you squirm under him. Jimin rolls his eyes at your remark and stays where he is until you snake your legs out from under him.

“I am nice to you. I pay you.” Jimin coos and pulls your legs into his lap, his familiar touch skittering over your bare calves. After being their one and only assistant for a year and half, your working hours have become more muddled. Business often mixed with friendship, and the lines of professionalism had officially blurred to a proportion you never expected.

“We also buy you food,” Yoongi cooly adds, plopping himself in the chair across from the two of you and sweeping his hand toward the boxes of empty takeout that dotted the coffee table. A microphone and mixing board live among the mess. You sigh listlessly. They had been working on this new song for hours, tossing ideas back and forth, and although they all sounded wonderful to you, neither of them were happy with anything.

“Can I go home?” You drawl, feeling the strain of laying on the couch in the way your neck cricks and radiates a sharp headache. You subconsciously rub your fingers into the tightness at the base of your neck.

“No,” Jimin answers immediately. You sit up straight on the couch and rip your legs from his lap.

“Why?” It comes out whiny but you’re too tired to care, still rubbing at the knot in your neck. “Yoongi?” For a second you have hope he’ll let you go but he shakes his head, dark wavy strands slipping over his eyes.

“Sorry, need you here.”

You sputter, disbelief making your eyes go wide. “Okay...can I at least go get you some coffee? More food? Or something?” Sitting in the darkened studio for so long with no definable task was making you feel a bit stir crazy. You had cycled through all of the games on your phone and been scolded for spending too much time on TikTok. Even the book you kept stashed in the bottom of your tote bag was only able to occupy you for so long.

Yoongi shrugs, half of a grin on his lips. “Dunno. You have an untrained ear, slightly less bias, maybe you’ll add something to the process...” he trails, sinfully pink tongue slipping out between his lips. “You’ve also got potential as a muse.”

God. It’s painfully cliche but it makes your heart stop and your thighs clench. Suddenly you feel too hot in your shorts and sweatshirt. Jimin tuts.

“Potential.” He makes a half hearted jab, knowing all three of you are lingering on the same string of memories from just a couple of weeks before. You push the thoughts away and find a spot back on the couch, suddenly conscious of how close you sit to Jimin on the small couch.

He shuffles just close enough that your knees touch in a reassuring way that sends cascading warmth down your spine. Your face is surely flushed but you do your best to pretend you’re unfazed, picking at the skin around your cuticles as Yoongi fiddles with the soundboard.

“Again.” Jimin’s foot taps into the plush carpet in time to the music, and you know you’re in for a long night.

The track runs on a seemingly unending loop, only punctuated by your bosses bickering about technical intricacies and which word choices would serve the song better.

Yoongi fiddles with a new beat and you whine, sagging into Jimin’s side. He welcomes you into him and the intoxicating scent of his cologne has your eyes fluttering. His jaw ticks and you have to bite back the groan of desire as you watch his muscles clench and unclench as he concentrates, fingertips tapping the new rhythm in time against the top of your thigh.

For a moment you wish you were drinking; dumbly wanting to feign needing help opening the soju bottle just to hear Jimin’s little coos of how delicate you are, to have Yoongi gently take back your hair to see your flushed face when he thinks you’ve had too much to drink. Your saliva suddenly feels too thick and your head spins with the barrage of lustful thought. Jimin’s hand feels as hot as lava on your thigh and the sight of Yoongi’s finger circling one of the little knobs with deft precision makes your stomach tumble.

“I-are you guys hot?” Your voice is raspy as you spring up from the couch, resisting the urge to fan yourself with your hands. Embarrassingly, they both shake their heads and you catch sight of the thermostat set clearly to cool. Yoongi chuckles as he seems to look inside of your head at the neurons connecting as a flush of embarrassment crosses your face.

“I’ll be right back,” the words are barely out before you leave the room, slipping into the hallway and all but sprinting to the bathroom. Your body feels both too hot and too cold at the same time, and under the harsh overhead light of the bathroom the dark circles under your eyes are prominent, your baby hairs sticking up in wild directions from your scalp. You bend over the sink, gripping onto the cold porcelain.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your words echo into the bowl of the sink but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed about the potential of either of them hearing you over their music. You stand, glaring at the image of yourself in the mirror for a few seconds before you decide you have probably been hiding in here for a suspicious amount of time. Determined to find a way for them to let you go home, you barrel out of the bathroom and back into the hallway.

“Hi,” Yoongi’s voice startles you, and his presence in the cramped space is even more alarming. In all the time you've known him, he's never been one to completely abandon his post while in the thick of the production process.

“...Hi? Are you guys done?” A kernel of hope lights in your chest. If they’re done, you can make your escape to home and deal with the heavy pull of arousal in you core by yourself. Yoongi shakes his head no and raises his hands above him, stretching his arms and allowing your eyes to feast on a strip of creamy skin above his waistband. Your face reheats, tongue darting out to lick your chapped lips. He looks divine.

Yoongi’s eyes follow your own, and a beautiful little smirk sprouts on his face. “Just came to use the bathroom.” His voice rumbles the same way it did when he dropped you off at your doorstep a few weeks ago with a sinful kiss and your knees quiver.

You nod stupidly, tripping over your own feet as you side step the door to allow him passage. He dips his head in a subtle nod and as he approaches and you can smell the musk of his cologne. Despite the step you took away he makes an effort to brush by you, one of his strong hands clasping gently around your own. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until he leaned in close enough that you could pick out his individual eyelashes. His thumb presses into the back of your hand, a firm reminder of the reality of the situation as his words slip into the air between you.

“We’re both willing to take a break, if you could think of something else more...interesting to occupy us.” His canines sparkle in the light of the hall and you have the overcoming desire to feel them scrape against your neck.

“B-both of you?” The question all but jumps from your mouth, a product of your disbelief of the last night they had made you feel this way, which you were still partly convinced was just a delusion of your drunkenness. Yoongi nods, strands of hair obscuring his heavy stare.

“Yes.” He’s gone in a flash, the bathroom door shutting behind him. The thud reverberates through your body and you stand stunned in the hallway, body buzzing with anticipation. Jimin is waiting just beyond the wall, and the image of his legs spread wide on the couch just waiting for you and Yoongi to return springs into your mind. Desire drives your feet and before you know it you’re back in the dimly lit studio, palms sweating when you finally see him again.

“You’re back.” His voice is cool and level, gaze fixed on you as you approached him. Suddenly emblazoned by the knowledge Yoongi had given you, you nod and edge closer to the couch.

“Heard you’re looking to take a break?” Jimin’s eyes cloud with the realization of your words, seeing through the facade of your question easily. He swipes his plush bottom lip with his thumb and hums in affirmation. “If you’re willing to provide one?” His voice is thick with lust, sending butterflies through your stomach.

The subtle tilt of his head is all it takes for you to advance toward him, plopping yourself easily onto his thigh, facing the mess of the coffee table. His hands are immediately on your hips; fingers digging into the flesh with an addicting pinch of pain. Your hips rut at the contact, pushing into the muscle of his leg. The pressure sends a spike of arousal down your spine that makes you moan and Jimin responds by curling his fingers under the waistband of your shorts. His fingertips feel like ice against your hot skin, and he uses the shock to gain control of your hips.

There’s no use putting up a fight once he has you, manually rocking your core against his leg. Even though you can’t see him, you can hear his little pants of appreciation as your head rolls back against your shoulders. The fabric of your underwear is slick and pulling right against your clit, the layers of friction making you feel like you’re going crazy. Your nails dig into Jimin’s arms, enjoying the feeling of his muscles moving.

The door swings open and even though you know it’s Yoongi you gasp, whipping your head toward him. Your face flushes at being caught but Yoongi simply appraises you, eyes roving over your heaving chest and Jimin’s grip on your hips. The weight of Yoongi’s stare only makes you wetter, slicking the crotch of your cotton shorts a darker shade. Jimin chuckles and moves faster, allowing a consistent grind of pressure against your clit that makes tears edge your eyelids.

You gasp, arms flailing outward hopelessly. In your scramble your arms clash into Yoongi’s form, scrabbling to hook into the fabric of his hoodie as your clit throbs and your climax approaches. Yoongi’s hands encircle your face, gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail and stooping down until you can feel his breath against your cheeks.

“Pretty girl,” he flutters his thumb against your lashes until you open your eyes. “There you are.” His feline gaze turns your brain to liquid, enjoying the attention from Yoongi while Jimin gives you the release you’ve been waiting for.

“P-please,” you struggle around the words, and don't have the energy to articulate your needs, but Jimin holds your hips still and bounces his leg, baring your pussy down against him directly. Unable to squirm away from the pleasure, a moan rips from your throat into Yoongi’s chest as you come, pitching forward as the pleasure curls your toes. Despite your exhaustion you continue to cant your hips against Jimin’s leg after you come until Yoongi tuts and pulls you up slightly, depriving you of the surface.

“Look at the fucking mess you made of my pants, baby.” Jimin growls. Your face flushes in embarrassment but you can’t deny that the sight only turns you on more. Knowing that you were the one responsible for the mess on his sweatpants and the subsequent bulge makes your mouth water. On unstable legs you pull from Yoongi’s embrace and lean down over Jimin, giving your other boss a prime view of your ass in the ridden-up shorts doing little to preserve your modesty. His hands are on you immediately, tugging down the fabric of your shorts and panties as soon as you nod your approval.

“Can I kiss you?” You relish the way Jimin’s cheeks sport a pretty blush at your question as he nods. A warm fuzzy feeling spreads through your chest as you connect your lips with his own, gently coaxing out the demon of a man you know lives inside- the one who pushed his cock down your throat in the backseat of his car the last time you went out together. Yoongi’s deft fingers part your folds and you moan into the kiss which only spurs Jimin on. His tongue finds a home in the depths of your mouth at the same time that Yoongi spreads your asscheeks with his hands, humming at the sight of your bared pussy. He pauses all movements, making you twirl your hips impatiently, before releasing a glob of spit that runs hot over your pussy. You shiver, keening at the embarrassingly attractive action. He wastes no time running his fingers between your lips, circling your clit with your combined wetness until your knees go weak. Jimin bites your lip and disconnects the two of you, staring sinfully at the trail of saliva that connects you.

“Yoongi gonna make you cum again?” The question is rhetoric, but you still nod furiously at the idea. Yoongi laughs heartily, clearly amused by the desperation.

“Gonna do more than make you cum, baby.” Your head swivels back to catch a look at him sinking onto his knees, easily pushing the coffee table back so he has ample room to work. Your pussy flutters at the idea of him eating you out, a dream that had been plaguing you since you first heard him craft some of his most infamous lyrics.

You're so enamored at the glassy look in his eyes that you almost miss Jimin asking to shed your sweatshirt. The fabric comes off easily, goosebumps arriving as the garment leaves you. Jimin groans as he’s presented with your tits, hanging perfectly in front of his face as you're bent over for Yoongi.

Jimin captures one of your nipples in his mouth, tugging at the nub like a man starved. Yoongi dives into your pussy, licking a broad stripe all the way through your folds. His tongue splits your lips and explores every possible inch.

“Oh god,” the sensation of them both working on you makes you feel lightheaded, in total disbelief of the way the night has gone. “F-feel so good.” You mewl as Yoongi licks tight circles around your clit, Jimin’s teeth scraping against the sensitive skin at the curve of your breast as his hand engulfs the other, pulling and pinching in all the right places.

“I- can’t fucking, oh my god-” no words seem to do justice to the feeling of pure arousal slipping through you, and the lewd sounds of being devoured sends your mind into a perfectly numb lull. Jimin and Yoongi are everything, everywhere, moving in a sinful tandem of lips and teeth that you don’t think you will ever recover from. The bubbling heat in your stomach rises, aided by the slurps of Yoongi absolutely devouring you, his nose digging into you as he pushes his tongue as deep as possible into your hole. You can only imagine how wet his face will be when he pulls away; chin, cheeks and lips stained with the evidence of your arousal.

Your legs wobble, knees shaking from the effort of keeping your body upright as your orgasm barrels toward you. Jimin scrapes the top row of his teeth across your nipple as you come, body trapped between two sources of unending pleasure. The short break between orgasms has made you dizzy, keening as Yoongi devours every drop you give him. Over sensitivity rushes in, and the men work faster than your blissed out brain can comprehend.

Once the ringing in your head stops, you can feel the delicate press of Yoongi’s lips against the backs of your thighs: Jimin’s cool fingertips soothing down the bites he created on your chest.

“Come on, pretty. Such a good girl. Come lay down.” Jimin’s hands pull you gently, easily back onto the couch where you had spent countless hours before. The cool leather feels amazing against your heated skin and you quickly resign yourself to pressing the entire front of your body into it, head propped on Jimin’s thigh. This close, there was no mistaking the heavy bulge in the front of his pants. Your fingers twitch, inching toward him.

Yoongi’s dark chuckle makes you pause, peering up to see him standing over you, a satisfied smirk on his face. Just as you’d imagined his chin is covered in a gleam that could only come from being buried deep in your pussy. Your hips twitch against the couch.

“You wanna suck Jimin’s cock? Will you let me sit and watch you make him come?” You nod dumbly against Jimin’s leg, not daring to take your eyes off of Yoongi as he maneuvers himself back into his trusty chair. He sits and makes no secret of palming at himself through his shorts as your mouth waters.

“Please?” You ask, as if they would ever be able to deny you anything. You can feel the sweat drying onto your body, and the heat reigniting in your stomach makes you restless. Wiggling your fingers playfully toward his cock, you fix Jimin with your best pleading stare.

“You know this cock belongs to you, baby. Take it.” Heat flushes your cheeks as you scramble for his waistband. Suddenly seized with an insatiable hunger to have your mouth filled to the brim. Jimin lifts his hips in aid, exposing inches of flawless skin before his cock springs to life, unbidden by any clothing. He takes the break to pull off his top, balling it up and throwing it directly into Yoongi’s face. The older man grumbles in good nature and swats the shirt away. Your hips push against the couch cushion as you reach for him, the weight and warmth of his impressive cock making your head spin. Jimin moans at your touch, encouraging you to pump your hand over him slowly.

He intakes a ragged breath as you speed up, impatient with yourself. “C’mon baby, take it.” He grinds out the words and you shiver, shuffling forward until you can comfortably lower your head over him, wrapping your lips around the tip. It had been only a few weeks since the last time you gave him head, but that didn’t make his length any easier to adjust to. Your eyes water at the intrusion as you push further down, wiggling your tongue against the underside. Jimin’s thighs twitch under your ministrations.

“You’re so fucking good at that, Y/N.”

Emboldened, you push more of him down your throat until you’re fighting against a gag, spit dripping down to the base of his cock. Unable to go further, your hand occupies the rest, pumping in time with the movement of your head. The mess of praise and the burn of Yoongi’s eyes on your body makes you moan around him.

Jimin’s hips immediately jump, pushing further into your mouth. Your eyes widen and tears push forward as Jimin takes full advantage of your mouth, your nails scrabbling at his thighs as you try to clear your mind.

“Shhh, baby. Look so pretty drooling and dumb on my cock. Our girl is so good, isn’t she Yoongi?” Jimin’s voice shakes, a giveaway of his impending orgasm.

“The best girl,” Yoongi’s voice is clipped, and even though your eyes are blurred with tears you’re sure he’s working his hand over his own cock. You moan again, using the vibration to your advantage as Jimin grips your hair, holding you in place.

Your lungs constrict as his whines reach a peak, cock twitching incessantly until he’s coming. You swallow with every spurt he gives you, the bitterness easy to dismiss in the heat of the moment. Jimin’s grip loosens just as the last ropes of his cum shoot out, streaking across your chin and lips. He grins, satisfied at the mess and your performance. His now free hand takes a handful of your ass, pinching it and landing a slap against the flesh.

“Open?” He asks almost sheepishly. You obey easily, putty in his hands as he inspects your mouth to be sure you swallowed everything he gave you. He hums happily at the sight, gathering up the stray bits of cum on your face with his thumb before pushing it into your mouth. You suck the pad of his thumb clean, eyes heavy with lust as you swirl your tongue around it. Jimin growls, ripping the appendage out to slap your ass a few times in quick succession.

The pain makes your spine curve with pleasure and you almost can’t believe how wet you are again, but Jimin’s fingers quickly dip into your pussy, cooing when he feels your slick coating his fingers. Your own mouth parts in a frustrated groan, annoyingly aware of how achingly empty you are.

“Please fuck me.” Your voice is raw and shaky, and you worry that maybe their inaction means they couldn’t hear you. Jimin’s hand stays steady against the swell of your ass while you wiggle your hips in frustration. Impatient tears well in your eyes as you watch Yoongi slowly remove his hand from his cock; the tip an angry red from all the time he spent playing with it while you sucked Jimin’s cock. It feels like years pass before he even gets up from the chair.

“You wanna get fucked?” His deep voice makes your heart do cartwheels in your stomach. Yoongi’s hand caresses the nape of your neck, lightly combing through the mussed strands there. You nod vigorously, attempting to sit up so that you can convey your need to him even more.

“Please Yoongi, please I’ll do-“ a sharp tug on your hair makes your brain short circuit, words dying in your mouth. Your breathing turns shallow, anticipatory when he uses his primal grip on you to pull your body upwards until you’re sitting up on the couch. From here you are afforded the full view of them both. Jimin’s chest is still heaving from coming, his body covered in a sheen of sweat that only makes his appear more surreal in the dim studio lights. Yoongi had shed both his shirt and bottoms, presumably while you were busy with Jimin. His cock bobs against his stomach, gleaming with precum as he moves. Your heart jumps at the proximity of Yoongi’s body, the way you can see the veins in the arm that holds your hair flex as he pulls your scalp harder. You keen, hips pushing against the air at the sprouting pain. Yoongi laughs, licking at his gleaming canines you want to feel buried deep in your shoulder blade.

His grip holds you still, obedient as your eyes dart wildly between them, hungry to see what their next move will be.

“Such a patient girl for us, right Yoongi?” Jimin’s velvet voice makes you want to cry out and beg for release again, but you bite your tongue so you don’t miss what he says.

“Hmm, very patient.” Yoongi appraises you, sitting at attention, nipples pebbled with your arousal. “Although I think she could stand to wait a bit longer.” Your eyes widen, surprised and momentarily terrified they were going to leave you in the dust.

“No no no no, please don’t!” You can’t stop the tinge of anxiety that spikes through you, the sudden concern that they no longer wanted you if they had each other. Not to mention the burning desire that you knew you wouldn’t be able to quell even with your most favorite vibrator. Hot tears let loose down your cheeks, dripping off of your chin in mere seconds.

“Hey, baby, stop,” Yoongi’s hand releases your hair to tap at your cheek, light enough that you blink through your tears to focus on him. He smiles in the sweet gentle way you’ve come to know means he’s sincere. You can feel Jimin’s calloused fingers brushing gently over your shoulders, curling into the tensed muscles as you ground yourself.

“Do we need to stop?” All of the air in the room gets sucked out with his words, all three of you frozen in time.

“No, no,” You puff out. “Don’t wanna stop.” You grasp his arm, fingernails digging into his milky flesh. “I j-just feel so empty.”

His cat like grin returns at your words, your tears receding into glossy begging eyes. “Oh, baby, you’ll be full of cock in no time. Can you sit pretty for just a few more moments?”

Curious as to why you need to wait, you watch Yoongi intently, but are somehow still shocked when he catches Jimin’s plush lips in an earnest kiss. The younger man sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s frame. The way their lips move together is mesmerizing, and you faintly remember watching them kiss once before, when you were admittedly drunk and thought maybe you were mistaking the passion between them.

Now you knew for sure what you were seeing, and that it was making fresh waves of arousal drip down your thigh. Jimin reaches for Yoongi’s cock, stroking him with playfully light touches you know are meant to drive him crazy. You can see everything from your seat on the couch, and their symphony of moans sends your hand right between your thighs. You rub your clit in time with Jimin’s tugs, making sure to keep the touch just as feather light as it seems to be for Yoongi.

As sensitive as you are, even the simple touch is making your mind go hazy, losing yourself in the moment and the feeling of your own hand. You moan, pressing down into the pressure of your hand: embarrassing close to coming again just from watching your bosses make out.

“I thought I asked you to sit pretty?” Yoongi’s voice is clipped and breathy at having just pulled Jimin’s hand off of him, but it still startles you enough that you rip your hand away feeling like you had been caught.

“I-I’m sorry, it was just,” you stumble on the words, face flushed as you decide on how much you should admit. Jimin raises an inquisitive eyebrow, his cock fluttering back to life.

“Hot?”

Your blush deepens but you nod, hair falling into your face. Yoongi seems less amused at your disobedience, but the dark look on his face only makes you want him inside of you more. You bite back the whimper growing in your throat and still, waiting for instruction.

Yoongi’s steps forward, easily crowding your vision until he’s all you can see. One hand grips your throat, lightly at first, then increasingly hard as he sees the delight in your eyes. The press of his hand over your throat is intoxicating, just the perfect amount of pressure that has your mouth hanging open absentmindedly. You feel good, knowing that you he was going to take care of you. Jimin’s deep groan at the sight reminds you that he’s there just moments before Yoongi breaks your distance and captures your lips in a kiss.

It’s nothing as gentle and sweet as the few you’d shared before. His teeth are immediately nipping into your bottom lip, tongue surging forward into your mouth without abandon. Spit slicks down your chin and over your cheeks and you moan at the feeling, Yoongi practically swallowing you up like you’re the last person on earth. Through it all he keeps control of you by the hand on your neck, only letting up when you’re gasping for air.

You feel oddly vacant without his hand on your throat, but you have a feeling it won’t be the end of your experience with it.

“Such a pretty, desperate little thing. Can’t wait to fill you up, fuck.” Yoongi’s eyes flutter at the thought and before you know it he’s moving you, pressing the length of your body down against the couch. You’re acutely aware that Jimin must have moved to the chair to make room for you, but all thoughts get wiped from your head as Yoongi looms over you.

Your legs part, unashamed for him to see just how wet you are. He grins, kneeling between them and fisting himself a few times.

“Please fuck me, Yoongi, wanna feel you inside.” The stream of consciousness barrels out of you, followed by a string of curses as he obeys and pushes the head of his cock into you. The stretch is intense despite your extreme arousal, but the loving hands caressing your stomach help morph the feeling into pure pleasure. When the clouds of pain start to clear you moan, high and loud, latching onto the cushions under you.

“You look so good split open on my cock.” Yoongi works his hips into a smooth rhythm immediately, eyes honed in on the sight of your pussy swallowing him up. The press of him inside of you is serendipitous, the perfect angle means he’s nudging against your gspot with every single push.

“Prettiest fucking girl, look at you taking cock so well again.” Jimin is suddenly beside you, hands groping your tits again. You keen, overwhelmed with the sensations as white hot pleasure burns through you. Yoongi speeds up, bracing his foot for more leverage on the perfect angle as he pounds into you.

“So f-full,” you gasp out, tears of pleasure running into your hairline. Your clit throbs for attention, the final thing you need to fall headfirst into that wonderful pleasure. You gasp and writhe, pushing your hips upward to meet his thrusts.

“If you don’t stop that I’m gonna come right inside of you.” The words are a warning but your pussy immediately reacts by gripping his cock tighter. A broken moan spills from his mouth and he growls.

“Wan’ it.” The words come out soft, strangled by the loud squelching of your pussy, but Jimin is close enough to hear. He turns toward you, smiling with the intensity of a million suns.

“You want him to come inside of you? Fill that pussy up and make you ours?” Jimin is sure to speak loud enough that Yoongi will hear, but the man drilling into you looks pointedly only at your face, awaiting his confirmation. You look between them both, shivering with need.

“Yes, wanna have Yoongi come in me,” you lick your lips, “please, and,” You pause as Yoongi swipes his finger across your clit after hearing your affirmation. The last bits of your sanity are about to be washed away with your orgasm, but you breathe through it.

“W-wait!” You yell, Yoongi stilling as well as he can so close to his orgasm.

“Want Jimin too.” You gasp, barely trusting your words. The man grins, placing a kiss on the swell of your breast.

“Of course, baby, I’m so fucking hard right now I can’t imagine not coming all over these pretty tits.”

Tears of frustration brim again, hormones going crazy.

“No, in me.” You whine, petulant at the idea of him not coming inside you tonight. Both of their eyes widen, staring at you like you had just unlocked the secret to eternal life. Yoongi’s thrusts return with vengeance, finger circling your clit deftly.

“Can’t get enough of it, huh? Such a little slut that just one man coming in you isn’t enough?” You nod as his cock twitches, moments away from your own blinding orgasm. Jimin’s lips are devouring your neck, seemingly emblazoned by your admission. It only takes a few more swipes of Yoongi’s nimble fingers before you come, back arching off of the couch like a woman possessed.

The sounds and curses that leave you are barely human and essentially decipherable as your body warms under the glow of an intense orgasm. When Yoongi finally comes, your pussy gripping him tightly so he doesn’t leave, he continues strumming at your clit until your nerves feel set on fire.

“Good girl, taking all my fucking come.” Yoongi praises you as he finally pulls out, watching his come slip out with him before he retreats to stand beside you. Your head is still in the clouds, mind numb from absolute pleasure as Yoongi pats your thighs so he can get out from between them.

Jimin brushes the sweat slicked strands of hair off of your forehead, leaning close enough to him that you can see his individual eyelashes.

“Still got it in you? Want another load?” Your stomach flips, pussy clenching at the idea and you nod so hard it makes your neck hurt. Yoongi shuffles up until he’s next to your head, obviously sleepy as he plops down onto the floor with a lazy grin. He kisses your cheek playfully as Jimin moves.

He wastes no time in assuming the same position Yoongi had just left. Pliant and fucked out, you give him an exhausted smile as you watch him line up and push into your entrance.

“Still so fucking tight even though you just got railed. So willing to have two cocks back to back.” Jimin’s voice burns through you, low and sexy in a way you rarely get to enjoy. His eyes twinkle as you nod, gasping at the length of his cock. He begins his onslaught even faster than Yoongi had, pushing through your walls with a blindingly perfect rhythm.

“F-Fuck me so well,” you slur, grasping for his arms as he drills into you. Jimin is gasping, clearly close to his own end as you start to feel the hazy warmth of an orgasm come on. Yoongi kisses you even more as your moans heighten, sure not to cover your mouth so that they get to hear every sound you can give them. “You’re gonna look so pretty full of me and Jimin’s come, so fucked out and dripping.”

Even without any attention to your clit his words have you just seconds away from coming, and you warn Jimin of this.

“Already gonna come without me even having to touch your little clit? So fucking wet and desperate that just my cock will do it?” Your head spins, eyes tipping back into your head. His hips stutter, faltering for just a second as your knees lock, pushing his cock even further into you until you’re coming. Your eyes squeeze shut as you scream your throat raw calling his name and begging for his come.

You can’t stop the tears that spill out of you even after you feel him empty into you, the weight of his body pressing into your own as he makes sure not to waste a drop. You pant together, chests rising and falling in time. The way your skin sticks together doesn’t even bother you right now, but Jimin moves just slightly and the cool air rushes in.

You mumble, still working on feeling like a human again.

“What’s that?” It’s Yoongi, who’s still sitting by your side, laying his head against Jimin’s toned bicep.

“Cold.” You try, voice absolutely wrecked. You poke at Jimin’s side. “Heavy, too. Move.” You wiggle beneath him and he sits up, giggling at your sudden attitude. He’s still lodged inside of you, his and Yoongi’s come slowly leaking out of you and onto the couch, but this somehow feels just as normal as your usual day at work. Another chill passes through your body and Yoongi tuts, striding order to the thermometer. You and Jimin both watch his naked form as he goes, cranking the number up so that the room gets hotter.

“Told you we keep it too cold in here,” he mutters to Jimin, who shrugs and looks down at the mess between your legs. You flush.

“Sorry about the couch.” Jimin laughs as he pulls out, clearly still a little aroused at the sight of come pouring out of you.

“Fuck the couch. It’s your spot anyway.” His fingers dance over your pussy and you whine, shaking your head and clamping your thighs shut.

“Too sensitive.” It’s simple, and he nods easily, slipping off of the couch. You lose sight of him for a second before he’s back, slipping your sweatshirt back over your head. The warmth instantly cures you, putting a satisfied smile on your face. Yoongi reappears from what you assume to be the bathroom with a damp towel, silently asking your permission before gently cleaning you up.

Your legs twitch and you have to physically bite back a moan when he runs the fabric over your clit, but you’re happy to be cleaned and have him help you into your shorts. He hands the towel off to Jimin as you sit up, pointedly looking away from the mess on the couch.

“Shit, forgot about that!” Yoongi springs forward, shirt halfway on. He leans over the coffee table and flicks off a switch, the recording equipment going dead. His face blanches as he looks over at you.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t turn it off before we…” his hands wave uselessly in front of him. Jimin, at least dressed, looks equally mortified.

“We can delete it all! I promise, we won’t even listen to it again! I’ll do it right-“

Your laugh bubbles out of you and stops them both in their places.

“I don’t care, guys.” Their faces twist in confusion. Surely you wouldn’t want them to keep it? “You were stuck on the song anyway. Use it as the backtrack or something.” You shrug, taking supreme delight in the surprise on their faces.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Jimin groans, appreciative, and you glow under their eyes. He immediately dashes over to the computer, locating and examining the file. Yoongi finishes redressing and even wipes off the couch before bundling you into his chair with him. His hands comb through your matted hair and examine the marks on your neck until he deems you to be okay.

“Thanks for the song inspiration.” He chuckles, mouth tucked against the nape of your neck.

“Happy to help. Let me know the next time you need some new ideas.” Despite your sleepiness the idea makes you squirm, to which Yoongi groans.

“I have a feeling we’ll be needing lots of new ideas. For a very long time.” Maybe you’re crazy, or cock hungry, but you swear you feel him twitch against your ass. “But for now you should probably go home.” You both watch Jimin as he fiddles with some instrumentals, layering them over the peaky audio the three of you recorded on the desktop before popping on his headphones.

Yoongi sighs. “You’re sleepy, and if you stay here any longer while we mix this you’re definitely not gonna be walking tomorrow.”

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