#v; one hop too far

[rosetintedgunman]

[ SMILE ]: the sender (who hasn't been smiling up until they actually see the receiver in front of them) lights up with a smile as they greet the receiver. : deok-su for once doesn't fight the sweet smile that graces his face when black eyes lay upon his rose , hands balled into fists at his side completely loosening as the the visages warping around him express the joy and relief his own face could only marginally show . " seoltang , it's been a while hasn't it ? " ( oh boy :) ash gonna love this one \ dark to wilford from @bornmartyr )

The Many Meanings of 'Hey' (Accepting!)

@selfmenticide / @bornmartyr (tagging both just in case)

-

The problem with being a dashingly handsome multiverse hopper was that you would be required to be in several places at once. For Rose, his duties were needed in his original timeline. There were complications with the assigned 'viewer', and they needed a light nudge in the right direction to make sure they weren't going in circles that was not the fault of a 'script'.

But being away for so long... It made him realise that he missed the home that he had made in a place so similar, yet so far away. He missed the dokkeabi that accidentally mastered the art of looking so precious while half-asleep. He missed the creature who was so stoic and professional to the whole world. He missed... A part of himself, really.

The entity in Wilford's own timeline was amicable, for once. Whatever was happening in its world was keeping it content. The attempts to pull the strings and help someone find safety were graciously overlooked. But once things had settled, Rose was on the move again.

("Could ya call me before ya decide ta go on a road trip with M.arkiplier or somethin'?")

Of course, returning to a particular timeline was harder than it sounded, even with access to a place that existed outside stories. Doors opened into new places, new faces were passed as Rose could travel through them enroute to somewhere else. It felt like hours running back and forth, but who knows how long it actually took.

(Didn't they say that the road home was the shortest trip one could make? He was getting lost here! It wasn't his fault that he wasn't naturally skilled in figuring out the paths between timelines!)

But then, finally, the right door opened.

The entity in the room bristled. No one liked having a stranger barge in at the best of times. No Dark-like being liked being caught off-guard. Was it the worry of being unprepared for a broody speech? Were they afraid some Actor was going to waltz in for a dramatic showdown? Or were they really not fond of things like surprise parties? Who knows!

(Oh drat. Speaking of parties he forgot to visit a friend. He should have done that while trying to return home.)

But in this case, Deok-Su was simply taken by surprise. The moment he realised that the invader was not a threat, the guard dropped, and Rose was rewarded with a familiar, sweet smile saying that familiar, delectable nickname.

(He could look at that smile all day.)

"Hotteok..." Instinct wanted him to charge over and pull him into a tight hug, but he knew better, especially with his bulk and strong hold. Instead, he opened his arms as an invitation. "I'm sorry it took me longer ta get back. I hate ta say it, but ya were right. I haven't a clue how ta travel properly."

[rosetintedgunman]

Rose expected anger. He probably deserved it. He wasn't able to get in contact and explain himself. The blasted phone only worked in the timeline he was in! That was stupid! He needed to channel his inner Karen and find someone to complain to.

Instead, the dokkaebi approached, then sank into his arms. Immediately, Rose pulled him close and buried his face in the other's hair. Every touch was relished, both from Deok-Su himself and from the visages. Right here, in this moment, the timeline hopper's senses were flooded with a surge of this is what 'home' feels like. The warmth and the cold, perfectly balanced in this moment in time, as it should be.

He liked that realisation.

The embrace was tight, but not overwhelming, as he tried to convey how he missed his patient partner. One could only hope that despite the reputation of questioning loyalty that followed, Deok-Su knew that Rose was a different man. He was faithful, and he wanted to come home... But he couldn't return as easily as others. Maybe that was a 'punishment' for overstaying his welcome. It won't teach him a lesson, as he'll willingly do it again.

When Deok-Su pulled back, it was Rose's intention to pay full attention, but the touch to his face had him closing his eyes on instinct and leaning into the touch, even if it was only for a moment. He could only count his blessings when he refocused just in time to receive a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm makin' sure ta behave. I keep outta trouble these days." (Mostly.) "Besides, I wanted ta go home. That's th' biggest reason ta keep myself together." The skin under Deok-Su's thumb lifted as Rose smiled.

"I missed you too. I'm sorry I couldn't get back any quicker." He should know how to master this by now. It shouldn't be linked to objective things like "mental stability"! Wilford knew what day it was! That should count!

Arms reluctantly fell as his partner stepped away, only for one hand to be reclaimed to lead him somewhere where the pair could relax.

"Believe you me, I've no plans ta go anywhere fer a long while yet." Yes, he had 'other duties' coming up, but that was somehow easier to keep track of no matter where he was. "I'm so far behind on my 'cuddle Hotteok' limits, an' I'm sick of them 'stories' anyway. Yer not gonna believe this - th' person cast as 'main character' was makin' th' wrong choices. On purpose! So they could loop and stay in the bubble! It took ages ta get 'em ta actually realise they hadta move on." There was definitely some sort of reason for why they wanted to stay in a moment. Unfortunately for them, Wilford was not an expert in dealing with all those matters.

"Then once that was sorted, I got lost! Should've been an 'open door an' back by dinner' thing, but noooo! My phone was a dud an' couldn't send anythin' to ya. It's like gettin' caught in a really weird door shop an' yer tryin' ta find th' exit." Finally, Rose took a breath, and that was followed by a long, weary sigh as he squeezed Deok-Su's hand. "I know ya hate that kinda thing, an' it was buggin' me that I'd no way ta tell ya I was still comin'. But... I realised somethin'. Ever since I first metcha, my memory's a little better. I wanted ta know what was happenin' so I could have this moment here. An', just as important, I wanted ta be able ta remember what ya told me. Like: How have ya been? You have been takin' care of yerself while I was gone... Right?"

@rosetintedgunman | cont'd [ x ]

time was a tumultuous thing , it was . it seemed like no matter how long time passed though , some things would stay the same . a door opened , a smile that graced his mornings leaving through it with the promise of being back , and dark waited ; but , of course , he kept to his duties , kept to being busy , kept to watching over the muddled demons that beckoned and acted on his call . one would think with time that perhaps the raven had gotten closer to his goal , closer to getting his beloved item back , closer to finding SALVATION ; but such wasn't the case , and now without a rock to lean on the dokkaebi found himself more irritable at his failures .

the creature was grimly reminded of his stone , his pride , a man he'd cast aside prior ideals of to be infatuated with when he was faced with his own variation of the mustached man . an uncouth being guided only by the prospect of causing mayhem , by seeing others weak and unfavored , even if that meant those directly close to him . deok-su missed rose , missed his uncouth whimsy and upbeat nature when they shared the same room , missed the way he lit up every place he walked into , and time only made this feeling grow stronger .

deok-su was not unaccustomed to walking through a door and ending up in the wrong place , when he wandered absentmindedly he found himself walking to others like himself , iterations of creatures he'd seen time and time again . difference between him and rose was his brain was present enough to refocus on getting back to his home , his quaint void he'd crafted into a homey apartment to give the air of being ' settling down ' . the time between when his lover had felt and had returned felt like nothing at all , but dark was acutely aware of the months , possibly years , between their last meeting .

the pet name fills his ears like a symphony , whatever remaining blood coursing through his body coming to tint his monochromatic features as he watched sturdy arms lovingly welcomed him in . dark took no time in waiting , easily closing their proximity so icy arms can wrap and coil around the taller man , the visages that stuck to his form ghosting their touches over any part of rose they could , showing just how greatly distance DID make the heart grow fonder . cold hands brace against wilford's shoulder blades , face burying into his neck as he kept his lover close . he smelled of sweet candy and a deep sea , something that easily drew deok-su to relaxing into the other's form completely .

rose's words make deok-su chuckle , whilst the plagues of his mind wish to feel anger and rage , feel as if he had been abandoned , all the raven can do is feel nothing but joy at the essence of swirling pink that was HIS rose encapsulating his form . dark gives the taller man a tight squeeze before pulling back so he can meet wilford's gaze , a monochromatic hand raising to push his hair back and cup his stubbled face . " never apologize , my love . " the dokkaebi leans onto the fronts of his feet so he can press a kiss to the man's cheek , voice tender as he pulls away . " i am more happy to see you've made it back in one piece more than anything . i do worry of what may happen to you when you leave that door . " deok-su thumbs his cheek lovingly before bringing his hand to rest onto rose's shoulder .

" you have no idea how much i missed you , rose . " the shimmer in his eyes is evident enough as he looks over the raven's feature's , a lovestruck smile finally gracing his lips . " please , " he pulls away , a hand coming to take a hold of one of rose's , " while we have this moment , why don't you relax , tell me what you can recall of your journeys ? you ARE home , after all . why not get comfortable ? " deok-su chuckles , squeezing the other's hand .

[moonlightwritingf1]

18 Minutes | LN4

۶•ৎ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N is terrible at time management and is chronically late to every event or meetup. She tries to change this habit. Lando and she make a deal: for every minute she is late to an event, he gets to edge her. And he’s clearly enjoying it much more than she is.

۶•ৎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

۶•ৎ word count ━━━━━━━ 5.7k

۶•ৎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, accidental creampie, oral sex (f receiving), edging, orgasm denial

Based on this request.

Sitting on the edge of her bed in nothing but a robe, Y/N looked at the clock on her nightstand. She sighed. It was already 7:48 p.m., and they were supposed to leave by 7:30 to meet some of Lando’s friends at a new restaurant in Mayfair. He was in the living room, presumably checking his phone or messing around on social media to kill time. Maybe he was looking at track data or chatting with friends from Monaco—she wasn’t sure. What she did know was that she’d promised him she wouldn’t be late again.

And she’d failed.

Her phone buzzed: a message from Lando, ever the tease even though they were just rooms apart.

Lando: You’re 18 minutes behind schedule. That’s 18 minutes of fun for me, by the way.

She groaned, reading his text. A few weeks ago, in a joking attempt to correct her chronic lateness, Lando proposed a playful deal: for every minute she was late, he’d get to ‘edge’ her for exactly that length of time. When he first suggested it, she’d rolled her eyes. But she also couldn’t deny the spark of excitement that lit beneath her rib cage. She’d agreed, partly amused and partly intrigued.

It turned out the idea was far more torturous (and exhilarating) in practice. The last time she’d been late by ten minutes, she’d ended up with shaky knees and breathy pleas by the end of it. Edging, as Lando was so gleefully discovering, was something that he enjoyed dishing out far too much. She claimed she hated it. She secretly loved it. The anticipation, the pleas, the electricity in the air—it was all so heady.

And it was about to happen again, for a full eighteen minutes if she didn’t hurry.

She hopped around her bedroom, rummaging for a pair of earrings. She quickly threw on her dress—a fitted black one with a modest neckline, long sleeves, and a playful slit up the side. The kind of dress that made her feel both comfortable and alluring. She grabbed her purse, threw on some quick lip gloss, and dashed out of the room.

She found Lando in the living room, leaning back on her couch, legs lazily stretched out, wearing a crisp white button-down and dark jeans. He had that faint smirk that made her stomach flip.

“Finally,” he teased, looking her up and down. “You look stunning.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I know. Sorry. Ready?”

His smirk widened. “Eighteen minutes, love.”

Her eyes darted guiltily to the clock on the wall. “Couldn’t we just… skip it this time?”

He raised his brow. “Mm, absolutely not. A deal is a deal.”

—

Dinner was surprisingly smooth. Y/N smiled politely and answered as briefly as possible, reminding herself that at the end of the day, she was going home with Lando—and she knew how much he genuinely cared for her, far more than any shallow distractions.

A while later, dessert was served, and the conversation turned casual, filled with laughter and a few tipsy exchanges among the group. Y/N reached under the table to gently squeeze Lando’s thigh—a quiet thank-you for his constant support.

He met her eyes with a playful sparkle that seemed to say, “You’re welcome.” Then he nudged her knee with his, and she nudged back. This little silent exchange felt more intimate than anything else all night.

When dinner came to a close, they said their goodbyes, and Y/N felt a sense of relief heading out.

Once outside, Lando guided her back to the car. He started the engine and let it idle, turning to face her with a grin that made her cheeks burn.

She crossed her arms, pretending to be annoyed. “Stop looking at me like that. I know what you’re thinking.”

He laughed, low and warm. “Oh, I’m not sure you really know what I’m thinking. But I can guess you’re thinking about the arrangement.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she sank into the passenger seat. “It’s so unfair.”

“It’s completely fair. You agreed to it,” he countered, his tone playful yet firm.

Biting her lip, she turned her head to stare out the window. The city lights whirled around them. She felt the tension spark in the enclosed space, his presence so near. His hand settled on her thigh. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze on her cheek.

“You can’t back out now,” he said softly, his touch trailing a small circle on the thin fabric of her dress.

Her heart thudded. As much as she dreaded the torturous wait, her body lit up at the thought of his hands, his lips, his voice at her ear drawing out every sensation until she could barely stand it. A shiver raced through her.

She turned and met his gaze. “Let’s go home,” she whispered.

Back at her flat, the moment they stepped through the door, Lando wasted no time. He pressed her against the entryway, one hand braced against the wall near her head, the other tilting her chin toward him. His lips hovered over hers, teasing, not fully claiming her mouth.

“Eighteen minutes,” he recalled, voice husky.

She breathed out shakily, her hands sliding up his chest. “You actually timed me?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Of course. It’s a matter of principle now.”

His breath ghosted over her lips, and she parted hers, expecting a kiss—but he pulled back at the last second. That made her let out a small whine in protest, which only seemed to encourage him more.

Gently, he took her hand and led her down the hallway to her bedroom, which was dimly lit by a small lamp on the dresser. The familiar environment, the hush of the late hour, and the pounding of her own heart made everything feel heightened. She was acutely aware of how close he was, how every subtle shift of his body seemed to radiate warmth.

He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. He stayed standing, looking down at her with that signature cocky tilt of his head. “I’m going to set a timer,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Eighteen minutes.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but her grin betrayed her excitement.

He bent down, brushing his lips just once, featherlight, over hers. “You love it,” he teased, then reached behind her to place his phone on the nightstand. She heard a soft chime as he presumably set an alarm to go off.

She swallowed hard. “And what if I try to… shorten it?”

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent another wave of warmth through her. “Good luck, love. I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten better at making you wait.”

The bedroom seemed smaller than usual, the air thick with anticipation as Lando stood over her, his gaze sharp yet playful. Y/N’s heart raced as she sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the sheets nervously. She knew what was coming, and though she’d never admit it out loud, the thought of it sent a thrill through her body.

“Eighteen minutes,” Lando murmured, his voice low and smooth, like velvet brushing against her skin. He reached down, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her jaw. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

She huffed, trying to sound annoyed, but the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “I’m not going to make it easy? You’re the one who came up with this… this torture.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned in closer, his breath tickling her ear. “Torture, huh? Funny, because from where I’m standing, you seem to enjoy it just as much as I do.”

Her lips parted to argue, but he silenced her with a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t enough to satisfy her—it never was with him—but it was enough to make her toes curl and her breath hitch. When he pulled away, she instinctively leaned forward, chasing his lips, but he took a deliberate step back, his smirk widening.

“Oh no, love,” he teased, holding up a finger. “You’re not getting off that easy. Eighteen minutes. Every. Single. One.”

She groaned, letting her head fall back in mock exasperation. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are, still with me.” He knelt down in front of her, his hands sliding up her thighs and pushing her dress higher. His touch was deliberate, slow, and Y/N couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her. “Now, let’s get started.”

His lips brushed the inside of her thigh, the contact featherlight but deliberate, the faintest pressure that sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. She sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening in the sheets as he lingered there, his breath warm against her sensitive skin. Slowly, as if savoring every millisecond, he pressed another kiss just slightly higher, his tongue darting out to graze the surface in a way that made her legs quiver. 

His hands moved to her hips, fingers digging in with enough force to keep her grounded but not enough to hurt. He held her still, his grip firm yet controlled, as he dragged his lips farther up her thigh, each kiss a slow, torturous progression. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the ache growing with every passing second, but he was methodical, unhurried, his every movement calculated to keep her on the edge. 

Just when she thought he might finally close the distance, he paused, his lips hovering just above where she wanted him most. He exhaled softly, the warmth of his breath sending another wave of need crashing through her. She arched her back, silently pleading, but he chuckled low, the sound reverberating against her skin. 

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained hunger, before he pressed a lingering kiss to the other thigh, starting the agonizing process all over again. 

Her breath hitched, a frustrated whine slipping past her lips as he pulled back, denying her once more. Heat pooled in her stomach, the fire building to a nearly unbearable level, yet he stayed just out of reach, leaving her trembling and desperate, the promise of release taunting her with every breath he took. His hands shifted, his thumbs brushing in slow circles against her hip bones, and she could feel the tension coiling tighter, tighter, threatened to snap with one more touch, one more kiss—but Lando wouldn’t crack. Not yet. Not while the timer still counted down.

The heat of his mouth pressed against the damp fabric of her underwear, and Y/N gasped, her hips instinctively lifting toward him. His hands held her firmly in place, his grip unyielding, as he kissed her through the thin barrier. 

“Lando,” she whispered, the word trembling on her lips. His name was a plea, a prayer. His lips moved deliberately, each kiss leaving behind a trail of fire, until her underwear was soaked, clinging to her skin, and still, he didn’t stop.

 “Mm, you’re dripping already,” he murmured, his voice rough. He paused to glance up at her, his smirk wicked. “What do you want, love?”

She shook her head, unable to voice it, but her body answered for her: her legs parted wider, her hips arching closer. He chuckled, low and knowing, before sinking his fingers into the sides of her underwear and pulling them down in one slow, torturous motion. The cool air kissed her heated skin, but it was his gaze that burned, his eyes raking over her as if memorizing every detail.

His lips pressed against the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she gasped, her fingers twisting into the sheets. He lingered there, his breath hot, before moving higher, his mouth trailing a slow, deliberate path toward her center. Each kiss was a tease, a promise he wasn’t ready to fulfill just yet. His tongue flicked out, tracing the curve where her thigh met her hip, and she shuddered, her legs trembling beneath him.

He kissed lower, his lips brushing over the delicate crease of her pubic bone, and she let out a sharp, desperate sound, her hips lifting instinctively. But he didn’t stop there. His mouth moved with agonizing slowness, kissing every inch of her, his lips grazing the swollen, aching flesh of her pussy. She could feel the wetness of her arousal coating his lips now, slick and warm, and the sensation made her head spin.

His tongue darted out, teasing her clit with the lightest touch, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed. He chuckled, low and dark, before pulling back, leaving her trembling and desperate. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. His lips returned to her inner thighs, kissing and nipping at the tender skin, as if savoring every second of her torment. The heat between her legs was unbearable, her body begging for release, but he kept her on the edge, his every touch a cruel, delicious reminder of what she couldn’t have—yet.

His tongue finally made contact, a slow, deliberate drag through her slick folds that had her gasping, her body twitching involuntarily. He didn’t rush, didn’t give her the relief she craved. Instead, he let the flat of his tongue glide over her entrance, pressing just enough to make her hips jerk toward him, but not enough to satisfy the ache that had been building since he first knelt between her thighs.

Her breath hitched as he lingered there, his breath hot and wet, the faintest puff of air brushing against her sensitive skin. His tongue teased at her entrance, a soft, insistent dip that made her whimper, her fingers clawing at the sheets as if they could anchor her against the tidal wave of sensation crashing through her. He flicked his tongue against her clit, light and quick, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed, her insides coiling tighter.

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles around her clit, each swirl sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. She could feel the heat building, the pressure mounting, her body right on the edge of release. But just as she felt herself tipping over, he pulled back, his lips pressing a soft, torturous kiss to the swollen bundle of nerves instead.

Her hips lifted, desperate, pleading, but he held her down with one firm hand on her stomach, his other gripping her hip to keep her still. His mouth moved lower again, his tongue tracing the outline of her entrance, his lips kissing the slick skin as if savoring every drop of her arousal.

He was relentless, his tongue flicking against her clit in quick, teasing strokes one moment, then flattening against her in slow, languid laps the next. His breath hitched against her, warm and uneven, and she could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself back even as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink.

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, her knees pressing together as if to trap the sensation, to hold onto the fleeting euphoria he denied her.

His tongue circled her clit again, the pressure just enough to make her cry out, her body tightening like a coiled spring. But he stopped, his lips hovering just above her, his breath hot and ragged, leaving her on the edge of release, suspended in a state of agonizing bliss.

“Lando,” she whimpered, her voice ragged, her nails digging into her own palms. “Please...”

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating against her skin. “Not yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers again, teasing her with the promise of what was to come.

But the timer wasn’t up, and neither was he.

“Please,” she whimpered again, her voice broken. “Please, I’m so close. Just—just let me—”

Lando leaned back, licking his lips as if savoring her taste, a glint in his eye that was pure mischief. “Not yet, love. Eleven minutes left.”

 “No,” she breathed, her voice unsteady, her body still coiled tight, wavering on the edge. “You can’t—you didn’t let me—“

 “Exactly,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips against her ear. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

She groaned, frustration and arousal warring inside her. Her hands reached for him, but he caught them easily, pinning them back against the bed. “You’re a menace,” she muttered, but the way she said it—breathless, charged—gave her away. 

He grinned. “And you’re mine. Now be patient. I’m not done with you yet.”

She didn’t respond, mostly because she knew he was right. There was something intoxicating about the way he controlled her pleasure, the way he could reduce her to a trembling, begging mess with just a few touches. She hated how much she loved it.

Lando’s lips found hers again, this time more demanding, and she melted into the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair. He deepened it, his tongue exploring her mouth as his hands roamed her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She moaned into his mouth, her hips bucking involuntarily, but he pulled away again, leaving her breathless and desperate.

“Still ten minutes,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough with desire. “Think you can last?”

She glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He grinned, his hand slipping between her legs and teasing her with featherlight touches. “Guilty. But can you blame me? Look at you—beautiful, writhing, completely at my mercy. How could I not enjoy it?”

Her breath hitched as his fingers found her clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. She arched into his touch, her hips moving of their own accord, but he pulled his hand away, leaving her gasping for more. She could see the amusement in his eyes, the way he reveled in her frustration, and it only made her want him more.

“What’s the matter, love?” he teased, his voice laced with mischief. “Can’t handle a little teasing?”

She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to her level. “You’re going to pay for this later.”

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Promises, promises.”

Before she could retort, his lips were on hers again, his hands roaming her body with a possessiveness that made her head spin. She let herself get lost in the kiss, in the way his body pressed against hers, but just as she was starting to lose herself, he pulled away again, leaving her panting and frustrated.

“Nine minutes,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck. “Think you can hold out?”

She let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

He chuckled, his breath hot against her skin. “Good girl.”

His lips left her neck, and she felt the shift in his weight as he stood. Her eyes fluttered open, watching as he unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, the sound of leather sliding through the loops sending a shiver down her spine. He pushed his trousers down just enough to free himself, and her breath hitched at the sight of him—hard, thick, and already glistening at the tip.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he knelt between her legs again, his hands gripping her hips as he positioned himself. The head of his cock brushed against her clit, slick with her arousal, and she gasped, her back arching off the bed.

He didn’t push in. Not yet. He dragged the tip of his cock back and forth over her swollen clit, the friction maddeningly light, teasing her until she was squirming beneath him. Her hands fisted the sheets, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he continued to torment her.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please, Lando, I can’t—I need—”

He chuckled, low and dark, his grip tightening on her hips. “You need what, love? Tell me.”

She whimpered, her body trembling with need. “You. Inside me. Now.”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and finally, finally, he pressed forward, the thick head of his cock stretching her open inch by agonizing inch. She moaned, loud and unrestrained, her nails digging into the mattress as he filled her completely. He paused there, buried deep, and she could feel every pulse of him inside her, the way her walls clenched around him, desperate for more.

“Lando,” she whined, her hips lifting instinctively, trying to coax him into moving. But he stayed still, his hands holding her firmly in place. “Move. Please, move.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “Patience, love. We’ve got time.”

She groaned, frustration and arousal warring inside her. “You’re killing me.”

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against her skin, and finally, finally, he began to move. Slowly. Painfully slowly. He pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the tip inside her before pushing back in with that same torturous pace. Each thrust was deliberate, calculated, designed to drive her wild without giving her the release she craved.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling with every slow, deep stroke. She could feel every ridge, every vein of him as he moved inside her, stretching her, filling her in ways that made her head spin. Her hands reached for him, clutching at his shoulders, his arms, anything to anchor herself against the overwhelming sensation.

“Faster,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Lando, faster.”

He shook his head, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. “Not yet. You’re doing so well, love. Just a little longer.”

She whimpered, her body writhing beneath him, but he held her steady, his pace unchanging. Every thrust was a tease, a promise of what was to come, but not enough to push her over the edge. She was a mess, her mind fogged with pleasure, her body aching for release, but he was relentless, drawing out every second of her torment.

“Lando,” she cried, her voice breaking. “Please, I can’t—I need—”

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her pleas as he continued to move inside her, slow and deep, driving her closer and closer to the brink. And when he finally picked up the pace, it was only to leave her hanging once more, right on the edge of ecstasy, completely at his mercy.

His thrusts deepened, quickened, the rhythm shifting from slow and deliberate to something harder, more urgent. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, her moans rising with every snap of his hips. She was close—so close—her body tightening, her breath hitching as she wobbled on the edge. And then he stopped. Just like that. He froze, buried deep inside her, his cock throbbing against her walls as she clenched around him, desperate for release.

 “No,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Lando, please—don’t stop. I’m so close. Please, just let me—” 

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, his voice low and teasing. “Not yet, love. Five minutes left.” 

She whimpered, frustration bubbling up in her chest, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Forget the deal. Just fuck me. Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and amused, his hands gripping her hips to keep her still. “You know I can’t do that. A deal’s a deal. Besides...” His smirk widened as he stayed buried deep inside her, his cock throbbing against her walls, unmoving. “I love seeing you like this. Begging. Squirming. Completely at my mercy.”

Her eyes flashed with defiance, and before he could react, she squeezed her inner muscles, clenching around him with everything she had. The pressure was sharp, electric, and his cock twitched in response, throbbing hot and heavy within her. She watched his jaw tighten, the amusement in his eyes flickering for a split second.

But he caught himself, his hand darting between her legs, fingertips brushing her swollen clit to stop her. “Nice try,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. He shifted back, kneeling up slightly but keeping himself inside her, his cock still stretching her wide. He gripped the base of himself, stroking slowly, slick with her arousal, as if taunting her with what she couldn’t have. His gaze bore into hers, unrelenting. “You think squeezing around me will make you come? Clever, but not clever enough.”

She glared at him, her body trembling with the effort it took not to buck her hips, but she didn’t respond. Her defiant silence only seemed to amuse him more.

Finally, he pulled out completely, leaving her empty and aching, his cock glistening with her wetness as he knelt between her thighs. “Four minutes,” he said, his voice low and teasing, as he began to stroke himself with agonizing slowness. “Think you can last?”

She groaned, her head falling back against the pillows, her body trembling with need as she closed her legs. "You're impossible."

“And you’re mine,” he said, leaning down but deliberately staying just out of reach. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Now, spread your legs for me. You’re not allowed to cheat your way out of this.”

When she hesitated, his free hand slid to her thigh, pushing it open with firm, deliberate pressure. His cock twitched in his hand, the tip glistening as he stroked himself again, teasing her with the sight.

She glared at him, but her breath hitched—a telltale sign that she was hanging on his every movement.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb flicking over her clit once more before he leaned even closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Now, let’s make those last four minutes count.”

She groaned, her head falling back against the pillows, her body trembling with need. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine,” he said, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, hot and demanding, while his cock pressed against her clit, the friction maddeningly light. She arched into him, her hips lifting off the bed, but he held her steady, his grip unyielding.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips, her voice ragged. “Please, Lando, I can’t—I need—”

He kissed her again, silencing her pleas, his lips trailing down her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His cock rubbed against her clit in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to make her whimper but not enough to push her over the edge. She was a mess, her mind fogged with pleasure, her body aching for release, but he was relentless, drawing out every second of her torment.

“Three minutes,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “Think you can last?”

She shook her head, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “No. I can’t. Please, just let me come.”

He chuckled, low and dark, his lips brushing hers again. “Almost there, love. Be patient.”

Her hands fisted the sheets, her body writhing beneath him, but he held her steady, his touch firm and controlled. Every brush of his cock against her clit sent jolts of electricity through her, the sensation building, coiling tighter and tighter until she thought she might explode. But he didn’t let her. Not yet. Not until the timer went off.

He pulled back, his lips leaving hers with a soft, teasing pop. Her eyes fluttered open, confused, as he shifted his weight off her and knelt between her legs. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her skin flushed and gleaming under the dim light.

Lando’s hand wrapped around his cock, slick and throbbing, and he began to stroke himself slowly, his gaze locked on hers. His eyes raked over her body—the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the way her thighs trembled as they spread wider for him. But it was her pussy that held his attention, glistening and soaked, needy and waiting.

She whimpered, her fingers clawing at the sheets as she watched him. The sight of his cock in his hand, stroking steadily over her dripping core, sent another wave of arousal crashing through her. She could feel the heat building, the ache growing unbearable. “Please,” she begged, her voice shaky, almost hysterical with need.

“Almost there, love,” he murmured, his tone dark and teasing, his eyes dropping to where his cock nearly brushed her clit with every slow stroke. He tilted his head slightly as if studying her, his smirk widening at the flush spreading down her chest, the way her legs twitched with every agonizing pass of his hand.

She arched her back, her hips lifting instinctively toward him, desperate for contact. But he held himself just out of reach, his strokes deliberate now as if pushing her closer. “Look at you,” he said, his voice rough with restraint. “Soaked. Begging. Mine.”

Her breath hitched, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to stifle another whine. His thumb circled the swollen head of his cock once before dragging it down, the tip brushing against her clit so lightly it was torture. A small cry escaped her, her fingers gripping the sheets tighter. She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t hold on much longer.

The timer’s chime shattered the heavy silence, loud and sharp. Y/N gasped, relief and anticipation flooding her system. Lando didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her hips firmly, positioning himself at her entrance, and plunged into her in one deep stroke.

She cried out, her back arching off the bed, her walls clenching around him as he filled her completely. He didn’t waste time. His thrusts were hard and merciless, each one driving her higher, sending sparks shooting through her veins. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked her with relentless abandon.

It didn’t take long. Three thrusts in, the pressure inside her snapped, and her orgasm crashed over her in blinding waves. She screamed his name, her body convulsing around him, her legs trembling uncontrollably as pleasure consumed her.

It didn’t take long. The moment he buried himself inside her, the tension that had been coiling in her core for what felt like an eternity snapped. On the third thrust, her body gave in completely, and her orgasm tore through her with a force that left her breathless. She screamed his name, her voice raw and unfiltered, as waves of pleasure crashed over her, one after another, relentless and all-consuming. Her back arched off the bed, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, her legs trembling uncontrollably as her walls clenched around him, milking every inch of his cock.

Lando groaned, deep and guttural, his grip on her hips tightening to the point of pain as he felt her convulse around him. His rhythm faltered for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of her release, but then he surged forward again, driving into her with renewed urgency. Four, five, six thrusts—each one deeper, harder, more desperate than the last—and he came with a growl that seemed to rumble from the very depths of his chest. His release spilled into her in hot, pulsing waves, filling her completely as his hips jerked against hers, prolonging the sensation for both of them.

He collapsed onto her chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his skin slick with sweat as it pressed against hers. Their heartbeats pounded in unison, a chaotic rhythm that slowly began to steady as the aftershocks of their shared climax ebbed away. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, heavy and uneven, mingling together in the aftermath of the cruel, delicious game they had just played.

Her breath was still ragged, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a marathon. Lando’s weight pressed into her, his skin hot against hers, but the tension had melted into something softer, more intimate. Her fingers absently traced the curve of his shoulder, her body still trembling with the remnants of her release. He lifted his head slightly, his lips brushing her shoulder in a slow, lingering kiss that made her shiver.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, her voice uneven, throat raw. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

He chuckled, the sound low and self-satisfied, his breath warm against her skin. “Good to know I’m still capable of surprising you.”

She tilted her head to meet his gaze, her lips curving into a half-hearted glare. “Don’t get too cocky. I’m low-key annoyed at you for making me wait that long. Like, genuinely. Didn’t think you’d actually go full eighteen minutes. Torture much?”

He grinned, unapologetic, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, come on, love. You knew exactly what you were signing up for when you agreed to the deal. And let’s be honest—you loved every second of it.”

She groaned, swatting at his chest weakly. “I’m never admitting that out loud.”

His smirk widened as he shifted slightly, nudging her legs apart to rest more comfortably between them. “You don’t have to say it. I can feel it.” His hand trailed down her side, fingertips brushing over her ribs in a way that made her shiver. “Maybe this’ll be the motivation you need to stop being late to everything. Because, trust me, if you keep testing me like this, I’ll only get better at edging you.”

She rolled her eyes, but the flush creeping up her neck gave her away. “Oh, so now you’re threatening me? Classy.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a teasing kiss. “Not a threat, love. A promise. So, what’s it gonna be? On time from now on? Or... more of this?” He punctuated his words with a slow roll of his hips, his cock still buried deep inside her, and she gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders instinctively.

“You,” she said breathlessly, “are the worst.”

“And yet,” he murmured, his lips grazing her ear, “you’re not saying no.”

She let out a laugh, the sound warm and unrestrained, and he pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling. “Fine,” she said finally, her tone mock-defeated. “I’ll try to be on time. But if I’m late again, you better be ready to deliver. That was... intense.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and warm. “Oh, I’m always ready, love. And next time, we’ll make it even better.”

She groaned, but her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was less teasing and more heated. He smiled into it, his body pressing into hers as he murmured, “Eighteen minutes very well spent.”

[mywritersmind]

THIGH HIGHS - LN4

summary : In which Lando likes thigh high socks and his best friends sister far too much.

listen up : my first time writing full smut… oral, swearing, p in v, teasing, age gap!! fewtrell!youngersister!!

words : 1610

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Lando knew to stay in Max’s room. He was told explicitly to stay put. But Lando has never been good at following directions.

The loud bang in the kitchen was what broke him. He walked down the hall, praying it was Max’s cat or maybe P came home early!

It was not.

Lando mentally swore at the sight. She stood on her toes, trying to reach a mug that was too high. One hand was braced on the counter as her foot popped up. Lando looked at the counter, ceramic pieces shattered on it which explained the loud noise.

He should turn away. He would have, if not for her little squeal as she finally got her fingers on a mug and hopped off the counter, looking directly at him.

It wasn’t her slow blink or the sight of her in a thin oversized shirt… though both those things had Lando close to losing it, It was her socks.

Thigh high, too tight, stark white… socks.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were here.” She smiles softly, turning around and bopping back to the kitchen island to finish her drink making.

She’s lying. Him Max Fewtrell were her teachers growing up, Lando sees right through her.

He clears his throat, “Uh yeah… I could say the same for you.”

She shoots him a small smile before looking back at her mug, the kitchen now filled with the familiar smell of hot chocolate. “Want a cup?” She asks, dipping the spoon in her mouth and slowly pulling it out.

He mindlessly sits across from her as she moves around the kitchen to make more, her hair bouncing behind her.

His eyes were glued to her as she slid around in those bloody socks. They were the same socks she wore all throughout highschool with her prissy little skirt and uniform top.

The same socks that she would flaunt as she draped her legs over the couch while Lando and Max were playing video games.

Lando knew she was in college now but that didn’t make the sight, or his thoughts, any better.

The completion of her outfit, a thin shirt that dipped right above the socks and made it clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra, did not help.

She slides a mug to him, smiling in that sweet and innocent way she always has. “Tell me if you like it. It’s a new recipe.” She sips her hot chocolate at the same time as Lando, her lipgloss being left as a kiss on the ceramic.

Lando nods, “It’s really fucking good.”

This makes her grin grow, biting her bottom lip to restrain herself, “Good. So, what are you doing here?”

Lando quirks a brow, “Max and I are filming later.”

She nods slowly, “Right…”

“Well what are you doing here?” He raises a brow, bringing the mug to his lips again.

“I’m on spring break.”

“And you’re spending it with your brother?”

“I just got back from cabo…” She says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her tan did hint at it though. “I go back tomorrow though.”

“Ah, uni… how’s that going for ya?” He leans back in his chair as she backs up against the countertop.

“Great. Minus the guys.” She sighs purposefully, looking around the room. “How’s the whole F1 thing?”

He smiles at her tone, nodding, “Good.”

“You know! It’s funny… Max gets to go all the time, yet I'm never invited.” She pouts, crossing her legs.

“You never ask.” He makes a point to look at her in the eyes when saying it.

“I’m asking now.” Something about her voice screams DONT CROSS! DANGER! GO BACK! But Lando just sits up straighter.

“Fine then, come to australia.”

She finishes her drink, hopping up on the counter so her head is hitting the cabinets now. Lando sucks in a breath as she looks at him, “Only if I get to stay in your room.”

Christ he might just fall off this bloody chair.

“Stop that.” Lando shakes his head, leaning back in his chair and gripping his mug a little too tight.

“Stop what?” She smirks, completely mischievous and faking innocence.

“Being a little shit.”

She scoffs, jokingly. Putting a hand on her chest and frowning, “You wound me, Lan.”

“You not getting enough attention at school? Guys don’t fall at your feet everywhere you go?” It’s bad but the most he can do to stop his words is a mental slap on his face.

“They do… You’re just more fun to play with.”

“I’m too old for you.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t think it’s hot. Five years isn’t even that bad- Would it make you feel better if I said I’ve gotten with a fourt-”

“No!” He stops her, standing up and washing out his cup to busy himself, “It’s not just the age thing.”

“So you’d get with me if I wasn’t your best friend's sister?” He turns to look at her, her legs squeezed together and practically begging to be touched.

“I didn’t say that.”

Her shirt is riding up her thighs more and it makes Lando’s stomach drop. He licks his lips as she looks at him, “Lan.” she practically whines, “I need someone experienced.”

He shakes his head, his eyes still on her body as she rubs her thighs together, “I haven’t orgasmed in forever… at least, not from a guy.” He lets out a little sigh, walking closer.

“You can touch me.” She looks up at him, her eyes full of lust as the tightness in his pants grows.

“I shouldn’t.” He braces himself on either side of her.

“Then I'll touch myself.” It’s almost a whisper, but definitely a promise. She slips her hand under her shirt, making it pool around her thighs and teasing her cotton underwear.

Lando thinks he might be dreaming as she slips her hand into her panties, her breathing picking up as she leans her head back.

“Lan…” she whimpers, “Feels so good…” she locks eyes with him, his mouth slightly open as he watches her.

He watches her fingers move under the fabric, dipping farther as her moans grow louder. His hands slide from the marble to her thighs, just the outsides in an attempt to control himself.

He’s rock solid now, his hands gripping her legs and feeling the smooth fabric under his fingers. Her nipples are hard and poking through her shirt. Her eyes meet his again as he breathes harder, her hand slowly pulls away, dripping.

She’s holding it in front of his face, inching closer just for him to take her fingers in his mouth. She’s smirking wickedly as he sucks. “Good boy.” she whispers.

Her fingers leave his mouth with a ‘pop’ and just as he goes in to kiss her, she shakes her head and slips her hand into his hair, pushing down.

He watches her eyes as he dips down, pulling down her panties and replacing them with his tongue. She moans, loudly, at the contact.

Every doubt either of them had is gone now, replaced with pleasure and pure need.

She grips his hair as his hands hold her in place, his mouth sucking and linking as one of his hands moves up her shirt, grabbing her tit and making her moan louder.

Lando was in heaven, fucking her with his tongue and listening to her moan under his touch. That is, until she pulled him back up.

“Fewtrell.” He growled, neither of them done.

She pulled him closer, kissing him finally. She bites his lip a bit as he grinds into her, his hard length begging for attention. “Someone’s needy.” She teases as he kisses her harder, his tongue exploring her mouth while he fingers the top of her socks.

“Please.” He’s pretty sure it’s the first time he’s begged a girl for something.

“Please what?” Her breath is hot against his, “Use your words.”

“Let me fuck you.”

This satisfies her, a cheeky smile meeting him as his hands slowly pull off her shirt.

Her nipples are hard when he takes one into his mouth, her head falling back as he runs his tongue over it.

She reaches down and skillfully unzips his pants, moving her hand over his hard clothed dick. He’s throbbing, so sensitive to the touch he’s been waiting for.

“This for me?” She whispers as his head falls on her shoulder, her hand moving back and forth. He nods, unable to speak as she palms him.

He pulls off his pants and boxers, not even caring to get them off his legs before he lines up to her. “I don’t want you to regret this.” He whispers, out of breath and fully blinded by lust, but not stupid.

She looks straight into his eyes, “Fuck me, Lando.”

So he does, pushing into her and almost losing it straight away. He goes slow at first, watching her mouth shake and her head fall back. She grabs onto his shoulder, moaning loudly in the kitchen that’s neither of theirs.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She moans as he thrusts into her, biting her shoulder and kissing her neck, “Yes!”

He whimpers as she tightens around him, wanting to give her the one thing idiot college guys can’t.

She cums in a rush of heated breaths and her nails dragging over Lando’s skin. He cums seconds later on those snow white thigh highs.

He falls against her in a slump, her heart beating fast against him. She’s smiling still, running her hands through Lando’s curls and saying, “I’m definitely coming to australia.”

[minkieater]

EIGHT FIRST DATES ꨄ︎

003 》 KIM MINGYU

maybe boys your age just weren’t your thing. after a sudden lunch date, you were already half convinced the search was over— had you found the man you were bringing to your family’s thanksgiving? how will chan take the news?

wc ~10k | mentions of death, age gap, mingyu is hot, smut mdni, fingering, dirty talk

you’d thought about yunho’s words all the way until your head hit the pillow saturday night. no one’s ever said anything like that to you before– no one’s ever needed to. 

you knew yunho only cared for you the way your family, san and yeosang cared for you, but you couldn’t shake it. maybe it was just your brain on overdrive after the previous forty eight hours, maybe you were making something out of nothing. 

yunho’s always been nothing but honest with you, he wouldn’t say something without saying it. he had no reason to beat around the bush, if there was any bush to begin with. 

so— you shook it off and texted mingyu. at approximately nine forty eight in the morning on a sunday, feeling like you hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. 

you: hey this is tiny from last night :) 

— incoming call from kim mingyu…

you shot up in bed, your soul nearly leaving your body as you pressed the little green circle, your tired voice stumbling out a meek “h-hello?” 

“hey, it’s mingyu,” he sounded chipper, as if he’d been awake for hours already. you shot a hand through your hair, hopping out of bed as if he could see you through the phone. 

“i know who you are, i texted you,” you said, then shook your head, eyes screwed tight. you didn’t know if he’d hear the humor in your voice or if you sounded rude over the phone, you tried to play it off with “what’s up?” as you paced around your bedroom. 

“just finished up a meeting, heading home now. did you just wake up?” you could almost see his face over the phone, hear his smile. you threw your head back, all worries forgotten, knees bending to sit back on your mattress– he’s so hot. 

“maybe,” you bit your lip, fighting a smile. the little balls of cotton that had pilled up on your comforter were suddenly the most interesting thing ever, mindlessly rolling them between your fingers as he spoke. 

he laughed through the phone, a hearty chuckle that was music to your ears, “you think after you have a cup of coffee to wake your pretty head up, you’d be free to meet me for lunch?”

your eyes shot open, jaw falling open, “today?!” 

“yes today, silly girl, are you free?” you glanced around your room frantically as if something in there would give you the answer, but as you looked at your calendar hung on the wall and there was nothing but blank space under today’s date, there was zero reason to say no. 

you nodded as your words came out, “i- um, yeah i’m free.” your voice had become quieter, more coy— you couldn’t believe your own decision. 

“perfect, i have a place in mind, do you want me to pick you up or would you prefer to meet me there?” oh, your mind was in shambles. too many questions, too many decisions, far too soon after opening your eyes. 

“i wouldn’t want you to come all the way to get me, i can meet you,” you reassured him, a nervous chuckle following your words. 

“it’s no problem sweetheart, whatever you’re comfortable with. i’ll text you where and you let me know, yeah? i’m thinking two, does that work for you?” his voice was saccharine— you swooned over how sweetheart danced off his lips all the way through the speaker of your phone. you laid back, flat against your mattress, massive smile on your face. 

all you could respond was a breathy “that’s perfect.” 

you’d never gotten in the shower so fast in your life. with your hair still wet, a robe wrapped around your body, you raced down to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee, smiling to yourself because mingyu was the one who mentioned coffee in the first place. 

ace was sat on the counter of the island, your sister’s head in the refrigerator, both chatting before you padded into the kitchen. 

“vi, grab me the oat milk please?” you asked as you poured your coffee into your mug. sixteen and in her sassy phase, vivi was an enigma, you swore she assumed the world revolved around her. 

she handed you the flavored oat milk with a lifted top lip, “gross.”

“first of all, it’s good. second of all, you say that every time as if i drink nut milk out of choice. i don’t want to be glued to the toilet all day,” you poured your milk into your cup, giving it a swirl before taking a sip. so good. 

she cracks a smile, “crazy how a wee sip of milk can take you down. weak shit.”

you roll your eyes then look to ace for help, who just throws his hands up in defense with an amused smile. him and vivi must be friends today. 

as you make your way out of the kitchen, vivi calls after you, “tiny, can you take me to work later?” 

“i won’t be home!” you yell back from the stairs, making your way back to your room. 

you had barely even started doing your hair before vivi was on your bed, a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue. “what are you doing that you won’t be home? all the boys are coming here.” 

“i know more people than just them, you know,” you rolled your eyes, your hands in your hair. 

a sarcastic chuckle fled her lips like she was waiting for that answer, “like who? karina, sakura?”

your jaw locks, as if hanging out with your cousins was embarrassing. it was true that you didn’t bring your friends from school around, or hung out with any of them much outside of classes. the boys had met some of them, the few times you’d brought them to the frats with you over the years — that quickly ended when ace hooked up with one too many of your friends. 

“i’m going on a lunch date,” you pointed your gaze at her through the reflection of the mirror, “can you leave so i can get ready?” 

with raised eyebrows she stood, “dad says you’ve been going on a lot of dates lately.”

your entire body tensed, “matt should mind his own business.”

“i don’t think it was an insult,” she shrugged, “i think it’s good you’re finally getting some.” 

you turned your entire body around to face her and snapped, “i think everyone should stop talking about what i’m doing, especially matt who has no fucking business talking to my little sister about who i’m seeing.” 

mascara coated lashes blinked at you, not an ounce of sincerity in her voice as she plainly said, “you really need to talk to someone, tiny.”

“get out of my room, vi,” you turned back around, fighting every ounce of anger in your body, only taking a deep breath as you watched her blue hair bounce out of your room. hearing her refer to matt as dad always made you see red, something you couldn’t let go of, you weren’t sure if you ever would. 

you got ready with a scowl on your face, waiting until the last second to put on mascara just in case tears decided to show themselves– in situations like this, they always seemed to.

you decided you’d meet mingyu, the restaurant he chose for lunch was only thirty minutes into the city and you didn’t want to risk repeating what happened with chan. when you briefly looked at the menu online before choosing an outfit, you nearly choked on air when you saw the selection of food and the prices. 

this was not a chill lunch date— this was a lunch date. 

you panicked the entire car ride, realizing you didn’t know shit about mingyu. you didn’t think meeting hyunjin was sketchy because you knew so much about him already, you spent days talking to him and learning about him before you went out, it was the exact opposite with mingyu. you’ve met him, but you didn’t know him. 

on top of that, no one knew where you were going, no one knew who you were meeting, which was a first — if your armpits weren’t dampening at a rapid pace you could probably convince yourself it was exciting. 

mingyu is older, that much you know. the owner of a distillery, absolutely. wealthy enough to take you on an expensive lunch date, that was new information. your heart only pounded harder against your chest when you pulled into a parking space. 

“hey, sweetheart,” and just like that, your heart calmed in your chest, your breathing became normal. he wore black denim jeans, a light gray shirt that clung to every inch of his chest, the light band of skin around his wrist where his watch sat yesterday told you he was sporting a tan. golden, muscular, kim mingyu was anatomically perfect. 

he had to lean down to kiss your cheek and you burst into flames where his lips met your skin. fingers fidgeting with your sleeve, the toes of your shoes touching, you felt so small under his gaze it was electrifying. 

“mister kim, right this way,” the hostess approached you, two menus in her hand, the other pointed in the direction of your table. she sat you at a window table, a four top, you and mingyu sat across from each other closest to the window. you placed your purse on the chair next to you, your armpits beginning to dampen all over again. you needed to relax. 

“how are you?” he asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips. you cracked, you must’ve been radiating nerves, a smile breaking out on your own cheeks. 

“good, slightly nervous, but good,” you nodded through a laugh, getting the words out with enough life to hopefully hide the real amount of nerves you were feeling. this was all so new. 

“nervous? no,” he gasped as if that was the silliest thing he’d ever heard, “how’s the little drunk blondie? did you get him home safe?”

“tucked him into bed and everything,” you nodded before you realized how that sounded, your eyes widening. “then i left– i just tucked him into bed. he was really drunk.”

“you don’t have to do that,” he pulled the menu into his hands, “i scouted you while you were on a date already, i’m well aware.”

your cheeks flushed as you grabbed your menu, grateful to have something to occupy your hands. your mouth pulled to one side, top lip swallowing your lower one. there was so much you wanted to know about him. 

your waitress came over and got your drink orders, mingyu also ordered a couple of his favorite appetizers, which you were grateful for, you hadn’t deciphered a single word off the menu yet. 

“speaking of blondie, you said he’s a friend from class, right?” mingyu met your gaze over his menu, “what are you studying?”

“education, i wanna be an elementary school teacher,” you nodded, “i’ve wanted to be a teacher ever since i can remember.”

you caught a glimpse of his canines in a smile, “are your students gonna call you miss tiny?”

you lifted your eyebrows, “that’s not a bad idea, actually. easy to pronounce, good for when i’m teaching phonics, too.”

he releases amusement through his nose, “you sound like a teacher already.”

“i should, i’m graduating this year,” you rack your eyes over the menu again, you almost wished they had a kids menu– there were too many options. 

“are you getting your bachelors degree?” he asks, settling himself into his chair, leaning into the back of it. you wished the table wasn’t between you– you wanted to see him leaned back, manspreading in all his glory. 

you nod in response and he points his eyes, “so that makes you… twenty one?”

“twenty two,” you correct, holding up two fingers. he shakes his head, smiling in disbelief, and all you can conjure up is “what?”

“i knew you were young, i was just thinking like twenty five young,” you think all the blood drained from your face as you stared at him, you must of had your question written all over your face. he holds up three fingers on one hand and makes a zero with the other, looking uneasy behind his hands. 

mingyu is… thirty. oh. you knew he was older from the jump. 

you lifted an eyebrow, “so?” 

he smiles. “i figured that would be a deal breaker.”

“it’s not every day the owner of a distillery hands you his business card and also happens to be under the age of thirty,” you shrug, “i don’t see why it would even be a concern, i’m an adult.”

he purses his lips, “your nickname is fitting, miss tiny.”

you roll your eyes again, “okay, your turn, thirty-year-old-distillery-owner kim mingyu.”

you didn’t know when you got comfortable, when words started freely flowing from your lips without a second thought, but you didn’t want it to stop. mingyu was too easy to talk to, the walls you had just put back up had come crumbling down within minutes— it was as if yunho didn’t say anything at all. 

the waitress drops off your drinks and appetizers then takes your entree order, you ordered whatever was least intimidating, the menu was so vast you couldn’t focus enough to even read the whole thing.  

“i’ll start with the distillery,” he says after a sip of his drink, he ordered his own brand of whiskey— neat. “i think it’s obvious i inherited it, the company was established in 1917, hence its name, by one of my ancestors back in the day. it trickled down the family tree until my dad inherited it in the seventies, then it became mine a few years ago.”

“so you’re a nepo baby?” you gave him a cocky smile as you picked at one of the appetizers, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

he tried to frown through a very clear smile, his lips scrunched together, “technically, yes, but i did go to college, i double majored in business and marketing with a minor in finance.”

“the fuck?” your eyebrows flew to your hairline, a hand covering the food in your mouth. “how the hell did you have the time? the energy? the brain?”

he laughed, “like you, i knew what i wanted from a very young age, what was waiting for me in the future. seventeen’s been alive for over a century, i’ll be damned if it dies with me.”

you sat back in your seat, letting a breath out, processing the insanity that is a double major and a minor in those fields. “you’re fucking crazy.”

“i did it, though,” he cocked his head to the side, pointing a finger at you, “look at me now, seventeen is sold in over one hundred countries, in thousands of stores, distributed through retail outlets, liquor stores, and major chains. it’s insane to me that i can get it in places like this,” he looks around you, “we’ve had to expand production capacity twice in four different countries since i’ve been CEO.”

“damn,” you blink, “you’re like, kind of an important person.” 

he chuckles, “no, i’m just a guy that fucking loves whiskey. the first time i can remember trying it was when i was fourteen, my old man told me to ‘take a sip and be a man about it’.”

“my dad let me try red wine when i was probably eleven,” you shrug, “i did not like it, i spit it on the floor and cried. still to this day it’s not my favorite.”

“red wine is easy work,” he raised a brow, “be a man about it.”

you smiled, “trust me, i’ve tried.”

the rest of lunch came and went with constant conversation, you talked with full mouths and a competition of who’s voice could be louder, the both of you having stories that reminded the other of another story, the cycle beginning and never ending. after your plates were cleared and your drinks were empty, the talk still flowed, so deep down a rabbit hole you couldn’t remember where the conversation began. 

mingyu reminded you of someone– you couldn’t put a finger on it, there was something about the tone of his voice, how he teased you, how he spoke with such a maturity yet accompanied by a silliness, it was almost nostalgic with how comfortable you felt with him. it was like you’d known each other forever the way you spat stories back and forth, it was like talking with yunho, yeosang or san– except your memories weren’t shared. refreshing couldn’t even begin to describe it. 

the lunch began with you soaking through your shirt and a heart pounding against your chest, but ended with sadness, clear disappointment that it was over. you didn’t hide it, you couldn’t if you tried with the way mingyu hugged you goodbye. 

“what’s your schedule look like for the rest of the week?” he asked as you stood beside your car, your back leaned against the driver’s side door and mingyu towering above you. 

“classes wednesday, thursday, friday. they all finish around three,” you nodded, “but other than that, i’m totally free.” 

he turned his head to the side, looking at you through lowered brows and pointed peripherals, “no job?”

you playfully smacked his arm, giggling, “i am very blessed and grateful for the life i live.”

“i’d hope so,” he smiled, “i’m free most nights, i’m super free wednesday night, my meetings end early that day. come over to my place and i’ll cook for us?”

you gave him a look that said be for real, “you just want to show off your supposed super awesome and amazing cooking skills.”

“what’s wrong with that?” he smirked and you nearly jumped him, “if i were you, i’d be jumping in excitement to feast on my super awesome and amazing cooking skills.”

“i guess,” you sighed as if you had no other option, “depends what you’re making.”

“i guess you’ll have to find out,” he mimicked you with a wink and you were transported to less than twenty four hours ago, when he stood behind the bar, his bar, and winked for the first time. you think you might be the luckiest human on earth. “i’ll call you after my work dinner.”

“work dinner still sounds wrong, you need to come up with a better name for that,” you leaned up off your car to give yourself space to open the door, a part of you hoping he’d kiss you goodbye. 

“now it will never get a new name simply because it bothers you,” he doesn’t step back, instead he closes the distance, before you know it his hand is under your chin and his lips press to your cheek, his other hand reaching behind you to open your car door. 

your cheeks flush, eyes focused on the lips that just touched your cheek as he pulled away. he noticed, of course he did, a cocky smirk growing, “come and see me on wednesday for the rest.”

you’d make a noise of disgust if it didn’t completely work on you, your abdomen clenched at his words. you needed him more than you’ve needed anything else in your entire life, there was no question about whether or not you were seeing him on wednesday. from the moment you saw him you were wrapped around his finger— hopefully you really would be on wednesday. 

“goodbye, mingyu,” your cheeks flushed, trying to sound normal, ignoring how your entire fucking body went hot as you climbed into your car, “thank you again for lunch.”

“bye, miss tiny, talk to you later,” he closed your car door with a smile, and then he was off to his own. when he was out of view you took a deep breath, then squealed. you couldn’t wait to tell everyone about him.

he did call you sunday night, but also monday morning, monday night, tuesday morning, tuesday afternoon and tuesday night. even wednesday morning when he knew you were walking up to your first class, kim mingyu couldn’t leave you alone. you talked about anything and everything, he told you about his day, you told him about yours, you even let yeosang yell hello into the speaker once (it was actually against your will). 

you didn’t give anyone any details— what you shared with yunho you kept with only yunho, you came home sunday with a big dumb smile on your face, sitting on your couch with your mind still standing outside your car with mingyu. the boys had asked, nosy as they are, but you couldn’t bring yourself to share any details or even tell them what you had done. maybe that was your problem, maybe hyunjin would’ve worked out if you never said anything in the first place. 

you shook your head at the thought, hyunjin had a one track mind when it came to you. maybe a part of you wanted to keep mingyu all to yourself, you wanted to share your excitement only with him, or at least wait it out until there was more to tell. you’re optimistic, you could see something blooming with mingyu, you could see yourself being with him long term— you knew your family would eat him up. but one question sat at the pit of your stomach, one you tried to keep buried, one you shouldn’t worry about because no one else’s opinion of mingyu should matter except yours. 

standing outside the double doors to your class, you took a deep breath. chan hasn’t texted you since saturday other than ‘thanks for taking me home’ on sunday, you haven’t texted him other than responding to that one singular message. tuesday night you’d prepared everything you were going to say to him after class, how to let him down easy. 

“hey!” his smile was as bright as it usually is, shaggy blonde hair cascading down his forehead, oversized hoodie hugging his frame. 

“hey chan,” you returned the smile, setting up your laptop and books around you. you were nervous, palms slightly sweaty, hands not fully stable as you prepared your deskspace. 

“so, i have a proposition for you,” he starts, body turned fully towards you. oh no, is he asking you out again?

“proposition?” you quirked a brow, still not giving him your full attention as you logged into your computer, pulling up today’s lecture. 

“my roommate won’t stop talking about you,” he says so casually it catches you off guard. you stare at him with a blank look, he has your full attention now, fingers stilling on your keyboard. 

“…roommate?” you ask, face contorted into something of confusion and surprise, until you remember the chipmunk that you fed a wave in chan’s kitchen. “oh, brown hair, glasses?” 

“yes! his name is han jisung, he keeps begging me to set you guys up,” chan shakes his head, still wearing a smile, “he keeps calling you an angel sent from above. we don’t have girls in the apartment very often.” 

“chan, i’m confused,” your eyebrows are furrowed now, you turn your body to face him as your fingers reach your temple. “i took you home after our date, and now you’re trying to set me up with your roommate who i only caught a glimpse of in your kitchen?” 

he pulls his lips together, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head, “i didn’t know how to tell you because it sounds mean no matter how you put it, but i think we’d probably be better as friends.” 

you blinked at him, jaw slack, you thought he was going to say the exact opposite of the words that left his lips. you didn’t know if it was worse or better that you were going to say the same thing to him, but for him to beat you to it? sickening. 

“i’m sorry! please don’t hate me,” he pouted, grabbing your hands with his own, “i had a really good time, i’ve been dying to go to that distillery for ages, i’m eternally grateful you went with me.”

“i just… don’t think there’s anything between us romantically,” his cheeks were bright pink, a weak smile on his face, “but there could be between you and jisung.” 

“i– i don’t know what to say,” you felt dumbfounded, you were sure your face reflected that. “i’m flattered your roommate is interested in me, but i don’t think i’m interested in him. at least not right now.” 

chan lets go of your hands, his pout turning into a frown. “that’s okay, let me know if you change your mind. he goes to school here, he’s getting his bachelors in music composition. he’s really funny, super cool and ridiculously smart.” 

you nod, “i’ll let you know.” bringing your attention back to your laptop, all you could think was how much you wanted to tell mingyu— he’d find the entire situation hilarious. you could see him throwing his head back in laughter, teasing you for taking care of the little drunk blondie for an entire night just for him to break things off with you. 

the more you thought about it, the more that very thing began to irritate you. you barely heard a word out of your professor’s mouth, the lecture falling on deaf ears, only contemplating why chan broke it off with you first. you were pleasant, caring, let him do what he wanted without complaint, even cleaned up after him— and he had the nerve to say you weren’t compatible? irritating. 

as class ended, you packed your things up in record speed, hustling out of your lecture hall, but chan was quick to follow you. you didn’t necessarily hide the shift in your behavior, head in your laptop all class, not even looking at him once, even when he asked you questions you gave him curt answers and zero eye contact. 

“wait! what the hell,” he called after you just as you made it outside, wind whipping at your skin, blowing your hair in every direction. 

you stopped in your tracks, snapping your neck to look at him, “what else can i do for you?” 

chan looked confused now, his eyebrows knitted in such an adorable way it irritated you more. he sounded surprised as he asked, “are you mad at me?” 

“can i ask you something?” you didn’t wait for his answer, “why did you say there’s nothing between us romantically? you basically said we’re incompatible.” 

his lips flattened, he sighed as he looked down before saying. “i did not say we’re incompatible, i said we’d be better off as friends.” 

“i agree with you, but i want to know why you think that,” you stood your ground, arms crossed, probably with steam shooting from your ears into the chilly october air, your frustration was clear.

“fine. i was drunk, not blind,” he threw his hands up, “you didn’t seem to be into the date we were on at all, your head was somewhere else the second you got into my car. which was fine, i figured maybe you were having an off day, but then we got to the class and all you looked at was mingyu. i knew then that you just weren’t into me.” 

you purse your lips, cheeks flushing, it was embarrassing how quickly your anger turned to regret. you had no reason to be irritated in the first place, chan made his decision based on how you made him feel. 

“i’m not angry at you,” he shrugged, “and it didn’t really hurt my feelings. i think you’re cool and i want to be friends with you, going to the distillery was still a really fun experience.” 

“chan, i’m so sorry,” your palms hit your forehead, voice going weak. “that wasn’t fair to you at all.” 

“don’t get all sad, i said it didn’t hurt my feelings,” when you looked back at him he was smiling, hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “thanks for apologizing, if you wanna make it up to me you can go out with my roommate so he’ll leave me alone.” 

a smile broke out across your face, sniffing from how unusually cold it was. “i’ll think about it— just to make it up to you, though.” 

he rolled his eyes playfully, “i think you’ll really like him.”

you ran a hand through your hair, “i do need a boyfriend before thanksgiving.” 

your hand clasped over your mouth— you couldn’t believe you let that slip. chan looked at you like he was lost, “what do you mean by that?”

you sighed, defeated, thinking maybe chan was a good person to talk to about it. he wasn’t in your circle, wasn’t biased to anyone— plus he was no longer a contender. “let’s go get coffee or something, i’ll explain it all to you.” 

you and chan sat at the coffee shop on campus for an hour, you got everything off your chest. from how your cousins treated you, your sister, your entire family at this point to how you quickly came up with a lie to get them off your back. you told him about hyunjin, about mingyu, you told him everything and he listened to every word. 

you talked not only about the other men, but about your date with him, too. you talked everything out together down to the last detail, chan’s humor made you feel better, as if you had no worries in the world and your date with him was just two friends hanging out in the first place. you felt relieved after talking it out with him, he understood you, your feelings, even your thought process, giving you advice as much as he eased your worries. 

you didn’t think it was possible for you two to be friends after going on an entire date together, you didn’t think it’d be possible for anyone to. but with the person chan is kind, understanding, empathetic, he was more human than most people you’ve encountered at your university— you were relieved to know you could stay friends and keep him in your life. your boys would like him. 

then mingyu called, disrupting your coffee friend date entirely. chan was wiggling his eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes, picking up your phone. 

“hey sweetheart, how was class?” 

all of your worries seemed to flee. 

mingyu texted you his address, telling you to come over around six thirty. being after four already and he lived thirty minutes away, you panicked. you rushed home, nearly hitting four other cars on the way there, not even stopping to say hello to your family before you were taking an everything shower. 

knowing everyone was home, you were grateful no one stopped in your room to talk to you as you got ready, your lack of time to properly prepare had begun stressing you out before you walked in your front door. by six you were actually ready, a shock to everyone who would hear that sentence, and proud of yourself. 

your plan was to sneakily leave through the front door, quiet as a mouse. you didn’t want to be asked any questions, divulge any answers, no one needed to know anything about your whereabouts for the night. 

your twin and your friends sat in your living room, vivi on the farthest corner of the couch, all eyes pointed at the flat screen tv hung on the wall. you stayed close to the wall as you snuck around the corner, tip toeing through the entryway to the front door. as your fingers reached for the knob, you peered over your shoulder, only catching yunho’s eye before you slipped through the heavy slab of wood. you didn’t give him time to make a sound before you were gone. 

getting to mingyu’s house was hard, you hated driving in the city, but getting up to his place was even harder. he told you to tell the man working the desk your name and he’d guide you the rest of the way, but his instructions seemed too plain to get there, considering there were only two steps: get in the elevator and press ‘P’.

there was a special elevator off to the side of the lobby in his building, which seemed more like a hotel than anything, and the man working the desk had to swipe a card to let you in. you did as you were told, confused as ever, pressing P as soon as he swiped the card– the button all the way at the top of the operating panel. only as you moved upward in the elevator and you passed the top floor did everything begin to click– mingyu lived in the penthouse of his building. the penthouse. 

your nerves seemed to wake up as the elevator opened up, met with a full living room, all cream furniture and floor to ceiling windows. you were floored, not wanting to take a step forward until you sniffed. like a dog, your nose pulled you forward, the smell of whatever the hell mingyu was cooking completely entracing you. 

stood at the stove, his back to you, your nerves were so overwhelming you nearly turned around and got back in the elevator. old jazz music played through his apartment, the smell of dinner and mingyu flooding your nose as you looked around for a moment before greeting him — you needed to process. 

white marble countertops accented by a deep, ebony wood in the kitchen, cream tiled floors, a navy sectional in the living room accompanied by a matching ebony coffee table, a massive flat screen tv on the wall– you should’ve seen this coming. you knew he was wealthy, but this was more than anything you could’ve imagined. the place was so clean you were sure you could slide your finger across every surface and there would be no residue, you were willing to bet that not even a speck of dust sat on the ceiling fan that hung at least twelve feet above you. you were in heaven. 

“you scared the shit out of me,” mingyu called from the kitchen, taking his apron off as he rounded the corner of his kitchen island, “quiet girl.”

he snapped you out of your shock, ease consuming your now cold-sweating body, looking at him with a smile as you slipped off your boots by the elevator door, sock-covered feet padding along the cold tiled floor all the way to where he stood. he wrapped you in a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he said, “i’m happy you came.”

“me too, whatever you’re cooking smells amazing,” you say as you look up to him, arms still hooked around his waist, it was concerning how quickly his embrace could snap you out of a spiral. “this place is fucking incredible.”

“thank you,” his smile is infectious, so wide you couldn’t possibly wipe your own off your face. “hope you like steak– cooked with dairy free butter.”

“you remembered!” you exclaim, following him around the corner of the island, eyes looking from dish to dish laid out across the island. he really went all out, vegetables and sides and even a small charcuterie plate full of cheese and fruits. you looked up to him again, “all these, too?”

“come on,” he shook his head as if you were silly for even asking that question, “wouldn’t want to upset the tiny tummy.” 

your face flushed, you couldn’t believe your eyes, ears or nose– you told him once in quick conversation on sunday that you were lactose intolerant and he remembered, he made an entire dinner based around your restriction. you looked up at him with stars in your eyes, and he knew it, too. 

“i can’t believe this,” you shook your head as you stared the charcuterie board down, you were starving and the plate was calling your name. 

“sit and eat, we still have some time before dinner’s ready,” he slipped the apron back on over his head and you stifled a giggle at the sight before planting yourself down on a barstool on the opposite side of the island, picking at the plate of fruits and cheese. you took it easy on the cheese, just in case —you couldn’t help it— the fruit was more than enough for an appetizer. 

your head nodded along to the jazz music as he stood at the stove, cooking the steak, bouncing over to you every few minutes to steal a grape or plant a kiss on your forehead. it was oddly domestic, as if you’d been here before, meant to be in this exact situation. he asked you about class, you asked about his meetings, you went back and forth until he was plating everything, ignoring you every time you asked if he needed help— he answered the first time, he was done with the question after that.

“where do you wanna eat?” he looked to you across the island after everything was plated like you were at a michelin grade restaurant, maybe he was a chef in a past life. “we can eat at the table, on the couch, i can come sit next to you and we can eat here.”

you shrugged, “wherever you want to eat, chef, your house your rules.”

the corner of his mouth lifted, “i’ll come over there, don’t want the princess to have to move her seat.”

you looked up at the nickname, in your twenty two years of life only one other person had nicknamed you princess. you hadn’t heard the nickname since you were twelve, it was more comforting than you expected it to be. 

mingyu noticed your look, tilting his head to ask, “what?” as he moved your plates to your side of the island. 

“i just like that nickname,” you smiled before taking a sip of your drink, the surfside mingyu so graciously stopped at the liquor store to get– you make one joke about enjoying seltzers… 

“thank you for cooking,” you said as he clicked his glass of whiskey with your can, and he nodded in appreciation. 

“let’s eat!” he said with a wide smile, excitement exuding from his skin, you could see he loved cooking, especially for someone else. it made you curious about his other hobbies, what else he enjoyed besides cooking and seventeen, what made him as enamored as you were just by him. you wanted to know everything– every detail he wanted to share you’d embrace with open arms. 

the food didn’t just smell amazing, it tasted incredible— super awesome and amazing cooking skills, indeed. he seemed like the type to be talented at everything, the jack of all trades, you could just tell. he was perfect boyfriend material, he checked off everything on your more shallow list– with time, you were sure he’d check off everything. you could feel it.

you spoke as you ate, from how he learned to cook to how he expanded his skill, the other things he had interest in– he loves dogs, he likes to clean, fix anything that’s broken (he likes to figure it out himself), interior design, he likes to drive and insists he doesn’t have a driver, he likes fashion, you learned he speaks fast when he really enjoys something. you were precise with your questions, asking him specific details about things he enjoys just so he’d speak more, you loved every minute of it. you learned so much in such a short time, you became so engrossed in the conversation he ended up getting a lot out of you, too. 

it’d been at least forty five minutes since you finished your meal and you were still talking — you bickered about doing the dishes and you finally won, insisting that he at least let you load the dishwasher while he washed them. he agreed with a sour look on his face and your smile was nothing short of victorious, and then your conversation picked up right where it left off. you talked about yourself, how you like to clean, keep a tidy space, your family, your friends, your plans for the future, the upcoming holidays– he almost got it out of you, but you kept your composure, not repeating what happened with chan. 

by the time you made it to the couch, you were going back and forth about how you grew up, talking about your families. you were facing one another, you were sitting the same way– one leg on the couch, the other touching the floor, leaning your side against the back cushion. his couch was as comfortable as it was beautiful, navy velvet so soft to your skin you sunk right in. 

“okay, what’s something you’ve done since you were young, and you still do to this day?” he kept his eyes on you, soft and focused, making sure you knew he was listening. 

you squinted as you thought about it, racking your brain for any traditions you’ve kept with your family. “we have a holiday tradition,” you smile, cheeks flushing, not one hundred percent sure if you really wanted to talk about it– but it was the only thing you could think of, and at this point you trust mingyu enough to speak on it. “we’ve done this since i was twelve— our entire family comes over to my house, my mom and stepdad host, we have over seventy people in the house for thanksgiving and christmas. it’s my mom’s family, my dad’s family, my step dad's family, plus yeosang, san and yunho’s families, too.”

“how the hell do you cook for that many people?” mingyu stares at you in shock, eyes wide and eyebrows high. 

“cook? please, we cater,” you shake your head, “we all stand in the kitchen before we eat and we talk to my dad. whoever wants to, we just talk out in the open as if he was in the room, or telling stories about him. sometimes my dads’ friends stop by too, they did that more often when we were younger, but they’ll stop by and talk to him or even about him, too. my mom will always tell the same stories of how they met, how me and my siblings came to be, the days we were born, how they named us. it’s important to us around the holidays.”

you watched mingyu’s expression soften, but he also looked as if he was thinking, processing. he finally spoke, a hush to his words, a delicacy you were expecting, “i had no idea, i’m so sorry.” his hand felt warm as he laid it on your knee, “i love that tradition, i don’t doubt he’s there with you every time you talk to him.”

you gave him a smile, “thank you, it’s my favorite part about the holidays. after that i usually get berated for the rest of the day, if that counts as a tradition, too.”

he gives you a confused look through a laugh, “i don’t think that counts. we have a somewhat similar tradition– every year at christmas we make a toast to the ancestors who have owned seventeen, paying respect to the men who have made our lives what they are. we just added my grandpa to the list a few years ago, it’s special.”

“i love that so much,” you smile, “showing gratitude to the men who have supported your family all these years. that’s incredible.”

“it’s nothing like paying tribute to a lost parent,” his smile is a sad one, “but the holidays are such an emotional time, it’s important to keep their spirit alive. can i ask about your dad?”

“absolutely,” you nod your head, smiling at him, you were surprising yourself now. you didn’t talk about your dad with anyone other than your family and your boys. 

“when did he pass? how?” he asked, leaning his arm against the top of the couch, elbow bending to hold up his head. 

“my twin and i were twelve, my sister was six. ten years ago,” you nodded, thinking about the dinner you had with your family earlier this year, marking the decade of his passing. “fatal car accident, drunk driver hit him on his way home from work– he was a lawyer.”

he groaned, “i’m so fucking sorry, that must’ve been awful for your family to go through.”

“thank you, still is sometimes,” you shot him a tight lipped smile, “he was an incredible man, i’ve forced myself to burn every moment spent with him to memory, i think about him everyday.”

“what’s your step dad like?” he changed the subject and your body went rigid– you hated talking about matt. “when did your mom remarry?”

“eight years ago, i was fourteen. too soon, if you ask me,” you shift your legs, fighting your discomfort, “matt is… something. my siblings love him, vivi was too young to remember much about our dad, so matt was quick to fill the spot. same with ace, he gets along with matt, ace needed a father figure after he passed and matt fit right in with them. happy family,” your smile doesn't reach your eyes. 

mingyu points his eyes at you, “but you…?”

“i don’t like him, point blank period,” you release a nervous chuckle, “i despised him when i was thirteen, when they started dating, i didn’t go to their wedding. i hung out with my grandma, my dad’s mom, all day instead. me and matt have never seen eye to eye on anything.”

“why? is it just because he’s… not your dad?” mingyu crosses his arms, not in a judgemental way, but showing he truly just wanted to understand. “you don’t have to answer that.”

“you’re fine, it’s fine,” you shook your head, “he just isn’t the same to me as he is to ace and vivi, and that’s probably partially on me because i never let him in. i hated him when i was younger because he isn’t my dad and he never will be, i thought my siblings looked at him like a replacement and it made me sick.” 

“i know he has good qualities but we never formed a bond, i never gave him the opportunity to. he tries to parent me even now and it’s almost funny at this point, i can’t bring myself to accept him. he will never be a parent to me, he’s just a guy who lives in my house.”

mingyu’s nod is slow as he processes, arms uncrossing to put one up on the back of the couch again, “what do your siblings think about him?”

“vivi fully thinks i have issues, ace sees my side a lot, he understands me. tries to be a buffer between matt and i, defends me to matt but defends matt to me,” you couldn’t believe that you were letting all of this information out so easily, but it made you feel better knowing mingyu was the one receiving it. 

“of course he does, you got the twin thing going on,” mingyu nods, “i’m happy ace is at least on your side. i’d like to meet him, eventually.”

“meet ace?!” you ask, eyebrows raised, then you thought about it for a second — ace would probably like mingyu, and mingyu would probably like ace. “actually, he’d probably like you.”

“probably?” mingyu puts a hand over his heart, eyebrows furrowed and jaw agape like that hurt his feelings, “everybody likes me.”

you giggle, “ace wouldn’t be the hard one to crack, matt would probably like you, too. my friends would be the ones giving you a hard time.”

“ah, yeosang, san and yunho, right? the three musketeers?” he smiles, “most guys would be terrified if they had a beautiful girl over and her three best friends were guys.” 

you laugh, “not for nothing, you and yunho are probably matched in height– he’s the scary one. the other two are just stupid, but they’re my people.”

“he might be as tall as me, but is he as big as me?” mingyu wiggles his eyebrows, making you laugh again. “i want to know your people.”

“yunho is just as tall, but san might be as big as you,” you lift your brows with a tilt of your head, “but you guys could go to the gym together, bunch of doritos.”

that made mingyu’s head fall back in laughter, you joining him before he reaches over to grab your hand, his face falling serious. “thank you for sharing all of that with me, i know it took a lot to be able to say all of that.”

you nod, “for some reason, i trust you. i know we just met,” you shrugged, cheeks flushing, “i don’t know, there’s something about you, i guess. i really like you.” 

a smile spreads across mingyu’s face and you feel him tug at your wrist, pulling you forward. you were already inches apart before, but now you’re nearly in his lap, faces mere centimeters apart. your ears burn as he looks into your eyes, searching for something you couldn’t place, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

“i really like you, too,” he smiles for a split second before he leans forward, attaching his lips to yours, and in that moment you feel every puzzle piece in your brain fit into place. every single feeling of nostalgia, feeling so comfortable with him so fast, sharing so much about yourself when you barely knew the guy– this was why. 

everything about kissing kim mingyu felt right, as if you were searching for this your entire life, as if all of those years spent alone and uninterested in dating were actually spent waiting for him. every decision you’ve made, every person you’ve met, the dates you went on before this– it was all to lead you to him. sparks, fireworks, whatever people say about meeting the one, you could add to the conversation now because you understood. 

he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth and you moan. you couldn’t help it, couldn’t fight it, every single nerve ending in your body was on fire. his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, your hands flying up to his shoulders, wanting to feel every inch of him. 

“been waiting to do this,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot on your mouth, eyes closed. 

you smile into the kiss, his words amplifying your hunger, your hands trailing from his shoulders to his chest, laying your palms flat against his muscled chest. you broke the kiss again, “you’re so fucking sexy.”

“i should be saying that to you,” his hands move from your neck down your back until they scoop under your ass, pulling you onto his lap with ease as he shifts to sit forward, your bodies fully changing position. you gasp at the movement, wrapping your thighs around him, hands clinging to his shoulders again. the thought that he could flip you around with as much ease as he just showed you had your brain doing cartwheels, you could tell just by looking at mingyu that he was strong, but him proving it was a completely different story. 

he caught your lips with his own again, hands still under your ass until they moved to your hips, digging his thumbs into your skin. you moaned into his mouth at the feeling and he let out a deep groan, rocking your hips forward. when you felt him beneath you, you couldn’t help but gasp, another sound of pleasure escaping your lips and he smiled into you, whispering, “want you so bad, princess.”

your head falls forward, eyes screwed shut, the stimulation too good to be over layers of clothes. you blamed his actions on sunday, you’ve been thinking about him like this every night before bed with a hand between your thighs, now it’s actually happening. you supposed this is what it was like to be with someone you connected with on a deeper level, your body was responding quicker than your head was, getting lost in a fog, hands trailing to his neck, his jaw– you needed to feel all of him. 

he let out a grunt, “take it easy,” he stilled your hips with massive palms, you hadn’t even realized you began moving on your own. “tonight’s about you.”

“want you so bad, gyu,” you were breathless, you sounded like an animal– voice shaky, nearly whining because he stopped you. 

he chuckled, voice octaves deeper than it had been, “you’ll have me, but not yet.”

you sat back on his thighs, baffled, eyebrows knitted in clear irritation, “what do you mean, not yet?” 

his smile only grew, “i’ll take care of you, i promise,” he spread his thighs which in turn spread yours, his hands trailing up your legs from your knee to your hips. “so spoiled already, what am i gonna do with you?”

you watched his hands travel across your body, back involuntarily arching at his touch, mewls slipping from your lips. you were losing it– fuck waiting, you needed him, you reached for his zipper. 

he grabs your wrist before you reach it, making you whine. “did you not hear me when i said tonight’s about you? is your pretty head already too fuzzy for you to think correctly?” 

you pouted, looking up to him, trying to mimic chan’s doe eyes as best you could. “please,” you begged, “want to touch you so bad.” 

“begging will get you nowhere,” he leaned back on the couch, a sense of authority filling the space between you, curbing your behavior entirely. “you’ll take what i give you, right?” 

you nod, falling into submission with ease, and the smile that grows on his face is despicable. he praises, “good girl, thought so,” before he tugs your wrists forward, and your lips are on his again. 

they’re nastier this time, all tongue and teeth, and his hands are everywhere. on your back, on your hips, on your chest, the noises you let out would be embarrassing if you could think about it for longer than half a second. when his thumbs travel up your inner thighs you stiffen, your back arching, moaning into his mouth and he laughs, his chest rising into yours. 

“relax for me, princess,” he says into your mouth and you obey without even thinking about it, body sinking into his. he slips his right palm between your legs to cup your center over your pants and you grind yourself into him involuntarily, releasing a gasp as you finally get stimulation where you needed it most. 

your head falls forward again, breaths growing heavy at the contact. he switches to two fingers instead, adding pressure along your clothed slit, pausing at your clit to rub small circles. you moans are pathetic, grinding into his hand, begging for more but you didn’t dare say it. 

“yeah, there you go,” he encourages, voice low and directly in your ear as you grind against his fingers, he doesn’t stop talking, “gonna cum on my fingers when i haven’t even taken your pants off? my girl is so desperate.” 

your moans raise in pitch at his words, the slight degradation only getting you there faster, you could taste your orgasm. you didn’t know you were into that kind of thing— you never had any experience in it, you and mingyu certainly didn’t talk about it beforehand. 

“go ahead, princess, cum for me,” he encourages and you lose it, unraveling on his hand, his words tipping you over the edge. your moans are strangled in your throat as you finally release, breath stilling as your head sinks entirely onto his shoulder, his hand still riding you through it. when you back off his touch he halts his movement, bringing a hand up to your hair, fingers lightly scratching your scalp as he praises you. “so good for me, baby, did so good.”

you whimper in response, body completely spent on his lap, limp hands resting on his chest as his thumbs sneak down to hook in your waistband. you could hear his grin in his words, “i hope you don’t think i’m done with you yet, wanna see your pretty face cum on my fingers.” 

you lifted your hips off of him and he slips the fabric down your legs one after the other, your brain completely fogged over, too fucked to do anything else but comply. you’d do whatever he said in this state, as long as he kept talking to you. 

when you sat back down on his lap his thighs were spread again, your legs sat wide over his own, pussy on display for eyes that couldn’t see it. he bared his teeth in a smile, head laying atop the back of the couch, looking at you through lowered eyes. it should’ve been mortifying, being so exposed to him when he hadn't even taken his shirt off, but the feeling didn’t come to mind when he looked at you as if he'd eat you alive. 

“so good,” he praised, the smile not once leaving his face, “you wanna cum again, don’t you baby?”

you nod, whimpering, hips bucking into nothing beneath them. mingyu was so hard, you could see the ridiculous tent in his pants, you were nearly drooling at the sight. you want to see him, touch him, taste the full length of him— it was cruel how he was keeping himself from you, but you still didn’t tell him, maybe he’d praise you more if you didn’t. 

“say it,” his hands were on your bare hips, the skin on skin contact had you heaving. you couldn’t form any words other than make me cum, begging three times before his hands moved.  

his fingers moved to your core and his lips were on yours again as his fingers slipped inside, index and middle, immediately curling inside of you. you plunged forward, your entire abdomen folding, the slight overstimulation combined with how thick his fingers felt inside of you was devastating. you were louder now, moans turning to cries, hips driving forward to match the thrusts of his fingers. 

“fuck, mingyu,” words returned to you, a moment of clarity in the midst of the fog, “feels so fucking good, please don’t stop.” 

“there she is,” his lips attached to your jaw, kissing down your neck as his fingers created a rhythm, “came back to me, hmm?” 

“yes,” you moaned out, words breathy and light, “want you to watch me when i cum.” 

he groaned, head falling back onto the couch again, his other hand reaching forward to rub your clit again. you cried out curses, watching mingyu as he watched you. you whimpered, “wanna feel you so bad, want you to fuck me gyu.” 

his eyebrows furrowed, jaw going slack, quickening his pace on your clit. you could feel another orgasm forming in the pit of your stomach, eyes falling shut, head lolling forward before you snapped it back upright. he wanted to see you, you’d let him have whatever he wanted. 

“so close,” you cried, he was so fucking good at this— not once did the rhythm he created falter as you thrashed against him, following your hips with experienced fingers. “gonna cum, gyu.” 

“cum all over my fingers baby, give it to me,” he leaned forward, catching your lips with his own in a kiss before he growled, “cum for me.” 

the order had you seeing stars behind your eyelids, your body obeying without you even processing it, shaking in his arms as you got lost in your orgasm like a fucking riptide. this one was far more powerful than the last, it took you longer to ride out the full length of it, the aftershocks hitting you in tremors. 

“good girl, that was so hot,” his voice was strained as he praised you, clearly trying to hold himself back, but you couldn’t place why he wouldn’t do anything about it. 

“want you inside,” you said into his neck, head fallen onto his shoulder by now, small aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through you. his hands rubbed your back, soothing touches to bring you back, a huff of amusement leaving his lips. 

“you’re insatiable,” he teased, hand dropping to leave a small tap on your bare ass. “you’ll have me another night.” 

“why?” you whined, body curling into his further, arms laying limp at your sides, “you don’t wanna fuck me?” 

“don’t do that,” he planted a kiss to the side of your head as his hands continued, leaving calming strokes on your back, “be patient.” 

you sit up slowly, “i don’t want to be patient.” 

“then call up the blondie,” he shot you an amused smile, “i’m sure he’ll be glad to fix your issue.” 

“mingyu,” you huffed, “that’s not funny. i’ll be patient.” 

“never heard a woman complain after coming twice,” he shook his head, watching with careful eyes as you stood off his lap, reaching for your pants. 

“i am so sorry that i want your cock so bad i’m begging for it,” you teased back as you slipped them up your legs, a playful smile on your lips. 

he lifted a brow, “touché.”

you stayed at mingyu’s place for hours after, half listening to whatever movie he put on his tv while you fought to not get lost in conversation. it was too hard when he put on a romcom, the first time he nitpicked a detail the fight was over, entering a debate about how stupid it was for the main girl to be interested in the man who was clearly an asshole. mingyu thought it was stupid, you stood up for the girl– you’ve been there too many times to not stick up for her. at least half the movie was spent talking about the movie.

you spent the other half of it lazily kissing, hands traveling across each other’s skin, he let you maneuver your hands under his shirt, feeling his chiseled abdomen, his chest, his back— you were right, every part of him was strong. his fingers had slipped under your pants again, the movie was over for far too long before the two of you had come up for air. 

but he still didn’t take it further— didn’t let you touch him below his belt. you couldn’t understand why, until he finally gave you a reason, “i just want to wait, i know it’s old fashioned. don’t make fun of me.” 

your body went hot, you were now convinced that anything he did could turn you on. “until when?! marriage?!” you joked, and he only responded by pressing his lips to yours again, effectively shutting you up.

you didn’t want to leave– you knew mingyu had meetings early the next morning, you had classes, but his couch was so comfortable, the blanket he threw over you was so cozy, you couldn’t fathom going outside in the cold air or sitting in your car that would take way too long to warm up. you felt like you were in your own bubble, just you and mingyu, no one knew where you were or what you were doing. you didn’t want it to end. 

you checked your phone after hours, your phone screen flooded with notifications. you scrolled through as mingyu traced patterns along your stomach over the blanket, his head lying just below it, both of you sideways on his massive sectional. 

8:28 pm

yeo: tiny are u alive

8:51 pm

yeo: tiny i am getting nervous yeo: pls answer

it being past ten now, you were scared to continue scrolling. 

9:23 pm

sannie: yeo is tweaking sannie: he is telling ace lol

you sighed, eyes closing, your bubble was burst. 

9:31 pm

yeo: ace did not gaf yeo: bro said ur prolly on another date yeo: good luck have fun get some

you swiped out of your groupchat, seeing an unopened text in your thread with yunho. 

10:01 pm

yunho: worried about u yunho: hope this one’s treating you better

you smiled, fingers typing away– yunho was the only one who knew who mingyu was. 

10:23 pm

you: dont be worried im fine you: hes perfect he's the one you: thanksgiving secured

the bubble appeared in seconds, then it went away.

— yunho liked your messages. 

8fd masterlist | main masterlist

tags :p @chimivx @emmxxsworld @alisonyus @livixcore @skzswife @dawn-iscozy

[rosetintedgunman]

-

Wilford's head tilted. This person isn't a LARPer, but was called Lark? That was a bit too on the nose for this hobby, wasn't it?

"That's dedication to character. Well done." Deciding not to risk the wrath of a sword, Wilford went against patting the other man on the shoulder. "In that case, yer all in th' know. Wouldn't know how ta explain all that stuff anyway. Not like ya sit 'round an' pretend ta be someone else all day."

Whether that be acting or by writing, he mentally added as he glanced aside to look at no one in particular. (Hi muns!)

However, this posed a challenge. If this Lark fellow was so engrossed in-character, how was Wilford supposed to ask how to get back to the studio? He didn't answer at first, as he tapped his index finger against his lips. Lark would hopefully realise that this wasn't an act to distract, but that the pink stranger was actually deep in thought (surprising, I know).

"Er... I, uh... Need ta find.... Um, Gimme a sec ta think 'bout this. Never could get into this sorta thing." He needed to give directions in an old timey manner. Wait! "I need ta get ta a town. Maybe a big one. An' there's this, uh... Theatre! Yeah, a theatre! I know some fellas - people - that work there."

-

A sword? Really? That's hardly subtle! If anything, that's as helpful has waving a big flag overhead! But, for now, he'd keep his own weapons hidden. He might be hard to kill, but he can die, and it hurts! Besides, he's on a very good "not dying" streak. It's longer than his "not killing" streak too!

At least holding firm meant that the sword was put away (seriously? Who even carries a sword???). What was this person's deal?

"Me? Nah. I'm super lost. Tried takin' a shortcut through a park, got distracted with some things... Y'know how it is." A day in the life of Wilford Warfstache, unfortunately. But if he was lost in a park, then... "Hey, are ya one of them LARPer folks?"

That would certainly help explain the outfit choice.

Y’know how it is. Well… he can’t say that he does. The man claims not to be a warlock (or simply not a local), but Lark can’t follow the leaps and bounds the conversation is taking.

“I’m sorry, is this some kind of practical joke?” If someone’s pulling a prank on him, he’d like to understand the humour! “My name is Lark. Not LARPer. I don’t know what a LARPer is.” A species? A family house? A religion?

But the fact that the stranger is lost gives him something to cling onto. Prank or not, there’s no reason to be rude. Drawing the sword on him as a first instinct aside, of course.

“I would be happy to offer directions if you know where you want to go. There’s an inn further in town, perfect for a traveller to rest their head on a night like this.” And if he is dangerous, Lark can keep an eye on him.

[sinsofsummers]

cupcake

1.9k | teacher!logan x fem!student!reader

(gif not mine!!)

summary: logan eats you for lunch. warnings: porn! teacher!logan and student!reader, so a bit of a taboo age gap, but an established situationship. oral (f receiving), desperate logan—like he is A LEWSER, p in v, creampie because he doesn’t last long (because he’s a whore), logan is a slut for ur releases mixed together, sub!logan tbh, let me know if i miss any! note: wow. sorry. this was also supposed to be a night of writing a longer fic. but i think this is my brand! short and sweet and salacious little things! enjoy, my loves! also i'm tagging @cavillscurls , @bren-lee-bear0404 , @ieatgoldfishy and @hughverine for this one cause...it just seemed like u guys were extra eager for it hehehe!

You can sense him behind you as you make your way down the corridor, heading for your room. You’ve just gotten out of an exam, and as the relaxation-lover you are, you’re thinking of one thing and one thing only—your bed, and curling up in it.

But just like Logan can sense you at all times, you’re no stranger to the feeling of being under his watchful gaze. It’s a heady feeling, and even though you can’t see him, you know that if you turn around he’ll be just a few paces behind you. 

And maybe you shouldn’t have gotten under your history teacher in an attempt to get over him, but by now it’s far too late. Logan has all but ruined everyone for you, anyway, a fact that you’re sure he would put on a billboard if you’d let him.

You put your head down and pretend to ignore the sound of his footsteps getting faster. 

You smirk. Thankfully the hallway is empty, or you’d have to answer for why your history teacher is chasing you down. 

He’s not exactly discreet; or at least, not when you’re in the same room as him. Whether it’s his intense brown eyes staring you down like a challenge, or his hands somehow finding their way to your shoulders, or your hands, trying to look innocent enough…you’re pretty sure Logan’s made it obvious. 

“Hey.”

There he is.

You pause, about to turn the corner, but he swings a hand around your arm and makes you whirl around to face him. His eyes are hard, but there’s a spark of mischief that has you flashing a tight-lipped smirk back in his face, blinking slowly. 

“Yes, Professor?” you cross your arms, holding the textbooks in your hands to your chest. “Did I miss an assignment?”

Logan’s mouth twitches into an amused grin, and he tilts his head. “C’mere,” he says gently, and tugs you toward the nearest classroom—his own. 

You’ve had your fair share of classes here, but you blush as he closes the door and sidles up behind you, his broad, heavy chest pressing against your back. 

“Where’ve you been, sugar?” His voice is smooth, low, and reeks of sex. You know exactly why you’re here.

Your throat goes dry, but you swallow and turn around, taking a step back. With a wink, you keep your hands clutched to your textbook. “I’ve been working.” 

You’re goading him. “If you hadn’t noticed, I still need to study for my exams,” you say nonchalantly, and watch as he confidently strides forward, following you up to the front of the room. 

In no time at all, his desk hits the backs of your thighs, stopping you from your retreat. Logan’s only a step away from you and capitalizes on it. You’ve got no room to squirm away; he towers over you and puts his hands on his desk, trapping you there.

“Time for a break, I think,” he hums, nipping at your jaw when you chuckle and turn away from his attempt to kiss you. “You’ve been working that brain so hard,” he continues, tugging the textbook out of your hands and tossing it to the floor with a heavy thud. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re still pleased at the admission. You take it upon yourself to hop up on the desk, though it doesn’t give you much more leverage; he’s still got the upper…everything. “Oh, you have?” 

Logan lifts a hand to cup your jaw and neck, bringing your face closer to him. His hand is rough but the guidance of his touch is gentle, and he rests his forehead against yours. His next words are a whisper. “I have,” he nods. “You look so sweet, sugar. Can’t you just take a break?”

Your stomach turns in a familiar knot, and your thighs tense. It’s not that you haven’t fooled around on his desk before. But you really do have exams to study for.

“I know,” you sigh, turning to press a series of kisses to his beard. “I know, I want to be done, too. But I—”

“Then be done,” he whispers, his other hand landing on your thigh. “You’ll pass all your exams, bub, you know you will. Such a smart girl,” he says as his hand creeps toward the inside of your leg. “Why don’t you let me do something for you, smart girl?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek, but it does nothing to hide your smile. “Logan,” you whine, trying your best to sound exasperated. “I can’t just drop my panties for you everytime you want.”

His hand has wandered to the waistline of your shorts; an elastic band is all that bars him from your thin panties. 

“Of course,” he says, and then his eyes dart down to the crux of your legs as he hooks a finger in your waistband, tugging it away from your body. “But you sure do leave them sopping wet, don’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Well, if they weren’t before, they are now.

Your jaw drops open an inch, and for a moment you don’t know what to say.

Another finger hooks into your waistband, and he swipes his fingertips across your lower stomach, not daring to go any further until you give him the go ahead. “Please, sugar,” he whispers, and his voice shakes as he tilts your head up, holding his lips just an inch from your own. 

“I’ll be quick. I won’t even tease, baby,” he says, his hot breath fanning over your face, that delicious hint of tobacco making you flutter your eyes closed.

“Logan…” you try again, but he ducks his head into your neck and whimpers. Whimpers. 

“I’ll be good and quick, bub,” he says again. “Just let me taste you. I won’t ask for anything else, I swear.”

“Yeah right,” you say breathlessly, your composure slipping. “You always want more.”

“Can’t help it,” he breathes heavily, and his hand clenches your shorts in a fist. “M’gonna go insane if I can’t taste you, cupcake.”

You’ve never seen him this desperate, this much of a loser for your pussy, that you choke out a sigh and push his hand down your stomach. His eyes go wide and his mouth stutters as his fingers reach your mound, shoulders shuddering at the velvety smooth touch of your core. 

“Fine,” you say quietly, a smile growing on your face. “But just for a minute.”

“Minute’s all I need, sugar.” Logan doesn’t waste his time, molding his lips to yours with a deep groan that borders on the side of a growl, something that ignites a fire in your gut. 

In a flash, he’s practically torn your shorts from your body and he’s getting on his knees, eyes flitting up to yours as he leans into your core. The flush of cool air on your lower half is almost relieving. 

He pauses, closing his eyes right as he’s about to dive in. And he sucks in a breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of your arousal. It’s like a fucking ritual for him. Like a monk bent to pray, he worships the source of your sweetness.

You shake your head, carding your fingers through his hair. “You’re such a freak,” you breathe, but the humor leaves your voice as he darts his tongue out to flick your clit. 

And with your hands in his hair, he growls into your pussy and laps at it like a starving man, swirling circles around your clit and wasting no time before his fingers are teasing your entrance. 

“God,” you gasp, squeezing your thighs around his head. 

He lifts his head, and you wish you could take a picture of how fucking desperate he looks, with his beard already glistening with your wetness and his eyes wide as a puppy’s. “Not God,” he huffs, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Just me, bub.”

“Shut the fuck up and make me come,” you sigh, tilting your head back and letting out a soft giggle. “Your minute’s almost up.”

Of course, you don’t have any plans on cutting him off. Once he gets his tongue on your core, you won’t be satisfied until he’s filling you to the brim. 

He moans with every drop that slips out of you and lands on his tongue, which only makes your pussy weep more for him. “Come on, baby,” he says into you, his fingers slipping inside you and stretching you deliciously over his thick digits. “Come on daddy’s face.”

He has the gall to ask you to call him daddy? When he just spent the last ten minutes begging to get on his knees for you?

You almost laugh, but then his fingers curl inside you. He’s hitting that one spongy spot that has you arching your back, your eyes rolling back and your hand pressing down on his head, holding him to your core as you ride out your release. “Fuck, Logan,” you whine, rolling your hips into his mouth to make the ecstasy last longer.

He pulls away from you, and you can’t even lift your head before you hear the clink of his belt hitting the floor. His face comes into view, and then his tip is sliding against your slit, throwing you into a frenzy as your legs shake at the sensitivity. 

“I’m sorry, sugar,” he says, voice hoarse as he circles your clit with his angry, leaking tip. “I’m close already, I just wanna…”

“You wanna fill me up,” you finish breathlessly, head resting against his desk.

“Yes,” he whimpers, and you swear you could come again at the sound of it. “Please, cupcake.”

You nod, a string of yes please falling from your lips. And not a moment later, he’s shoving himself inside, and suddenly you realize how empty you’d felt all day before this moment, before his thick cock was making room for itself in your body. 

He doesn’t look like he’ll last long enough to give you another orgasm, but you don’t really care; he looks so fucking pretty like this that it’ll be enough to fuel an entire night of play when you’re on your own.

With a guttural groan and a few uneven thrusts, Logan bursts. The swing sound of metal claws unsheathing themselves is like a drug as he empties himself inside of you. “I’m sorry, cupcake,” he shudders, laying himself over you on the desk. “M’sorry I couldn’t—”

“It’s okay,” you wrap an arm around his shoulders, savoring the feeling of his dick still pulsing inside you. “I like it when you’re so…”

You trail off. Nothing can quite describe the essence of Logan when he’s begging to eat you out. But there’s something so undeniably filthy about someone like Logan—your rugged, perfect Professor Logan—shedding his grumpy exterior for a taste of you.

The two of you lay there for a few more moments before he straightens, pulling you to a sitting position. He slowly pulls out, catching his seed and pushing it gently back inside you as best he can. 

You hum at the sight, and finally stand, pulling your wrecked shorts back onto your hips. “How are you gonna explain that?” You point at the small puddle of your releases, mixed together.

His hair is still messy, his fingers still shining with your arousal, but he winks. Claws retracted, he swipes a finger through the mess and puts it to his lips, drinking down the result of your pleasure. 

“Frosting,” he grins, and the return of the cocksure professor you know so well has returned. He presses a kiss to your temple and whispers in your ear. “From the sweetest of cupcakes.”

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Mile High Club

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: After a long case, and some things leading to leaving one of your coworkers behind, reader and Hotch are alone on the private jet.

CW: mile-high-club, drinking, childish antics from the BAU team while drunk, tit play, fingering, p in v, creampie

a/n: be gentle with me I’m still new to writing for Hotch— also idk what it is but other writers for Hotch have made him out to be a tits man and I don’t think I can deny that

-

Your team had been spread thin. Having the rare occurrence of an unsub possibly operating in cities way too far apart. Somehow sending half of you across states to investigate. Rossi, J.J., Derek, and Emily had stayed back in the initial state. Leaving you, Reid, and Hotch to hop on the plane. Checking everything out and finding the exact same patterns as the other murders.

Rossi had called after a few days. After accessing the situation, he thought it would be best for Derek and himself to come take the place of two of you. Thinking they would have some kind of expertise for the area, but also making sure no single group was obscenely outnumbered. Hotch had no problem with the idea. Wanting to get back to the original sight to look further into things.

“Y/N,” Hotch had knocked on the door of your hotel room, letting himself in like you had told him he could. Sometimes wanting his company. Enjoying hearing his deep, steady voice talk about anything. Causing your stomach to swirl around itself when bumps would prickle down your skin at how he said your name.

You sat on the edge of your bed still not fully dressed. Your lower half completely covered, but still only in your bra. You hurried to throw on your blouse as Hotch stepped in. Silently apologizing to him as you fumbled over the buttons. Dark eyes darted down to your bare chest, quickly going back up to your face. “Apologies, I didn’t know you weren’t ready for company,” Hotch craned his neck looking up at the ceiling while you buttoned the shirt. Noticing a soft glow on his cheeks.

Hotch was your superior. Leader of the team. And your not-so-secret crush.

One night, you and your teammates had all been drinking. Hotch and Rossi opting to not come along. You had been deep into drinking when a question had been brought up. Playing childish high school games where the boys and girls would ask each other horny questions. Derek, of course, being the one to ask.

“Alright— I’ve got a good one for the ladies. Fuck, Marry, Kill. Hotch, Rossi, Gideon.” His drunken smirk made some of you roll your eyes. J.J.’s jaw hung open as she and Emily laughed together. Penelope started to speak when you blurted out, “Definitely marry Hotch, so I could fuck him for the rest of my life.”

All eyes were on you now. Not caring with how the alcohol buzzed in your system. Scanning everyone’s facing to see some serious mixed reactions. You threw your hands up slightly, “What?!”

“You would wanna marry that hard-nosed tyrant?” Derek smiled.

You furrowed your brows, looking next to you at Reid. Seeing his expression being equally as shocked. “Wh—? I thought all of us would agree on that one! He’s a good dad, good physique, and~ a sexy voice to boot,” you counted on your fingers, not a hint of shame on your voice.

“But that’s not what you said,” Reid smirked at you. You looked around the table to see everyone agreeing with teasing tones.

“Yeah— you said so you could fuck him for the rest of your life, not any of those other things,” J.J. giggled as she bumped your shoulder.

“And— you didn’t even say your picks for the other two!” Derek laughed.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head back and covering your face. Embarrassment finally washing over you at the reveal of your feelings for your boss. “Oh my God—“ you started smiling widely with flushed cheeks.

“Ah— look! You really like him!” Emily smiled as she sipped at her drink again.

And you did. The way he carried himself. The way his gruff voice could carry a room. His determination for the BAU and solving cases drawing you to him. It did not help that Hotch clearly had his eye on you as well. Gaze lingering on you in every room you shared. Attentive when you would present a summary to the group, never removing his eyes from you. Soft, rare smiles when you would crack some joke about his age. Words of encouragement when it was just the two of you awake on the plane. Eyes twinkling when he heard your laugh on nights out. Always finding his place next to you anywhere: on the plane, at the bar, in the office. Unable to forget the night you had drifted away against his shoulder after a rather grueling month of a case. Turning into you openly flirting with him from time to time.

Your little crush on him was more than meets the eye.

“No, sir. I apologize. I should always be ready just in case we needed to jump into action,” you finally got the last button up. Turning to grab your coat off the spare chair in the room. Catching Hotch’s eyes scanning your figure. You smiled.

“You and I have to head back. Rossi and Derek want to come look at the scene and I don’t want to leave anyone with small numbers,” Hotch said his stoic tone vibrating off the walls.

“What about Spence?”

“Derek and Rossi are already on their way. He won’t be alone,” he reassured.

“Okay, good. I wouldn’t wanna leave your favorite boy alone,” you joked walking over and closing the distance between you. Noticing his tie was not fully fixed. Hands pinching and fidgeting the fabric. Hotch stretched his neck, “What… are you doing?” His hand came up and grabbed yours gently.

“Since when do you not get finished getting ready?” You ignored his question as you continued fixing him.

“Guess I was just in a rush… with the flight and all,” Hotch relaxed at your touch. You knew better than that. Wondering what could have caused it. Not questioning him further. Softly flattening your hand against the tie before you realized how intimate of an action it was. Batting your lashes up at him. Seeing his eyes were already on your face. Heavy brow but a soft expression. “Thank you,” his voice was soft for the first time today.

He was just so gorgeous. You felt butterflies flapping around your insides. Wanting to press into him. Wanting him to pin you down on the mattress of the hotel room. Dying to see what he looked like while you had his dick in your mouth.

You had to stop yourself. Realizing the silence was going on longer than intended. Chuckling to yourself to ease the tension. Quickly pulling your hand away and clinching your fist by your side. “How long til they get here?”

“Twenty minutes. We need to leave now,” Hotch stated. He walked to the door, opening it and allowing you to exit first. Reid was out in the hallway, leaned against the door of his room. Arms crossed over his chest as he watched you and Hotch approach.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You questioned him. Reid was one of your closest friends on the team. He was not much younger than you, yet you still felt like he was still so new. Wanting to make sure he was comfortable and going to be safe. Especially since things had gone down between him and an unsub on a previous case.

“Of course I will,” Reid smiled, eyes looking at both you and Hotch.

“Call me if anything happens,” you began towards the elevator, Hotch followed closely behind you. Silently riding down to the lobby together. Lips sewn together as neither of you dared to make a sound. Shoes tapping against the hard floor as you went out to the SUV.

“You driving or me?” You playfully asked.

Hotch did not look up at you. Staring at his phone, “I will.” That stabbed you. He would usually make some sly comment about the time you hit a light pole in a rush leaving a parking lot. But now he did not even look at you.

Replying with a simple “Okay” as you go into the passenger seat. Nothing was said until you arrived at the plane. Being greeted with a smile from Derek and Rossi.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Derek adjusted his sunglasses with his words. Rossi and Hotch stepped aside to debrief together quickly. Derek caught you up on all the new details and what caused Rossi to want to come out to this scene. This case was a tough one all things considered.

You caught Hotch’s stern brow directed at you as he and Rossi talked back and forth. Wondering why he was making that face at you. Clearly losing focus of what Derek was saying. Coming back when he repeated your name, “Y/N-? You have a whole flight back to stare at McDreamy, okay? Listen to me right now.”

You whipped your head forward, brows pushed together as you mouthed defenses. Closing your eyes and shaking your head to bring your focus back. “Sorry,” you grumbled as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“J.J.’s got all the files printed for you on the plane. I’m sure Hotch will wanna take a look first. It’s a heavy one so prepare for all the new stuff,” Derek tilted his head with his words.

Hotch marched over to you. Eyeballing Derek before focusing his attention on you, “Let’s go.” You nodded. Saying your goodbyes to Derek as you boarded the plane. Nestling up against the wall of the plane. Hum of the engine vibrating your ears. Comforting you.

You watched Hotch sort through files. Enjoying the comfortable silence on the flight. Loving how his hands looked gripping the folders and papers. Blushing when you thought above how perfectly his fingers would stretch you.

“So,” you broke the silence. Causing Hotch’s eyes to dart up to you quickly before falling back onto the papers. “Why did you want me to come and not Reid?”

Hotch’s movements completely halted. Jaw clenching at your question. Watching his fingers crinkle the paper more than before. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Brow pushed firmly down.

“Spencer and Derek make a great team. Pretty boy and boy genius or whatever you girls say,” Hotch spoke quicker than normal, clearly lying. Just how you wanted him.

“Really?”

Hotch nodded. Eyes never moving from their spot on the page.

“I don’t know if I believe you… Aaron,” you smirked using the informality. That one got his attention. Laying the paper down on his lap and rolling his shoulders. Straightening his posture and crossing his hands over his lap. Fully focused on you across from him now.

“Don’t profile me,” Hotch’s corner of his mouth curving slightly with his words. Allowing his guard to drop if only for a moment. Tightly knitted eyebrows relaxing for the first time.

“Oh, I’m not. Just being observant,” you teased, sitting forward for your elbows to be resting on your knees. Becoming suddenly aware of your cleavage hanging out when Hotch’s eyes jumped down.

You sat back up, “Because if I was profiling you, you would be making it too easy on me.”

Hotch cocked an eyebrow at you, sitting with his legs spread wide open, “Is that so?”

“Seeing how you’ve stared at my chest twice today, I’d say so. Oh, and your tie this morning? I’ve never seen you not finish tightening it. And how relaxed you are right now. Your pupils darkened when you finally looked at me, and you keep fidgeting your fingers. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted to be alone with me on this flight,” you smirked resting back against your seat to mimic how he sat.

Hotch’s brows raised for a moment as his lips sealed together, fighting an obvious smile. “Aren’t I just giving you what you wanted?” He questioned.

Your stomach flipped. Confused by what he was implying, “Wh-what?”

“Since we’re profiling… I’ve caught you staring at me more than once since yesterday. Each time I caught you, you would quickly turn away or wave at me. Clearly, a sign you were checking me out yourself. Or how about you not being ready this morning? I told you exactly what time we would be up in the morning. I did not arrive even a minute early and you still weren’t dressed. And given your history with punctuality, I know you’re not the type to be late,” Hotch crossed his arms over his chest.

God. He was such a good profiler.

Reading into things you had not even realize you had done. You felt your cheeks heat up with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. Completely blown away with his talent to understand people almost better than they do themselves.

You crossed your legs tightly. Feeling your core aching. Mouth attempting to form words that could not escape.

“If you’d asked I would’ve this morning, Y/N,” Hotch tilted his head.

You felt your body breakout in a sweat. Refusing to question further on what he was referring to. Feeling your stomach constrict. Eyes widening while you looked at the cocky man across from you. Far too relaxed with the conversation. Your mind racing to tell you he thought it was all some joke. Perhaps one of your coworkers had told him what you said that night out drinking.

Hotch refocused on some of the papers. You chewed at your thumbnail. Going through every single possible meaning of what he said.

“Excuse me,” you stood and walked to the tiny plane restroom. Quickly closing the door behind you.

Your hands gripped the small counter. Veins popping against the bruising white force. Sweating as you felt the arousal sticking against your pussy. Flustered with your desire and how it consumed you.

There was a knock.

Your throat tightened. Had you really been in there that long? Lost that much track of time simply from dreaming of Hotch?

Stumbling over a “Sorry” as you pretended to be washing your hands. Opening the door to see Hotch standing in the doorway. Arm resting on the frame above it. Body blocking your escape. Eyebrows flat against his eyes. There was a silence as you awkwardly swallowed.

“Can I come in?” Hotch flatly asked.

“Y-Yes, sir. Sorry,” you attempted to squeeze past him. His arms came down and stiffened stopping you.

“That’s not what I mean,” his voice fell dark as he walked forward. Corning you in the tiny room. Strong shoulders and broad chest making you swoon. You turned your back to him. Going back to holding onto the counter. Hotch shut the door behind him, locking it.

Tension was high between you. The small room felt overwhelmingly stuffy. Your heartbeat was in the back of your throat. Mouth hung open just enough for you to breathe. Looking up and seeing him standing behind you with a look in his eyes you had never seen on him before. Falling back into the bowl of the sink. Steadying your breathing as you closed your eyes.

You jumped when one of his hands flattened against your lower back. Shooting your eyes open to see he had closed the small gap between you.

“Is this okay?” His slow and steady voice asked permission.

You nodded slowly. Unsure of what was exactly happening between you.

Hotch’s strong hands sprawled across your lower front. Holding your body flush against his. His nose tucked into the crook of your neck. Deep eyes staring at you in the mirror. Fingers groped into your flesh. Breath from his nose warmed up your skin.

Tender lips fell against your throat. Kissing up to your jawline. Melting into him. Body relaxing understanding the rhythm he wanted to start. Your hand went back to tangle in his hair when you felt his teeth graze you.

There was no way this was actually happening.

Large hands ventured up your chest. Palming at your tender breasts. Pulling a soft moan from you when his calloused fingers pinched at your nipple. Hands unbuttoning the top few buttons so he could slide down it. Large palms running down your chest. Kneading the plump mounds. Feeling your rapid heartbeat on his fingers.

“You’re a good profiler,” Hotch kissed your cheek with his final word, lips resting against your ear. Your body flushed with heat from the combination of everything.

You breathlessly questioned, head falling back against him.

Watching him smile against your skin with your distraught state, “Cat got your tongue, Y/L/N?” He sucked on your neck pulling a moan from you. His sultry voice had you melting in his hands. Eyes falling shut as you felt anticipation building below your belt.

A pinch of your nipple forcing your eyes back open. “Come on, show me how good of a profiler you are. Tell me why I came in here,” Hotch’s voice vibrated your neck. Kissing between your shoulder and jugular. His tone encouraging you to speak.

You swallowed hard. Mouth running dry with desire. “Y-You— based off you-your body language in the doorway, you obviously didn’t need to use the bathroom—“

“Hmm. You didn’t either,” Hotch cut you off playfully. One of his hands beginning to trace down your front. Circling your nearly exposed breasts and down the button line of your shirt, resting on the button of your pants. Pinching at it softly, as if he was slowly trying to undo it.

“An-And the tone of y-your voice tells me you clearly had something else in mind when you came in h-here with me. Not exactly HR friendly for m-my boss to be touching me like this,” you toyed with him. Dark eyes stared into yours in the mirror once again. His body swaying you back and forth slowly as he waited. Fingers finally undoing the button and sliding just the tips of his fingers under your panty line.

“Based off your er-erection pressing into my back, and the way you kept l-laying stuff over your lap earlier…. If I was to guess what your ac-actual plan w-was, I’d say y-you wanted me to ride you o-out there in your seat. But when I stormed off, you ha-had to go to Plan B,” you smiled. His fingers dipped further, ghosting right above your clit.

“And what’s Plan B?” Hotch whispered in your ear. Running his fingers through your soaked folds. Your fingers laced through his hair at the feeling, mouth hanging open.

“You’re gonna fuck m-me on the counter?” you moaned when he dipped a finger inside you. Curling and pumping perfectly.

“Good girl,” he praised finally sinking two fingers into your folds. Steadily sliding them in and out of you, hitting the spots inside you that had your legs wobbling. Thick fingers perfectly working inside you. Pulling repetitive moans from you. One of your hands came up to cover your mouth to hide the noises.

Hotch’s hand pulled your grasp away, “It’s just us. I want to hear you.” Placing your hand against his lips as his other hand pleasured you. Pad of his thumb flattening and circling your throbbing clit. Causing you to buck forward, a soft scream of a moan escaping. Fingers curled, hitting and scrapping the spongy spot that caused your legs to shake and breath hitch.

Abruptly, he removed his fingers causing you to whine. Hands on your hips guiding you to turn around. Small of your back bumping the counter as you faced him. Face flushed and panting as you attempting to look at his face. Having to tuck your head from his eyes. Feeling like an awkward first date.

Hotch nudged your chin upwards. Pulling your eyes to hold onto his. Leaning in and planting his lips against yours. Your hands ran up his chest, wrapping around his neck. Your fronts were pressed flush together. Lips sloppily attached to each other. Tongues slipping into one another’s mouth, tasting the other like it was the last time you ever could. Desperate hands held onto you. Fingers digging into the soft of your ass.

“Have you ever done this before?” You questioned as he pulled back to kneel in front of you. A soft hint of concern.

Hotch’s dreamy dark eyes looked up at you, smiling. Seeing his perfect teeth. A treat that only few got to see. He hooked his fingers around your waistband, pulling them down your legs and helping you step out. “Absolutely not,” he stated matter-of-factly with a slight chuckle.

You ran your fingers through his hair as he was below you. Warm eyes blinked up at you. Seeing a side of him you never thought you would. Looking soft and almost lovesick. You wondered if this is what he was like before the horrors of the BAU caused him to harden. Breaking through his hard shell, revealing some of the sweetest looks you had ever received. Under it all, he was a man who loved to please.

Your thumb traced his face, admiring him for the first time this closely. Noticing more beauty marks on his face. Clearly littered with stress lines from years of working. He cupped your hand in his, kissing it softly as he nuzzled against it. He adored how soft your hands still were.

He rose to his feet, hands cupping both sides of your face as he crashed his lips back into yours. Open-mouth kisses being shared as you tried to unbutton his shirt. Wanting to see his body. His actions were hungry. Hands coming down to grasp at your chest once again. Dipping his head down to suck on the exposed part of your breast. Pulling the fabric down to free your breasts. Sucking on your hardened nipples. Tongue flicking and rolling them around. Making sure he gave both the same attention. Kissing up your neck.

Hotch pulled your underwear to the side. Easing his fingers back inside you. Your entire body tingled with pleasure. Wrapping a bow in your lower half. You held onto his shoulders for support, pleasure surging through you with each movement of fingers.

There was a million questions plaguing your mind. Face contorted with curiosity and pleasure. Worried that this would all somehow comeback to bite you both in the ass. How deep down you did not want to just be a cheap hookup on the plane. Your feelings for Hotch flowed through you like blood. Taking up your entire being.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Hotch, almost as if he was reading your mind, confessed. His normal unbending composure melting away as he delved into you. His words shocking you slightly. “I know I’m your superior. And I know this is completely inappropriate,” he kissed you once again, “But I can’t keep dancing around you.”

You smiled. His words heating up your cheeks as you deepened the kiss. Sensation of his thumb back on your nub causing you to gasp. You began grinding against his hand. Searching for a release that you could practically taste. Calling out to him, “Hotch…”

Hotch shook his head aggressively, “Aaron. I want you to call me Aaron.”

You smirked. Desperation written on his half broken voice. Looking down to see the outline of his hard-on pressed against his slacks. Rutting forward to grind against him too. Hotch’s air tightened in his throat at the feeling of any stimulation against his member.

“Aaron—“

“Oh that’s it. Sounds so pretty when you’re like this,” Hotch groaned. Rolling his hips against the place where his fingers entered you. Begging for friction that matched what you were doing to his hand.

Your hands fought the belt around his waist. Prying it open and undoing his button. Fighting to shimmy his pants down his legs. Exposing his strong thighs and boxer-briefs. Curved cock pressing against his leg.

“I want to be inside you,” Hotch mumbled between kisses. Heavily breathing. He removed his fingers from you, hands curving around the back of your thighs. Helping you up on the countertop. The perfect height for him to reach you. His calloused hands ghosted up your exposed legs. Adjusting to make sure you were slightly hanging off the edge.

Quickly, he pulled his underwear down. Cock springing free. Swollen and leaking with precum. Thick vein running up the underside of it. You could feel your mouth water and pussy clench around nothing. Your body craved him like he was some lost piece of you. His large hands stroked himself. Dark, amber eyes asking permission silently.

Hands danced up his arms. Softly stroking the hair until it met the half rolled-up fabric at his elbow, resting on the seam line on his shoulders. Half-lidded bulbs adoring your figure in front of him. Digits squeezing around the head as he lined himself up with your opening.

First he pressed only the head in, making sure to adjust to you properly. Inching further into you until his hips were flush with yours. His jaw hung open at the feeling. Rolling his neck and taking in deep breaths. His cock stretched you perfectly. Never expecting him to feel so good inside you. You clung to his back, nails digging into the flesh. His chin sat upon your shoulder as you stalled. Enjoying the closeness.

Hotch pulled back slowly, looking down to watch himself enter you again. His face contorting in pure ecstasy. “I’ve never felt anything this good,” he exhaled against your skin. Rolling his hips into you. Steadily finding a pace inside. Squeaks and moans fell from your mouth each time he would hit deep inside you. Head of his cock brushing the spot that made you see stars.

And he was good. More experienced than anyone you had ever been with before. Knowing the perfect way to get you clinging to him and begging. Lewd sounds of skin smacking together reverberated off the tight space. Sloppy as your cunt drenched him in your arousal. Hotch grunted with each thrust. Shaky breathing painting his figure.

“Hotch, fuck, Hotch,” you mumbled like a mantra.

Hotch’s brow furrowed and eyes locked with yours. Realizing your mistake and correcting accordingly.

“Aaron,” you made it more sensual.

Music to his ears. Apparent by the smile that overtook his red face. Sweat beamed down his forehead. His fingers that were previously inside you coming up to rub your clit. Causing your walls to clinch down on him.

Hotch smiled, kissing your cheek sweetly. Featherlight kisses trailed down to below your ear. “Are you gonna cum for me?” Hotch’s hoarse voice drove you crazy. Drunk on his high for you. Knowing if things continued like this he would finish soon.

You nodded. At a loss for words. Completely overwhelmed by arousal. Pressing your lips to his. Trying to catch your breath. Hotch’s free hand tangled in your hair. Sloppily kissing back and forth. Teeth bumping each other accidentally. “Talk to me, baby. I wanna hear that sweat voice of yours,” Hotch spoke in between kisses. The pet name twisting your insides tighter.

“Aaron,” you moaned, “I want you to cum inside me. Please…” Drawling out your words when he hit especially deep.

“You do?” Hotch’s brow cocked upward, his tone with a hint of tease.

“Yes, please,” you groaned.

“I love that you ask so nicely. I’m gonna need you to finish first though,” Hotch tenderly kissed you as his fingers hurried around your throbbing nub. You whined softly. The feel of him inside you causing you to be a mess. Hands coming up to grasp his face, holding his lips to yours. Lips interlocking over and over. Almost in rhythm with his hips.

The knot in your lower half was tightening like a thin rope trying to hold a ship to the dock. Straining to keep your composure, needing to relax and come undone. Muscles contorting at his bruising pace. Wanting to savor every single moment so that it would never leave your mind.

Fingers circled your extremely sensitive nub. Causing your legs to shake, trying to stabilize yourself by digging your heels into his lower back. Hotch adored the deepening of the intimacy. Feeling his cock twitch inside you, he knew he could not hold off much longer.

“I know you can do it. Let me have it, Y/N,” Hotch’s breathy voice rang through your ears. Even when he was buried inside you, his leadership shined through. Almost like he was coaching you through your orgasm.

“Aaron,” you squeaked. His tongue slipped between your lips. Hunger taking over, fingers firm against your sensitivity. You wrapped your arms around him, nails and heals digging into his back. Knot inside you finally releasing itself. Your walls constricted around his girth. You called out to him, unable to make any cohesive sentences or words. Babbling as your walls fluttered around him.

“Doesn’t that feel better?” Hotch grinned. Beginning to snap his hips harshly into you. Shortly reaching his own climax. White hot coated your still sensitive insides. Hotch grunted as he rutted into you. Holding you as close as possible waves washed through you both. Fingers bruising into your soft flesh.

Hotch remained inside you. Both of your chests heaving. Attempting to fill your lungs back up. Kiss swollen lips planting against his cheek. Feeling his skin bunch up into a grin.

“We can’t tell anyone about this,” his stern tone partially returning. Still soft and slurred with his high. His hand petted you. The softest you had ever seen Hotch be.

“Does that mean we can’t do this again?”

Hotch paused. Forehead scrunched in thought. “Of course not,” he kissed your lips, “It’s just not something we need spread around.”

You beamed. Cheeks glowing with excitement. Giddy that this was not a one time thing. Hotch’s brown eyes shining in then dim-lit bathroom. The two of you holding steady for a moment. Neither of you wanting to separate.

Hotch twisted his wrist to look at his watch. Expression falling flat when he saw the time. “We’ll be landing shortly,” he straightened his back. Both of you wincing when his softening member slipped out of you. Feeling a mixture of juices run between your thighs.

Hotch wrapped some of the extremely thin toilet paper around his fingers. Layering it so that it would be more absorbent. Gently cleaning up the mess between your legs. Jumping when he wiped up against your clit. Capturing you in a kiss as a semi-apology.

Hotch moved your panties back over your worked opening. Helping get you cleaned up and dressed. His large palms held both sides of your face. Smiling with pink cheeks as he licked his lips. Like there was something more he wanted to say, but could not get out.

You turned around to make sure you look put together in the mirror. Seeing Hotch watch your every move. Fixing his own tie and sleeves. Both of you patted down your tattered hair. Hotch leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on the top of your head.

The two of you took your seats next to each other out in the cabin. You rested your head on his shoulder, his arm laced around your back. Fingers twirling your hair. His other hand examined your fingers. As if he was trying to engrave them into his memory. There was only a few moments before you landed and got into the SUV that would be escorting you.

You leaned your head against the glass of the back window. Sitting what felt like miles away from Hotch compared to how close you had been previously. Silently being drove to meet your other teammates. Looking over at your boss. Causing his eyes to dart over to you as well. A closed mouth smile beaming on his face. Eyes squinting up as he reached his hand over to yours. Lacing your fingers together.

An intimate gesture that you imagined would be few and far between going forward. Thoroughly enjoying the feeling of your hands together. Loathing the thoughts in your mind that reminded you that this was going to be secret. Guilt of the inappropriate nature of it, by the BAU’s standards. But when you felt Hotch’s fingers tighten, it pulled you out of it. Settling in for the short car ride to meet your coworkers.

A hollow feeling settling in the depths of your stomach when he pulled away. All kindness and softness leaving his figure and expression as he straightened his back. Hands flattening his slacks and adjusting his tie. Adjusting your posture to match his. Eyes watching as you pulled into the parking lot. Seeing J.J. and Emily standing out front of the local station.

A silent look towards each other before opening your doors. An acknowledgment that once these doors were open, everything went back to the way it was before. SSA Aaron Hotchner. Your superior. And you, SSA Y/N Y/L/N, his subordinate. Nothing more than that.

Click of the car door had you greeting the other women with smiles. Nothing too crazy, due to the severity of the case. Noting the half-lidded looks directing back to Hotch. Emily’s teeth grazed her lip as she and J.J. giggled when you finally got close to them. You widened your eyes at them, cheeks beaming like a teenager who just got back from talking to their crush.

“Well, how was your plane ride back with Hotch?” Emily raised her brow.

You blinked.

“Uh— good… just, good,” you stammered softly.

“Did you profess your undying desire for him?” J.J. folded her fingers together and fluttering her lashes to mock you.

You rolled your eyes, smiling. Exhaling with the million things you could say. Knowing you never could tell anyone else. Catching the last glimpse of Hotch as he entered the building. Seeing his eyes scanning you over his shoulder.

“Can you brief me as we head inside?” You asked marching towards the door.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! This is my very first time writing for Hotch, and I really hope to write for him more in the future. This may be some people’s first time on my blog. If you have any requests, my inbox is always open! If you would like to be tagged in future works, please let me know!! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @justyourusualash ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @kaysolai ~

[pearlzier]

︵︵ DAY ONE ﹐ PRAISE ☆

ᰍִ ꒰ KINKTOBER. ִ✧ㅤㅤ masterlist.

WARNINGS .ᐣ praise. p in v. riding. sub!matt. dom!reader. afab!reader. matt comes in reader (this keeps happening i will break the streak of. not pulling out soon)

NOTES .ᐣ completely irrelevant to the fic but i love my bf sm :(((( sam fan account right here guys !!!!!!!! also im like a few days behind completely ignore that x also i hate this LMFAOOOO

"C'MERE, PRETTY GIRL," matt murmurs lowly, his blue eyes lifting up to yours almost desperately. he looks up at you through his lashes, trying his absolute hardest not to buck his hips upwards needily. but god, it's hard. he wants you so fucking bad. you'd practically been teasing him the entire day, he couldn't take it anymore. most definitely couldn't take the fact you started teasing him whilst what he wanted was only a few moments away. grasping tightly at the bedsheets beneath him, his plush lips part a little with his deepened breathing. "wanna feel you on top of me."

it's hard not to want to immediately give in—it's a real enticing offer. but it was a little bit of payback considering the way he insists on teasing the life out of you any other time you're as horny as he is right now. you don't say anything, considering whether you should just hop on and give him the ride of his life. you decided that would be the best option.. you wanted it just as bad as he did, maybe even more.

with a soft hum, you nod your head. your eyes flutter up and down matt for a moment, and you watch the way his eyes light up at the sight of your nod. you really do adore him, damn it. swallowing thickly, he shifts where he's sat, which encourages you to crawl your way over to him. he'd done the job of pushing down his sweats for you, being far too eager to wait for you to do it for him. with a little dip in the mattress due to the shift in weight, you make your way over to him.

the moment you move to straddle him, he lets out a soft moan. biting his lip to ensure he doesn't let out any more sounds, he shuts his eyes instantly when your weight settles onto him. matt's head tilts back a little against the headboard, and he has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down before he ends up taking control and getting what he wants, needs. a shuddering breath escapes him as he reaches his hands out for you, gently slipping his fingers over your thighs. "fuck," he mumbles under his breath. "can't wait to be inside you.."

"yeah?" you ask softly, a quiet grunt making its way past your lips when you feel the way he's straining beneath his boxers, and the way his hands glide over your thighs. tilting your head to the side a little bit, a little smile spreads across your lips at the sight of him so needy. "you're so perfect, baby," your words are quiet, reverent. he really is. god, he's the perfect boyfriend. and the sound of what you'd said practically have his head swimming with thoughts of you, and you alone.

shifting his hips beneath you a little, he looks up at you with the most adoring look known to man. "mmh. please, wanna feel you," he murmurs, "need you, need to fill you up, please.." both of you can feel his cock throbbing, practically begging to be released from the confines of his boxers. you'd be a fool to deny him of that, so you nod once more, "i know," before you lean forward and start to ease his boxers down his tense thighs.

matt's breath catches in his throat and he lets out a shaky exhale, his hands on your thighs tighten a little bit. he wants to be good for you and let you take them off, yes, but at the same time, he's losing his patience. his hips lift a little, and he whines, "c'mon," voice a little pathetic, desperate, his eyes lift to yours again. "can't wait anymore. need to feel you, please." he sounds so pretty like that, practically begging to feel you.

"m'goin' as fast as i can," you muse, amusement in your tone at how needy he's behaving. matt scoffs quietly, swallowing hard. the pulsing of his cock beneath the cotton of his boxers is so distracting, he can barely think straight. he's pretty sure he's stained the fabric with precum, but he couldn't care less at the moment. "don't tease me," he's practically begging you to hurry the fuck up. "wasn't any point in you wearin' panties either, but.."

"oh, my bad," a laugh escapes you, and you roll your shoulders in a shrug. all while easing your panties down your thighs, matt's eyes following the entire time. he groans the instant you tug them down, whining. just the sight of your warmth has him reeling with the thought of you fucking yourself on his cock like that's all he's good for. "shit, you gotta sit on me, baby," he whimpers, squeezing at your hips instantly when you've finished taking off your panties.

at this point, you feel you've teased him enough by now. and you do wanna feel him, hear the pretty way he moans your name and whines when you lift your hips up and down. so you quickly sit up, moving so you're hovering over top him. he'd had so much restraint, you're proud of him, he hadn't touched himself once in the time it'd taken you to pull off your underwear.

though it doesn't take you long to sink yourself down on his length, moans slipping past both of your lips at the moment your bodies connect. he pushes his hips a little, the tip of his cock slowly breaching past your wet folds, your hips slowly easing you down until you met his own. matt's practically melting beneath you, his thighs tensing and his heart practically racing beneath his chest. "oh my god," matt whines, not a single bit of shame in the sound. "holy shit."

"s'that.. good?" you ask quietly, gasping as your cunt flutters around him, and it only causes matt to lose his shit more. you feel so damn good, more than good. he can't explain it. he doesn't wanna finish early, you'd only just sat yourself down on him, but your warmth makes him feel so fucking amazing. "more than that, fuck, way more than that," he's fully aware he sounds pathetic like this but he couldn't care less. nothing was pathetic about how good you made him feel.

when he finds himself buried in you to the hilt, he has to relax against the bed for a moment. you take the opportunity to run your fingers through his hair, and he groans, his hips bucking upwards into you instinctively. it causes you to let out a similar sound, and matt can't take it. it's something about your mewling moans that has him weak, has him barely resisting the urge to start pounding his hips up into yours to chase the bliss you're granting him. "feels perfect—" his grip on your hips tightens and he tugs you further on him, aiding you in your movements by rocking you forward on him.

"ridin' me so good.. perfect fuckin' pussy, y'know that? could die here, right here," he slowly rocks his hips up, to meet your motions. "just like that, feels so good, feels amazing, baby," you're just as whiny as he is, it's no competition. with each rut of your hips, you let out sweet moans that have him practically preening beneath you for every little thing you do. it doesn't just feel good, god, no, it sounds good too.

"you hear that?" you mumble, as the movements of your hips pick up and opposed to just rocking yourself down on him you start to lift your hips up and down. the lewd, obscene sounds of wet skin smacking against the other is music to his ears, "yeah? yeah.. sound of that cunt of yours taking me so good, that's it.. nnh, fuck," his sweet girl, his baby—only one for him. he's barely holding on right now, the slick sounds of your pussy gliding up and down the length of his cock, the feel of your warmth around him.. even just the press of your thighs against his own when you move. he's weak.

matt lives to praise you, lives to make sure you know how much he treasures you. "please, please, mmh, fuck yourself on my dick, baby.. there we go, how'd i get so lucky, huh?" his hands slide down to your ass and he kneads the flesh tightly in his hands, giving you a quick smack which causes you to yelp. a giggle bubbles from your throat too—"mmh, how'd i get so lucky? that this dick's all mine?"

"all yours," matt doesn't need convincing to agree to that, he knows it. he's all yours, he's got no hesitation. "this dick's all yours.. yeah, 'n' your pussy's all mine? to please? make you feel good? wanna make you feel so good, honey, i—shit, wanna.." matt gets so rambly and babbly when he's about to come. it's something about you riding him that makes his resolve decline, he barely lasts long like this. he doesn't even want to, he wants to show how good you make him feel and how you deserve all the praise he gives you.

"mhm.. yeah, yeah, pussy's all yours," you agree, feeling yourself clench around him a little. matt lets out a strained groan, and he starts to cant his hips upwards, ensuring that the tip of his cock sets a bruising pace in hitting that sweet spot inside you. if he's gonna come, you're reaching your climax too. those are the rules, he'd set them a while back. "all," your words are punctuated by heavy drops of your hips down onto his own, causing his thighs to tense heavily beneath you. "fuckin'. yours."

with the final word, yours, the pressure overwhelming him comes to a stop and he finds himself painting your insides white with his release. he wouldn't be surprised if he just kept going, with how powerful it felt, and especially with how your cunt clenches around him and flutters with your own release. he gasps shakily, as do you—"feels so good, fuck, oh.. oh, shit, that's it, there... fuck."

it didn't take him much effort at all to praise you to show you your worth—it was second nature by now.

ִ ֹ ★ @mattybsgroupie, @mattslolita, @stellasturns, @stevelacylovebot, @jetaimevous, @phone4pills, @aesthetixhoe, @venusiers, @chrissdollie, @stvrnmc, @sarosfilms, @beetlejenna, @funkycoloured, @v3nusasagrl, @imwetforyourmom, @deansbite, @beridollie, @pr3ttyf4wn, @sincerebabydoll, @pillwebb, @cayleeuhithinknot, @j2ss7, @sweetrelieef, @l3sbiancvnt, @fallbhind, @beausling, @eternaldecisions, @httqvi, @gibson-g1rl, @zayluvss, @angelssdreamss, @gxldenlush ִ ꒱

[rosetintedgunman]

-

There was a rule that had been put in place ever since Wilford arrived in this weird timeline - don't tell strangers the truth. Timeline hopping was not something that existed. And by right, neither was Wilford.

In fact, he was a completely fictional character in this place. People knew of him and his antics! But if they knew about him, then there was a chance they'd try and summon some of the others. And... That wasn't exactly the smartest idea. Wilford, at least, could behave.

But when the time came to do future productions featuring the character of Wilford Warfstache, Mark hired a "cousin" of his to play the role. A cousin called Will with black hair and a black moustache that had no social media platform, and seemingly no history. Luckily, the fans didn't explore it too deeply, and the mystery remained unnoticed.

However, one of Mark's friends was a specialist in looking deeper into mysteries. Not only that, Mat had dropped by when Will had been 'in costume'. There were questions to be answered, and Wilford certainly wanted to indulge in the reporter instinct, but there was something that needed to be addressed first:

"Is this fer curiosity, or fer a video?"

there was an air of mystery when it came to wilford . matthew had only ever been privy to the knowledge of who this man was from videos that the brunet had thought / do think are based in FICTION rather than real life events . he wanted to ask questions , see what were truths and what were lies , how different this “ man “ was from the fabrication that mark had plastered all over the internet .

at this point , their interactions had been rather tame , besides matt’s initial shock when being faced with the other in the first place . hazel eyes are trained on the practical stranger for a couple of second before glancing to the floor , and then back again ; they were trying to formulate the best question to ask this man without seeming intrusive or rude .

“ so … i gotta know … those videos mark posted , are they purely works of fiction or is there some truth behind his theatrics ? “ he giggles at the end , flashing the other a polite smile .

@rosetintedgunman​ / [ x ]

[brookediamonds]

Can I request where Reader stays with Axel overnight to comfort him from his nightmares but instead of Axel having a nightmare he has a wet dream about reader and she helps him?

i just want to ease your mind & make you feel alright | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: Your best friend has been having recurring nightmares of the life-taking event in Barcelona, and you have been his shoulder to lean on when things get tough. One night, he asks you over and a night of reassurance soon turns into a night of lust.

Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: smut, 18+, p in v, wrap it before you tap it, best friends to lovers, dry humping, consensual somnophilia

not my gif

you: i'll be right over :)

Axel read his phone as he tossed on his side in his large bed. Lately he had been having the goriest nightmares about Kwon's fall back in Barcelona.

As Axel's best friend, you had kept a close eye on him during this rough time. You knew he had been having a hard time sleeping, and would often call you when he just couldn't shake the images out of his head.

Tonight was no different, he had waken up around 12:00 am and saw you were active from the recent Tik-Tok you had just sent him.

Axel 🫶🏼: Can't sleep. Can you call or maybe come over?

He wasn't too far from you and you knew he preferred your in person company versus phone. Sending back a quick text, you scuffle out of bed, slipping on your smiley face slippers.

Grabbing your car key, you silently make your way out of the house and hop in your car.

Axel feels a weight lift from his chest when he hears your car pull into the driveway, and opens the door before you can even knock.

His gaze became tender as he observed you, noting the damp hair and loose-fitting pajamas. Despite your drowsiness, he found you stunning.

He adored seeing you after a shower, surrounded by the fragrance of flowers and coconut from your lotion. A familiar pang stirred in his chest, one he had been attempting to dismiss for months.

"I brought my own blanket this time," a ghost of a smirk twitched at the corner of Axel’s lips as he stepped aside to let you in. You walk past him, knitted blanket in hand.

"Oh, so you're not planning on hogging all of mine this time?" Axel quips, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. 

You turn to face him, ready with a witty comeback, but the words die on your lips as you truly take in his appearance.

The small lamp in the entry way casts deep shadows across Axel's face, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes.

His usually neatly styled hair is disheveled, sticking up in all directions as if he's been running his hands through it repeatedly.

You take a step towards him, softly running your hand down his arm, whispering, "you look exhausted." 

Your touch sends a jolt of electricity through Axel's body, awakening every nerve ending. He leans into your touch, craving the comfort only you can provide.

"I am," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in his tone tugs at your heartstrings. You've never seen him quite this fragile before.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked gently, grabbing his hand to drag him over to the couch. 

Axel sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair as he sat down. "It's the same dream. I keep seeing Kwon fall, over and over. I can't... I can't save him."

You nod keeping your hands interlocked with his, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand reassuringly. 

"I would give anything to dream about anything else," he exhales staring down at your interlocked hands. 

You can’t help but pull him into a hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders. 

Axel melts into your embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, the familiar scent of your shampoo - a mix of lavender and vanilla - washing over him. 

The comforting aroma helps to ease some of the tension from his body.

As he relaxes against you, Axel becomes acutely aware of your soft curves pressed against his chest. 

Through the thin fabric of the oversized t-shirt you're wearing - one he recognizes as his own - he can feel the gentle swell of your breasts and the unmistakable hardness of your nipples. 

A rush of heat floods his body, and he fights to control his suddenly racing heartbeat.

You run your fingers through his hair soothingly, oblivious to the effect your closeness is having on him. His cheeks are flushed pink when you pull away, looking at him adoringly. 

"How about I make you some chamomile tea?" you suggest softly, your fingers still gently combing through his hair. "It helped last time, might help you relax and sleep better."

Axel leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When he opens them again, they're filled with a mix of exhaustion and something else, a warmth that makes your heart skip a beat.

"That sounds nice," Axel murmurs, his voice low and husky.

"But..." he hesitates, his eyes searching yours. "Can we just stay like this for a little longer?"

Your breath catches in your throat at the intensity of his gaze. Without a word, you nod, settling back against the arm of the couch and gently pulling Axel with you. He follows willingly, his body molding against yours as you recline.

Axel's head rests on your chest, his ear pressed against your heart. The steady rhythm seems to soothe him, his tense muscles gradually relaxing. Your fingers continue their gentle ministrations, carding through his soft strands.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting, grounding. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his breath warm against your skin. 

You best friend was finding comfort here in your arms, and you couldn’t be more content. 

As the minutes ticked by, the rhythmic sound of your heartbeat and the soothing motion of your fingers in his hair lulled Axel into a peaceful slumber. Your own eyelids grew heavy, the late hour and warmth of Axel's body against yours making it impossible to stay awake. 

You drifted off, your arms still wrapped protectively around him. The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm, intimate light over your intertwined forms as you both succumbed to sleep.

An hour passed in tranquil silence, broken only by the sound of gentle breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric as you shifted slightly in your sleep.

Then, Axel began to stir.

His breathing quickened, becoming shallow and uneven. A soft moan escaped his lips, barely audible in the quiet room. His hips moved almost imperceptibly against you, seeking any kind of friction. 

This was no nightmare, no, he had been blessed with a dream. A wet dream. About you. 

In his dream, Axel saw you beneath him, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat. Your lips were parted, letting out soft moans as he moved against you. He could feel the heat of your body, the softness of your skin under his fingertips.

In reality, Axel's hips continued their subtle movements, pressing against your thigh. His face was buried in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. 

You slowly began to stir, drawn from sleep by the sensation of Axel's body moving against yours. As consciousness returned, you became acutely aware of his hardness pressing into your thigh.

Your heart raced, a mix of surprise and arousal flooding your system. You knew you should wake him, but a part of you couldn't bring yourself to interrupt whatever pleasant dream he was having. 

After all the nightmares, he deserved this. 

Your breath caught in your throat as Axel's hips rolled against you again, more insistently this time. His lips brushed your neck, sending tingles down your spine. You bit your lip, torn between waking him and letting this exquisite torture continue. 

Axel's dream intensified. In his mind, he was exploring every inch of your body with reverent touches and passionate kisses. He could almost taste the salt on your skin, feel the silky softness of your inner thighs as he settled between them.

"Y/N," he moaned softly, his breath hot against your ear. 

Your eyes widened at the sound of your name on his lips. Heat pooled low in your belly as you realized he was dreaming about you. About doing things with you that crossed the line of friendship into something far more intimate.

As Axel's hips ground against you more forcefully, a part of you knew that waking him up right away might be a bit jarring and possibly embarrassing for both of you. 

Instead, you decided to help him through this dream-fueled lust, hoping he wouldn't regret it later. You silently prayed that your hunch was right and that the tender feelings that had started to bloom in your heart were shared by him.

Slowly and gently, you spread your thighs further apart, allowing more space for him to move against you. 

His breath hitched, and he moaned your name again, louder this time, as his grip on your waist tightened. Encouraged by his response, you continued to rock against him, allowing your desire to take over.

You slid one hand up to tangle in his hair, while the other drifted lower, coming to rest on the small of his back.

Axel's movements became more urgent, his hips grinding against you with increasing fervor. Your own arousal built steadily, warmth spreading through your body. You arched your back slightly, pressing yourself closer to him.

As the friction intensified, Axel's eyes began to flutter open. For a moment, he looked dazed, caught between the dream world and reality. Then his gaze locked with yours, and realization dawned.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his voice husky with sleep and desire. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

You silenced him reaching up to cup the side of his face. 

"It's okay," you murmured, your eyes never leaving his. "I want this too."

Axel's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening with a mix of surprise and hope. "You do?"

You bite your lip, nodding. Sitting up slightly in your place, you tug at the end of your t-shirt, slowly peeling it off your body. 

Axel's eyes widened as you removed your shirt, drinking in the sight of your bare skin. His gaze roamed over your exposed chest, a look of awe and desire etched on his face. 

"You're beautiful," he breathed, reaching out to gently trace his fingertips along your collarbone.

The tender touch sent shivers down your spine. You leaned into his hand, encouraging him to explore further. Axel's fingers trailed lower, skimming over the swell of your breast. His thumb brushed across your nipple, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips.

You couldn't deny the chemistry between you any longer. Cupping his chin, you pulled him upwards to meet your lips in a passionate kiss.

Axel didn't hesitate for a second, instantly responding with equal fervor, his tongue seeking out yours as he deepened the kiss. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and valley as if memorizing the feel of you.

Your own hands were busy, unbuttoning his pajama pants. His erection strained against his boxers, leaving no doubt as to how much he desired you. With trembling fingers, you tugged his shorts down, freeing him from the fabric that had been trapping him all this time.

Axel's breath hitched as your fingers wrapped around his length. You stroked him slowly, savoring the velvety feel of his skin and the way he twitched and grew even harder in your palm. 

His eyes fluttered closed and he let out a low moan that sent heat straight to your core.

You took your time, exploring every inch of him with gentle caresses. Your thumb swirled over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of moisture you found there. Axel's hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction.

"Y/N," he breathed, his voice husky with need. "You're driving me crazy."

You smiled, continuing your ministrations as you pressed soft kisses along his jaw. 

"That's the idea," you murmured against his skin. 

When you were satisfied that he was fully aroused, straining and pulsing in your hand.

Your hand still wrapped around Axel's length, you shifted beneath him. With your free hand, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. Axel's eyes widened as he realized what you were doing.

"Let me," he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

You nodded, releasing him to lift your hips. Axel's hands trembled slightly as he grasped the soft fabric of your shorts, slowly sliding them down your legs. His fingertips trailed along your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

As the shorts slipped past your knees, Axel's breath caught. Your red thong was revealed, the delicate lace barely concealing your most intimate area. He swallowed hard, his eyes darkening with lust.

"You always said red was your favorite color," you tease him.

Axel's lips twitched into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, those intense dark blue pools were too consumed with desire to manage anything but hunger.

"I had no idea you were wearing this underneath," he murmured, tracing the delicate lace edge with his finger. "All this time..."

You shivered as his touch ghosted along your hip bone, your breath catching when his fingertips dipped beneath the waistband. The simple contact felt electric, charged with years of unspoken longing.

"Would you have acted differently if you'd known?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Axel's gaze lifted to meet yours, something raw and honest breaking through his usual quiet reserve. "I would have done this much sooner."

Your heart raced at his confession. All this time, he had been harboring the same feelings you had tried to suppress.

"Show me," you whispered, arching your back slightly.

Axel needed no further invitation. He hooked his fingers beneath the thin strip of lace and slowly, torturously, pulled it down your thighs.

There was no need for foreplay, his act of grinding against you while he dreamt of you had done the job. You were a mess. All for him. 

Axel's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, completely bare and glistening with arousal. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them up your thighs, parting them gently.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. 

You whimpered as he brought his cock to your entrance, rubbing the tip between your folds to coat himself in your wetness. 

The sensation sends a rush of fire through both your bodies, as he teased your entrance, he began to circle it with his tip before sliding up to brush against your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

You gasp at the contact, your hips bucking involuntarily. Axel repeated the motion, relishing in the way your body responded to his touch. 

“Please, Axel,” you whined hooking one your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to your heat. 

Axel nods, repositioning himself self at your entrance. He pushed forwards slowly, groaning as your tight cunt envelops him, inch by inch. 

Both of you gasped as he bottoms out, your bodies molding together as one, perfectly. 

You too had pictured yourself sprawled beneath him countless times before this. The thought of your best friend becoming your lover had haunted your dreams and waking moments alike. 

But reality far surpassed any fantasy.

The weight of Axel's body on yours, the heat of his skin against your own, it was overwhelming in the best possible way. 

You could feel every inch of him inside you, stretching you deliciously, filling you completely.

Axel remained still for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as you both adjusted to the new sensation.

His dark blue eyes, usually so calm and steady, now swirled with a tempest of emotion: desire, affection, and a hint of vulnerability that made your heart ache.

"You feel so good," he whispered, his voice rough with need. "Better than I ever imagined.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire deep in your core. You moaned softly, the sound muffled against his lips as you pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

The praise, coming from Axel's usually reserved mouth, aroused you even more than his physical touch.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," you breathed against his lips, rolling your hips to take him even deeper. 

Axel groaned, placing one hand near your head as the other found the side of your hip where your leg was wrapped around waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he began to move. 

He started with slow, deep thrusts, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. The drag of his cock against your walls was exquisite, hitting spots you didn't even know existed.

You wrap your other leg around Axel's hips, pulling him even closer if possible. The change in angle allows him to sink impossibly deeper, drawing a low moan from the both of you. 

Your hands roam over his back, feeling the flex and ripple of his muscles as he moves. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, leaving faint red trails in their wake. The slight pain only spurs Axel on, his movements becoming more frenzied.

Axel's thrusts become more forceful, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared gasps and moans.

The room fills with the sounds of your lovemaking, the slap of skin on skin, breathy moans and whispered endearments. 

You lean up, your lips finding the sensitive skin of Axel's neck. His rhythm falters for a moment as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses along his pulse point. Your tongue darts out, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath your lips.

Axel lets out a low, guttural moan that vibrates through his chest and into yours. His hips stutter, losing their steady pace as you continue your sensual assault on his neck. You smile against his skin, reveling in the effect you're having on him.

His eyes lock with yours, before leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss that takes your breath away. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, tasting and exploring as if memorizing every detail.

At the same time, he shifts his hips and begins to drill into you with renewed vigor. The change in pace and intensity makes you whimper into the kiss, your body arching off the cushion beneath you.

Axel swallows your moans, never breaking the passionate liplock as he pounds into you relentlessly.

Your hands roam over Axel's broad back, feeling his muscles flex and strain with each powerful movement. 

You notice Axel's thrusts becoming more sloppy, his breathing erratic against your neck. His muscles quiver under your touch, telling you that he’s close. 

The realization sends a thrill through you, intensifying your own pleasure.

"Axel," you moan, your voice breathy and desperate. "I'm close... so close."

He groans in response, never faltering his pace. You can feel the tension building in your core, a delicious pressure that threatens to overwhelm you. 

Axel's cock hits that perfect spot inside you with each thrust, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

"Me too," Axel pants, his voice strained. "I should... I need to pull out."

You tighten your legs around Axel's waist, locking your ankles behind his back to keep him from escaping. Shaking your head, you cup his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze.

"No," you breathe, your voice husky with need. "I'm on the pill. Stay... please."

Axel's eyes widen, darkening with unbridled lust at your words. A low groan escapes him as he realizes the implications.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You nod fervently, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him down for a searing kiss. 

"I need to feel you," you whisper against his lips. "All of you. Please, Axel... cum inside me."

Your words seem to ignite something primal within him. Axel's eyes flash with intense desire at your words. He captures your lips in a searing kiss as his thrusts become more frantic. 

You can feel him swelling even larger inside you, bringing you right to the edge.

"Y/N," he groans against your neck. "I'm going to-"

"Yes," you gasp, digging your nails into his back. "Do it. Cum for me, Axel."

With a guttural moan, Axel buries himself to the hilt inside you. You feel the hot rush of his release flooding your core as his cock pulses. 

The sensation is enough to trigger your own orgasm. Your inner walls clamp down on him as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Axel continues to rock gently into you, drawing out both of your climaxes. Your bodies tremble against each other as you both bathed in the high of your releases. 

He presses his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily. For a long moment, you simply lie there, intertwined and connected in the most intimate way.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with affection. 

"I’d do anything to help you," you tease him playfully. 

Axel chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. 

His eyes sparkled with mischief and affection as he gazed down at you, a tender smile playing on his lips.

"I got that," he smirks his eyes trailing down to where your bodies remained connected.

You follow his gaze, mesmerized by the intimate sight. Your skin, flushed pink with exertion, contrasts beautifully with his. 

His cock, still semi-hard, remains buried inside you, as if reluctant to break this newfound connection. 

"I think I found the cure to my nightmares," Axel whispers, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His fingertips linger on your cheek, tracing the outline of your jaw with tender precision.

"I think so too," you murmur, pulling him in for another kiss. 

This one is different from the heated, passionate exchanges of moments before. It's softer, more deliberate, filled with unspoken promises and newfound tenderness.

Axel sighs against your lips, his body melting into yours. When he finally slips out of you, a trickle of his release slides down your thigh, a physical reminder of what just transpired between you.

He reaches over you grabbing a tissue and wiping the excess away delicately, careful not to overstimulate you.

When he tosses the tissue in the nearest trashcan, he reaches for your (his) t-shirt off the coffee table and motions for you to lift your arms. 

With a small smile, you raise your arms, allowing him to slide the fabric over you, the shirt falling comfortably over your figure. 

After he draws his boxers back on, he quickly gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest, and tugging the blanket you had brought, over your bodies.

With gentle movements, Axel maneuvers both of you onto your sides, tucking you against him like a perfect puzzle piece. 

You feel the solid wall of his chest pressed against your back, his warmth enveloping you completely. His arm drapes over your waist, hand splayed possessively across your stomach beneath the thin cotton of the shirt.

Your bare legs intertwine with one another's, the coarse hair on his calves tickling your smooth shaven one’s. Neither of you spoke for a while, letting the quiet hum of the night settle around you.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, your thumb running over the roughness of his knuckles.

"Guess you’re stuck with me now," you hummed softly.

"Sounds good to me," he murmurs, lips pressed against your shoulder. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, sighing contently.

"Best cure ever," he murmurs, the sleepiness evident in his voice.

You smiled, closing your eyes as the rhythm of his breathing slowed, matching yours.

And as the night carried you both into sleep, tangled in each other’s warmth, there was no question, this wasn’t a dream. It was real. And neither of you wanted to wake up from it.

-----------------------------------------------------

Masterlist

taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: I started working on this one the minute I received it, and I have another one that someone requested about a daddy kink and I am alllllll for it. Next one won't be smut, it'll be fun it's with reader zara x reader x axel. I'm combining two requests I received about them being a team/besties. Anyways, like, comment, reblog, I appreciate all y'all's love!!)

[rosetintedgunman]

*concerned lark noises* ( @paladinquest )

@paladinquest

-

*Confused Wilf noises while he holds an armful of bricks*

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Farm-boy x Reader

'City Boys ain't worth nothin'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, NON-CON, mentions of exs, p-in-v sex, mentions of religon, mentions of conservatives, bondage, mentions of marriage, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of divorce, female and male genitalia, female reader, pet names, sub-par writing of southern accent.

(AN: Had fun with this one!)

Sitting on your porch, you sip from a cup of sweet tea provided by your lovely Aunt May, when you hear the sound of a truck approaching. A cloud of dust can be seen flying up from the dirt road as the beaten-up yellow pick up from the McCall farm rolls up the edge of your aunt's driveway. A freckle faced, redheaded boy parks the car, and hops out, his face and arms already red from having been working in the sun all day. You huff, but call out to your aunt. "Aunt May! That McCall boy's here!" You yell, a twinge of annoyance in your voice.

Ever since your parents split up, you moved from the city to live with your aunt May in this godforsaken hick town. You've always seen yourself as a city-girl, and just the thought of spending even a month on some dusty farm in the middle of nowhere made you want to gag. Despite the fact you've been here for several months now, the feeling has not gone away. Aunt May is nice, but you miss your friends, and you would rather die than go to another country-bumpkin harvest festival or Sunday service. Your predicament isn't helped by Joey McCall, the youngest son of the McCall family. From what you've gathered, the McCall's have been the largest family in this county for years. While not necessarily rich, they are well-known as salt-of-the-earth people, always willing to help. The McCall family has six kids, with the oldest four already married and starting their own families in the county. It seems that's Joey's goal too.

Everyday, even before you arrived in town, Joey was hired as a farmhand for your aunt, tending to animals and mucking the horses. He took pride in his work, and it only furthered his position as a town darling. When you arrived, despite your arrogance and clear disgust at your new life, he feels that you just need to see how great it is to live in a community like this. Joey hadn't really ever felt anything serious for the girls from town, and some would even say he didn't seem like the romantic type. This was far from the truth, as it was plain as day what he wanted when he would go doe-eyed at the preachers sermons on marriage, and god's purpose for it. He hasn't relented since he met you. Flowers, offering you baked goods, offering to do your chores, whatever you need to get him on your good side. Frankly, you can't stand him. It's not that you hate him persay, but you want nothing to do with this community of red-necks, and you would NEVER sink so low as kissing one of these country bumpkins sons.

Joey hops up the porch with a grin, adjusting the strap of his overalls as he approaches you. 'Aunt May, please hurry up and give him his chores already!' You think, trying to suppress rolling your eyes. "Mornin', stranger!" He teases. "It's a nice morning, sun's not too hot neither..." You nod, trying to simply wait out the conversation. He waits for you to speak, and when you don't, he sighs, but is happy to do the talking. "I'm glad I ran into you, I hadn't seen ya the last few times I visited. I-I sure hope you're not avoidin' me!" He laughs awkwardly, his grin faltering a little when you don't deny that this was your intention. He clears his throat, and quickly turns around, grabbing something from his back pocket. He thrusts his hand out, and a bundle of mixed flowers and weeds rests in it, still covered in dirt. You look disgusted at the half-dead bouquet.

"I don't want that." You say. His hand shakes a little, and he rubs the back of his neck with his free-hand. "Yeah, I understand. I was actually riding Maisie this morning, and by the time I saw these out in the field, she'd trampled right over em' with her hooves." He tosses the bouquet away over the porch, and it falls apart immediately upon impact with the ground. "It was stupid a' me to think ya'd like em'. Worth a shot though!" You open your mouth to retort, but before you can your aunt finally comes to the porch.

"Mornin' Ma'am!" Joey greets, and she responds sweetly, before pointing out a few things round the farm from her spot on the porch she'd like him to get done. He nods, and after grabbing the toolbox he'd always leave by the stairs, he sets off. You decide you've had enough off outside for today, and head back inside, placing your now empty glass on the counter.

Several hours go by, and as you flick through the channels on the tv, (most of which are static due to the terrible signal out here), you hear your aunt call you from the kitchen. As you enter, you can see she's finishing preparing lunch, a salad bowl to her left and a knife in her hand. Her free hands steadies some lettuce on the cutting board. "Hiya kiddo', how's your day been so far?" She asks. You don't hate your aunt, and lie to protect her feelings. "Fine. Just fine." You lean against the counter. "That poor McCall boy has been out there all mornin', hasn't even come in to ask for a glass of water." She sighs. You roll your eyes. "Be a dear and bring him this sandwich, would ya?" You want to say no more than anything, but when your aunt raises her brow and gives you that look, you quickly take the plate and scurry out to the barn.

As you approach, the sound of hammering and heavy breathing can be heard. As you enter, you see Joey trying to patch the gate on one of the horse-stalls. It seems he sent the horses out into the field, as the barn is empty save for you and him. "My aunt wanted you to have some lunch." You say coldly, placing the plate on top of a turned-over bucket which you considered to be the only place clean enough for it. Joey looks up, eyes wide in appreciation. "Well, thank ya' very much! I'll admit, I've been getting might hungry sittin' out here tryna' fix this darned gate." He huffs. He thinks it's a problem with the hinge. You let out a 'hmm', in response, and begin to leave, when Joey abruptly hops up and grabs your wrist. As soon as he sees your face change to one of disgust and shock, he recoils.

"Sorry to spook ya', I just wanted to ask you something before ya' ran of like ya' always do..." He places the hammer down, and his hands come to fidget at his side. "There's a party being held soon, outside the church. It's a picnic on the lawn sorta' thing, we have one every year. It's a real big deal." You raise an eyebrow. "I guess what I'm tryna' ask is if you'd considering going with me? I could show ya' around, help you meet some of the other townsfolk. Hell' ya' could even meet my sisters! I bet ya'd get along swell." His smile become shy, his freckle disappearing into his skin as a bright red blush covers his face. He hopes you think it's just a sunburn. You sigh, and shake your head. "I'm sorry, Joey. I don't think so..." You say. He frowns, but quickly nods. "Nah, I get it. It's kind of a big event. Maybe we could start with something smaller, maybe just the two of us? Say- I know a real nice spot north of the creek, I could take ya down there, a-and we could-" You let out a loud groan, and stomp your foot.

"No, Joey! It's not that I don't want trampled flowers, or I don't want to go to some big event with all you hick's, it's that I don't want you!" You exclaim. His face falls immediately, that light in his eyes extinguished like squashing one of the fire flies you'd see in the fields on a hot evening. "What..." He mumbles, shaking his head a little. "I don't want to date some small-town guy, okay! I don't even want to be in this town. I have a life back in the city, where I belong. Shit, I've got a BOYFRIEND!" You yell. His sadness at your rejection falls for a minute, and he seems to freeze his panicked breaths. "Ya- Ya' gotta' beau already?" He asks, his voice trembling as he swallows heavily. "A beau? What the hell does that mean, some kind of country talk? Yes, I have a boyfriend, and a very handsome one from the city at that." You sneer, turning your nose up at the boy.

"He pretty?" Joey mumbles, licking his lips as his gaze falls to the floor. You raise an eyebrow at the odd question. "Yes, he's very handsome." You respond. "S' got a lotta' money?" He asks. You nod again, not bringing yourself to be able to speak at Joeys sudden change in demeanor. When Joey does finally look up again, his face is no longer blushing red, but red with shame and embarrassment. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "W-well, it ain't gonna work out. I know how boys from the city are. They only want one thing from girls... that's what the preacher says." He points out the barn door. "You know Peggy, from the grocery store? She went and ran off with a boy from the city once. H-he knocked her up and left her alone, no where else to go. She came back to town, and she eventually married my brother Samuel. She always says he's the best thing that happened to her. He saved her..." Joey whimpers, his fist trembling at his side. You scoff. "Please, boys from the city have plenty to offer-" He cuts you off. "MORE THAN ME?!" He yells, a sob cracking his voice. "Have you done it with your pretty beau? Has he made you feel good?" You gasp, shocked at his vulgar question. "I don't have to tell you that..." You exclaim. "I'm not asking, I'm tellin' you to tell me." His voice is now filled with an equal tone of contempt, though you don't think it's direct at you, but rather the image of your boyfriend he's conjured up in his head. "He has. We've had sex before, he was my first." You say, swallowing nervously as you try to stand your ground.

"Then lemme ask you one more thing..." Joey huffs. "Is he gonna' marry you? Get ya' a nice house, some pretty dresses, keep ya' safe?" You shrug. "Uh, we're only twenty, we don't need to think about that." Joey shakes his head. "Cause'... Cause' that's what I'd do for ya'. Get you a nice ring, somethin' to match all your pretty dresses and clothes from the city. I'd build ya' a house right on my ma and pa's land, make sure we're still close to the family, but still give us some privacy..." He swallows harshly, taking a few steps towards you. "But most of all, I'd make sure you were safe, safe from any city boy who'd try to get off in ya' and then leave." He's now only a few inches from you. "And I intend to do that." He whispers.

You gasp as his calloused hands grab your wrists, turning you around to face the barn wall. He frees one of his hands up and moves to the stall door he was working on, bumping it open with his hips and shutting it behind the two of you. "L-Let go you brute! Get off of me!" You yell. He rips the red patterned bandanna he usually wears around his neck to keep the sun off, and quickly shoves the cloth in between your pretty, soft lips. As you try to kick, your feet only seem to bounce off the boys firm chest. "That's one thing about us farm boys, we're pretty strong. Firm, ya' know?" He whispers. He forces you to turn over, and you sit on the floor of the stall with your back to the wooden wall of the barn. Joey fumbles around, looking for something. His hand brushes across a rough rope for leading the horses mixed into the hay of the stall, and in just a few moments your hands are bound up to a horse feeder, just above your head. You whine through the gag, tears beginning to fall down your face. He shakes his head.

"Nah, c'mon now... don't cry. It's gonna be okay, I promise ya'." He whispers, brushing away one of your tears with the pad of his thumb. "Don't be scared, I'm not gonna do anything that hurts ya', I just wanna prove to you how good I can be. I realise, I can give you all the things that I said earlier, but... but I know the one thing that city boys have given you." Your eyes widen when you understand his words. He smiles softly. "I know the pastor says we should wait till' marriage, but I kinda need to convince ya' to marry me, and I know now to do that I have to prove that I can give everything some city boy can, and more." His hand comes to rest on your knee, before he uses the palm of his hand to bunch up the fabric of your pink skirt, now smudged with dirt. "Sorry about the location, didn't want anyone to see us. I-I'll buy ya' another dress after this, one even prettier, okay?" He says. Hiking up your skirt, your trembling thighs are visible to him, and the sheer lace of your panties allows him to see you without even taking them off. "Wow, I've never seen something as pretty as this..." His fingers trace the top of the lace, brushing your outer lips slightly. Despite your fear, the contact with a sensitive spot makes you whimper through the makeshift gag. "Maybe I don't wanna get ya' a new dress, maybe I want to see ya' in more of these." He laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck.

His rough hands try to pull down the fabric around your womanhood, though your resistance makes it hard. Eventually, he groans and simply rips the lace in two, tucking it into the pocket of his overalls. "Surely, since this is damaged now, ya' won't need it." He mumbles. He toys with just the fabric in his hands for a moment, his curiosity evident, before he turns back to you. "I'm gonna get a look at ya', okay? See what exactly a pretty girl like you is workin' with." He roughly slots himself in between your knees, making closing them impossible. His large fingers part your folds, giving him a full view of your moist, aroused pussy. He bites his lip, letting out what can only be described as whimper. "G-geez, darlin'. This is definently better than them' health videos they used to show us in the schoolhouse..." He sighs. Joey's face falls for a moment, suddenly insecure.

"I guess you'll be wanting to see me now, too." He removes one hand from your inner thigh, and unclasps the shoulder straps of his overalls. "I-I'll admit, I know there's a little more to all this, but I only really know the basics, so I'm gonna show ya' what I know how to do. Rest assured though, I'm a quick learner." He stammers. His hand is shaking, and it takes several seconds for him to even undo one button on his overalls. Eventually, they fall, resting just below his wait. He lifts his button up shirt slightly, revealing a pair of briefs, and a very prominent bulge. He blushes as he looks down at it, and your eyes widen at the size. "Y'know, I've never had to deal with these before I met ya'. But, sometimes I go home and thinkin' of you is the only way to get em' to go away." His face is even redder with shame. He pulls the briefs down, allowing his cock to spring free. It's thick, and veiny. Somehow, it's freckled, much like his face. He spits into his hand, shivering as he rubs it down his length. "Sorry I don't have something better than my spit. I know it's kinda' gross, but, we are doin' it in a barn." He pulls his hips forward a little, rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance, which against your will is now soaked with arousal. "See, I've already got you wet, I can do whatever that boyfriend back home can do for ya'." He says.

"Listen, I know ya'd said you've had sex with him, but I know it can still hurt a little. So, I promise to be real gentle with ya'." He stroke your face with his free hand, and presses his chapped lips to your forehead in a tender kiss. "I'll never get over how much softer you are than me..." He whispers. He begins to hump his manhood against your entrance, biting his lips each time he angles away from you instead of penetrating. "Huh, this is a lil' harder than I thought..." He seems upset at the idea he is under-performing. He takes his hand, and with a solid grip on his member, he pushes the tip just past your hymen, making you squeak into the gag. Before he's even fully got the tip in, his legs are shaking at the feeling. "Oh... Oh lord..." He stammers, fighting the urge to put himself in you all at once. He musters all his strength to pull out, then go back in, just a touch deeper this time. After a few thrusts, he's almost bottomed out in you. Despite your shaking head, your pleas for him to stop, muffled by the gag, soon turn to wanton moans. He places his hands against your hips, allowing him to work himself in and out of you. "God, you're so wet, a-and it's tight... God, didn't know you'd be this tight." He shakes his head though, and leans forward. "Not bad though, not a bad thing, darlin'. You feel so good around me, do I make you feel good too?" In a moment of weakness you nod, prompting him to grin widely. He's so overwhelmed in the moment, from the pleasure and happiness, that his eyes begin to swell with tears. He quickens his pace, almost sobbing now. "My pretty darlin', taking me so well. Making me feel so good, such a good girl. Not city boy could give you what ya' need, not like me..." He huffs. He angles his hips up just a bit, so his tip smacks against a spot deep inside you.

At this, you practically convulse, making him continue once he notices your reaction. "I'll make you finish, don't worry. That's what a good beau does, makes you finish..." He groans, his pace now rapid as he hammers at that spot. Both you can him feel a coil forming in your stomachs, ready to burst. "Hah, I think I'm gonna cum to, you wanna' come together?" His minds fills with thoughts as he thinks more on this while chasing his high. "I already said I-I would marry ya', build ya' a house. We could add on an extra room, for a baby." Your eyes widen in panic at the thought. "Don't worry, I wouldn't leave ya' if you got pregnant from this. That's what that city boy did to Peggy, remember?" He moans. "I'd help ya' the whole way. Build our little one a crib, get them clothes, and I'll bet you'd still be beautiful, if your worried about that." He assures you. You can feel his cock twitching inside you, as as the coil inside you bursts, you feel yourself cumming around him. He gags, inhaling a breath at the feeling. Soon, you feel him convulsing to, a warm liquid filling your caverns as he groans. "God, you're milking me, taking all my seed. So good for me... C'mon baby, just let me stay in a little more, fill ya' up." He groans. After a few seconds, he finally pulls out, and pants, wiping some sweat from his brow. He makes sure to close your legs, wanting to keep in all the seed. He chuckles a little. "Y'know, I'm sure that seed'll take pretty quick... my dad says all the McCall boys are fertile..." He pauses .

"That's why I've got so many siblings."

[pointocean]

baby mama!reader and rafe

summary

after you drop your daughter off to daycare to get ready for a date, rafe decides to pay you a visit.

warnings

mdni!! smut, a little fluff, unprotected sex (we’ve been here before🙄) , p in v, praise

“be good!” your voice is a soft whisper-yell to your daughter, who’s currently making her way to the door of her daycare. she giggles and looks back at you before entering the doors, your feet planted into the ground near the door. you smile and walk back to your car, putting on your music and driving back to your house, where you were planning to get ready for a date.

you sigh as you walk in the door, hanging your keys on the hooks, coming to the realization that the space feels a little too empty without your little girl babbling about her newest favorite thing.

your feet pad up the steps to your bedroom, the house uncomfortably silent. you sit at your vanity and turn on your speaker. songs play in the background as you do your makeup, echoing throughout the room as you occasionally sing along to the lyrics. careful strokes of eyeliner make their way on your eyelid, your breath steady and calm.

when you’re done with your makeup, you stand up and stretch, arms out wide as your sigh bounces off the walls. you undress slowly, trying to find the perfect outfit for your date. right as you slip the straps over your shoulders, the doorbell rings.

your feet thump down the stairs, rushing to the door. in your hurry to the front door, as your foot hits the very last step, you trip on it and end up falling forward. you catch yourself on the beam that lines the steps, throwing your stomach into it. “ow, fuck!”

the door opens slowly, a chuckle escaping the persons lips. you knew that fucking laugh. “fuck! wait-“ you stand up straight, a frown on your face as your hands rest on your hips. “why are you here? she’s at daycare,” you begin, but rafe closes the door and steps toward you.

“you know barry, yeah? always in people’s business and snoopin’ and shit.” he moves to the steps, leaning on the beam you were just hunched over. “so, let’s say barry’s a little birdie, and a little birdie told me you were goin’ on a date.” rafe makes a tsk sound and shakes his head. “not good, mama.”

you scoff and begin to walk to the kitchen, the smallest bit of a limp in your step as your hand rubs your stomach, a sigh falling from your lips. “you can’t control me, rafe. i mean, come on, you knew this was gonna happen whether you heard it from barry or not,” you talk gently, watching him walk behind you as you look over your shoulder.

“mmhm, i did, and i know i cant control you, but i can try.” you roll your eyes at his words, leaning on the kitchen counter. rafe’s chuckle turns into a scoff when he looks at your expression. “and you knew i would show up at your door when it did happen, so don’t act like this is some big surprise.”

“you’re a dick.” you hop up on the counter, his steps immediately moving across the hardwood floor, his hands resting against the counter beside your thighs as he leans forward, his breath hot on your neck as he looks up at you on the counter.

“so, who is this guy,” rafe begins as he stars to kiss your neck, sucking on it and leaving hickies in their wake. “he make you feel as good as i do, mama?” he lifts his head from your neck, eyes running over the marks he’s just left, a smirk on his face as he gazes at your oblivious one.

“well, that’s not fair,” you mumble, frowning and hopping off the counter, making your way back up the steps as rafe follows, not far behind.

“why is that?”

“because you know the answer.”

rafe’s smirk is still plastered on his lips when you look back at him. he watches you collapse on your bed, laying on your stomach. sometimes, this is how it went when rafe came to pick up your daughter when she was still happily sleeping. you would lay down, tired on your bed, as he sat next to you, and depending on what you wanted that day, he would either give you your space and just simply sit next to you, but when you wanted relaxation, he would rub your head or your back. he was ready to give you whatever you needed from him. “i’m glad you think so highly of me.”

his hands find your hips as he sits down, rubbing circles in them as he looks down at you. “if you hurt me by doing that, i swear, rafe, my stomach really hurts.”

“you’ll be fine, mama, i always take care of you.” he pulls you up gently, moving you in his lap, your thighs on either side of his, your arms on his shoulders as you rest your forehead against his. you start to slowly rock your hips against his, letting out content sighs as you do so, his hands on your hips soft as he runs them up and down your side.

“you knew this was gonna happen,” you whisper. both of you knew this was happening as soon as rafe walked in the door. he chuckles and nods, your forehead moving from its spot on his to pull him in for a kiss, hands running down his chest. when you pull away, you look at him seriously, completely stopping your movements. “we have to talk about this eventually. she’s starting to catch on, rafe, and we can’t get her hopes up.”

you both knew who you were talking about. your daughter has started to ask questions, and you couldn’t let your little girl down. if you didn’t set things straight with rafe soon, she’d only get more curious.

“i know, and we will,” rafe leans his head back on your headboard, his eyes searching your face.

“pinky swear?”

“pinky swear.” he smiles and brings his pinky to yours, locking them as he watches your expression go calm again.

you look at him one more time as you unbutton his jeans, looking for some sort of reassurance, and you found it in a split second. you both wanted this just as bad as the other.

before you knew it, rafe slid his cock into you, and you giggled at him when he tilted his head as he found out you weren’t wearing a single thing under your dress. “so that’s the kind of date you were plannin’, huh, mama,” he said.

you inhaled sharply as he began his movements, but you nodded at him, giving him a sweet smile. the room was already filled with lewd noises, and each thrust of his hips, each time you bounced back down onto him, it was a little rougher. soon, it turned into you tugging on his hair, his fingers digging deep into your hip, but never touching your stomach, afraid to hurt you. rafe pulled out completely, “oh-“ then slammed his hips up, stuffing you full. “oh! oh fuck, rafe!”he repeated the action, over and over until it felt like he was just playing with you.

“please, i need more,” you whine, looking at him with a frown on your face as he takes his hands off of you, your hips still shifting back and forth. he sighed and gave in, one hand returning to your hip, the other reaching down to rub your clit frantically. he wanted to push you over the edge as soon as possible, he needed it. your moans twist into sobs, but no tears fall and nothing hurts, but it’s so much. it feels like you’ve been doing this for hours, and rafe knew it.

“come on, mama, you can do it. i know you can.” rafe leans his head down to your chest, pressing open mouthed kisses to it, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

your mouth forms the shape of an o, your hips rutting down on him as you ride out your high, a whimpering and squirming mess above him. your slick drips down your thighs and onto him, your breath hitching as your head falls to his shoulder, feeling your stomach flutter as he fills you up. “feel better, baby?” you nod, kissing the crook of his neck and giggling.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’��� make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[dstryvampres]

Riders on the Storm

Neil Lewis x Reader

Summary: you decide to pick up a hitchhiker, he gives back a generous payment.

Warnings: car sex, semi-public sex, I misuse the geographic term of badlands(sorry geology lovers), p in v, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: don't pick up hitchhikers please, this is fiction, i hope you guys are smart enough to already know this...

Eight hours. That’s how long you’ve been cruising through the badlands of North America. At some point the eyes, after staring at the same scenery for so long, start playing tricks on you. They are small tricks. Inconsequential, even. A ploy to entertain you made by your own brain. Yet, they are just enough to piss you off, drive you a little crazy. You’ll see something flash across the road, a black blob that never existed, maybe a cactus in the distance that when you look away and then back is gone.

That’s what you think Neil is initially, another one of the tricks being played by your mind to fill some space, but he doesn’t disappear when you get closer. In fact, he gets all the more real as you approach. Arm stretched out in front of him, thumbs up, a hitch-hiker, clad in a pair of dusty jeans and a off-white tee, backpack slung over his shoulder. How long has he been out here? How dehydrated is he? Who hitchhikes anymore? You roll down your window and stop your car in front of him.

“Where are you going?” Neil asks, before you can get a word out.

You debate telling him a fake destination, you never know who’s out there after all. There’s a look of loss and sorrow in his eyes that makes you pity him, almost like a kicked puppy. You decide to tell him the truth.

“Vegas.”

“Well, I’m headed down that way too, not as far, I just need you to drop me off in Salt Lake City,” Neil pleads. He’s got these big blue watery eyes. How could you say no? “I’ll pay for gas?” 

“Get in,” you sigh out, unlocking your car.

Neil looks enthralled by the news, basically running over to the passengers seat and hopping into the car. You put the car back into drive before speeding off from where you first met and picked up Neil. He introduces himself to you, and out of courtesy you do the same. Soon enough the car settles into an almost awkward silence, quiet beside the car’s radio softly playing music. Neil stares out the window, hugging his backpack to his chest.

“So, why are you going down to Vegas?” Neil asks, breaking the silence. 

You jump up a little, thinking that he had fallen asleep.

“Bachelorette party. Why are you going to Salt Lake?” you hum, trying to play your previous surprise off.

“They’re hosting a pokemon tournament down there,” Neil smiles, seeming to find the contrast between your two respective reasons amusing. “Is it your bachelorette party?”

“God, no,” you say, shaking your head.

Neil seems to find your response even more amusing, starting to laugh. His laugh was warm and spread throughout the car, leading you to join him in his fit of amusement. 

“What do you even do at a pokemon tournament?” you ask, once you’ve gained more composure.

“Battle it out with cards,” Neil states, only leading to him bursting out in more laughter.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. The way his eyes crinkle up as he laughs, and how he throws his head back.

“What do you do at a bachelorette party?” Neil retorts, shaking his head trying to stop himself from laughing again.

“Get drunk and, if I’m lucky this weekend, get laid,” you respond, increasing your speed back up to the speed limit.

“Well, it seems we both have equally exciting endeavours this weekend,” Neil says, reaching over to just barely increase the music so that it’s audible as you talk.

“Yours is far more exciting than mine,” you joke, rolling your eyes. “Actually, can I ask what you’re doing hitchhiking down to Salt Lake?”

“Uh- yeah… My car broke down about a mile back from where you picked me up. It was a piece of shit that was already giving up on me before I took it on the interstate. I was like halfway to the city, in the middle of nowhere, when it just started to slow to a stop. I heard some sputtering from the engine and before I know it I’m just stopped on the side of the road,” Neil pouts as he tells you the story, letting out a deep sigh accompanied with the shake of his head when he finishes it up.

“I’m sorry. Do you know how you’re planning on getting home then?” You ask, now genuinely worried about your passenger princess.

“My friends are going to drive me back up, no worries,” Neil offers you a smile, seemingly charmed by your worry of him.

For the next hour, you and Neil let the radio of your car do most of the talking. This time it’s a comfortable silence that settles. The initial fear of him murdering you on this deserted road slipping away as the minutes pass. If he wanted to murder you, he would’ve already!

“Can we pull into the gas station, I’m running low,” it’s not really a question, you’re just telling him why you’re veering off the interstate.

Neil hums out in response, seeming to have fallen asleep, or in an adjacent state, during the hour or two gap of silence. He stretches out, making sure not to inch too much into your own personal space, then rubs at his eyes.

“Sleep well?” you tease, only earning a soft grunt in response.

You pull into one of the pumps, turning off the car and hopping out of your car, towards the pump. Neil follows you slowly. You quirk an eyebrow at the man, but he just ruffles through his backpack. Once he’s pulled out his wallet he locks eyes with you, staring blankly for a few seconds at your confused expression.

“I promise to pay for gas,” Neil deadpans, fishing his credit card out of his wallet.

“I thought you were joking.”

“Why would I be joking about that?” Neil inserts his card into the machine attached to the pump before you can even respond.

“Neil you don’t have to,” you say, tilting your head in pity.

“Well, I don’t know how else I could repay you for a favour this big,” Neil starts to fill up your car.

“I’ll get you snacks, a drink maybe? I can’t let you pay for gas, it’s so expensive,” you're almost whining as you say this, stamping your foot lightly.

“Fine,” is all Neil says in response.

You wait for Neil to finish filling up your car, leaned up against your car, arms crossed. It’s almost embarrassing that you’re just letting some stranger pay for your gas, but you can’t complain about the view he’s giving you. His bicep flexed as he held the oil pump, looking around at the scenery. Back turned to you for a moment, and you can see the bones and muscles of his back move around as he stretches briefly. Then, you get to admire his smile as he puts the pump back and removes his card.

“Do you want to go in now?” you ask, watching as Neil puts his card back into his wallet.

Neil nods, and you lock the car before heading over to the small convenience store attached to the gas pump. You and Neil split up, seeming to have different priorities when it comes to snacks and drinks. Caffeine is what you desperately need to complete the next eight hours of this trip, so you wander over to the energy drink section. You settle on a pacific punch monster, before turning your attention to a snack. Something light perhaps? No, you’re starving. Gas station food is never the best, and you likely wouldn’t have eaten anything here if you noticed earlier. Alas, you were too busy focusing on driving and now you must settle. 

It seems that Neil was also relatively hungry, as you found him in the refrigerated food section. A Dr Pepper tucked under one arm, and a bag of puffy cheetos under the other. He gives you a polite smile before going back to browsing.

You decide the best option here is a sandwich, picking it up and then going around to wander until Neil is finally done. Sometime along the way you pick up a sweet treat, and stack that in your small pile of three. 

“I think I’m good now,” Neil says, walking over to you with two taquitos now added to his collection.

You insist on paying for both of you at the cash register, much to Neil’s chagrin, and head out to the car. Situating both of your drinks in respective cup holders before heading back onto the interstate. Sandwich you bought is situated in one hand, the steering wheel in your other. The sandwich is truly nothing to write home about but it satisfies your persistent hunger enough. It’s about three fourths of the way through the sandwich that you notice the dark clouds looming ahead of you. You’ve never been a huge fan of driving through storms, but maybe you’ll get lucky and this one will be light. A sprinkle of rain before clearing out for the rest of the trip.

Neil opens up his Dr Pepper, breaking the silence in the car. He utters out a soft sorry before he’s gulping down the drink, washing down the taquitos he just ate.

“Were the taquitos good?” you ask, taking a bite of your own food.

“They’re good for gas station food, never really have to worry about them,” Neil replies, wiping his upper lip off from the Dr Pepper residue.

You him out in response, mouth full of gas station sandwich. There’s now a soft pitter patter of rain hitting the car.

“Hope it doesn’t get any worse,” you pray around the sandwich.

“I mean it looks like it might…” Neil muses, quickly adding on a ‘but I don’t think it will!’ when he notices your eyebrows furrow.

Unfortunately for you, Neil was right. It had gotten so bad that you didn’t feel comfortable driving, pulling over on the side of the road to wait this out. Luckily for you, this gave you time to snack on your little treat. Unluckily, you were now stuck in a car for God knows how long until conditions got better.

Thunder rumbles outside.

“Yknow, because you bought me food, I feel like I didn’t repay you enough,” Neil frowns, stuffing his cheetos into his bag, seemingly not up for them anymore.

Maybe it was the long drive both ahead and behind you, or possibly being stuck in the rain. Could’ve even been the gas station sandwich you had just finished. Yet, for some reason, you replied to Neil’s small statement with:

“I got a way you can repay me.”

Leaning over the centre console, eyes fluttering closed. There's a small pause, and for a moment you feel like Neil’s going to reject you, laugh this weird situation off completely. Then you feel his lips on yours. It takes two seconds before you feel like you two are melding together. Your whole body feels fuzzy and warm, despite the rain pouring outside and the blast of the A/C. Neil breaks away for a second, panting. His pupils are wide, almost engulfing the blue iris of his eyes fully.

“We should move to the back,” Neil suggested, tilting his head towards the backseat.

You climbed over the centre console and into the backseat, Neil following you over as soon as you were seated. Once he too was seated, he placed his hands onto your thighs. Rubbing his hands up and down the exposed skin. He looks at your thighs for a couple seconds before looking back up at you. One of his hands goes up to cup your cheek, bringing you closer to his own face. Softly, a brush against the area, he places a kiss on both corners of your mouth, then kisses you again.

Neil eventually drags you into his lap, or as close as you can get to sitting in his lap while cramped in a car. You sip your tongue into Neil’s mouth as he gives your thigh a squeeze. You moan into his mouth, your own hands navigating their way down his chest and to the hem of his jeans as Neil works up your thighs to the hem of your shorts.

You both hopelessly fumble with the other's pant button and zipper. Now just a mix of soft moans, sweaty hands, and tongue. You’re able to push Neil’s pants down to his knees first, leading you to help him slide your own shorts down. Both of you pull away from the kiss to admire the other, and just as a treat for Neil, you slip your shirt off exposing your lack of a bra. Neil’s eyes widen as he admires your body, stopping himself midway through taking off his pants to do so. You palm at the bulge in his underwear, trying to encourage him to finish taking his pants off. Which is surprisingly successful.

Thunder crashes in the distance.

Neil starts trailing soft kisses down your neck and collarbones as he plays with your breasts, massaging them and tweezing at the nipples. You let moans slip into the air of the car. The windows have started to fog up, giving you slight peace of mind that no one who passes by would likely be able to see either of you. Though, with how hard the rain is coming it would be hard to see anything.

Lightning illuminates behind you.

You move to take your own panties off, hoping it will be enough to get Neil to just fuck you already. Pushing his hands and lips off of you before leaning back into the leather seats of your car before spreading your own lips with your fingers to expose your wet cunt. Locking eyes with Neil. He lets out a sigh, shaky and needy despite the fact that no one is touching him. He stares hungrily at your cunt, licking at his lips.

“Fuck baby,” Neil pants out, slowly taking off his own underwear.

His cock slaps against his stomach once freed. It's thick, not so much long, but very thick. You can’t imagine just how good the stretch is going to be once he's inside of you.

“Go ahead,” you urge, you’re sure you're wet enough that he doesn’t even need to finger you.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks, eyebrows furrowed. His face seems genuinely worried, but the head of his cock is already lined up to your entrance.

You roll your eyes and nod, and not a second goes by before Neil pushes his cock into you. The intrusion alone makes you see white for a few seconds. You let out a small yelp, he’s so thick. He pushes himself to the hilt immediately, letting out a groan as your heat encloses tightly around his cock. 

“So tight and wet for me,” Neil moans out, placing a hand on the seat to stabilise.

“You’re so thick,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment desperately trying to adjust to his girth before Neil starts moving.

Neil gives you a couple more seconds before he’s slowly pumping in and out of you, consistently spearing you on his cock. His is definitely the thickest cock you’ve ever had the pleasure of being split on. Devastating to know you didn’t even have to get to Vegas to get the best dick of the week.

Everytime Neil rocks back into you, you let out a small squeal. Somehow each time he comes back into your cunt, he feels almost just as thick as when he first entered you. As he thrusts into you, building a steady pace, you seem to get wetter. Making the task of taking his cock a little easier, but also building a small puddle of your slick onto your leather seats. His cock glides across your sensitive spots each time, before his tip presses into your g-spot.

Neil is panting above you, alternating between closing his eyes in pleasure, staring at his own cock coming in and out of you, or looking at your own expressions of pleasure. Your moans fill up the air in the car as your hands scratch at the seats for purchase. 

Neil’s pace starts to increase, soon becoming rapid enough that you bump your head on the door of the car once. You wrap your legs around his hips, head becoming fuzzy as your own high is rapidly approaching.

“Gonna cum, Neil, gonna cum,” you babble out, reaching down a hand to rub at your clit.

“Me too. Pretty girl, where do you want it?” Neil gasps out, placing both hands on your hips forcing you into a position to take him in deeper.

“Tummy,” you groan, feeling your high on your heels.

You cum around Neil’s cock, screaming out his name as you see stars. Neil pulls out of you, disappointing you only slightly. Ropes of cum land on your tits and stomach. Soon enough both of you are coming down from your high, Neil slumping against the door adjacent to you.

That was definitely payment enough.

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