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satorusugurugurl · 6 months ago

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JJK Men: Accidentally Finding Your Private Photos

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, AFAB!Reader

Warnings: language, smut, unprotected, sex, cream, pies, oral sex, photography,, consensual photography, minions of nudes

Word Count: 4,861

A/N: I finally finished one of the pool from so long ago! I have to be at work in the next six hours so I’m only gonna get about two hours of sleep, but it was well worth getting this written. Geto’s nearly took me out but Nanami’s MGBBGHBJNCRGHG yummy

Gojo Satoru:

“Oh wait! Wait until you see these pictures of Megumi!” Gojo laughed out loud, smacking his thigh as you both sat in your living room. “The kid got messed up!”

“You're such an ass sometimes.” you laughed, glancing over at his phone. “It was a grade two curse.” Gojo waved a hand before you as he flipped through his photo gallery. You grimaced, feeling nothing but pure sympathy for the young boy, while your best friend snickered. “Yikes, poor kid.”

Gojo put his phone down with a content sigh. “Shoko fixed him up; he's sleeping it off.”

“Maybe he wouldn't have needed to sleep it off if you weren't too busy grabbing kikufuku.”

You felt the couch shift as Gojo dropped one of his long arms around you. “Someone's just upset she didn't get any!” He pursed his lips together, bringing his other hand up to poke you in the cheek. “I ate them all on the bullet train home~!”

You could feel your cheeks flush as you shut your eyes tight, trying to make it seem as though you were pissed off by his childish teasing when in reality, you were resisting the urge to rub your thighs together as the smell of his cologne overwhelmed you. Gojo Satoru might be your best friend and boyfriend, but he was annoying and overly confident, which left most people with a sour taste when forced to be around him. But you liked that about him.

He was an egotistical little shit, but he was your egotistical shit.

“Hey, I'm sorry; I promise to get you a bag next time.” Gojo squeezed you against his side, allowing you to feel the warmth of his body.

“Whatever, I don't care, not when I went to that new sweet shop without you when you were gone.”

The gasp that left Gojo’s mouth was soap opera-worthy—as if you had just told him his twin brother, who had fallen down an elevator shaft, was still alive. There was something almost satisfying in how he reeled back, his eyebrows furrowing underneath his blindfold.

“You promised me that we would go together!”

“Yeah? Well, I promised the second year that if they could successfully make a talisman that could prevent me from crossing a line, I would take them out for ice cream. And I was promised kikufuku! So it looks like we both broke our word!”

“You Little shit! I can’t believe you went without me!”

“Yeah, I did, and guess what?”

Gojo leaned down, his eyebrows twitching under his blindfold. “What?”

“It was fucking delicious!” you watched with satisfaction as your boyfriend slumped forward, dropping his head down.

“You’re so cruel.”

“I wouldn’t have had to brag if some gluttonous idiot didn’t forget to bring me kikufuku to share as he promised!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh, you’re sorry?”

“No, not really?”

You scoffed as you scrolled through your photos. “Oh, you’re going to be sorry.” Before your boyfriend could question what you were doing, you turned your camera to him and showed him the photos of the different desserts you had ordered in the second year.

“Stop!” he slowly licked his lips. “What is that, and why can I taste it?!”

You zoomed in on the banana pudding Maki had ordered. “Southern banana pudding with vanilla wafer and whipped cream topping..” before you could flip through the rest of the photos, your phone was plucked out of your hands.

“I hate you.” snarled them, moving through your photos in your gallery. “ I hate you so much that I’m taking you back to that same café after work, and I’m not gonna buy you anything, and I’m gonna make you watch me eat the banana—” his words were abruptly cut off as he scrolled to another photo—one that wasn’t of pastries and cake but if you.

You were nothing but a sheer black Lacey bra and matching thong. The camera was pointed above you, getting a great shot of your beautiful body. The curves and dips were so gorgeous that the swells of your breasts caught his attention. He could see your nipples through the fabric, making his mouth and anticipation of a different kind of treat.

“Toru?” the snapping fingers drew his attention away from your phone screen. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m starving.” His voice was deeper than normal, and a certain tone behind it caused heat to pool between his legs.

“W-Well,” you cleared your throat. Do you know what you’re hungry for? Did you see anything else you liked from the café besides the banana pudding?”

“Oh, I saw something I liked but wasn’t from the café.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to ask him what he wants. Instead, he turns the phone to you, much to your shock. There are no pastries on the screen. It is the photo you took the night before and the new set you bought at the store for tonight. You gasped, reaching for your phone only to have your boyfriend hold it up above his freakishly tall head.

“Oh my God! Why did you scroll that far!?”

“Why didn’t you send these to me last night?”

“I just wanted to see what it looks like on me!” hands grabbed your hips, pulling you back against your boyfriend's sturdy form.

His lips slowly trailed over your neck as he pulled you down one of the dark alleyways of the school, somewhere away from fellow sorcerers or students. “Do you want to know what I think of that pretty little set?” Gojo listened to you. I think you look delicious in it, and I just so happen to be starving.” His head tilted slightly, grinning so wide the dimple in his cheek deepened. So are you going to let me devour you?”

Both of you breathe heavily, your eyes roaming over his face breath, brushing over your bottom lip. The tension was so thick before you snapped, grabbing his face and both your hands smashing your lips against his as he growled, kissing you back with as much passion. That kiss shifted into something that most people would write as NC-17. Gojo was able to control him himself, but when he found out you were wearing the same set from the picture, he suddenly wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the ground, pinning you against the wall. Your skirt was pushed up to your hips while your pretty panties were pulled to the side. His mouth pressed against your neck, muffling his moans. Your moans muffled as his right hand pressed firmly against your mouth.

“Shit baby, you’re so fucking wet for me, sweetheart.” his left hand massaged your thigh, easing the ache that accompanied the burning sensation of you trying to keep your legs wrapped firmly around his waist as he pushed himself deeper inside of you, slamming you against the concrete wall.

“Mm~!! Mmm~!”

Your sweet, muffled moans against your boyfriend’s palm only had him moving faster to draw more out. “God, I’m so lucky to have a girlfriend is fucking sexy and stunning as you. Anything you wear looks fucking fantastic on you.” he snarled against your neck. “I want you constantly so fucking bad.” your legs tightened around him, giving him a gentle squeeze as your walls constricted around him, drawing out a louder groan from Gojo. “Oooh fuck, fuck, fuck~!!” you could feel him twitching inside of you. His little grunts and whines against your skin had your walls, stomach, and heart fluttering at the sound of his voice. “Fucck~ baby—haaah fuck yeah, keep squeezing me like that! Just like that!”

The head of his cock presses perfectly against your g-spot, making your eyes roll back, a telling sign that you are close. Gojo was thankful for this because he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to last any longer. He sped up his movements, slamming into you, making you scream into the palm of his hand. That erotic sound pushed him further, making him move faster, harder, fucking you with all of his strength, and being the strongest allowed him to lose all his control. He was fucking you so good. The literal wall behind you shook under the force of his thrusts.

The combination of his monstrous thrusts had cock you squirting as you cried out against his hand. Your orgasm had soaked his uniform shirt and boxers with your release. Feeling you cum so hard left Gojo growling as he bucked even harder. Thick ropes of cum filled you, and he didn’t stop there. He kept going, fucking his cum further into you, pushing it as deep as it would go until he finally stopped. His breath tingled over your skin as he slowly pulled away, smiling drunkenly at you.

“Fuck sweetheart that— sweetie? Babe?” he chuckled as your head fell forward, hitting his shoulder. “You good there?”

“I-If I knew you finding my nudes would lead to you fucking me like that, I would’ve shown them to you sooner.”

“Them—?” his voice was very soft, but his cock twitched hard inside of you. “You have more of them?” the instant Gojo found out about the whole hidden album that was on your phone full of your nudes and private videos. He dropped the veil and teleported you back to the apartment. Seeing all your pictures and videos would be worth the lecture he’d be getting from Yaga the following day.

Geto Suguru:

The days that Geto got home early from a mission or some of his favorite days. These were the days he got to take a hot shower, sleep in his bed, and see you again. Whenever he was away from you from your home, he felt like a part of him was missing

When he walked into your shared apartment, he felt all the tension in his shoulders melt away. The familiar smell of homemade aches and pains vanished as if Shoko had healed him. God, he’d love getting home early. What would have made coming home even better would have been if you had been here with him. But from the side of your slippers by the door, it was apparent that you were still stuck at work.

Suguru had about three hours before you gave him more than enough time to shower, take a nap, and do the laundry. That way, whenever you did get home tonight, all you would need to worry about was cuddling with him on the couch. Geto did everything in that exact order, and by the time the last load had been folded, you texted him that you were on your way home with dinner.

Knowing that you would be coming home soon, I encouraged Suguru to move faster, hang up the laundry, and throw his boxers in his drawer before opening yours to put your folded panties inside. He was putting away your bras when an envelope underneath the lacy fabric caught his gaze. He had put your clothes away multiple times, but he had never seen that shoved there before.

Was it wrong to look at the contents hidden at the bottom of your underwear drawer? Maybe. Was it going to stop him from looking? No way in hell.

When he freed the trap envelope from under your flimsy sets, he was pleased to see his name written over it in your handwriting. It seems as though you wanted him to find this. Plop down on the edge of the bed, open it, seeing photos inside. They were Polaroids from small squares with black backs, white frames, and a glossy finish. Flipping them over, Suguru tried to think if you both owned the Polaroid, but all those thoughts went tumbling out the window as he stared at the pictures in his hand. Whether you owned the Polaroid camera or not didn’t matter to him.

All he cared about was the nude photos of you; he held his hands.

You were in different positions in the show, sprawled out on the bed, the blanket doing nothing to cover you. Well, other photos are arranged from you sitting on your knees, back slightly arched, pushing your breasts out to you facing down on the bed, the camera pointing at your face. Seeing you so naked, looking at the camera with a sultry expression, had all of the blood from Geto’s head went rushing to the head of his cock.

Why the hell were you hiding this from him? Was this a little treat for him after a mission, or did you want to get him all riled up?

Suguru didn’t have to wait for the answer because the front door opened as soon as he put the pictures down on the bed. “Sugu, I’m home!” You barely managed to put your keys in the bowl near the front door when your boyfriend rushed out of the room, his dark hair flowing behind him. “Welcome back; I picked up your favorite Zaru Soba good—aggh!!” Suguru scooped you up, putting you over his shoulder before rushing back to the bedroom.

Your boyfriend didn’t say anything as he threw you onto the mattress. You swallowed hard, sitting up on your elbows, only to have him reach down, ripping open your uniform jacket. Buttons went flying across the room as you fell back against the mattress. Your perfect breasts bounced the confines of your shirt, making your horny boyfriend feral.

“S-Sugu!”

“Found your pictures—”

Was all he said before tugging your shirt over your head, his hands frantically pushing down your pants as he worked at his gray sweatpants. “Fuck you look so pretty in them.” Pictures? Oh God, you found the images you had taken for your anniversary with him?! You found yourself wishing that the mattress would open up and swallow you whole so you could avoid the embarrassment that was itching at the back of your skull.

“T-Th—ahh~” his lips moved expertly over your collarbone while his hands gently squeezed your breasts, pushing your shirt up enough that allowed him to tag your bra down, freeing them. “S-Sugu—those—w-were—”

“Exactly what I needed.”

Your photos may have been what he needed to get his motors going. Or maybe you were the stress relief he needed after a very annoying mission. Your pictures were the fuel that he needed to destroy you.

Drool seeped out of the corner of your mouth as Suguru grabbed a handful of your hair, forcing your face down into the mattress as he fucked you from behind. Your back was arched, ass sticking up, allowing him to slide in deep. You loved this position; it felt so good to be manhandled like this.

His long, thick fingers dug into your hair, pulling you up just an inch and allowing you to take a deep breath before your face shoved back into the comforter. You cried your hips against his cock, forcing him deeper inside of you. As you did, the other sounds besides the slapping of skin, your moans and his, the clicking of the Polaroid camera he held in his hands.

“Fuuck~ yeah~ fuck yourself. Rock your hips back against my cock Princess.” Suguru watched as your weekly whimpered, rocking your hips back pathetically slow and allowing him to snap a few pictures. “Ooh fuck.” he hissed through his teeth, grabbing the developing film, shaking it before his hips picked up his pace again, slamming into you, forcing your face back into the bedding. “Gonna keep that one in my wallet.”

“S-Sugu~! Haaah fuck!”

“Yeah, do you like the idea of that? Me having a nasty photo of you in my wallet?” He pulled back an inch, taking another photo of his cock wet with your arousal, the tip still buried inside of your wet cunt. “ only you know that was in there. And you would be the only one to know that when I’m on a mission and at a hotel alone. You’re pretty pictures are what I’m stroking my cock to at night.”

“Hnngh!” You sobbed, fingers digging into the sheets, as you tried your best to rock back against him, chasing your orgasm that was coiling deep in your abdomen. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum!”

“Yeah, do it~ cum all over this fat fucking cock, baby~ make a mess.”

The orgasm snapped like a rubber band deep in your tummy. Your toes curled as you screamed as loud as your lungs would allow into your pillow. Suguru sucked in a breath, Following your body that collapsed on the bed, his hips still frantically moving against the fat of your ass, chasing his release that came just as fast and hard.

“Fuck~ oooh fuck yes baby! Cumming~ cummin’!”

Geto continued fucking you, not once slowing down, until he fully pulled out of you, loud pop echoing off the walls. You weakly protested as he repositioned your back arched ass out, you already knew what he was doing, but your body just wanted to slump back onto the mattress and fall asleep. But this was what your boyfriend wanted to do, and seeing that your pictures were the reason for his horny desires, let him do what he wanted if you listen to several clicks from the Polaroid behind you.

“Fuck—” Suguru whispered, shaking the photo as he set the camera aside, pulling you onto his chest. “This is Playboy material, babes.” he had the picture between his pointer and middle finger, turning it for you to see the photo he had captured of his cum running out of your pussy.

Seeing such an intimate photo of yourself like that didn’t leave you feeling dirty or embarrassed in any way, shape, or form. Instead, it had you feeling the returning burning desire in your stomach. And while your boyfriend, the pictures he had taken, adding to your collection. Suguru was so entranced he nearly missed the sensation of your soft kisses trailing down his stomach.

“Excuse me,” he scoffed, setting the pictures to the side. Just what do you think you’re doing there, princess?”

“Cleaning up my mess~ get the camera ready. I want you to take a lot of pictures. That way, I can reference what I have to do to improve my technique.” Suguru wanted to chuckle, but when you dragged your tongue over the underside of his cock, his eyes rolled back as he weakly searched for the camera that was on the side of his bed. He loved coming home early.

Nanami Kento

“Ken! Baby, I think something is wrong with my laptop!” you say before dramatically hitting the keyboard.“It’s banging for me to put it out of its misery. I think it’s finally time that I retire this guy.”

“Huh, it’s not that old model.” You pouted as your husband took your laptop from before you and plopped it down on his lap as he began typing at the computer. He looked as though he was some hacker from one of those cheesy nineties movies. “If you would keep it up-to-date like I’ve told you to do multiple times, you wouldn’t have this issue every time you opened it.”

“I hate waiting—”

“You need patience in your life; it can make things go a lot smoother for you in the long run.”

You puffed out your cheeks, knowing very well that your husband had always been right. You needed to take more time to find solace in your life. Maybe one of these days you would be able to do that. Today was not one of those days, though. You need to get on your laptop and finish the report, or your boss will surely give you an earful the following day.

“Yaga will kill me if I don’t get this report to him by the end of the day. Kento baby, what am I going to do? I’m too fragile to go up against, Yaga!”

Kento laughs, looking at you over the bridge of his glasses. “You and I both know you are more than capable of taking them out. Give yourself more credit, Love.” You appreciated your husband's honesty, but that didn’t help you with your current situation.

“Kento, that’s not gonna help me with my report.”

“Love of my life, it’s an easy fix. Just use my laptop while I try to get this up-to-date for you.”

Nanami rolled his eyes as you smothered kisses alongside his cheek. “Oh my god, thank you! I love you so much!” You grabbed your husband’s laptop and went to work on your report. Well, he clicked and tapped more gently at your keyboard than you had before.

He was able to update your system. The wheel constantly turned on your screen while he sipped on his wine. Nanami made a mental note to show you how to do this yourself once your report was submitted to Yaga; as your screen returned to life, it didn’t open on your lock screen, which was usually a picture of the two of you on your wedding day. Your laptop had decided to open up right where you had left it two nights before.

It was still a picture of you, but it was from your boudoir photo shoot for your wedding. Nanami choked on his wine as he stared at the screen, his cheeks flushing, and all the tips of his ears burned as he stared at the most intimate pictures he had ever seen. Pictures you had yet to show him after three months of being married.

The intimate photos of you are done so tastefully. Most range from different positions, like lying on a couch in your robe with your veil on. While the other was of you slipping your wedding dress on the backs, nagging against the fat of your ass, showing off the pretty lacy white underwear you had been wearing. But the photo that had Nanami choking was of you on your knees, your wedding veil falling over the swells of your bare breasts as your hands covered your nipples. Your eyes narrowed, staring at the camera while your lips parted slightly. Seeing you like that made him try to inhale his wine, which ended poorly for him.

“Oh! Did it go down the wrong pipe?” You asked, putting his laptop down. “At least it's white wine and not red. Red wine stains are bitch to get out of the carpet.” You stood up from your spot, stretching your arms above your head. “I'll go get you rag quick.”

You barely moved two steps before your husband was following after you. “Why didn’t you show me the pictures from your boudoir photo shoot?”

“Oh! Well, I didn’t care for how some of them came out, so I decided to pick through my favorites before I showed you. Why do you ask?”

Nanami didn’t need to answer your question because you got your answer the second your eyes darted toward your laptop. And, of course, he was looking at one of the pictures you even had a chance to look through. You just stared at the photo of yourself before running a hand down your face.

“They’re terrible, I know. I should’ve never let Shoko convince me to do it.”

Nanami gently took your hand, leading to the front of his pants. He placed your fingers over the hard bulge that was throbbing. You swallowed hard, glancing up at your husband, who was blushing just as much as you, and his very physical reaction twitched, letting you know that your husband liked the photos from your sexy photo shoot.

“I like them; I like them a lot.”

“I can tell,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his erection through his pants. “Ken, you're so hard.”

“T-Th-hhngh photo.” he jerked his head toward your laptop, “really caught my attention.”

“Oh, it did?”

“Yes.”

Looking back at your screen, you truly took in the side of your photo. Your photographer had shot the picture in black-and-white, giving it a certain elegance despite the horny look in your eyes. You remembered asking for that specific pose for your husband. But in reality, it was for you.

You pushed Nanami back against the bed with a smirk. “Is there a reason why that picture cut your attention?” He huffed a sigh, blushing a darker shade as he watched you rub your cheek over the bulge.

“I like it because I love it when you’re on your knees for me, sucking my cock.”

Your fingers wrapped around his buckle, unfastening it. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” Nanami nodded, growling as you tucked his pants down. “That’s why I asked for her to take that specific picture. Because I know how much you love me on my knees for you.” You pressed kisses along his shaft from the base to the tip, your tongue ding over the pre-cum that was seeping through the fabric

“O-Oh—”

“Let me demonstrate.”

Your demonstration continued for what seemed like an eternity in heaven. Nanami gently stroked your hair as you slid your lips up and down, taking his cock further into your mouth. "Ohh fuck yes, those photos of you looked so good, baby girl. Makes me wanna devour you~" Kento gently grabbed the top of your head, pulling you forward until his cock slid across your tongue, hitting the back of your throat.

You hummed around him, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock before bobbing your head slowly up and down over him. Staring into the sea of lust, your eyes looked like how they had at done with the camera during your photo shoot. That submissive pose, the faux innocence in your eyes, was precisely what Nanami loved about this position.

"Ohh fuck. Perfect little mouth just for me, huh?”

You moaned in approval as you bobbed your head. Nanami was the perfect husband. If he was going to praise the photo of you, he felt like you didn’t look good, and he would get a treat. He was so kind, sweet, and considerate to you, so if you were able to spoil him once in a while as a thank you for all of his sweet words and for providing for you, you would not hesitate at the chance to do so.

Kento pushed you back by your forehead, groaning softly. "Fuck, you look so pretty~" He growled before thrusting into your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin. You whined around him, looking up at him into his eyes as he fucked your mouth. You could feel yourself getting wet on every ball of your head. He moaned low in his chest, looking back into your eyes. "Oh. I know that look~ You want me to make love to don't you honey?” Your eyes snapped wide as you blushed deeply. “Good girl~ Once I use your throat, then I'll fuck you like you need, darling~" Kento groaned, speeding up his hips.

Your eyes watered, streams of black trailing down your cheeks as he fucked your throat slowly. Watching him slowly lose control made your finger twitch as you slowly reached down, rubbing yourself. God, you loved him, and you loved how he made you feel!

"Ah-ah. What did I just say, Love. let me cum down your throat firat, then your pussy can feel good. I want to spoil you for being—ah—such a good girl.” He purred, speeding up slightly before stiffening as your tongue wrapped expertly around him, massaging his shaft in time with the bobbing of your head. “F-Fuck! Yes, j-just l-like t-th-hhngh! Haa! Fuck!” Kento snarled before cumming in your mouths, face fucking you through it.

With each spurt that filled your mouth, you eagerly swallowed it, only pulling off of him when Kemto was whimpering from the overstimulation. As you sat on your knees, licking your lips, Nanami watched you through half-lidded eyes. His lips slightly parted as he did something he had never done before. He pulled his cell phone out and held it directly in front of your face.

“Ken?”

“Stick your tongue out. Show me how you swallowed it all.” without arguing, you did as your husband asked, sticking your tongue out. As you did, he snapped a few pictures before growling and zooming in on each. “Fuck you're so beautiful.” He sighed, admiring his photos for one other second before he placed his phone down on the couch before yanking you up onto the sofa and flinging your panties off.

“Ah! K-Kento, what are you doing??!”

“You being on your knees in front of me might be one of your favorite positions.” He growled as he nipped and sucked on your inner thighs. “Well, one of my favorite positions is right here, between your thighs so sit back and relax, my love. I’ll take very good care of you.” You squealed as his tongue ran over your sensitive clit, before arching you back, eagerly bucking across his mouth.

Note to self: Get Shoko a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of wine for booking the boudoir photographer for you!

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

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girlygguk · 7 months ago

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FIRST CLASS | JJK (Teaser)

summary in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite.

uni au, rich student!jk x rich student!f.reader

[fluff, angst, smut] childhood bestfriends to lovers, pining, unrequited(?) love, they're likee chaebols okay, tae's sister reader, mega SIMP kook because i literally can't write him any other way, jungkook is a sweet fuckboy (if that exists)

teaser word count: 1.4k (sfw, cursing)

full fic word count: 25k (nsfw)

release date: july-16 @ 2pm (est)

>>> FIRST CLASS IS OUT NOW! <<<

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2 years prior ੈ✩‧₊˚ circa. your 19th birthday. . .

"Get fucked, Jeongguk." The words rip from your throat, venomous and sharp as they slap your best friend's face into a furrowed, exasperated expression.

You yank the jacket tighter around your shoulders as the cold night air whips at your skin, storming down the sidewalk. The urge to rip the jacket—his jacket—off your body is strong, but it's so fucking cold. You may be petty and possibly overreacting a little right now... but you're not stupid.

Jungkook's heavy footsteps trail after you, his calls of your name only pushing you to walk faster. He catches up in no time, your hurried steps no match for his long strides. He tries to gently grab your arm, but you shrug off his touch angrily, spinning around to glare at him. You're about to tell him to fuck off again when he speaks first.

"Come back inside. It's like a fucking blizzard out here; you're going to freeze to death," he says evenly, though frustration laces his words.

"Oh, please," you laugh humorlessly, shaking your head in disbelief. "As if you give a shit if I freeze."

"Don't fucking say—"

"I'm going home. You can tell everyone I'm sick and had to leave. Or don't, I don't fucking care." You turn away and start walking again, his footsteps immediately following.

"You're walking home?" You ignore his question, causing him to huff and run a hand through his hair. "Let me drive you home, please."

You ignore him again, knowing that if there's something Jungkook can't stand more than you yelling at him, it's you not speaking to him.

"Stop doing this. It's your birthday; don't let it end like this—"

"Yes, Jeongguk, it's my birthday," you seethe, whipping back around. "And you brought a random chick none of us even know to my birthday dinner. And you didn't even bother to get me a gift. On. My fucking. Birthday."

"Y/N—"

"Limited edition PlayStation, imported Swedish lacrosse stick, custom painted iPad from your favorite local fucking artist," you list the gifts you've gotten him for his birthday over the years angrily. Jungkook shakes his head, trying to step closer to you, but you hold up your hand to keep the distance.

"Do you even know how much effort I put into the things I get and do for you? And for you to sit there with that... that stupid fucking look on your—God, Jeongguk!" Your voice is on the cusp of being a whine, but you don't care. "Oh, but I'm sure you spent a decent chunk of Daddy's money on Winnie tonight, huh?" You don't care that the Daddy's money statement is also very applicable to you… you're angry.

Jungkook's jaw clenches at your words, and he steps forward, slipping his hand into the pocket of the jacket you're wearing. Before you can snap at him again, he pulls out a small velvet box and holds it out to you.

"What is that?" you demand, your voice still trembling with annoyance.

"Your gift," he says softly, opening the box to reveal a white-gold Cartier diamond necklace. "I was planning to give it to you when we were in private."

You stare at the necklace, your anger momentarily overshadowed by surprise. The diamonds of the pendant sparkle under the streetlights, and you almost let out a moan. Diamonds are your weakness.

"You motherfucker," you groan under your breath, glaring at the necklace in hopes it will dissipate into thin air so you can continue being annoyed at him.

Jungkook steps closer, his voice a whisper. "Everyone was coming with their partners, Y/N. I couldn't come alone."

You sigh, knowing that. Your comment was a cheap shot, considering Jungkook doesn't hang with a girl more than once, so it would be impossible for him to bring someone you already knew. But Winnie was getting on your last nerve, and you saw an opportunity to sneak in a jab, so you took it. Not only was the girl clearing glass after glass of the expensive wine your friends had ordered as if it were water, but she was also not shy about ordering the priciest dishes on the menu. Judging by her tiny red Zara mini-dress, you highly doubt she'll be reaching for her purse at the end of the night.

Your gaze is still locked on the necklace as you take a moment to think. Jungkook hasn't moved either, continuing to hold the box open for you while he scans your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

"It's, um, engraved and shit," he mumbles, his hand not holding the box lifting to run over his jaw nervously. "And I got a chain one… for me too."

Your eyes snap to his, and he swears his heart stops beating. God, you think it's stupid. You hate it. That's okay. He'll just wait until you turn around so he can sprint to the nearest homeless guy and give him the stupid neckl—

"Like matching?" Your eyes soften, and he slowly feels the blood flooding into his heart.

"Yeah, only if you like, want to," he shrugs cutely, and you can't stop the grin from spreading across your lips.

You're close enough to slide your arms around his torso but still not near enough for Jungkook as he tugs you closer, melting into the hug. "Thank you, Gukkie. I love it," you murmur into his chest, and he feels his muscles relax at you finally using his nickname again.

You lift your head from his black fitted Givenchy dress shirt, which smells a little too good, to look up at him. "But why did you say you didn't have anything when everyone gave me their gifts?"

He looks down at the slight pout on your lips, his fingers twitching with the urge to wipe it off your mouth. Instead, he flicks the box closed with a thumb and holds it out to you. "Don't think Jaehyun would've been thrilled with me giving you this," he chuckles. "The dude hates me."

You frown up at him, about to chime in and say that isn't true, but his lips tug into a smirk as if to say he couldn't care less about what your boyfriend thought of him. And honestly, if he were Jaehyun, he'd hate him too.

Jungkook had the necklaces made a little over two months ago, and you and Jaehyun have only been official for one. So, Jungkook's intentions behind the gift weren't malicious, he swears.

If you just so happen to wear the necklace and your boyfriend notices his matching one, which then causes a rift in your relationship, resulting in the two of you breaking up… well, that would just be a nice little coincidence.

"Jae knows you and I are close," you explain with a crease in your brow that he wants to massage until it goes away. "I made it very clear to him when he wanted to get serious, and he understood."

Jungkook nods along to your words even if he doesn't fully believe them. Either Jaehyun is a really good and secure guy, or he's full of grade-A horse shit. If you were his and another dude tried to come along and buy you an eleven-thousand-dollar necklace? Fuck, he'd knock the guy out cold.

You untangle yourself from your best friend and lift the lid of the velvet box still in his grasp. You coo at the pretty diamonds before turning to face away from Jungkook. You gather your hair before swiping it over your shoulder and letting his jacket fall slightly to bare your neck. Jungkook reacts immediately, picking up the necklace before shoving the box in his pocket. His cold fingers brush against you as he carefully fastens the jewelry around your neck.

When he pulls away, you let your hair fall back into place and turn around to face him again. Your smile is soft, eyes twinkling as you look down at the necklace. "It's so pretty, Gukkie. I love it."

You're so pretty. I love you, he thinks.

-------

spoiled bratty girl and her simpy best friend who knows how to handle her.....GIVE it..

—the full fic is out now! click here to go read <3

#📁FC.docx #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook bts #jungkook fic #jungkook one shot #jungkook oneshot #jungkook drabble #jungkook smut #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts #bts fanfic #bts fluff

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blublublujk · 1 year ago

Text

closer

oneshot

word count: 12.7k

genre: step-siblings to lovers, dead dove (proceed with caution)

pairing: dongsaeng jungkook × noona reader

summary:

Jungkook had always known there was something wrong with him when he realized his obsession with his Noona was far too intimate consider their relationship, but she was perfect for him. Can anyone really blame him for falling in love with his beautiful older step-sister?

warnings: [PLEASE READ] dead dove, eat with caution (they are step-siblings and it's a bit romanticized), there's mentions of the pairing as minors but nothing too oversexualized and in detail, mentions of violent behavior (not towards reader), mentions of jungkook possibly being asexual or gay (he's not lol), pairing has shit parents and jungkook's father is an alcoholic, parent issues to the max, petite reader (fit the plot better), explicit sexual content: dirty sexual thoughts, jk has a huge dick and he jacks off so much, someone's a virgin in this and it is NOT the reader, there's a lot of crying in this one, jungkook probably needs therapy and the reader lol, extremely possessive and obsessive jungkook, DADDY KINK, hickeys, unprotected rough vaginal sex, dubious consent but they both want it, dirty talk, the reader slaps jungkook, squirting, blowjob, cunnilingus, come tasting/swallowing, slight ass play, choking, multiple orgasms, passing out and overstimulation, creampie, pregnancy (oopsie)

a.n: well i have no fucking words. im actually a bit shy and embarrassed to release this after my last post but we move on! this wasn’t apart of my drafts either SIGH. wrote this because i was insanely horny and ovulating so have fun ig. please enjoy it nicely. i certainly did. if you look past all the dark stuff you might find it’s actually pretty hot. i cant even believe i wrote this. im really scared … if anyone is crazy enough, please comment your thoughts. tempted to do more of these deranged stories. since tmr is christmas i leave this as a final parting gift for this year though it has nothing to do with chirstmas. byebye angels and merriest of chirstmas to you all <3

—> m.list

—> find me on ao3 & twt

Jungkook has officially hit rock bottom.

He has officially lost his mind. Again and again he comes back to what he knows he shouldn’t and knows that, but he’s only a man after all. Can anyone really blame him?

For the third time that night, Jungkook has fisted his cock empty. The younger’s dick was raw and swollen– sticky from the amount of beatings he had pumped. His ballsack had nothing else more to give him and Jungkook started to grow frustrated. His dick was still heavy in his palm, aching for something he knows he could never fucking have. It simply wasn’t fair.

Jungkook pants loudly, wiping his dirty come all over his black sheets. He’s dripping sweat and he feels his dick might fall off if he keeps masturbating this much, but it was simply impossible. He’s a growing man after all, it was totally normal for him to have such a high libido. His doctor even said so (he asked him during a typical yearly routine exam and the professional confirmed it was more than normal, that usually as he ages he’ll simply grow out of it). Jungkook doesn’t even believe him anymore. The more he fucks his hand, the more he grows the urge to stuff his cock in his step-sister’s tempting pussy.

He knows it’s disgusting. He tried to overcome the disgusting need to fuck her until she begged for more, the compulsive thirst to eat her juicy pussy from behind, the lustful desire to ruin her for anyone else that dared lay hands on his older step-sibling. Jungkook has had too much time to think about these sinful– incriminating thoughts. He imagines how his step-sister would look all heavy and round, carrying Jungkook’s seed for nine months straight. What amazing mother she would be. He thinks about this all the time.

And he’s not just saying this out of his ass. His step-sister saved him. He had one-on-one, firsthand experience to all her angelic glory. She’s patient, extremely caring, and she’s the sweest thing he’s ever known. Jungkook is in love with her.

Can anyone really blame him? His Noona is the best. He’ll say it over and over, a million times until the whole world gets to hear it because his Noona deserves that and much more.

Jungkook believes he’s the only one that could please his Noona. He truly believes that there is no better man in this world for her than him. He doesn’t care how selfish that seems. His Noona has been hurt too many times and Jungkook has unfortunately witnessed it all. Every heartbreak, every break-up, every stupid relationship he has had to tolerate. He falls sick to his stomach every time because he knows she deserves so, so much more and only he could do that for her. He knows how happy he could make her.

After all, only Jungkook knows what is best for her.

Jungkook hears the living room door close hard, the house shakes from the harsh movement. The noise startles him from his current position. He quickly wipes the come off his abdomen and the sweat off his body. He’s sure he probably stinks or at the very least his room does, but the heavy footsteps coming from the stairs worry him more.

“Noona?” He calls out and nobody answers him, by the time he’s shoving on the first pair of sweats he can find his bedroom door opens wide. Jungkook still has sweat dripping down his bare back, praying that it goes unnoticed. He simply got carried away, fucking his cock into his hand for thirty minutes straight.

“Noona…” Jungkook reaches out the second he hears you whimper. The second he has you in his arms you completely let go. Tears stream down your face with no plans on stopping and Jungkook feels his heart break in two. In a way, he feels conflicted.

On one hand, he’s extremely upset about whatever caused you any trouble and he’s willing to do anything to make it up to you. Buy you your favorite ice cream. Take you to watch a movie. Cook you a yummy home meal. He would do anything if it meant he could make you smile again.

But on the other well, Jungkook’s fucking pissed. He needs to know exactly what happened, who fucking did this to you, and how the fuck he even let this happen. He’ll kill whoever did this to you. He will. Jungkook would do anything for his Noona, even if that meant killing someone with bare hands.

“What’s wrong, Noona?” Jungkook’s gentle when asking the question, watching you cry your heart out. The younger rubs circles into your back, comforting you in a time of need. “What happened? Tell me. Jungkookie will help.”

You sob into his chest hard and Jungkook can’t help the way his insides flare. He wants to burn the world down. That way, nobody can harm you and he can take care of you like he’s meant to. Jungkook was born to love and care for you. He feels that deep in his (dark) heart.

“Oh, Jungkookie…” He keeps rubbing circles, desperate to make it all go away for you. His Noona didn’t deserve this.

“I found the messages.” Between hiccups, you cry harder trying to explain the problem. It hurts. It hurts so bad, maybe you’ll never be good enough. For him, or for anyone.

“What messages, Noona?” Jungkook’s nose bumps into yours, cautious doe-eyes stare down at you. Fire lights deep inside them, but they don’t scare you because Jungkook could never hurt a soul. Not your innocent little step-brother. Certainly not your sweet dongsaeng.

“S-Seojun’s.” You have trouble breathing and Jungkook pats your back softly, being extremely patient, but deep inside him, he can’t wait to beat Seojun’s ass regardless of whatever you say next. “He— he cheated on me.”

Jungkook no longer exists in the same universe you do. The first thing he sees is red. Jungkook’s going to fucking murder Seojun. How fucking dare he!

How could he ever cheat on you? Seojun must have a death wish and Jungkook can’t wait to deliver his wish personally. He should cut off each fin—

“Jungkookie… m-my heart hu—hurts.” He snaps out of the dark space in his head and starts drying your tears with his thumbs.

“Noona… he— he doesn’t deserve you.” Jungkook starts, holding you up with a strong grip. He could feel your squishy breast pressing hard against his upper stomach. In a different moment, different situation, he would have popped a boner and it would have been extremely awkward. Jungkook is not small in any sense but he’s a bit insecure. He wonders if you would love the feel of his huge cock invading your guts, but that’s for another time. “I’ve told you this before but you deserve someone that doesn’t make you question their love for you. Someone that loves you so much it could kill them. They should love and care for you so much that they would be willing to do anything for you. You shouldn’t have to deal with this, Noona. He doesn’t deserve you. Nobody does. They can’t ever love you. They won't. You’re safe here Noona, I love you.”

“My sweet Jungkookie…” You sigh as tears begin to slow down and stick to your face. “That’s right. Only you could ever love me this much I think. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Jungkook snaps. If anything Seojun should be crying buckets, begging for forgiveness and mercy because after Jungkook’s done with him, he’ll regret ever meeting you. Jungkook can’t wait to make the motherfucker pay for his unforgivable crimes. “He’s just a coward. Not a real man.”

“Oh my Jungkookie, when did you become so big? Huh? So grown up.” Your tone wavers as you continue. “You’ve always been such a romantic. Isn’t that right? Noona’s so proud of you Jungkookie, the best dongsaeng I could ever ask for.”

Jungkook melts with every compliment.

When you first met Jungkook, he couldn’t even look you in the eyes. He would get so fucking nervous around you. His stomach would flip whenever you stepped into his line of sight. He doesn’t remember a time he didn’t have the biggest crush.

Like anyone else, Jungkook assumed this was nothing but a minor crush. It was his first crush. Jungkook didn’t have experience with girls or dating for that matter. He wasn’t at all interested in any of that. For a cool minute, the younger assumed he must be gay, clearly it was the only explanation that made sense at the time, but then he realized not even then he felt anything. His best friend, Taehyung is extremely gay and pretty handsome (if he must admit), but he could never be with him, much less fuck the man.

His next thought is he has to be asexual. Jungkook didn’t ever think about sex, much less want to participate in any sexual activity. The thought used to disgust him. There was no one worthy. No one he would like to stick his dick into. Jungkook was broken!

Then, his father came home one night, shit-faced couldn’t even hold himself up. Jungkook had to carry him to bed that night. He was only fifteen years old, he had no busy doing that, yet had no choice.

“Son. W-Wan you to meet someone tu—tomorrow.” His father begins, Jungkook winces when he reels him in close, breath stinking of some sort of strong alcohol. “Yu— got you a ma—mother. S-Stepmother.”

Jungkook’s heart drops. He doesn’t need a fucking mother. Jungkook is happy with the way things are right now. Just him and his dad. No matter how broken their relationship is. He doesn’t need a mother.

“Appa, I don’t—”

“Quiet. Shh.” His father ends the conversation with a finger tap to his mouth. Forbidding the younger to get another word out. Jungkook feels he could sob because knowing his father, he was impending doom. “Sleep now child. Come here. Sleep with Appa.”

That night, Jungkook unfortunately sleeps in his father’s bed which reeks of musk and cheap cologne with a hint of mixed perfume. He doesn’t sleep all night, worried that he’ll wake up and his father will have choked during his sleep. He’s afraid that if he turns his head, he’ll find his father dead. Maybe that would have been better. That his father never woke up that next morning. Then he wouldn’t be stuck in the situation he was in today. His father’s at fault.

Jungkook’s father brings his “step-mom” over the next day and Jungkook doesn’t know how to feel. He hates her. He absolutely despises her. Jungkook feels it in his heart that she will completely ruin his life.

Jungkook already has a mom. She died giving birth to him. It’s not her fault. Jungkook’s mom is incredible and he’s heard great stories. Nobody will ever compare to his mother. Even though Jungkook never got the chance to meet her, he knows he would have loved her and she him. In another lifetime, Jungkook would have loved to spend his entire life in the warm arms of his mother.

What he wasn’t expecting was his step-mom to bring company. Jungkook obsesses from the very, very start.

“Jungkook-ah, meet your step-sister, Y/N. She’s two-years older than you. They are moving in with us, so I hope you will be a good dongsaeng to your Noona. We’ll live as a happy family from now on. Ain’t that right, Yeobo?” His father leans in kissing his step-mom with passion. Jungkook thinks if the situation was different he would have thrown up the sandwich he had for lunch, but as he looks up at you, he finds you playing with the ends of your sweater. You’re tiny. He doesn’t believe you’re older than him. You can’t be. Barely seventeen, but you have yet to grow into your lady parts. Jungkook couldn’t stop staring at you. Your lip was swollen from how hard you were sucking it from nerves. This had to be just as difficult for you as well.

With careful steps, you stretch your hand out, making peace with your new step-sibling. “Hello Jungkook, it’s nice to meet you. I promise to be a good Noona. I look forward to moving in. I hope you can accept me. I promise to take good care of you.”

The younger almost falls to his knees. He’s never seen a more beautiful smile. Jungkook takes your tiny hand in his. His hand is bigger than yours, he’s tempted to compare sizes. He’s even slightly taller than you. Jungkook puffs his chest thinking about how he’ll only grow taller. He’ll soon tower over you.

Jungkook doesn’t even say anything to you that night. Not a single word. He can’t. He shakes your hand awkwardly with a deep blush setting on his cheeks. Jungkook promises one thing. He promises to care for you too. That promise stays in his head for now, but Jungkook is certain now. He’s definitely not gay and he isn’t fucking asexual. Not anymore. Not ever.

Since then, it’s like you’ve been attached by the hip. Jungkook grew to become a man. Now twenty-three and you twenty-five. And you grew into a woman besides him.

He was the best dongsaeng you could ever ask for. Jungkook was sweet. He would cry about everything and anything. While trying to get closer to one another and build a bond, you thought it would be a good idea to watch classic romance films. Jungkook would cry to every single one. A true romantic at heart and you, being the best Noona ever, would be there to comfort him. Like you would your own baby brother.

Back then, you used to dream of having siblings, you’re extremely lucky you get to live that with Jungkook. You didn’t mind that he was a big cry-baby, it was endearing that a boy could have so many emotions and show them without holding back.

He was extremely sweet. Jungkook was protective, like any usual brother was. Always looking for ways to watch out for you and even though he was the younger, he took care of you, a lot.

Your mother wasn’t present much. And his father was much worse. They simply weren’t there. Not then, not now. But Jungkook was there. He was the shoulder you could cry on, the person you could run to, the only person you could fully depend on. Jungkook was always there.

Jungkook was very kind-hearted, so innocent and pure. He was never the kind of guy to bring girls home. Talk about sex. You aren’t even sure if he’s ever had a girlfriend or even ever had sex for that matter. He even watches his mouth around you. He doesn’t cuss and he certainly doesn’t act out. He’s a very good boy, the best and kindest dongsaeng.

“Thank you, Jungkookie.” You pull him closer, hands wrapping around his solid back, with a sniffle you question. “You— you’re hot?”

Jungkook blanks, very confused. Were you realizing your love for him? Is this the way it will happen? Jungkook’s not sure he wants it this way. Not after he just helped you get over another man. He hopes this time for fucking good. He cannot bear hearing about Seojun and his stupid face ever again.

“Do you have a fever, Jungkookie? You’re sweating!” You start to pat him all over, trying to measure his temperature with your hand. “Oh no my baby, let’s get you to bed!”

Jungkook nearly awes. You went from having one of your worst days to completely being concerned about his well being. The younger beams in relief, he’s lucky his Noona is clueless. So fucking unaware. Doesn’t even realize the sheets are still filled with his filthy release. All thanks to her beauty.

“I’m okay Noona, you should head to bed. It’s been a long day.” The younger leans in for another hug, a thank you for being so kind.

You keep insisting. “But you’re dripping! You have a fever, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook chuckles with you in his arms. “I worked out before you came home. I didn’t have time to shower. I don’t have a fever, everything’s okay. ”

You fake a gag. “Yuck! Don’t even warn me either! Jungkookie, you’re an animal!”

Oh, if only you knew. :)

Jungkook doesn’t allow you to slip from his arms, only holding on tighter.

“Scared of a little sweat, Noona?” The younger teases with a sly smirk.

“When it's you, yes. Don’t want my dongsaeng’s sweat on me.” Jungkook tries to look past the “when it’s you” because what the hell does that mean? Would you like sweat if it came from someone else? Would you touch him if he was someone else? Would you lick it off if the situation was different? Jungkook swats all those thoughts away. He almost popped a boner and he doesn’t understand how that’s even possible after the day he’s had today. He is done for today, but his dick sadly has a mind of its own.

“Whatever. Go sleep!” Jungkook unfortunately has to let go which is the worst part, but is surprised when you’re blushing against his still, very bare chest, your smaller hand resting on his abs.

“Can… can you come sleep with me Jungkookie?” You get so shy Jungkook has to hold back from babying his own Noona.

Like music to his fucking ears. Of course, he’ll sleep with you. He silently thanks Seojun for being a fucking dumbass. Jungkook’s about to pick up all the pieces he just broke earlier and never, ever give them back.

“Don’t get all shy on me Noona, of course I will! What type of dongsaeng do you take me for?” Jungkook dramatically in offense holds his chest.

“Only the best, my sweet Jungkookie, but go shower first. You reek.” The younger gasps, feigning offense.

“No I don’t!” Jungkook is quick to defend himself, coming close so he could smell his pits. He’s probably smelled better, but he actually doesn’t smell, not that he knows of. If anything he’s surprised his room doesn’t reek of that crappy lotion he uses to get himself off. “See!”

The taller brings you in once more and you push him off hard. “Absolutely not you maniac! Go shower now!”

“Fine!” Jungkook gives up and just as he’s about to retrieve the stuff he’ll need for his shower, he asks. “Your room or mine?”

He silently prays you pick your own because he cannot stand the smell of his own room any longer. Plus you still have yet to notice the come on his sheets. Jungkook would be so embarrassed if you saw his soiled bed like this. His Noona deserves nothing but the best. A clean, comfortable environment. His room was probably a safety hazard right now and he wasn’t willing to risk the chance for conversation.

“Mm, mine!” You decide with a pretty smile.

“Okay, Noona. I’ll be there in five. Don’t wait up for me.” With one last hug and a kiss at your temple, Jungkook goes off to shower and you retreat to your room.

Yes, it was a bit strange. Sleeping with your grown step-sibling and all, but that’s the bond you and Jungkook had grown. The bond was so strong. You guys did just about everything together and by each other’s side. There was never anything super strange about that to you.

Your friends once commented how it was just a bit weird. The strange relationship you carried with your step-sibling and that maybe you were just slightly a bit too close. That made them uncomfortable.

Every time they would come over, Jungkook was just there. Jungkook always came first. They heard it too many times and saw it with their own eyes. When they finally decided to speak to you about it, you freaked saying it was nothing like that! Your relationship was nothing short of platonic, if anything. Jungkook was just your sweet little dongsaeng. Nothing more, nothing less. What was so strange about that?

After that, your friends never brought it up ever again. There was no use. You would never see things in the way they would. It still made them uncomfortable from time-to-time, but Jungkook made you so happy so they kept to themselves for your sake.

Jungkook rushes while in the shower. He scrapes his body clean and practically flies out the shower. Jungkook knows it’s useless right now, but he applies a bit of his costly cologne. Only because he knows you love it so much, you compliment him every time he wears it. Since then, he has bought at least eight more times because he doesn't go a day without wearing the damn scent. He knows you will likely be dead asleep by the time he gets to climb in bed, but he wants it to stick to his skin and last until tomorrow then you will cling and smell the cologne until your nostrils get used to it.

With one last look into the mirror, Jungkook makes it to your room. The younger is obsessed with your room as much as he is with you. Your room smells, tastes, and looks just like you.

Every time you aren’t home, Jungkook practically lives in your room. The amount of times he’s masturbated in this exact bed. Your sheets are incredibly soft, very pink and the best part is you leave your scent all over them. Jungkook smells and smells your honey-like scent until he grows desperate, then he’ll make a mess all over himself, being careful so he doesn’t leak into your sheets. However, sometimes he’ll catch himself leaking all over your stuffed animals. The younger doesn’t even feel bad about it, not one bit. He probably should, he’s disgusting and shameful. For now, Jungkook lives with himself and his rancid thoughts.

When Jungkook gets to your room, he finds you already fast asleep, leaving the left side of your bed open for him. The younger salivates when he sees that your blanket isn’t covering your body, not at all. It’s almost like you’re inviting him, the whole world wants him to fail miserably and you clearly don’t care about his well-being.

By now, Jungkook is used to the way you dress. It kills him inside whenever he watches you walk out the house, perky breasts and that fat juicy ass tempting every walking man alive the minute you step out that front door. When you’re off to bed, you wear these little boy shorts that drive him insane because they cover nothing. Your plump ass falls right out from the stretchy material and Jungkook desperately wishes he could touch and squeeze until his heart’s content, but he would never touch you without your consent. He’s not an animal!

“Kookie?” He hears you slur in your sleep, small grabby hands reaching for him. Jungkook immediately places himself in bed, letting you wrap around his broad, strong figure. Even in the dark, he can see your ass hanging from outside your shorts. You must have gotten hot while waiting for him given that your blanket was nearly kicked down to the floor. Jungkook doesn’t care to pick it up.

And why would he? He’ll keep you warm now.

Jungkook falls asleep with ease that night. His nostrils breathing that sweet scent and your light calm exhales lull him straight to dreamland, where his dreams consist of a love so precious and extremely forbidden.

The next morning, Jungkook wakes up before you, which wasn’t usual at all. He was used to finding you up and running bright and early, cooking him breakfast before leaving to work, like you usually did for him.

Before he even gets to open his eyes, he feels something push up against his stiff morning wood. It’s almost like he feels something constantly rocking against him, little-by-little. Jungkook shoves his erection deeper into the pillow-like sensation, chasing the enticing— irresistible feeling.

Jungkook’s hips start moving on their own accord, pushing and thrusting into the soft feeling of clouds. His morning wood grows tenfold when he hears a quiet whimper. He only drives his cock faster and further into that unknown realm, searching for heavenly release. Cock heavy and aching inside his briefs.

The younger almost jumps out of the bed when he hears the prettiest moan. He’s heard this delightful sound before. Only his Noona has the sweetest of sounds. He hates to admit it, but he’s heard these same moans before. And they didn’t come from his own doing, but Seojun’s. There were nights Jungkook couldn’t catch a wink of sleep because he overheard his step-sister getting fucked for hours on end.

…

“Fuck. Oh my god. Don’t stop.” He would throw his pillow over his head and squeeze, praying the fucking ended soon which it probably did because Seojun was disappointing as fuck. Pathetic fucking punk. He prayed for that or that he suffocated himself to death, either was fine for him. As long as his suffering was put to an end.

You sounded fucking perfect though. Jungkook could admit that easily. His Noona sure had a filthy mouth on her. Jungkook wanted to plug it with his fat cock. He wishes it was him instead and maybe one day it will. For now, he’ll continue dreaming.

“Yeah? Like that?” Seojun would grunt while Jungkook rolled his eyes until they would hit the back of his head. He couldn’t do this anymore. Jungkook knows it’s as easy as bringing it up, but how could he look at his perfect step-sister and say that to her! He simply refuses.

“Yes, like that. Yes please. Fuck, fuck, fuck— nghh!” And Jungkook was truly the worst. He could only hold himself back so much!

Jungkook rips the drawer open in his room, feeling around for lube, lotion fucking anything that will get his dick wet and when he finally finds it, he squirts a considerable amount and starts fisting his slicken cock. He grows thicker in his own hand. Jungkook wonders how his cock would look if it were your hand instead. He moans just imagining the idea.

“Coming.” Seojun’s muffled groans also echoed in his room. He doesn’t know how you do it and to be frank, he wishes Seojun would just shut the fuck up and do his job. The younger smirks knowing he’s struggling, leaving you in disappointment. He’s positive he’s never had his dick wet for more than ten minutes. What a bum! Can’t even please his girl.

Jungkook hears your moans grow louder. He swears he can hear them ringing in his fucking ears. Like you purposely wanna get caught. Jungkook gets too much into his head because he starts growing desperate, nearly coming all over himself.

If the situation was different, Jungkook knows he wouldn’t stop fucking you until you were passed out. It was only fair. You needed a real man, someone who could satisfy you without question. He knows he could do it. Fuck being experienced. Why does someone need all this experience if Seojun is proving that even by being a manwhore that doesn’t guarantee you a happy sex life or jackshit.

Point is, Seojun sucks and Jungkook will imagine it’s him instead of that lame fucker. He’ll imagine it’s him that’s making you feel all those things, that’s making you scream into the pillow. Though if it had really been him, Jungkook would snatch that pillow away from your mouth. He would want to hear every single sound that comes from your pouty mouth. Fuck, Jungkook couldn’t wait for you to be his and only his.

That night, Jungkook came all over his hand, some landing on his face. He wishes you were there to lick it clean.

…

Even in his fucking dreams, Jungkook feels like he can’t catch a fucking break.

His hips still, he doesn’t wanna further embarrass himself by humping into his step-sister’s ass like some horny desperate teenager. Jungkook knew this was a terrible idea, especially considering that he’s had the hardest time keeping his dirty— filth of thoughts to himself. Jungkook didn’t know how much longer he could live without knowing the taste of that perfect little pussy. How snuggly you would fit around his huge cock. He knows you could take him so well, you were made for him after all.

“S okay Jungkookie, ‘s normal. Noona isn’t mad.” The younger pretends to be asleep while he hears you babble in sleep, but you know he isn’t and to save his dignity (and yours) you allow it. Jungkook can’t help, but to think maybe you wanted it too. Was that crazy?

You both fall back to sleep. This time Jungkook gives you a respectful distance so he doesn’t commit the same mistake as before and when he wakes up, you act as if nothing happened and Jungkook appreciates that. He had the absolute best Noona, always looking out for her dongsaeng, no matter the situation.

As the days pass, you and Jungkook spend a lot of time together. Maybe it’s because you are single again or maybe it’s because you just wanna spend time with your (not so) little step-brother.

Jungkook’s the happiest. He no longer has to listen to you talk about Seojun and he gets to spend all the time in the world with you. For some time, he believes things are perfect.

Every night, you fall asleep on his chest. Waking up in his arms and Jungkook falls in love harder. Sometimes he steals kisses while you are sleeping. You wouldn’t mind, right?

He kisses your chubby cheeks, kisses your cute button nose, he’ll even kiss your smaller fingers, one-by-one. He has yet to taste those plump lips, but he doesn’t doubt they don't taste of flowers and honey.

“Jungkookie, you think you could fetch me my shoes? I left them near the closet door.” The younger hears you call out to him and being the good step-brother he was, he snatches your shoes up and starts walking away. It seems you forgot something else because Jungkook snaps his eyes to your phone, which starts buzzing with notifications.

Jungkook knew your password of course, you didn’t hide anything from your baby step-brother and he knows it would be wrong to invade your privacy, but he simply wants to see who it is. There’s absolutely no harm in that!

The taller snatches up your phone, disconnecting it from the charger and he sees red for a minute.

Three missed texts and two missed calls, in bold texts your phone reads, Seojun❤️.

He immediately smashes in your passcode without hesitation and any permission. What he finds is absolutely disgusting. Jungkook feels sick.

Seojun❤️: i miss you baby :( been thinking of that pussy can’t wait to stuff you full soon

Jungkook goes back to the messages from before, his ears are hot. He doesn’t know whether to scream or cry his eyes out.

Seojun❤️: coming over

Asshole doesn’t even ask for permission, just does what he feels is right and that only riles Jungkook further.

Me: don’t can't tonight jungkook's home

Good girl, good Noona. He knew he could trust you, if only this asshole understood that you didn’t need anyone else and left you alone. Jungkook took care of you just fine. Just you and him. Always.

Seojun❤️: that never stopped us before?

Me: jun, please. not tonight.

Seojun❤️: so when? you guys are close again or what? you know how i feel about that guy.

Jungkook’s burning inside. He knows how you feel about him? The fuck was his problem. Jungkook’s tempted to smash your fucking phone in pieces. He’ll buy you a new one and it certainly won’t have this asshole’s number.

Me: he’s not just some guy. he’s my younger brother. of course we are close. soon. i’ll come see you soon.

Seojun❤️: step. step-brother.

Me: what does that have to do with anything jun? he’s like a little brother to me.

Seojun❤️: can he say the same?

What. The. Fuck.

Jungkook was gonna kill this stupid fuck.

Me: don’t talk about him that way. talk to you later.

Seojun❤️: whatever.

Then Jungkook rereads the messages over and over again. He’s fucking fuming. The younger hears the door before he hears you coming.

“Jungkook.” Your voice drowns in his ears. He snaps a mean gaze towards you, your phone is in his hands and he’s shaking. “Oh Jungkookie… I can explain.”

Jungkook throws your phone, landing hard against your bed, it bounces and falls to the floor. You jump in fear, your eyes widen, mouth parting slightly.

“Don’t. I’ve seen it all.” Your step-brother’s voice trembles. His voice is cold and rough around the edges. “How fucking could you Noona?”

You gasp at the sudden use of cuss words. Jungkook doesn’t cuss, not in front of you, not ever. He was a good boy, a very good boy.

“Jungkook, listen—”

“Shut up!” Jungkook snaps harshly. Those doe-eyes turn violent. “How could you!”

“H-He— we were just testing the waters.” You explain with a pout, your tears already threaten to fall. Jungkook isn’t a yeller. He never loses his patience, no matter how upset he could be, but you’ve officially cracked him.

“Testing the waters?” Jungkook ridicules with a dry laugh, eyes rolling. He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Y-Yes.”

“You’re back with him.” The younger one says as if it’s a statement. His tone is sharp, dripping of disbelief and hatred. Jungkook scoffs. “I can’t fucking believe you, after everything!”

“Puh— please stop yelling at me.” Jungkook’s eyes soften for a little when he hears your voice shake and eyes dampen with tears.

His voice is still rough as he continues to spew the fire. “You really think he could keep you happy? That he could satisfy you? When will you finally see it, Noona? He’s fucking pathetic. Loser excuse of a man.”

Your pout grows bigger and you start crying softly, embarrassed that the scolding is coming from someone younger, coming from the one person that should be learning from you. Shamefully, you can’t even look him in the eyes, you avoid his sharp gaze and continue crying pretty tears.

Jungkook keeps spitting his words at you and you can’t bear them much longer. “You really think he will ever know what is best for you? That he could provide for you? I bet he—”

“And you do?!” You yell between your blur of tears, feeling like shit.

“I do! I fucking do. Everything I do is for you, for us Noona. I’m here working my ass off to rebuild you and you let him break you over and over! Aren’t you sick of him? Sick of this? Because I am. I fucking am. I hate him and I hate that you let him come between us!” The taller uses his height to his advantage, towering over you while he spews his truth.

“For me? For us?” You speak in disbelief, scoffing and wiping off your tears roughly with your long sleeve. “Jungkook, you speak like we are together! This isn’t normal. The way you care for me, it— it isn’t normal. You should be getting lost in the lights at your age, dating around. I’ve never seen you even speak to another girl besides me! It’s strange! Plus, Seojun… he’s truly the only one that cares for me. Besides you.”

Jungkook explodes. The taller tugs you towards him, a strong hand on your throat while he squeezes mercilessly. You immediately wrap your hands around his wrists, trying to shove him off, but Jungkook’s much taller, much stronger than you are. It’s no use, the more you pull, the more he tightens his hold. You struggle to breathe, hiccuping dry tears.

“I really tried to do this your way Noona. I tried to be patient and do this at your pace, but you’re fucking clueless. I love you. Don’t you see it? Of course I care. I’ve always cared. I’ve loved you since the very first day. I tried to overcome these emotions but the more I denied them, the stronger they became. I let them consume me. I’ve never been more at peace, but I can’t stand here and watch you ruin yourself any longer. I can’t. You and Seojun are done. Do you understand?” Jungkook’s hand is still on your throat and you just nod desperately, hoping that he lets go some time soon.

You should have known, should have seen it coming. People warned you, at least, they tried. You wouldn’t listen and refused to believe it (or see it). Jungkook wasn’t a bad person, he still isn’t. He’s just confused and young. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s not in love it’s just fascination, yeah, you’ll say that for now because it makes you feel better. Not because you definitely feel something splur in your own (tainted) heart.

“Good baby, good. I never wanna see, hear, or know anything about that stupid fuck ever again.” Jungkook loosens his grip a bit and you immediately take a gush of breath. “He’s not good for you. Never will be. You deserve so much more Noona, isn’t that right?”

Between a few tears, you keep nodding.

“Yeah, only Daddy knows what’s best for you. Right?” The younger one doesn't even blink when saying the words. For a second, you think about who he is referring to as daddy, but then you realize. This was so fucking wrong, and yet you feel yourself slipping already. Maybe he was right. What’s the point of denying it? “Only I could ever love you the way you deserve to be loved. Uh baby?”

You nod with a muffle cry.

“Speak.” Jungkook orders. “Tell Daddy that he’s right. Let me hear it.”

“Y-Yes Daddy.” He hears you sweetly comply and even through a blur of tears, you see him smiling down at you.

“Good, good girl. Now, give Daddy a kiss baby.” Jungkook leans down and you hesitantly meet him halfway. The kiss is very sweet considering the pressing situation. Jungkook curls his lips around yours like there’s nothing off or wrong about this situation. He doesn’t seem to mind this at all, like he’s been dying to get to do this with you. You don’t know whether to be happy about that idea or fall sick to your stomach. Either way, you continue to kiss him.

The taller pries your mouth open with his tongue and you allow him access, pouty lips slack. Jungkook sucks and licks into your mouth, greedily tasting the juices on your tongue. His tongue clashes with your messily, spit mixing in the process. It's dirty and filthy. And it is extremely wrong.

You feel so guilty because you’re the older one of the two. You should be the one putting a stop to this, but the more his tongue explores your mouth, the more you dip into the dark— alluring abyss.

“Been dying to do that.” Jungkook breathes into your lips savoring the taste of your salty tears and cherry chapstick in his mouth. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited.”

You whimper quietly and the younger soothes you in his arms. “W-We shouldn’t, Jungkook, not yu—you.”

His smile wavers for a second. “Don’t be scared, Noona. Who else other than me huh? Who can love you like I love you?”

You close your sad eyes to imagine what would have happened if you just came to grab your shoes yourself, wishing you had done that instead. You would have seen your phone and picked up the call instead. This was so wrong. With a deep sigh, you let the darkness consume you too.

“I love you, Noona.” Jungkook whispers, his eyes awfully speaking the truth.

“I-I love you too.” The taller smiles and kisses you once again, this time you don’t even fight it. You don’t hesitate. You take time to enjoy the feel of his lips moving passionately against yours and let yourself be loved. For once, you feel loved and that’s enough for you.

Jungkook takes your cheeks in his calloused hands and starts kissing everywhere. Leaving his trace all over your face. He kisses your nose, your forehead, your lips again. Jungkook brings his nose across your jaw, leaving little pecks here and there. When he reaches your neck, he starts licking and sucking every inch of sensitive skin, hoping to leave his marks behind.

The younger is satisfied when he sees the dark spots he’s left to beautifully decorate your skin.

“Open.” He taps two fingers against your mouth, wrapping his other hand around your neck and you slightly slack your jaw on command. Jungkook shoves those two fingers into your mouth, pushing them down against your wet compliant tongue. He watches you struggle to take them further, gagging a few times around his sloppy fingers. Jungkook was right, you look so fucking good when something is fucking your mouth. “So good for Daddy.”

Whining against his fingers, Jungkook pulls them out. Cock already feeling tight and heavy inside his pants. He couldn’t wait to get out of these and you weren’t doing any better. You could feel slick start to dampen your panties.

“So pretty, Noona. The prettiest.” Jungkook starts to kiss you again. It starts off a bit slow, but there’s hunger in the way he looks at you. He’s waited so long for this moment, he doesn’t wanna hold back any longer. The younger wants to let it all go tonight. It’s only right. There’s no more hiding, no more secrets. Jungkook was gonna claim what was so rightfully his.

“J-Jungkookie, maybe we should–” The taller licks into your mouth before you can continue and you grow really desperate, feet shuffling from nerves. You need to stop this before it gets any further, before it gets to the point of no return. “Wuh-we should s-stop.”

Jungkook ignores you. He sucks and bites your bottom lip into his mouth and you’re starting to lose sense of everything so quickly. Suddenly, Jungkook’s hand is at your throat again, but he doesn’t squeeze it. He just holds it, kisses around your face with gentle movements. “You have the nerve for sure Noona, don’t you think you owe me an apology. Huh baby?”

“I– I’m sorry.” Jungkook would be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on the way you quickly adapted and complied.

He shakes his head, squishing your cute cheeks together, tempted to kiss them both and he does after he’s done speaking. “That simply won’t do. Think that’s enough for everything you’ve done to Daddy? For all the hurt you caused? Get on your knees baby.”

And what else can you do, but drop on your fragile knees. The second your knees hit the hard, cold floor, you whimper in pain.

“Hurts? Here, my love.” Jungkook awes with empathic doe-eyes, without hesitation he reaches for one of your softest pillows and places it down below your knees, helping you onto the comfortable cushion. “Better?”

It is shocking and not at the same time, how quickly Jungkook seems to be okay and fine with this whole thing. If it’s true that he’s been dying to do this for years then in a fucked up way, it kinda makes sense, but it doesn’t change the fact that you guys are family, on paper and in every way that it matters. Your parents are married for fuck’s sake.

“Yes.” You simply respond and Jungkook smiles contentedly.

“Yes what?” He asks, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You hesitate, but end up giving in. Does it even really matter anymore? The deed had been done. You fucked yourself over the second you let him take control of the situation. Jungkook owns you. “Yes Daddy.”

Jungkook towers over you, thick muscular thighs stand tall before you. He hums satisfied with your response. “Open up wide for Daddy.”

The taller has quick hands on his belt, snatching it off himself. Then he pulls his jeans down and tosses them aside without care. He keeps his briefs on for now. Jungkook needs to have you work for it, just a bit. It’s his right after all.

“Pull my dick out.” He rasply orders and you gulp at the sight. He’s packing, you can’t even see it yet, but you are sure the real thing is not much different. Your hands shake as they come up to the waistband of his boxers. You’re about to see your baby step-brother’s cock and you don’t even seem bothered enough to care.

Carefully, you pull them down slowly, revealing inch-by-inch. The tip of his dick pops out first, his slit already dripping pre-come. You practically salviate, gums aching to feel the weight of it on your tongue. Jungkook swears he might fucking burst all over your face before he even gets to stick it in. Though he hates Seojun’s guts, he kinda gets it now. Your soft touch on his sensitive girth nearly makes him shiver.

To be fair, it is Jungkook’s first time! He’s never, ever done this before. He saved himself for the only person that deserved to have him. It was easy for him actually. There was not a damn person that made or could ever make him question his choice. He knew from the very beginning, it was you or no one else.

Jungkook would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit terrified. He doesn’t wanna ruin this whole thing, he’s seen plenty of videos online, mainly through Twitter courtesy of Taehyung. Jungkook is extremely grateful. Seriously, he doesn’t know what he would have done without him. He doesn’t trust much people, but when he confessed at his grown age of twenty-two that he was still a virgin during a night of mixed drinks, Taehyung simply brushed it off and told him there was nothing wrong about that!

Taehyung understood him to some degree. Sex is an intimate experience and you should only ever share it with the people who you truly love, but he was a manslut, through-and-through, so he couldn’t comprehend how Jungkook has lived so long without it. Major respect and props to him, but Taehyung could fucking never.

Either way, Taehyung would send clips here and there as pointers to what some people could possibly like and enjoy during sex. Jungkook took plenty of mental notes, he was beyond ready. He shouldn’t be this nervous, but now that he has you right where he wants you, he’s shaking inside. He doesn’t know how sex workers do this on the regular.

Finally, his dick is out, the whole nine-inch monster and you don’t even have the ability to face him anymore. His cock weighs heavy on your smaller hand. It’s the perfect fit, Jungkook thinks.

With a shallow swallow, Jungkook tugs your head toward it. His tip leaks a bit and Jungkook hopes you don’t notice that he has no clue what he’s doing. After watching porn for so long, he can only hope that everything he’s doing so far is pleasurable for you both.

“Lick it.” He says, voice rough and you do as told.

Cautiously, your pink tongue slips out and experimentally starts licking. The second your moist tongue is on his cock, Jungkook’s guttural moan escapes his throat.

This was gonna be much harder than he thought, but Jungkook’s been practicing. Jungkook is determined to last longer than any other fuck you’ve ever had. He’s determined to be the best and show you exactly what you’ve been missing, wasting all that time on stupid fucks that could never please and love you the way he could.

“Open wider baby, yeah just like that.” Along with the tip of his cock, Jungkook shoves his thumb inside. Your mouth is so wet and warm, taking him exactly how he imagined you would. The younger wonders how much more you could take.

“Gonna fuck your mouth now.” With one last warning, Jungkook plants his feet firmly and thrusts himself deep, causing you to gag so prettily around him when the tip hits the back of your throat.

Clearly, you aren’t used to taking so much cock at once, Jungkook supposes he could go easier on you. But do you really deserve that from him?

Jungkook doesn’t think so.

So he fucks into your mouth harder and faster, his thumbs cleaning the tears that run down your face. Jungkook doesn’t hold back any sounds, he moans roughly when you suck a bit harder on it like you want it to hurt him. Good thing Jungkook likes the pain. It’s why he tatted himself so many times. Jungkook embraces everything, even punishing pain.

“Easy with your teeth baby, don’t wanna hurt Daddy, do we?” The younger is a bit taken back when he sees you nod furiously, mouth full of cock, struggling while taking him deeper. God, you truly do look the best this way. “Oh? How will Daddy fuck you then silly?”

You whine muffles with his girth down your throat, secretly rolling your hips on the pillow, rubbing friction against your clothed sex.

“Huh? What’d you say?” Jungkook teases as he continues to brutally fuck your sloppy mouth, spit leaking down your chin. “I can’t understand you. Sorry!”

But he’s not sorry, not one bit! He practically eats you alive with his eyes, feeling the heat start to form in his stomach. Jungkook’s ready to come.

He forces you to deepthroat him with a ruthless thrust, pushing your head down on his length, as far as you could go. Jungkook doesn’t dare let go until your eyes water beyond control and he doesn’t hear you breathe through your nose. When he releases the tight grip on your head, you are desperately breathing heavily, coughing spit.

“Puh—Please.” Your voice breaks. Jungkook looks down and almost feels bad, you look a mess. Pretty little mess. “N-No more.”

He considers it, but he won’t let you go that easy. “Make me come, then you can beg for mercy after.”

Even after all this, Jungkook’s words surprise you. How? How was it fucking possible? For so long, you believed Jungkook was a certain person, a kind-hearted, romantic sweetheart. In a way, he still is. Jungkook truly believes that this was meant for him. That his whole purpose was to be yours. He never showed this side of himself ever and maybe that’s why it terrifies you. How much is he capable of and how much are you willing to give up for him?

Jungkook throws his head back and moans loudly when you start sucking with purpose, your intentions set clear. He’ll come within seconds if you continue like this.

You don’t let up. If he wants to come, he will. You suck down hard, taking his cock as far as your throat allows. There’s no need to lie, Jungkook tastes and even smells amazing down there. You’ve always known he’s been a clean freak, but he really does take care of himself well.

Gargling him down, Jungkook starts to whine and slow down his pace, but you continue your menacing behavior, sucking him off the way you imagined he would like it. And Jungkook starts seeing stars. He knows that after this, he’ll never want to not do this. This was much, much better than fisting his own cock. You’ve completely ruined him.

“I— I’m gonna come.” Jungkook says and almost immediately comes, bursting his release inside your mouth. “Swallow it.”

There’s no doubt that you won’t. You continue sucking until he’s completely empty and swallow him down.

Jungkook’s eyes are unrecognizable. Not that he looks any different besides his fucked out state, but they are so sharp and dangerously sexy. “Show me.”

You stick your tongue out as far as you can and show him how nicely you’ve cleaned up after him, Jungkook could come again.

Once he’s satisfied, his rough voice booms. “Come here.”

You stand on two feet, your cunt is surely dripping because you feel your panties sticking to your folds. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to take you back in his mouth, not bothered one bit about the fact that you just swallowed his semen. He licks into your mouth like he’s famished, tasting himself on your tongue. Jungkook doesn’t know how he will survive without this now.

“Lie down. On your stomach.” Even though you’ve pretty much gone as far as you can with this, you still hesitate. Maybe it's your guilt or maybe it’s because you are liking this much more than you should, that you still comply even when you shouldn’t.

Your pillow gets left and forgotten where it currently sits and you lay down, stomach pressing into the mattress. Jungkook pats your head and you nearly purr.

“Lift yourself up baby.” Jungkook’s so fucking hard still, he doesn’t get how this is possible. Staring at your perfect petite figure, he starts to get it. “Gonna take these off now.”

Jungkook slowly tugs on your shorts and you shake your head, stopping him once again, your hand flies to his wrist. “N-No.”

“Don’t make me tie your hands Noona, be good for me pretty.” And once again, Jungkook wins. You don’t see yourself winning any time soon. “Gonna undress you now, keep those precious hands away from me for now.”

Repeating his actions from earlier, Jungkook pulls down your shorts and your ass falls right from out the lousy material.

“Fuck.” Jungkook curses, taking in the view as you whimper softly. Your ass is even better, almost bare, your fat pussy peeks through your thin panties. He runs his finger along where your slit should be, feeling your slick dampen his fingertip over the fabric, moaning quietly. The large wet spot on your soiled panties, told him all he needed to know, you wanted this just as much as he did.

With his index finger, he curls his finger along your waistband and brings your panties off as well and the sight doesn’t disappoint. Jungkook licks his dry lips and starts to get to work.

The younger spreads your folds into a “V” and sticks his nose so far into your glistening cunt without warning. Jungkook starts to eat you out like never before and you crumble, moaning and squealing against the feeling of his perfect lips munching on your dripping pussy.

The taller doesn’t let you get any further, heavy-hand on your hip while he keeps you in place. He slurps your sweet slick into his mouth, swallowing down every drop greedily without any fucking plans on stopping soon. Jungkook has found his purpose.

Jungkook was made to eat your fat juicy pussy. There wasn’t anything better than this. Not even the blowjob felt as good as this is making him feel. Jungkook knows that it has nothing to do with your skills or anything of the sort, but because he loves the way you push and pull away from him. The more you run, the more he feels like chasing. He’s addicted to the strangled sounds that escape your lips, crying out loudly against your will. It was perfect!

You squeal when you feel him suckle on your sensitive bud, playing with it between his teeth. He’s almost tempted to bite, but he’s hurt his baby enough. “S good Noona, tastes like candy.”

His words vibrate inside your cunt and you already feel your climax coming in heavy. He was gonna drive you insane!

“Please… oh my god. Please. I can’t.” You swear you feel Jungkook smiling even as he’s eating you out, nose deep inside your cute little cunt. Guess that answers his question, you are definitely enjoying yourself way more than you should.

“You can baby, you fucking will.” He nearly growls into your folds, licking and eating everything he could swallow like a madman. Jungkook didn’t wanna stop until you had nothing more to give, until your pussy stopped oozing out that sweet essence. But it seems the more he licks, the more that squirts out!

Jungkook doesn’t mind though, not at all, not even one bit. He’ll eat your pussy until it kills him.

“Ohhhh, nhmmm fuck. I- Daddy, I’m cominggg.” He hears your fucked out slur and sucks harder on your clit, lapping at all the juices that kept drizzling down. He’s surprised to hear you call him Daddy, he didn’t ask you to, but you were so good for him either way. Jungkook didn’t need to ask anymore, you were so far gone to care about anything else when his tongue kept slipping inside your messy hole.

“Come on my tongue baby. Come for Daddy.” With a strangled cry you come and Jungkook feels the second you explode, because your pussy almost flushes out everything it can give him. He sucks it all up though and doesn’t stop until he feels you trembling under his touch, barely holding up. “Good, so good for me baby. God, I love you.”

Jungkook tosses his shirt aside because he’s grown super hot and looks down at your fucked out figure. All he did was eat pussy, imagine what else he could do with that humongous monster cock he drags around.

He didn’t fail to notice how pretty your tiny hole was from behind, both of them. Jungkook wanted to eat your ass too, but maybe that was for another time, when he gets the pleasure to focus on one at a time.

“Turn around for me baby.” The younger one softly speaks.

There’s a bit of a struggle, but you land on your back successfully and whine when you see his bare figure. Jungkook’s worked his ass off to get it. He’s so strong and shredded, but nonetheless, the sight of his sculpted body makes you drool nearly every time.

“Gonna put it in now.” The way he says it throws you off, he seems a bit embarrassed, shy maybe? And it doesn’t make sense because not even seconds ago, the younger was so confident about every little thing he was doing to you, ruining you entirely for anyone else.

“W-Wait.” You rush, pushing your hand against his chest. Jungkook freezes in place, his hand already wrapped around his cock. “Condom?”

And like that, he snaps again, those once innocent doe-eyes turn dark again and you regret even reminding him. “We won’t be needing that silly Noona, I’m gonna fuck a baby into you and you’re gonna be the perfect Mommy. Won’t you?”

You wanna shake your head so bad, your mind is screaming at you to say no, to fucking stop him before it’s too fucking late, but your body speaks for you. Your pussy keeps leaking your arousal and you can’t believe your reality. You want it so bad, you don’t really care what comes with the consequences of your actions. If your step-brother wants a baby, well then…

“Isn’t that right Noona? You’ll be the perfect Mommy.” Jungkook’s voice sounds sinister and you can barely recognize the person he is. “Daddy will take care of you both. Don’t you want that? Huh my love?”

With sick, deranged thoughts in your head, you slowly nod in agreement and Jungkook scrunches his nose into a sweet, kind smile. “Of course you do. You're the best Noona. Gonna fuck you now okay?”

You nod again. This time, you pry your legs open for him. Letting him use you the way he wants and needs. Jungkook licks his lips and takes his heavy cock in hand. Before he lines it up, he spits perfectly along his length, coating his dick all around so it could slide in without further complications and then he pushes the tip inside.

The minute you feel the intrusion, just the fucking tip, you gasp loudly, trembling into his surprisingly gentle touch.

“C-Can’t. Won’t fu—fit.” You say breaking between whimpers.

Jungkook’s gaze is dark and heavy on you and he gets right into your face when he whispers the next words. “Oh but you will. You already did.”

Just as you are about to question him, in one powerful blow, Jungkook thrusts himself all the way inside your tight velvety-walls and you run away from his hold.

And like always, there’s no point. Before you realize it, Jungkook’s pulling out and ramming back inside you. Doesn’t even seem bothered by the painful whines coming from your lips, his eyes are too focused on the way his cock disappears into your perfect pussy.

There was no better way to lose his virginity, Jungkook thought. This was exactly what he’s been fucking missing all his life.

The pain simmers eventually and it starts to feel overwhelmingly good. Your pained whimpers turn into high-pitched cries and Jungkook sticks his face into your neck, moaning roughly against your ear while he continues to work his way into your walls.

Jungkook will never, absolutely never, go back to his fists. The heat, natural slick, and tightness. His fists don’t even come close.

Skin is clapping on skin, brutally setting a rapid pace. His dick is so sensitive right now, he’s surprised he’s even lasted this long. Jungkook doesn’t even know how fucking long it’s been. Or if your guy's parents will come home soon. He doesn’t even give a fuck. You are his.

His to fuck. His to play with. And his to love.

“Gonna come so deep inside this pussy. Gonna make sure you end up swollen and pregnant once I’m done with you. Noona’s so tight.” He breathes heavily into your neck, sweat dripping from the younger.

His words start to rile you up for some reason. Do you even get a fucking choice? The dicking is almost that good you let yourself fall for a few seconds, allowing Jungkook to fuck into you like some fuck-doll.

Without thinking, you reach for his fluff of sweaty hair and tug. Hard. When he comes up to question you, you slap him so hard that his face snaps towards that direction.

Jungkook’s merciless pounding stills.

For a moment, all you hear is heavy breathing, yours mixed with his. It takes Jungkook a while to look back at you and when you do dare look into his eyes, all you see is dark, dark lust. Lots of it.

Jungkook pulls you in roughly from your throat for a bruising wet kiss. His cock slips from inside you and you whine into his mouth at the loss. You already want him back inside, you took it for granted.

The taller chuckles dryly, almost too sexy for his own good when he catches you grinding your folds desperately against his wet length. “Baby already misses Daddy’s dick. This is how it’s gonna be huh? Okay. I’ll play by your rules baby, don’t fucking say I didn’t warn you.”

You don’t even get the chance to catch your breath when you are already pressed face down into the mattress. Jungkook parts your fat ass, slides his cock between them and teases your sweet little hole menacingly.

Jungkook slaps his cock down a few times, the whole nine inches, right onto your dripping folds. They practically were screaming for attention and not to worry, Daddy was home. Slick would stick to his cock, maybe he should make you lick him clean.

“Why?” The younger one hears you crying softly.

“We’ve been over this Noona, only I’ll ever love you how you deserve to be loved. Stop worrying so much. Want you to come on Daddy’s cock. We’ll talk after m’kay?” Jungkook reasons and stabilizes the situation like if you have any choice in this and as if this wasn’t absolutely sick. “Let me take care of you Noona.”

The choice was made before you even realized it.

“Okay… but don’t— don’t come inside Jungkook. I’m not on birth control.” Seojun would always make use of a condom, you forgoing those hormonal-consuming pills. You don’t get to see this, but the younger one smiles wide like if you just gave him the green light. What you don’t know doesn’t harm you. One day, Jungkook thinks.

“Okay Noona, whatever you say.” Jungkook spits on his cock one last time before he carefully pushes back inside. The prodding feeling still leaves you in between sharp gasps and painful whines, ripping right through you.

“Oh my god… Jungkook- too big.” You grab your closest pillow nearly tearing through the thin fabric, using it to have something to tug and bite on.

“Yeahhh, but Noona takes it so well.” Jungkook moans when he feels you squeeze hard around him, basically watching your asshole wink at him too. “Fuck baby, maybe I should fuck this tiny hole too.”

You whimper when you feel his thumb brushing against the fluttering muscle, back arching into the frail sensation. “Mff—no please, I’ve n-never done it. Please.”

“Okay. Not today baby.” Not today or ever again you hope. You pray that whatever is happening today starts and ends today, but for now, you settle for that answer.

But the second Jungkook’s thumb leaves your delicate asshole, he grips onto the fat of your ass cheeks and starts mounting you from behind like an animal. The stretch still burns, not used to taking so much at once, but he can tell when it starts feeling equally as good for you because you squirm on his cock like a worm. He watches you pull away from him, but he’s gripping you hard, feeling that ass bounce back on him. Jungkook curses when he hears you start moaning into your pillows.

“Nu-uh, wanna hear it.” He pulls you by your throat, your back flushing against his sweaty rising chest. In this position, he’s reaching deeper inside your cunt, g-spot being constantly abused.

“Fuck-k-k, oh fuck —nghh.” Jungkook practically soaks in every noise that comes from your mouth, hips clapping hard into your ass. He takes the time to enjoy this, squeezing the fat that jiggles. Maybe he’ll convince you next time to let him fuck your tight ass. After all, he knows Noona could never say no to her sweetest dongsaeng.

The younger sucks more hickeys onto your skin, anywhere that he can really. Jungkook sucks one on the side of your neck, shoulder, and your back. He’s obsessed. Tomorrow he shall do the exact same thing, he’ll keep you on his cock forever now that he knows what it is like. Taehyung was so right. Sex was amazing.

“Let me hear you Noona, think I’ll come just like this.” Jungkook moans roughly in your ear as he continues to pump your walls full of cock, pussy dripping buckets around his length.

You let out moans like water, feeling his dick destroy your insides, he must have rearranged your guts by now. “Think—think m’ gonna come Daddy.”

Jungkook smirks, grabbing your chin roughly and kisses you sloppily, including tongue and all. He loves the sound of his name and title from your pouty, gasping mouth. “Fucked you so good baby doesn’t know if she’s coming or not. Daddy’s the best, isn’t he?”

“Ye–yeah Daddy.” You slur in a trippy haze and just like that, you’re dropped into the sheets again, and flipped with ease in his hold. Jungkook’s dick surprisingly doesn’t even slip out and you don’t know if you moaned again because of the feeling of his dick impaling your pelvic walls or because he can toss you around like some rag doll and have his way with you. Daddy’s the strongest.

Either way your moans are like sin, high pitched whimpers and incoherent mumbles coming from your plump lips like hushed prayers. “Gonna come Daddy, ‘m gonna come ‘s hard.”

“It’s okay baby. Come on Daddy’s cock. I got you.” Jungkook goes feral when he sees the way you practically convulsate on his dick, squirting all over yourself. He’s only ever seen this on those shitty videos Taehyung sends him and he warned him that it wasn't an easy thing to do, not unless done right and when the other person is really into it. Jungkook’s flying over the moon right now knowing that he’s the reason why you can’t help, but squirt messily all over his cock. “Perfect. Noona’s perfect.”

The taller grips your thighs for support, fucking you through your intense orgasm until your inner thighs are all covered in your silky juices, being pounded into overestimation. Jungkook is really close himself and he knows nothing would compare to coming deep inside your walls, but he should respect his Noona’s wishes, at least this once.

“Where should I come baby? Huh? Tell me.” Sweat accumulates on his forehead, dripping loads of it. Jungkook’s thighs burn from the same constant movement, practically bunny jackhammering into your pussy. He never imagined such a practice could be so tiring, he doesn’t even have to go work out tonight!

By this point, you are in and out of consciousness. Jungkook hasn’t stopped splitting you in two, your aching everywhere, but the feeling is mind-blowing. Not even Seojun could make you feel this good, not anyone.

You were in doubt. Jungkook had to have been experienced by the way he fucked. There’s not enough stamina to fuck the way he does. Jungkook’s a beast and he fucks like one too, using your cunt like a toy he can stick his dick into. Your pussy is stretched in ways unknown to man, perfectly molding around his cock, squeezing him in all the right ways. The more you feel his cock pressing into your pelvic floor, the more you start to realize, Jungkook belongs right here. Where he has been.

“Tell me baby. Want Daddy to come all over your pussy, give you a little facial? Tell me— fuck!” Jungkook’s pants grow hot and heavy, his orgasm approaching him hard. His cock is sensitive to the max, but he doesn’t stop, fucking you relentlessly through it all.

Another realization hits within that moment. It’s already gone to the point of no return. You’ve sucked your baby step-brother off and let him drop his seed in your mouth. He’s kissed and licked every part of your pussy, like any good boy would. You’ve let your dongsaeng use your most intimate parts for his own personal pleasure and the worst part is you’ve actually enjoyed it all. Selfishly, you decide he’s the only one that could ever be right for you. Jungkook had been right all along, he was made for you.

“Inside Daddy, wan— you inside.” Jungkook’s hips freeze as he hears you plead so prettily, tears streaming down your flushed face. God, he almost busts the moment he hears your honey-like voice begging for his release. “Please Daddy. Come inside muh— Noona’s pussy.”

“Yeah, want me inside baby?” He goes back to thrusting, but this time it’s slower, more precise and spot-on, deeper. You’ve completely lost awareness of time as well and maybe a sense of who you were to him. Jungkook fucking you senseless and watching you fall deeper into the heat of haze with no remorse or regret. After this, there was no more to discuss, you were completely his.

“Yeah— yeah wan it Daddy. Want it.” Jungkook happily complies, knowing you would come around if he just fucked you good enough to forget that you were off that horrid pill and that he could plant his ssed in your fertile little pussy and give you his child to bear.

His brows furrow as he concentrates on the mess between your legs, it’s beautiful and all his fucking fault. He wants to bury his head into it, but first, he’ll come deep inside that swollen pussy and finish you off. Jungkook takes a moment to adjust and starts jackhammering your cunt again, this time his only purpose is to plant his seed as deep as it can go, claiming even the most sacred parts. Birth control be fucked!

Jungkook’s thrust grow sloppy by the minute and you don’t know how much longer you can take until he’s fucked you completely faint. Mouth starting to feel parched, Jungkook attaches his lips to yours, kissing you through rough strokes. He devours your lips like honey and feels you start to clench around him again. He feels a little gash of juices trinkle along his slit and Jungkook realizes he’s made you come again by the way your walls clench around his cock.

“Fuck baby, Daddy’s gonna come inside now.” All you can do is nod between blacking out, not wanting to waste his precious, healthy come.

With one last growl, Jungkook’s coming deep. The last thing you remember is the heavy weight of Jungkook’s cock twitching and releasing the milky substance across your plushy warm inviting walls.

—-

“Hey honey, how was work today?” Your voice is soft and light as petals while you watch the food come to a boil on the stove, whisking it around and adding a bit more salt for taste while you wait for your husband’s response.

“Fine baby. Had a long meeting with one of our staff members about missing numbers, but the problem was taken care of.” Your husband’s voice is manly and smooth all around, almost husky-like. He goes to kiss your delicate cheek, watching your eyes flutter as he wraps hulky arms around you, bringing your back flush to his front. “Hope you haven’t been on your feet all day, my love. You should be resting, my love.”

You smile at your caring husband, enjoying his musky scent and broad body. “Of course not babe, I’m almost done with the stew. Help me grab a bowl?”

“Mm.” Your husband hums and retreats to grab a bowl from a cabinet that is far too high for your reach with a quick pat to your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. “This one okay baby?”

“Yeah!”

The taller comes back with the empty bowl and you are quick to serve the steamy stew into the dish, always making sure your husband comes home to a warm homemade meal after his long days at work. He watches you from afar admiring the beauty and power his precious wife holds.

You barely had time to pamper yourself today, but you managed to clean up well. Your hair was in a beautiful half-up half-down pony with the cutest white bow attached. Your makeup was perfect, a little bit of everything to fix the small imperfections you saw in the mirror earlier. And the most perfect little flowy dress with flowers decorating the material to fit your current body shape. You were absolutely perfect. An angel drawn to Earth.

“You’re so beautiful baby.” Jungkook whispers into your ear, tickling your neck with his cool breath. “Smell so good.”

“That’s the food.” You both laugh a bit, a hand cupping your swollen stomach pressing himself against your back-end yet again. The feeling was alike anything. He was starting a whole new life alongside the center of his entire world. Jungkook was the happiest he could ever be.

“Nu-uh, that’s all you. Although, the food does smell impeccable. My tastebuds are craving for something else. Can’t wait to eat you—”

“Stop!” Jungkook laughs as you wack his hands away from your belly and continue to serve his bowl full.

“Okay, okay.” Jungkook takes his bowl and waits for you at the dining table, you follow closely behind and sit beside him. “Thank you, Noona.”

You don’t get to hear that word often these days, mainly because it reminds you both of your previous relationship, but the younger one lets it slip from time-to-time, still as sweet as before, always by your side and doing his absolute best to please and look after you and the new addition.

Coming from a broken family, Jungkook never imagined a life could be so simple and beautiful. Lately, Jungkook’s life is like a movie. He can’t believe this all belongs to him, what more can a man ask for. He has the kindest, most beautiful wife and she bears his healthy infant in her huge pregnant tummy. He owns a huge house, working his ass off to get it and established himself pretty early in his career, buying his wife only the best of things. Jungkook settled only for the best and he found that besides you, a true happily ever after, if you will.

The rest is simply history, unimportant through your eyes. The only thing that mattered now is that you were both happy and extremely loved.

The end!

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x noona #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x y/n #jungkook smut #dead dove do not eat #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot

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storiesforallfandoms · 1 year ago

Text

winner ~ josh futturman;future man

word count: 2263

request?: no

description: in which she walks in on her best friend..."celebrating" his big win, and decides to help him

pairing: josh futterman x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (masturbation, oral - m receiving, unprotected p in v, josh is a bottom bitch but we been knew)

masterlist (one, two, three)

My hand was raised to knock on the door when it suddenly swung open. Mrs. Futturman smiled at me. "Oh, hello (Y/N)! Come on in!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Futturman," I said as I stepped past her. "Is Josh home?"

"Yes, he's upstairs in his room playing that fantasy game he loves so much."

Of course he was. I could've predicted that. If Josh wasn't at work, he was locked in his bedroom trying to beat an unbeatable video game. If I was ever able to actually coax him out of his room to come over to my place, all he'd do was talk about the game. It was like an addiction for him. I guess it could've been worse; Josh could actually be socializing and getting a girlfriend.

Yeah, I know. Best girl friend with a crush on my best guy friend cliche. Unrequited crush on a friend and all that.

"Hey (Y/N)!" Mr. Futturman said as he came down the hallway. "Looking for Joshy?"

"That I am, Mr. Futturman. I know he's in his room."

"Diane and I are going out for a few hours. Help yourselves to whatever you want!"

Josh's dad patted me on the shoulder and his mom smiled at me before they both walked out. I watched as they got into their car, then turned to do exactly as Mr. Futturman said: help myself to whatever I wanted. I grabbed a can of soda from the fridge and one of Mrs. Futturman's famous cupcakes. I would've grabbed one for Josh, too, but if he was deep enough into his game I knew he wouldn't be eating for a while.

I climbed the stairs to Josh's room. If we hadn't been such good friends, I would've knocked on his door instead of just walking in. If I had paid more attention to the sounds coming from his room instead of his mom's delicious cupcake, I would've realized they were not the sounds of his video game.

Honestly, if I hadn't come over at all, I wouldn't have seen what I did.

Because instead of finding my best friend deep in his game, I found him with his head thrown back against his gaming chair and his hand wrapped around his cock, furiously pumping. The sounds coming from his mouth were sinful and things I definitely should not be hearing. I was frozen, watching the entire situation that I knew I should not have been watching. I was so shocked that my drink and cupcake slipped from my hand. The soda can clattered to the floor, soda spilling all over the floor at my feet. It was that sound that finally made Josh open his eyes and turn to look at me. I could only imagine my panicked expression matched the one on his face.

"Shit," he breathed, trying to pull up his boxers.

I finally remembered myself and turned away as he tried to cover himself. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know..."

"You could've knocked!"

"When do I ever knock, dickhead?" I could hear him still struggling. I fought every urge that was telling me to turn around and look at him again. "Your parents told me you were playing Biotic Wars."

"I was. I - uh - I beat the game. I was...celebrating."

Under different circumstances, I'd probably get very excited over Josh beating his game. That would make him the first person to ever beat Biotic Wars in the entire world. It was certainly an achievement worth celebrating.

But a different idea crossed my mind.

I turned back to Josh, who still had his pants around his ankles and his boxers haphazardly pulled up. I could still see the outline of his hard cock fighting against the material of his boxers.

"Maybe I can help you celebrate."

He looked at me in confusion. I swallowed my nerve and started across the room. Josh's eyes followed my every move as I came to stand in front of him. His eyes widened as I sank to my knees in front of him. I watched his face as I reached for the waistband of his boxers, waiting to see if he was going to protest.

"Please," he whimpered.

I couldn't help but smirk as I pulled his boxers down to meet his pants. His cock sprang free, red and painfully hard. I couldn't help but marvel at the size. I had definitely fantasized about him when I was alone, but I was definitely doing him an injustice with those fantasies.

I pushed Josh so he was sitting down in his gamer chair again. I wrapped my hand around the base of his dick and pumped slowly. Josh's mouth fell open as I took the tip in my mouth, still pumping my hand at the base. I swirled my tongue around the head every so slowly, looking up at him through my eyelashes. I held his eye as I took more of him into my mouth, going down just enough for my mouth to meet where my fist was wrapped around him. His head fell back against his chair again as I began to bob my head on his dick.

I held on to his thigh with my other hand, trying to keep myself steady as I picked up the pace slightly. Josh was a moaning mess, putty in my hands (almost literally). I glanced up at him again, watching his Adam's apple bob with every lewd sound that came from his mouth.

"Can you take it any deeper?" he asked. "Please?"

There was something about the begging tone of his voice that turned me on even more. I removed my hand from the base of his dick, placing it on his other thigh and taking him further into my mouth. His eyes screwed shut as he moan out into the room again. I could feel his dick twitching in my mouth with every inch that I took in. Eventually I almost had him completely taken in, the tip all but touching the back of my throat. I had never felt so grateful to not have a gag reflex.

His hand found it's way to my hair, just resting there at first as I started to pull my head back. But then I was being shoved back down at such a quick speed that my eyes suddenly watered and I quickly had to pull off to start coughing.

"Shit, I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just...it felt so good. I needed to be in your mouth again."

"It's okay," I said. "But maybe don't shove your dick down my throat suddenly, okay?"

He nodded quickly. "Okay, okay. Please put my dick in your mouth again."

I smirked up at him. "Well, since you're being so good and using your manners."

He moaned out as I took him into my mouth again. I didn't tease this time. I immediately picked up my pace. Saliva started dripping from my mouth and ran down his cock. I was somewhat impressed by the fact that his chair hadn't toppled over or broke or anything with the sheer force of what was going on.

Josh's hand fisted my hair as whimpers and moans escaped from his lips. I could feel his dick twitching, signaling that he was getting close to his release.

"Stop," he said, his hand pulling at my hair. "Wait, stop."

I pulled off and looked up at him. "Are you okay?"

"I am so much more than okay. I'm actually really close, but I want to be inside of you before I cum. If...if that's okay, I mean."

I was off my knees before he could even finish his sentence. I got onto his lap and pressed my lips to his. It caught him by surprise, but he was responding to my kiss quickly. His hands held my waist as I awkwardly straddled him in his chair, the plastic of the arm rests digging into my legs.

"We have to move to the bed," I said between kisses. "I can't fuck on this thing."

"I figured it was a long shot, but the thought was so hot to me," he said.

I got off his lap and he stood. He kicked his pants and boxers off into a pile on the floor before reaching for my shirt. He paused a moment, like he was waiting for my permission. I playfully rolled my eyes and pulled the shirt off myself and removing his as well. I started kissing him again, deciding to give him the pleasure of taking off my pants and panties himself. Once I had them kicked to the floor, joining the other discarded clothing, we both started backing up towards his bed. I lightly pushed him so he was laying down on the bed before climbing on top of him.

"Fuck," he breathed. "This is a nice view."

I giggled. "You're a real charmer, Josh."

I spit in my hand and lathered it over his already saliva soaked cock. I hovered over him, lining him up with my entrance, before slowly sinking down onto him. We moaned in unison as I went down until he was buried completely inside of me. His hands were gripping at my hips, no doubt leaving crescent indents in my skin.

"Please move," he begged. "Fuck, I need to feel you, please."

"I never took you to be such a sub," I teased. "But I like to hear you beg. Can you ask me nicely one more time to ride your cock?"

"God, please ride me. I need to cum so bad. I wanna feel you before I cum."

I put my hands against his bare chest to steady myself and slowly began to grind on his cock. He was buried so deep inside of me, hitting the one spot my past hook ups could only dream of hitting. With every slow grind, he was nudging that spot more and more, and his pubic bone was rubbing against my clit. I hadn't realized how turned on sucking his dick alone had made me, but I felt like I wasn't about to last long either.

I leaned over to kiss Josh's lips. His tongue ran along my bottom lip, asking for entrance, which I granted him. My grinds had turned into bounces on his cock, the pressure inside me building more and more by the second. I could tell by the way his dick was twitching that he was getting close too.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum," he breathed. "Fuck, I-I don't have a condom on."

"I'm on the pill," I assured him. "I want to feel you cum inside of me."

"Fuck!" he cried out, his head lulling back onto the pillow beneath him as he finally reached his climax. The feeling of his warmth filling me up was enough to push me over the edge as well, crying out into the otherwise silent house.

I sat on top of him as both of us tried to regain our breaths. Josh sat up, wrapping an arm around my lower back to cradled me as he flipped us over. I gasped as he slowly pulled out of me, feeling his seed running out of me.

"I had to clean my sheets anyways," he said, eyeing the mess between my legs. "Hold on, let me clean us up."

He hurried out of the room and returned with two cloths. He passed one to me and we both cleaned ourselves up. He tossed the cloths onto the floor with the rest of our discarded clothes before getting back onto his bed with me. I was a little shocked when he pulled me into his arms, but I wasn't about to protest to post-sex cuddles.

"So," he said, running his fingers up and down my arm, idly, "how long have you been wanting to do that?"

"Uh...since I went through puberty and realized what sex was?" I offered.

He whistled. "That long, huh? And you never told me?"

"How was I supposed to tell you? Hey Josh, I know we've been best friends since primary school and you probably don't view me like this, but I have a massive fucking crush on you. Anyways, enjoy your video game that you never stop playing."

"Who says I don't view you the same way?"

"Well, obviously you view me as someone you want to have sex with considering the fact that we just had sex."

"I view you as more than someone I want to have sex with - "

"Friends with benefits is still just seeing me as someone you wanna have sex with."

"Will you listen to me?" he said as he covered my mouth with his hand. "I mean I like you, too, (Y/N). I always have. But I thought you only saw me as a friend, so obviously I wasn't about to say anything."

I groaned and pushed his hand off of my mouth. "God, we are such a cliche, aren't we?"

He chuckled and placed a finger under my chin, tilting my head up so that he could kiss me on the lips again.

"At least this finally happened now that you finished that game," I said. "I never would've gotten your attention beforehand."

"That's not true!"

"Josh, you didn't pay attention to me before. Being your girlfriend wouldn't have made much of a difference."

"It totally would've!"

"Shut up before I decide to take back everything I said."

I kissed him before he could come up with a comeback.

#josh futturman #josh futturman imagine #josh futturman x reader #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson imagine #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson smut #josh futturman smut #future man #imagine #smut #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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tiredmamaissy · 8 months ago

Text

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode V

Something is Brewing

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20)

Warnings: explicit pregnancy smut, pregnancy fluff, pregnancy angst [for the plot], pregnancy [this chapter is entirely about pregnancy if you haven't caught my drift, just giving you guys a proper warning], age gap, mood swings, cravings, nausea, vomiting, reader is very clumsy, intimate/invasive medical treatment, rut cycle, sexual tension, pregnant sex, p in v, titty fucking, cum eating (m and f), oral sex (m and f), masturbation, exhibitionism (kinda, not really), lactation kink

Word Count: 17.5k (this takes the cake, i apologize)

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Thank you all for being so patient with me as usual. I had planned to post this chapter earlier, but with the help of @zestys-stuff, we made a last minute change to the chapter. This will definitely cause some changes in the next chapter, so I’m going to work on that right away. I won’t lie, I’m really nervous to publish this one. It's been a while and I’ve ventured into some new territory where I’ve introduced a couple of new themes and -drumroll- a new character. There are parts of this chapter that can possibly cause discomfort (technically, all of this could), so I urge you guys to proceed with caution and click off if you do feel uncomfortable in any way. Aside from that, it’s good to be back (again, lol) and I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: A timeline of your pregnancy with Ralak’s child, shown through a series of flashbacks of your most prominent milestones—some of which foreshadow something bigger to come…

<- Previous -> Next

Pregnancy is tough.

A beautiful blessing, but tough nonetheless. With its own set of hardships, uniquely tailored to your own being. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. A sore back, chest, ankles…the list is seemingly endless. The shift in moods, the fatigue. Adjusting to an entire new being growing inside you—one that sucks the nutrients straight from your bones and blood—has your body overcompensating.

At first it was a dream.

No life-changing symptoms. It was smooth sailing for the first few weeks. Life went on as usual. If anything, others were more reactive to your pregnancy than you were. Your skimwing became aggressive towards Ralak, snapping at him and whipping her tail, treating him as a threat rather than a companion. He was more than understanding, as it’s common for the protective instinct to kick in when the tsurak senses their rider is with child.

More importantly, it was an urge that Ralak shared with the beast.

—

You watch as your tendrils intertwine with your skimwing, and how they come together with a rough tug. You let out a rugged breath and the beast beneath you starts to writhe. Ralak instinctively grasps at the harness to steady you and—

Slash.

Your trsuak whips her spiked tail at your mate, who blocks it with his strake.

“Shit.” You gasp, tugging at the leather strap and patting her neck to subdue her. “I thought I was in control. Are you alright?”

Ralak nods, his hair now soaked and plastered to his chest. He simply chuckles, respectfully and cautiously approaching the beast with an open hand. Despite this, your tsurak continues to thrash, repeatedly snapping her snout open and shut. Ralak clicks melodically a few times, and her pupils blow and constrict as she calms down. He strokes her snout with one hand, and lays his other on your thigh, gripping it lightly.

“She senses that you are with child.”

“She does?”

“Yes. That is why she protects you. I understand the feeling.” His accent is thick on his tongue.

——

Then the nausea came. It was… unbearable. Insufferable. It was almost frightful, actually. Not being able to stomach anything really brought down a sense of dread upon your shoulders. Most days, you found yourself worried about the budding life inside you more than yourself.

Was he getting enough? Would he develop properly if you went another day without eating?

Ralak was more worried about you, of course. Going to great lengths to find something you could stomach. Spoon feeding you as you laid down all day from the gut churning nausea. Washing the sick out of your hair when you missed the bucket at your bedside. Detangling and braiding it for you to keep it clean and out of your face. Releasing his pheromones—your only relief—just to put you to sleep at night.

—

t.w. nausea, vomiting.

In the crisp night, a wave of nausea washes over you, waking you from your sleep. Typically, this is the only time you have a break from the nausea—your slumber. That, and the first ten minutes after throwing up.

You quickly hurl over, grabbing and heaving into your bedside bucket, something that's rightfully earned its spot at your side. Ralak jolts awake, sitting up behind you to gather your hair into his fist, rubbing your back as you retch.

“Alrigght.” He hums lengthily. “Get it up.”

Finally, you stop. You gasp and pant for air, sitting up only to collapse back into him. “I h-hate this–haah.”

“I do, too.” He grits, reaching over you for the rag at your bedside, and wiping your mouth.

He hates seeing you so sick. He’s tried it all, and though he’s found a few foods that you can stomach, nothing seems stops the nausea. Well, that’s not entirely true.

Ralak relaxes his body, focusing on opening his scent glands to release his his pheromones. They slowly become stronger, calming you down and dulling the waves of nausea. He pulls you close to his warm body, reaching behind him for his kuru.

“Tsaheylu.” He whispers yearningly, making the bond slowly. He sets a steady breathing pattern, slipping his hand over your tiny bump to caress it. The sickening feeling eases up enough for you to drift back to sleep, Ralak along with you.

——

Thankfully, Eywa lifted you of your säspxin [sickness] when you were about to come upon your third month of pregnancy. Cravings increased ten-fold almost instantly. On the occasion where you couldn’t keep it down—when the desperation was too much—you’d volunteer Ralak to eat it for you so that you could satisfy the craving vicariously through him.

—

“Eywa, that’s so good. One more bite.”

“Tanhí. Enough now.” He grumbles, feeling overly stuffed and almost queasy.

You glance down at the purple hue of your connected kurus.

“Please...” Your eyes burn as they threaten to well with tears, and your bottom lip quivers, “…last one, promise.”

Ralak sighs, shoveling in another bite of boiled squid, chewing it slowly so you can savor the taste. You keep your eyes closed as he eats, tongue swirling in your mouth to swish your pooling saliva in your cheeks. And when he swallows, you swallow too, gulping down your spit.

“Thank you.” You say shyly as you open your eyes, feeling bad for making him overeat now that you can really feel his fullness.

It is my pleasure. Never feel bad. His accented voice tickles your brain. A smile spreads across your face, just as one does on his.

——

And when you could keep it down, they were delightful when satiated. Keyword being satiated. It posed an issue when they were what Ralak called, ‘forest food’, or on a more rare occasion—‘sky people food’. Those were the insatiable ones. The ones he couldn’t just whip up for you. The times he'd come to you with his ears laid flat to his skull, admitting his defeat. Those were the moments where you felt something stronger than just disappointment.

It left you gutted.

—

You can’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. They’re hot and leave a sticky film on your skin, clumping your eyelashes together. It’s stupid. They’re stupid. Stupid tears, from a stupid cause. All because you want your grandmother’s stupid soup. Another thing the blessing of pregnancy has bestowed on you—big, intense feelings.

As you soak in your bath, Ralak cooks dinner and you just know that whatever is in the pot is something that will make your stomach churn. You bury your face in the palms of your hands, trying to keep your snotty sobs to a minimum. It’s ridiculous, sobbing over something like this. It’s shameful, even. How can you be so ungrateful when this man goes to such lengths to care for you?

“Tanhì!” You hear his rough voice echo from the pod.

You quickly wipe your face clean, and scramble for your loincloth and top, slipping them back onto your body. Finally, you fix your hair and force a smile to your face. As you get up to the marui, you’re met with the sight of Ralak stirring the soup pot over the firepit. Then the smell hits you. Typically the first thing to set off your nausea to begin with. It smells like—

Grandmother’s soup.

You stare at your mate wide eyed, taking a deep breath to savour it in your lungs. Outside of Ralak’s scent, nothing has smelled this good in months. And you swear you can already taste it on your tongue, the savoury flavour with the sweet aftertaste.

“I asked your mother. Hope that is okay.” Ralak speaks casually as he serves you a bowl.

As you let out a harsh breath, your eyes burn as the tears come back with a vengeance. You sniffle once, twice—thrice, whimpering quietly as they roll down your cheeks. Ralak looks up at you, concern and honestly a smidge of confusion fixed to his face. Putting the bowl down, he stands and comes over to you, enveloping you in his arms.

“I do not like to see you cry.” He hums, kissing the crown of your head. “Is it the smell? I will make you something different.”

“N-No, no. It’s… it smells great. I’m sorry. I—I” You sputter, burying your face into his chest.

“Then what is it, tìyawn [love]? What do you need?” Ralak cups your face and gently tilts your head upwards so he can look you in the eyes. “Tell me and it is yours.”

“Thank you.” You croak, feeling your bottom lip curl over and kiss your chin. Now his facial expression is just pure confusion. He tuts in a comforting manner, pulling you back in close to his chest as he waits for you to settle, rocking side to side.

“Alright, my little one. Shh–shh.”

——

Soon after, that soup pot made quite an appearance. It became your favourite dish, your favourite craving. Ralak made it just like grandmother, for the most part. There were a few omaticayan herbs missing, but outside of that it tasted like…home. At that point, you felt like you had this pregnancy thing down pat and could return to a semi-normal life.

Everything was relatively the same, except a few obvious things—your growing bump and lack of heats. That was also a blessing, not having to go through a torturous heat every month. Though, you couldn’t say that for Ralak.

As you neared the end of your third month of pregnancy, his pheromones grew stronger, wafting by you at random times of the day. At first you thought he was just doing it for you. Or, perhaps it was your heightened sense of smell.

But the day came when his scent was so potent, it was as if it had stained your lips. There wasn’t a moment where you couldn’t smell the scent of your mate under your nose. That was the night you realised it was out of his control. That it was his rut coming. That was the night you confronted him at the bonfire.

The night he looked at you like you were something to eat.

—

Right…there.

You catch the flicker of his eyes just before he lowers his head, shifting to that deep shade of blue. He keeps stealing a glance or two. Maybe even three, or more. It’s hard to keep count when he’s looking at you like this.

is piercing eyes, sultry and alluring, tempting you to crawl through these roaring flames just to get to him quicker. His demeanour. His stance and posture. His domineering leer. Whatever he—or his body—is doing, is working.

He sits on the boulder, elbow perched on one thick thigh and a hand propped on the other. His hair covers his chestpiece, curled ends barely brushing against his defined ribcage. His bioluminescent freckles dance under the moonlight, his turquoise skin almost golden from the cast of the fire. It’s all so intimidating. He’s exuding dominance, practically looming over you despite him being seated. But there’s something about his aura, something darker.

“I can feel it, you know.” You speak casually, uncrossing your legs.

Ralak’s eyes snap up, boring into yours. He cocks a brow, keeping his eyes locked on you as you stand and walk towards him.

“Your rut. It’s close, isn’t it?”

This would be your first, real rut with him. Without the influence of your own heat. Ralak huffs a sigh, his eyes falling to the small bump that’s in his direct line of sight. Ralak watches as it seemingly grows bigger the closer you get.

“You are showing.” His hands gently rest on your lower abdomen. Holding his shoulders, you slowly straddle him.

“Answer me.” You whisper as you cup his face, tilting it upwards to make him look at you. “I want to be with you… and before you say it—” Ralak grits his teeth as he turns his head away, out of your hands.

“No.”

“Ralak. I am your mate.” You retaliate through tight lips. You knew this would pose an issue.

“Y/n.” He growls, turning his head to look you in the eyes. “You know my rut. Must I remind you that you are with child? It is final.”

“I do know, and that’s why I won’t let you go through that alone, ever again.” Though your voice is stern, he can hear the tenderness in it. That this comes from a place of concern and love.

“I will not be in control.” Ralak admits as he shakes his head firmly, flicking his gaze back down to your belly.

“Look…I made a plan.” You basically confess that you’ve been conjuring up ideas on how to endure this together all day. Although his eyes and hands remain fixed on your tummy, Ralaks ears perk up. He’s listening.

“How do you feel about…being tied up?”

Now you’ve got his attention, eyes snapping up to meet yours. The idea of being tied up isn’t entirely foreign to him. It’s something that his people use as a punishment for those who do wrong. He’s not opposed to it. Having a rut so intense is probably something to be punished for, anyways.

“Hands behind your back…bound to the marui stilt. I will be the one in control. I will take care of you.”

You take his hands from your stomach and tuck them behind his back, your face now millimeters from his. Ralak fights the urge to kiss you. To free his hands from his back to grab your hips and shove your further down onto his growing bulge.

“...feed you…water you…bathe you.” Your voice falters as you swallow your spit. “...fuck you.”

“...that so?” He whispers against your lips, heart thudding wildly behind his ribcage.

You look in his eyes, and see that they tremble with constraint. He can’t hide it, the look on his face gives it away. He’s really struggling to think straight. To keep his answer as a firm no. And it doesn’t help that he’s on the cusp of his rut. He yearns to accept. Every fibre of his being wants this–wants you. You see it in his eyes, as they flicker like the flame behind you.

He just needs a little push.

“We’ll take it slow…gently.” You roll your hips into him and feel his cock straining against his tewng. You lean in close, lips brushing against his as you speak into his mouth. “And, if anything happens… we’ll stop. No knotting.”

His ears twitch. He’s considering it. Really, actually considering this. But how could he? How could he expect this of you in your state? He squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated and conflicted. And aroused. So fucking aroused that when he feels your lips drag against his cheek, your tongue tasting the lobe of his ear…your breathy whisper, “Pänutìng [Promise].”, he lets out a heated, shaky breath of defeat. Of surrender.

That seals the deal.

—

Not now. Not yet. Ralak thinks to himself, fighting his urges.

The urge to mate—to pin you down and drive himself inside you. He must remain in control. For you. For your unborn. He sits on the floor, slumped against the stilt of the marui, bowed shoulders and a heavy, hung head. His skin, flushed, and eyes swollen—glowing a vibrant mauve. His hair haphazardly sticks to his sweltering skin as his hands lethargically twiddle with the braided twine behind his back.

Groggy, you strain to open your eyes and quickly scan your surroundings. Ralaks pheromones cloud the room, engulfing you with their overpowering scent. As you sit up, the bed creaks and Ralak lifts his head, allowing it to flump limply back into the stilt. Extra lidded eyes and tensed brows, he breathes through his mouth. He wills himself to speak, but he’s heavy and sluggish as if he were three bottles deep.

“Ralak.” Your voice is wary and full of concern. Your eyes continue to trail down his body, landing on the undeniable, taut bulge in his loincloth. His cock strains against the fabric, precum completely soaking it through. “How long have you been like this?”

“Few hours.” He croaks out a dry throat.

“And you didn’t wake me?” You hastily make your way behind him, slipping to your knees to take the twine from him.

Fuck. There it is. Your scent...driving him over the edge. Wafting past his nose and making him woozy in the head.

“Tie me.” He demands. For a moment, you’re frozen in place by his tone, unable to move your hands and fingers. “Quickly.”

The edginess in his voice startles you, causing you to fumble with the twine. You take a breath and begin tying the knot as he taught you, weaving the twine with itself, tugging at the ends to close it.

“Tighter.” He snaps at you, making your ears lay flat. You pull the ends even tauter, witnessing the twine pinch the thin skin on his wrists.

“Shit—sorry. Didthat hurt?” You go to loosen the knot, but he pulls at the restraints, making it even tighter.

“Leave it.” He grumbles, tugging yet again, ensuring it’s unyielding.

Because the closer you get, the harder he finds it to resist. He needs to know that he can’t get out—that he can’t hurt you—before he loses it completely. And with that delicious scent seeping from your neck, he feels himself slipping under.

“Are you sure? I can tie you after you drink some water and have a—”

“No...haah—now.” He growls, dropping his head causing the rest of his hair to flow forward and cover his face. “…need you now.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, heating them up and flushing them over. You can even feel your heart pumping it harder–faster. It’s hot in here, but even hotter now that you feel yourself heating up too. It’s his rut, influencing you like some sort of drug. You can barely control your breathing, much less think straight. But you told him that you’d be the one in control, the one to care for him.

“Mawey, ma’ muntxatan [Calm, my husband].” You whisper close to his ear, giving the knot a final tug. “What kind of mate would I be if I did not care for you first? Hm?”

You shuffle to your feet, and walk away, newly widened hips swaying side to side with temptation. He’s taking in the show through the cracks of space between his clumped together strands of hair, unable to look away no matter how hard he tries. Knowing this, you bend over, lifting your tail to expose your clothed mound to him. You swear you can hear a hiss seep from his lips, and that brings a smile to yours.

Teasing him is one of your favourite things to do.

You scoop up some water into the cup, and bring it over to him. Using two fingers to his chin, you tilt his head back, revealing the famine in his inebriated eyes. They’re glossy with need and desperation, begging you to take his ache away.

“Alright, alright.” You coo softly, sinking back to your knees. “I’m going to make it go away. Now, drink for me.” You bring the cup to his lips, tilting it carefully as he gulps it down thirstily. A few drops dribble down his chin and onto his already glistening chest, rolling down his unflexed stomach.

Tossing the empty cup to the side, you bend forward and lick the beads of water up his stomach, to his throat, to his lips. His arms jerk reflexively, wanting to cup your face as your lips lock with his.

Throwing a leg over his lap, you straddle him, pressing against the bulge in his sticky tewng. You cup his face instead, deepening the kiss to have a taste of the potent desperation on his tongue.

When you pull away, your noses brush against one another and you feel woozy in the head. His rut is beginning to affect you now. Which isn’t all a bad thing if you want to be able to keep up with him for the next couple days.

Your hand smoothes over his jawbone to the nape of his neck, where you gently grip the base of his kuru. His ears immediately lay flat to his head, reddening at just the tips. Running your hand along its length, you bring the end of his kuru in front of him.

“Going to make the bond.” You warn him breathily, bringing forth your queue as well.

At this point, Ralak is huffing for air and sweating profusely. It looks as if he’s nearing his peak already. This only reaffirms that you’re making the right decision by making tsaheylu—you need the direct influence of his tìsom [heat].

When the tendrils intertwine, you come together with a sharp tug and gasp. Instantaneously, you sink into a hazy state, heating up from within. Your breath syncs with his, and suddenly you’re panting too.

“Ralak.” You moan softly, grinding into him for a bit of friction.

You can’t stop your hips from snapping, and your loincloth is almost completely soaked. He throws his head back into the wooden stilt, looking at you through lidded eyes as he lets loose subtle groans. He looks more than hungry. He looks starved.

With trembling hands, you search for the knot of his loincloth at the base of his tail. After a bit of scuffling, you untether it and shimmy his tewng down his hips and off of him. Up springs his aching cock, veiny and swollen. It’s so obviously neglected, glossy and sticky with his slick, so uncomfortably hard that it’s already pulsing as it stands firmly pressed against your clothed cunt.

“Fuck. It’s… even bigger.” You’re taken aback, unsure of how exactly you managed to take this inside you last time he was in rut. Then you notice the red tinge of colour on his cockhead, especially where his ridges stand erect. “D-Does that hurt, karyu?” Bump in the way, you shift your hips back to reveal what exactly you’re talking about. “Need your numeyu to take away the pain?”

The giant remains silent, but his cock jumps in response, oozing out another large bead of precum. Using your pointer finger, you trace the length of his cock, swollen balls to his pointed tip, collecting that fresh bead of slick on the pad of your digit. He watches intently as you pop your finger into your mouth and suckle, swallowing his semi-sweet essence. His brows knit tightly together.

You know this is nothing short of torture to him. And though you have every intention to take the ache away… when would you get another opportunity like this? Where this giant is tied down and unable to resist the pleasure you bring him. Where you’re completely… in control. Fuck, you’ve never felt like this before. It's exhilarating. It’s a feeling of power. Of dominance.

A smirk pulls at your lips.

You begin to pull yourself to your knees, brushing your swollen breasts against his lips. His tongue darts out, eager for a taste. Looking down, you cup one breast with your hand, and guide your stiff nipple into his mouth. His lips pucker over it, closing once they make contact for a vacuum seal.

Your breath hitches when you feel his tongue tickle the sensitive tip of your nipple. His teeth graze against them as he tries to do this handsfree, and you let out a low hiss. Soon his movements grow erratic, being bound to the marui stilt is starting to frustrate him.

“Ah-ah. What do you need, karyu? Just tell me.” Your voice is feigned with innocence. He breathes heavy against your chest, keeping quiet as his focus is purely on getting his fill. “You won’t get anything from them.” You tsk, tugging away little by little, until eventually you pop off his mouth.

You continue to rise to your feet, dragging his lips along your swelling tummy, until he’s eye level to the band of your tewng. You can feel his eyes pierce into you, his stare is anything but discreet. It’s intimidating. Your hand flies to the back of your loincloth, fiddling with the knot to untie it.

“Is it this?”

The cloth drops to your ankles, exposing your flushed cunt to him. It’s pink and hot to the touch, undeniably aroused. Your scent grows stronger with each passing second, filling his lungs. It’s driving him insane—being able to see and smell, but not touch. His rut is only making him more irritable. He just needs to fuck into something and spill himself inside.

His eyes glisten over an even brighter shade of purple, locking onto their meal. He wets his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue as you take a step closer. You cup his jawbone, tilting it upwards to look down at him. The sight is… intoxicating. His lidded eyes, blown pupils that are threatening to roll to the back of his head. Tensed brow bones and damped, slightly parted lips—not a drop of composure left in his features.

That new feeling rushes through you again, making you take two more steps forward. Your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his nose, officially branding it with your scent. He leans into you, closing his eyes and straining his neck to indulge himself.

Your thumb smoothes over his jaw before your hand slips to the back of his head. You fist his hair and yank his head back, sending his eyes flying open. With your free hand, you spread your pussy lips, exposing your swollen clit. It’s sticky and in need of attention, throbbing occasionally as you tug your hood back.

“Now, suck.” You demand breathily, slowly guiding him by the head to bring his lips to your clit.

You clench around nothing when you feel his heated, slippery lips pucker over the stiffened nub, sucking gently. Sharp eyes bore into yours before they roll back, leaving nothing but the whites exposed. Lids finally fluttering closed, he sucks a little harder, tips of his canines accidentally nipping your supple skin.

“Ss—fuck.” You hiss, hips snapping back with force, popping off his mouth with a sharp sting. Frantic fingers rub away the tingling sensation as you grit your teeth. You shuffle your feet to ground yourself as you tighten your grip on his hair and hold his head still.

“I know you’re in rut, but be good to your muntxate [wife].” You warn through your teeth before shoving his face back into your cunt.

This time he feasts with greed, groaning like a starved man. Eating, like a starved man. He’s slurping and sucking, lapping up your slick as it coats his tongue and lips, enjoying every second of your reign.

“Oh—oh shit. Fuck. Right there—” You moan breathlessly, free hand flying to his head to fist his hair, using it as leverage to keep him just where he is.

Before you know it your hips are moving on their own, humping at his face as you hold him tightly with both hands. With each thrust you shove him further back into the stilt, until the back of your hand is repeatedly hitting its surface.

Until you’re hunched over him, looking him deep in the eyes as you grind into whatever part of him your clit is rubbing against. He expertly holds his breath as he allows you full control to fuck his face as if you were the one in heat.

Because with each roll of your hips he feels it too.

He feels the jolt of pleasure that shoots through you when his tongue hits your clit in that special spot. When the tips of his canines graze your swollen folds. The feeling is all consuming and he’s whining into your cunt from the over—and under—stimulation. His cock shifts to a shade of purple, jumping each time you thrust into his mouth.

‘Sorry, Ralak. ‘m sorry.’ You think to him through tsaheylu, feeling the burn in your own lungs now.

“Haa—ah, fuck. Thrust. Fuck. Thrust. F-Fuck! I’m gonna cum—in your—ngh!” Your voice quavers as you come suddenly undone in his mouth, holding him firm and still as you rock your body into him.

His eyes slam shut and his brows knit tightly together as he grunts repeatedly into your cunt. He tugs harshly at his restraints and his heels dig into the woven floor. Yet still, you hold onto him even tighter until your pussy stops fluttering.

With a loud, shaky gasp, you yank him away, letting go of his hair to grab the marui stilt to stop your trembling legs from giving out beneath you. Ralak wheezes loudly, shoulders heaving harshly as he frantically pants for air. His face is bright pink, flushed and glazed in a layer of sweat. He opens his eyes but they’re so heavy that you can barely see the colour in them.

“Rutxe [please].” Ralak begs through a desperate groan, flicking his stare downwards. And when you look, you’re met with the sight of his still-throbbing cock, covered in his sticky, thick cum. Shiney beads still ooze out and dribble down his length and onto his swollen, firm balls.

His first word was a plea of help.

Your heart aches in your chest. How could you let yourself go so far with your little bit of power? To be so selfish. And here he was, in so much discomfort and yet you put your needs first. Leaving him so neglected to the point his body makes the release for him. Is this how he felt after he unleashed six pent up years on you in a couple days?

Pent up years of suffering.

“Shh. You’re okay, my love. You’re okay.” You whisper as you slowly squat down. “I got you. I’m going to make it…” you hold eye contact with him as you lower yourself onto his cock, aligning his tip with your sopping entrance, “…all better now.”

You wince when his cock slowly penetrates you, mewling a little higher with every inch you manage to take. The stretch is almost unbearable. This is the first rut you’ve spent with him without being in heat.

No foggy haze to dull the ache.

No emptiness to be filled.

And it doesn’t help that your womb is already so full.

Your mewl quickly turns into a whimper when your bodies become flush to one another. Ralaks head slumps back into the marui stilt and he heaves a loud, lengthy moan of relief from being buried deep inside your warm cunt. You feel so good around him, making his cock heat up and twitch inside of you.

Snaking your arms around his neck, you hold onto him as you frantically try to adjust to his size. It’s dawning on you exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into, and that you’ve seriously underestimated his rut. A sense of uncertainty begins to tighten your stomach but it quickly dissipates when you hear Ralak’s second plea.

“Rutxe, ma’ tanhì..” Ralak mutters with a pained, gravelly voice.

Without another word, you move your hips up and down, dragging his length along your gummy, slick walls. Your movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, you’re not used to doing most of the work much less all of it. With his hands tied behind his back, you can already feel the burn in your thighs and the throb in the tips of your toes.

Regardless, you keep moving your hips.

Bouncing up and down on his cock, pressing your forehead into his in a poor attempt to steady your position. That little sting slowly morphs into something of pleasure the more your hips meet his with a slap. And soon all you can hear is smack, after smack, after smack. The noises that split his lips tell you all you need to know. He’s feeling good and that’s all that matters.

But exhaustion hits you quickly—unexpectedly. His cock is buried to the hilt inside you, and the more tired your legs get, the deeper it drills inside you, pressing harshly into your cervix. Your legs are trembling uncontrollably and you can barely catch your breath, leaving you no choice but to lazily rock back and forth on his cock.

Ralak lets out a grunt and bucks his hips.

“Haah!” You yelp.

Ralaks ears lay flat, lips pursed tightly into a thin line. He can’t hold back his frustration any longer. He’s growing impatient. If he didn’t get his real release soon he may really lose it. He’s grunting through his nose and tugging at his restraints, bruising his wrists. You feel him shift his hips up and shove his cock as far as he can inside you.

“Ngh! I-It won’t go any deeper!” Your voice strains as you try to lift yourself up. But he just keeps pushing until his feet are grounded. And then his hips drop, pulling his cock half way out of you.

Thrust.

Ralak slams his cock back inside you, drilling deeper than he was before. Your mouth falls open as all the air is forcefully expelled from your lungs. As you suck in a gasp of air he thrusts inside you again. And again. And again. Until he’s rutting into you in a feverish frenzy, chasing his climax as if it were prey. His thrusts turn relentless, leaving you breathless with each buck of his hips.

“Fuck—fuck—fu—” Your voice bounces with his thrusts.

You look down, met with eyes that are empty yet heavy with appetite. He’s in the thick of it and he’s no longer all there. He’s purely instinct now and the only thing holding him back from pinning you down and having his way with you is the twine wrapped around his wrists.

You can’t lie and say that you aren’t enjoying the look on his face and the break from the burn in your thighs. Stars sprinkle your vision as you’re overwhelmed with the immense pleasure he’s slamming into you. He’s fucking you into submission and you’re mind is borderline blank. His groans are primal and guttural, and they grow louder with each hysteric thrust.

“Want to knot.” He huffs suddenly—desperately. You can feel his thick knot poke and prod at your entrance, his thrusts now sloppy and erratic.

“Fuck, I—” You know you shouldn’t, no matter how hazy his rut is making you feel. “W-We can’t. I’m still ea—rly.” But he’s too busy watching himself fuck you in a daze, drenched with sweat. “Ralak…” You grab his face, tilting his chin upwards so he looks you in the face. His gaze is hollow yet his features are tense. “…are y–ou hear–ing me, la–k?”

“Need to breed.” He growls as he fights against his restraints. He doesn’t ease up on his tussle with the twine, sweating and panting as he desperately tries to force his knot inside you.

“Shit.” You mutter, coming to the quick realisation that he can’t stop himself. “Wait, wait, wait—”

Your hands fall from his face to his stomach, pushing down in a panicky attempt to lift yourself off him. But his rut is making you sluggish and weak, so you make the quick decision to sever the bond with a rough yank.

Snap.

“Oh, fuck.” You curse under your breath.

The twine breaks, and his arms fly forward, hands making impact with your hips, fingernails digging into the thin skin. His grip is unyielding as he holds you down firmly on his cock. You feel him throb inside you as he attempts to plug you full with his knot.

“Lak! Ralak, h-hold on!” As much as you actually want to, you can barely take what’s inside you as it is.

“Submit.” He rasps, top lip curled tight to his teeth, baring his canines.

“I—I’m pregnant.” You whisper quickly, voice hoarse and strained.

Immediately, his movements cease and his eyes flick down to your tiny bump, then widen when he finally realises. In one swift, sudden move, he lifts you off him and uses your swollen pussy lips to hug his cock and finish himself off. He rocks you back and forth like a rag doll at the mercy of undying grip, growling and grunting.

His head drops forward when he outright howls. You look down and witness his mushroomy head pulsating feverishly, spurting out his load in thick ropes, all over his stomach and chest. All whilst his engorged, throbbing knot pulses against your slit as he cums, earning some well deserved comfort and warmth.

Ralak sputters as he tries to catch his breath, hands still glued to your hips. The fog still clouds his mind but it’s less blinding now. He’s just about capable of acknowledging what just happened. To acknowledge that this was risky, and could’ve ended badly. That, if you hadn’t said something to him, he would have knotted you without mercy.

An uncomfortable silence passes between you, where you’re both breathing heavily and staring at one another. You both share the same thought—the same realisation. His rut is too aggressive for you to handle right now.

“I must go.” Ralak looks away as he breaks the silence, wanting to take advantage of his release before the pressure builds yet again. He’s clear headed enough to leave without turning back and pouncing on you.

“No, don’t… we can try again.” You say softly, hand cupping his jawbone, turning him to face you. You feel terrible that he may have to spend this rut alone, that you couldn’t fulfil your promise—your duty as his mate.

“I almost knotted you, y/n.” His eyes gloss over with guilt, his hands finally peeling away your bruised hips.

“But… you didn’t. You stopped yourself—”

“And if I do not leave now… I will.” Ralak growls inches away from your face.

You’re a little taken aback by his bluntness, but you know it’s the truth. And it’s final. No matter what you say. No matter how it makes the flesh between your legs throb a little more. You nod, keeping yourself quiet.

“I will see you in a couple days. I love you both.” Your lips meet briefly before he carries you to bed and readies himself to leave. You watch in silence, murmuring an “I love you, too” under your breath when he exits the marui.

—

As time passed you grew more angsty, unable to keep in one spot or focus on a single task. All that ran on your mind was Ralak and how he was probably suffering all alone. All because you failed to do your duty as his mate. The guilt was almost sickening, having you dry heaving into your bedside bucket a few times for the rest of the day.

Until later that night.

You rub in the thick, oily concoction on your belly, getting ready for bed. The sound of the marui door flapping open startles you, making you jump in your skin and clutch your stomach. You’re not expecting Ralaks return so soon.

A silhouette stands tall at the door, his bioluminescent star pattern unmistakable.

“Ralak? Oh, Ralak. Eywa. You’re back. I should have made dinner. I thought you'd be gone for a while longer. You must be so hungry. You—” You speak urgently, eyes flicking down to his tewng, which is seemingly damp, “—was it too much? …are you alright? Let me help you, lak.”

“Tanhì.” Ralaks cuts you short, voice trembling slightly, yet full of relief. “It is done.”

“…what?” The question is breathy.

“My rut.” Ralak says as he makes his way towards you, scooping up a glob of your special concoction. He sits next to you, and begins massaging it into your back. “You have fixed me.”

You come to the realization that he's talking about his rut finishing earlier than usual—like that of an average na'vi.

“You were never broken, my love.” You moan softly, closing your eyes to enjoy the massage.

Ralak then rests his chin on your shoulder, smoothing his hands down your back and around your abdomen—rubbing what's left on his hands onto your swelling belly. His touch prickles your skin, sending the tip of your tail swishing.

“I live for you.” He mutters with a thick accent, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I will die for you.”

Your heart skips a beat when you hear his words, he must have really been suffering for the past six years. You feel your face heat up, and you try to fight the smile balling your cheeks. You opt to drop your head and hide your face instead, resting a hand on his thigh.

“Well. We won’t have you doing that.” You giggle, rubbing his upper thigh as you turn your head to glance at him. “…the last part, that is.”

But he just looks at you, face still as stone. He speaks sternly.

“I will.” He speaks sternly.

You swallow your spit, tempted to drop your head again as you take in the gravity of his two words. You nod, searching his eyes with yours as you close the space between you. You hover open mouthed against his lips.

“Me too.”

——

Time waits for no one.

At least that’s how it felt. You had ballooned overnight, round and a little heavier as you embarked on your sixth month of pregnancy. His kicks grew stronger and more uncomfortable. But it was Ralaks favourite thing to feel before bed.

You found yourself spending most of your days bouncing between your marui and your family’s marui—paying your family visits more often. They grew fond of the idea that there would be an addition to the family and it became a regular thing for you to seek refuge there when Ralak was roped in for his ‘duties’. Which seemed to increase in number the further along you progressed.

Ralak had his daily duties—tending to the ilus, a few lessons, fishing... These were just the simpler tasks that you could say you knew for certain he did. But there were his ‘fkxaranga’ [stressful] duties’, as you liked to call them.

The ones where Tonowari would summon him with nothing else but a simple nudge or glance. The duties that were spontaneous. That stole precious hours of his time. Duties that left Ralak spent and on edge, reaching for his top shelf when he came home. Those were the ones you dreaded the most.

The ones like last night.

——

With a huff, Ralak chucks his gear onto the floor and roughly unclips his chest piece. His pointed tools are covered in some sort of thick, iridescent muck, shifting from green to orange as they rock side to side on the floor. It’s something you’ve been seeing recently with no idea as to what it is.

Ralak grunts, bringing your attention to his lips, which are slightly downturned. The more you take in the sight before you the more it occurs to you how exhausted this man is. His eyes are hollow, ears droopy, tail dragging heavily behind him. His muscles are seized up despite the bow of his shoulders—he looks as if he could use a massage.

“Manga [Hey, you].” You get up to meet him at the door, taking the chest piece out of his hands to hang up on the wooden stand. “Tonowari is working your tail off. Do I need to have a word with that man?”

He only works up a grumble as you lead him over to the bed. “That bad? What is he making you do? Hunt akulas? Eywa.”

Ralak sits down, face sinking into his hands before two fingers slip down to pinch the bridge of his nose. You climb up and settle behind him, huffing and puffing along the way. Your hands smooth over his back, thumbs pressing firmly into his muscles, kneading the flesh until you feel him loosen up.

Though the question sounded rhetorical, he knew it wasn’t. He knows you’re awaiting a response, the silence is loud and clear. You always want to know more about his day, fine details and all. And he’s usually reluctant to speak of it, but insisting it’s nothing for you to worry your head over. But recently, your inquisitivity is… well founded. And he knows it.

“Not quite.” He mumbles wearily into his palm, ears laid flat to his skull–although it wasn’t uncommon for him to encounter an akula or two whilst fulfilling the olo’eyktan’s orders.

You open your mouth to question him further, but you can tell that he’s more than tired. And it didn’t help that you were constantly needing his help, especially now that you’re growing heavier.

Going down the stairs is a struggle considering you can no longer see your own feet or keep your balance. You had been waking him up almost twice a night to help you down the marui stairs just to pee. He’d always be happy to help, though. He understands that this is what comes with the changes that are happening to your body that’s giving life to his child.

“Rest. Please.” You say softly, tugging at him to lie down in bed with you.

To your surprise, he actually lays down, assuming his typical position before dozing off for the night—on his back with a hand on your belly. You expected him to resist a little, insisting something or another.

He really, really must be tired. Your heart fills with something heavy. Something that makes you almost feel sick. Your brows pinch as you look beside you to see his tensed face relax into something of tranquility.

And a smile pulls at your lips when his eyes fall shut.

Dinner’s over the firepit—his favourite stew with extra mushrooms. The sound of it bubbling becomes louder as it thickens. With a quick, final stir, you take it off the fire and cover it to let it sit. You hope that this will help lift his mood when he wakes. You look over to him as he lays stockstill with softened features, breathing tidally.

Holding onto a supporting beam of the marui, you bring yourself to your feet and waddle your way over to him. You extend a hand to wake him for dinner but you hesitate. He needs this. And that’s when you make the decision to allow him however long it takes to rest. Even if it means that you speak to Tonowari yourself.

Night falls and the temperature falls with it. The glowing firepit keeps the stew and marui warm for the time being as you prepare for bed. You draw the curtains and glance over to your mate, who still remains in a deep sleep, tucked cozily under the blanket you covered him with. You drape the shawl he wove you over your shoulders, and make your way to the door.

A silent yawn splits your lips just before you lift away the flap. Your eyelids are heavy and the drowsiness is weighing on you tenfold. You have one last step of your nightly routine before you can crawl into bed next to your husband. And that's emptying the bladder that your son uses as a footrest. Plus, if you didn’t do it now, it would just be an additional trip in the middle of the night.

As you make your way to the door, the need to go becomes urgent. Perhaps it was all the water you thirstily chugged whilst eating, or maybe it's just the fact that you're already on your way there. Either way, you can’t seem to get there quick enough. Your movements turn hasty the second you get to the top step, hands clutching on the only thing available—your bulging belly. You’re looking down despite the fact that you can’t even see your feet.

Leaning forward slightly, you try to shift your stomach to the side to see your next step. You step down and feel your bare foot make contact with the slippery wood. Your toes press into its surface to ground you as you take your next step. You wobble when you get to the last step, and sigh in relief when you feel the cold, wet sand spill between your toes.

After wasting no time and doing what you came to do, you quickly make your way back to the marui. The tips of your ears and tails are just going numb from how cold it is and the night dew is beginning to form. You get to the bottom step, fixing your shawl so that it’s out the way. You make your way up the first, second and third step, but when you get to the fourth your shawl falls forward.

And so do you.

A blood curdling shriek rips from your throat when you feel your feet give out beneath you. Your hands splay out to grab onto whatever’s around you to break your fall but before you know it you're tumbling back down the stairs at a frightening rate. You keep on your side as best you can, landing into the sand with a muffled thump.

“Fuck. Shit—oh, great mother—” You mutter as you hyperventilate, clutching your stomach as you wait for your son to kick—to show you some sign of life. Your eyes well with tears as you rub your bump vigorously. Your heart is slamming violenting against your rib cage, so hard you can hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Please, please, please.”

…but nothing.

“Y/n?!” You hear Ralaks worried voice boom behind you, then his hurried footsteps down the stairs.

Maybe it’s his fathers voice, but your unborn son gives you one of the biggest kicks yet. You sob out a laugh, rubbing your stomach as relief flows through your body. You take a few deep breaths through your mouth to calm down, feeling another reassuring kick.

“Y/n. Y/n.” Ralak chants your name, eyes rapidly darting side to side to assess you as he kneels beside you. Concern’s etched deeply into his features as he lifts your arms and legs, searching for injuries.

“I’m alright. I’m alright.” You repeat urgently, but he continues to look, even taking off your shawl. His eyes are wide and he seems to be in some level of shock, especially after coming straight out of a deep sleep. “Ralak. Really. I’m fine. We’re okay.”

Ralaks features soften at your two final words. His stare falls to your swollen belly, hands taking the place of yours as he waits. After a few seconds of stillness, his eyes snap up to yours—refilling with worry. He begins to shake his head, and you reassure him with a hand to his face.

“Talk to him.” You whisper with trembling lungs. Ralak looks back down to your stomach.

“Maitan [My son].” Your mate says in a low, steady voice, ensuring not to allow even a hint of fright slip through. Just then, he feels a little nudge against the palm of his hand. Ralaks gaze snaps up to you and his expression relaxes, hands rubbing your belly gently. “How did this happen, tanhì?”

“I…needed to pee.” You say shamefully, avoiding eye contact. “…and I tripped going up the steps.” You glance up at him to see what you perceive to be a face of disappointment. “I’m sorry. I know, I’m so stupid.”

“No. Do not say that.” He interjects, tensing his jaw. “...you are heavy with child—why did you not wake me?”

“You were so, so tired. You needed to rest, and I did not want to disturb you.” You turn to your side to get up, wincing when a sharp pain shoots down your back.

“Careful.” He clears his throat, stopping you from trying to get up on your own. He watches your contorted face relax, but the heart wrenching guilt just gets worse. “You should have. Wake me for anything.” He says sternly, snaking his arms underneath you to lift you up. “Everything.”

“You really don’t have to—” Ralak continues, scooping you in his arms and holding you close to his chest. “I can walk. I’m all right, Ralak.”

You try to reassure him, shuffling in his arms to get down. But he only muffles out a sigh, glancing down at you with downturned brows and droopy ears. He then walks away from the marui stairs, to the direction of the water.

“Where are we going?” You ask quickly when you realise that you’re walking away from home. Ralak clicks for his tsurak, taking his time as he mounts it with you tucked to his chest. “Ralak.”

“To tsahìk.” He states, making the bond with his beast.

“Ronal?” You sound almost panicked as the idea of everyone knowing you fell up the stairs clouds your mind. It’s almost mortifying to think about. “We don’t need to do that, it’s really late too, and—”

Commanding his beast to go, you both take off at full speed. It doesn’t take long to arrive at the tsahìk’s healing pod. Many healers gather at the door when they hear the sound of Ralak’s low pitched call. And they rush out to meet him as he carries you towards them in a hurried manner. They usher you in, hushed murmurs growing louder and clearer as they bring you to Ronal.

You didn’t even notice the burning pain in your lower back until you were about half way here.

The Tsahìk stands upon your entrance, her crystal blue eyes widening when she sees Ralak with you in his arms. You wince as he lays you down where the healers instruct him to. She strides over to a woven basket filled with an array of herbs and needle-like wooden sticks, and quickly props it on her hip—just out of the way of her own bump. She settles herself beside you, feeling your stomach as she channels Eywa.

Ronal throws a look to Ralak, whose hands are on his hips as he waits patiently for the verdict.

“She fell.” He says, only for Ronal to cock an eyebrow. “Stairs.” He finishes. Then both her eyebrows raise, and she reaches for a jar of a ground up, purplish herb. She pours half of it into a wooden bowl, and activates it with a few drops of water from the spirit tree.

“Baby is strong. Very strong.” The Tsahìk announces, and both you and Ralak heave a loud sigh of relief. “But—” Ronal props your legs up on the makeshift table, spreading them slightly. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you look over to Ralak. “You are still at risk.”

Ralak moves closer to you, taking your hand in his to keep you calm. You both watch as Ronal rolls the fabric tightly into a small cylindrical shape. You swallow your spit when you realise exactly where that’s going.

“This ensures he stays. It will also help with the pain.” She states, glancing at Ralak to see the glare he’s trying to hold back. She shakes her head slightly and hands you the precautionary apparatus. “Insert. Rest…and remove at sunrise.” Ronal continues, drawing back the curtain to give you some privacy.

“Sunrise?” You whisper to yourself as you watch her step out.

Your eyes dart up to Ralak who is clearly concerned, staring down at you with worry in his eyes. Embarrassment heats up your cheeks and your nerves fray. Why are you so shy all of a sudden? He’s your mate. Your husband.

You sit up a bit more and try to see over your stomach to get the task done with shaky hands. You fumble and struggle with the flimsy cloth, blindly doing your best. But each time you lean forward the pain in your back burns hotter.

Ralak’s supporting you with a hand on your upper back, patiently waiting for you, noticing your trembling fingers and little grunts. He uses his free hand to cup yours, stilling your hurried movements.

“Mawey [calm]. Breathe.” He hums, gently taking it from you and helping you lay down.

You look him in the eyes as he inserts it carefully, wincing when the concoction stings a bit. Ralak gives your hand a light squeeze, speaking as if he had access to your thoughts. You nod, trying to smile through the burning sensation, but he picks up on your discomfort.

“What is it? Is it your back?" His voice quavers with worry.

“No… just burns a little.” You say quietly. You watch his jaw flutter and his shoulders droop as he huffs out a sigh. “Not to worry. It’s going away now.”

As he’s about to speak, the curtain is drawn to the side and Ronal comes in and stands at the arched entrance, hand on her hip. Ralak averts his attention to her, his eyes glancing down at her unborn moving in her belly. Although you were both six months pregnant, you were noticeably bigger than her.

“A word.” Her serious tone of voice brings him out of deep thought, and her nudging head tells him that it’s something urgent.

Ralak looks at you, not wanting to leave you alone but you smile and reassure him with a light nod. He clenches his jaw but you give him a gentle push towards Ronal. He squeezes your hand before letting go and leans in to plant a firm kiss on your forehead. You watch as he leaves, laying back and taking in the ripples in the curtain as you strain to hear their hushed conversation.

“Ronal. Oe irayo si ngaru. [Thank you]” Ralak begins, bowing before the shorter na’vi.

“I worry for your mate.” Ronal cuts to the chase, using her hand to guide him further away from the curtain.

“For what reason?” He asks, keeping his head hung to hear what she has to say. They walk until they’re nearly at the entrance of the healing pod.

“Your son is fast growing.” She speaks calmly but quickly.

Ralak is a little puzzled, although he doesn’t show it. Is that such a bad thing? He continues to look down at her with the same expression, listening intently to what the tsahìk speaks of.

“Her body will struggle. Birth will be hard. Very long and painful.” Now Ralak is having a hard time keeping his emotions concealed as they chisel themselves into his features. Yet he remains silent. “You must warn her about mun’i [the cut].”

“Pxasìk [no way/fuck that]” Ralak curses through a hiss in his native tongue as he stands at full height, figuratively and literally taken aback. How dare she call that upon his mate? Ronal returns a low hiss as Ralak moves away from her, staring down at her with a mixture of emotions.

Concern. Surprise. Fear.

Mun’i [the cut] is rare and risky. Only three have been performed since the birth of this clan, all done in desperation when hope was gone. The last one was performed by Ronal's mother herself. It is an extremely invasive procedure where the mother is cut and the infant is removed. It’s only done in dire situations, where the mother is incapable of giving birth to their young naturally, and risks dying in the process.

Ralak can’t help but feel a burning anger amongst the sea of emotions flooding him at once. How could she suggest such a thing to him? Something so dangerous and grave? All because you will give birth to ‘a different kind’. He’s more than confident that you’re capable of this, despite the murmurs circulating the clan.

He has always been aware of Ronal's perception of you, and her opinion about the mating. It was no secret, though she never outwardly told Ralak as he is like a son to her. She often insisted that you two were not compatible in more ways than one, and always saw you as the forest girl who needed special training. But to know that Ronal doubts your capabilities to give life ignites a flame in his chest.

One that he must quickly put out.

“Ralak!”

He hears you call out for him, prompting him to quell the flame and shoot Ronal a glare of displeasure. “She is stronger than you know.” Ralak speaks through his teeth before turning his heel to tend to you.

Heart pounding, he makes his way through the curtain to be met with the joyous sight of you cradling your stomach with a smile plastered to your face. That only further calms the flicker of the flame in his chest, making a smile tug at his lips. He sees you glance up at him, pearly teeth glistening in the luminosity of the night.

“Sorry if I startled you, it’s just—he’s kicking so hard. Come, come feel!” You blubber excitedly, reaching out for his hand to place it on your belly. He slowly takes a knee, staying still as stone to soak up each movement. “He is so strong, Ralak. Like you.” You whisper, looking down at your mate doting on your bump.

Though he should be proud of your words, he can’t help but feel a little nervous by them. If this child is really like him, then what Ronal said may have some truth to it. Yet he smiles, smoothing his thumb over your protruding belly button.

“He is strong like his sa’nu [mummy].” He says softly, perhaps in attempts to reassure himself and calm his own nerves. Your smile only grows and you place your hand on top of his.

“What did Ronal say?” Ralaks eyes snap up to yours, wide and almost panicked, wiping the smile off your face instantly. “Oh, no. Is it bad? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. She says…” He drops his head, watching his unborn move as he contemplates telling you. You need rest, and this would further stress your mind and body. Ralak urges himself to smile—to create a new mask—one of feigned happiness. “…you must rest. Wait until sunrise.”

“Oh, okay.” You exhale a sigh of relief, “Good. I—I can do that.”

——

After such an eventful night, sleep found you easily. Ralak carried you up the marui stairs, tucked you into bed and watched as your eyes fluttered shut. And even so, he remained at your side for some time, ensuring you were deep in sleep before embarking on his new task.

It began with a ‘quick’ trip inland for the right kind of wood. The kind that holds up well against the elements and the saltiness of the water. The kind that doesn’t have a slip to it when it's been wet for more than a few hours. It took a few trips to get it all back to the beach but it was more of an irritable task than a difficult one.

Ralak tried to keep as quiet as possible, spending the rest of the night—until sunrise—cutting and carving the wood, binding them together with twine, sap and wooden pins. And by the time the first few rays of sunlight beamed in, he was engraving his finishing touches.

—

Ralak chucks down the tool and it lands into the sand with a muffled thud. Using the back of his strake to wipe his forehead clean of sweat, he looks up at his work for a final time—railings for the marui stairs. Then the bright ray of sun shines before his eyes, standing between his two new creations.

You.

You’re surprised to see him out this early, still in his gear from last night. The realisation dawns on you that he’s been up all night, doing this. You can actually feel your chest warm up as your heart pumps the blood through your veins at an insane rate. It rushes to your cheeks, making them hot and flushed.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all night?” You ask the question under your breath, dragging a hand along the railing. It’s smooth under the pads of your fingers, and warm to the touch, as if they’ve just been filed down. You notice a small carving on the side of the railing—your son’s initial.

“Mm.” He grunts, not that he could have slept anyways. He glances at the initial that you’re staring at. “I should have done it long ago.” The shame in his voice is loud and clear. You look down at your feet, unsure of what to say, noticing that he’s redone the steps too.

“Ralak—”

“You must still wake me. Understand?” He cuts you off, already knowing what you’re about to say.

You take a step down, holding tightly onto the railing with one hand and the other tucked under your bump. He rushes up the stairs and supports you by the arm. You lean into him for a hug, nuzzling your face into his chest. “… thank you, my love.”

“Kea tìkin [no need (for thanks)].” He presses his lips onto the crown of your head, words muffled by your hair. His hand slips down your arm and rests on your lower back. “Still feeling pain?”

“No. I feel good. Like new.” You smile, watching his features soften and his lips pull into a subtle smile. “Your son, too. He kicked me all night.”

“Is that so, young one?” He leans down to speak to your belly as you watch intently, “you must be gentle with your sa’nu [mummy].”

As he looks back up to you, your eyes follow his every move. And suddenly it’s just the two of you, before the orange glow of the sunrise, sharing this intimate gaze with one another.

“Ralak… I see you.” You say softly, witnessing his pupils blow until there’s nothing but thin rings of blue.

He swallows, you see the lump in his throat undulate, and the balls of his cheeks stain a light pink. He blinks a few times, leaning in until his lips brush against yours. He lingers there for a bit, jaw fluttering as he grits his teeth a few times. He can’t help but feel a pang in his chest.

How could he keep this from you?

“Oel ngat kame, ma’ muntxate.” He husks the words before locking his lips with yours.

But as he pulls away, you see the glint in his eye. When he sees your lowered brows and inquisitive eyes, he attempts to fix his mask of indifference—no, happiness. But you see right through it—

The glint of guilt.

“What is it?” You ask, reaching behind him for his kuru. It’s your way of saying, 'no secrets'. He’s quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. Unsure of how to say what he should say. You urge him with a light tug to his queue, creating a little more distance between you to look him dead in the eye. “Ralak.”

“Ronal doubts…you.” He says plainly, trying hard to rid himself of the thought of childbirth taking you away from him.

“I don’t understand. What—what does that mean?” You ask, confused and worried.

“I should have told you about it when you asked.” Ralak says, shaking his head. “But…you were already under so much stress. In pain. Our son—”

“Ralak. Tell me about what?” You whisper quietly—quickly. Ralak looks at you, allowing a few seconds of silence to pass before he speaks.

“Mun’i [the cut].” Ralak’s voice cracks with pain as the dreaded thought floods his mind.

Ralak goes on to explain mun'i, giving you a brief lesson on its history and typical…outcome. He explains why Ronal urged him to warn you about it. And exactly what he told her in return. That he is confident that you are more capable of doing this.

It ends with a comforting embrace and the both of you coming to the conclusion that a conservation with Jake is needed. If the cut were to happen, the sky people’s medical advancements would be…useful.

——

Since then, Ralak adapted a very strict agenda when it came to the preparation of the birth. In some ways, it reminded you of the beginning of your relationship with him as teacher and student. Karyu and Numeyu. A revision of previous lessons, such as breathing lessons.

—

“Deeper breaths, tanhì. Slow.” Ralak instructs you with his hand on your round belly.

“It’s hard…” your voice is strained, “when his feet are in my lungs.”

Ralak chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Right. Do your best.”

You attempt to follow his demonstration a fifth time, inhaling deeply through your nose, holding it, and then slowly letting it out through your mouth. “Light headed now.”

“You did well.” Ralak praises you, snaking an arm around you as he lowers you onto your back. “You all right?”

“Just fine.” You mutter, grateful for the new position.

Ralak looks at you for a while, taking in a sight that may be similar to the one of you giving birth—giving life. The reality that you will soon be a family quickly dawns on him. The reality that… Ronal's words still weigh heavy on his heart.

“And when you bear down…” Ralak pulls your leg back, your knee now grazing against your cheek as they flush with embarrassment. “…shallow, fast breaths. Do not hold it.”

He then demonstrates, emphasising the sound of the breathing technique to ensure you’re doing it properly.

'…hee—hee—hoo…'

You mimic his sounds, looking down to see nothing but your protruding bump. It may be strange to some that Ralak is teaching you a lesson on something such as childbirth. But with his mother-figure being the tsahìk, there were just certain things he grew to have knowledge of.

“Ronal says there are times where it is best to allow your body to take over. Focus on breathing him out. Let your body do the work for you…” You nod slowly as you practice deep breathing in this new position, “…she will show you some positions in your lesson tomorrow.”

"What?" Your ears perk up. For some reason one on one interactions with Ronal always make you nervous.

“The other expecting women of the clan will be there.”

Your ears relax, and you feel a little more at ease knowing you won’t be alone, even if it’s a sea of gossiping women. At least they were more discreet about it.

——

As you neared the final months of your pregnancy, Ralak was called out more frequently. The aches and pains that came along with being so big were just as frequent, it seemed. They’d hit you at the strangest times, during your sleep or whilst on your tsurak.

But when the pain spread to your abdomen is when Ralak urged you to take things easy. But they didn’t stop him from going anywhere. No matter how badly he wanted to stay home and tend to you. It was more complicated than that. Something that you were blissfully unaware of. Something he wanted to keep that way until it was the right time to tell you.

—

“Must you go?” You ask hopefully, tugging at his bicep. “You just got back.”

“Tono will have my head, tahnì.” He states, buckling his chest gear yet another time for today.

“It’s not fair. Not even the warriors back at home tree were called out so much. Especially if their mate was this far along.” You huff, letting go off his bicep to clutch your protruding belly. He cups a hand over yours, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Ah. I know, I know. I want to stay, I do—” He’s cut off by your sudden gasp, and your face screwing with discomfort. “Are you alright?” His voice turns fills with concern, head tilting even more so that he can look you in the face. It felt as if your back set ablaze and your stomach hardened into rock. It eases up within a few seconds and you take a quick breath before answering.

“Yeah, I think so.” You feel around your bump, taking note of how it’s softened and back to normal. “…that’s the second one today.”

“Hm. It is. See Ronal while I am gone.” Ralak insists, tucking a couple loose braids behind your ear. You nod in response, gritting your teeth from the reminder that he’s leaving again. “I will speak with Tonowari today.”

He’s quick to kiss you, lingering longer than he should. You savor his tender touch, breathing him in until you’ve gotten your fill to last you until he’s back. He pulls away, a grimace fixed to his face as it’s almost painful to do. He rubs your belly a final time, clicking for his beast. Reluctantly, he leaves, and so do you.

—

‘Practice Contractions.’

Ronal’s diagnosis of your pains.

You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept. Mom calls them something different, but it all means the same thing at the end of the day. The body’s way of preparing to give birth. The constriction of your stomach, accompanied by intense pain, at random times with no rhythm.

It’s normal, and expected. Ronal was particularly pleased to see your body do this early in your pregnancy. It typically occurs a couple weeks prior to birth, and both of you weren’t due for another month.

They’re nothing to worry about, but she advises to rest if they get too intense. You waddle home with your tail dragging behind you, unhappy to see no sign of your mates return.

—

“You are late.” Tonowari speaks monotonously, back turned to Ralak as he keeps his eyes on his task—forging a new tool. Ralak has to swallow his frustration and maintain his confidence.

“It will happen soon.” He responds in a similar tone, his eyes following as the olo’eyktan stands. “I must be with her.”

“I understand. I do. But—” Tonowari finishes up the last touches, giving the tool its final inspection. “This is your duty, son.”

“She, is my duty.” Ralak snaps, his frustration slipping through.

Feeling challenged, Tonowari turns to face him, now eye level with Ralak as he slowly nears his subordinate—chest to chest. But with a pregnant mate of his own, and the fact that Ralak is like his own son, Tonowari huffs a sigh and gives this a pass.

“This is for her, too. For the people of the clan. You know what we are about to face. You will do this.” The olo’eyktan states sternly. “When the horn sounds… you come. And that…” he shoves the tool into Ralak’s chest, “…is an order.”

Holding the tool against his own chest, Ralak looks away from Tonowari, grinding his back teeth hard enough to file them flat. He breathes heavily, attempting to recenter himself and stamp out the flame flickering in his chest. Tonowari gives him space, going ahead and mounting his skimwing, readying himself to embark on their journey. Whilst Ralak is left behind to let out a sluggish, shaky breath, closing his eyes when it dawns on him...

…what he must do, where he must go and who he must see.

All before coming home this evening.

—

“Zu’té.”

Ralak calls his name outside of the secluded, dim marui pod. It’s familiar, yet so unknown. It’s an eerie feeling to be standing here. It’s as if no one’s home. Not a single flame burning, nor the residual heat of a smothered fire pit. But Ralak can sense his presence. It’s thick. Aggressive. Just as it’s always been. It’s only intensified since the incident.

The silence is deafening now. A message loud enough to have Ralak reconsidering his actions—rethinking his feelings. No part of him really desired to ask anything of this man, much less this. But in the case Tonowari really doesn’t budge with his decision, it is something he must do. No matter how many years have passed. Ralak has moved on…come to terms with what’s happened, and is in a much better place in his life now. Because of you.

You.

He’s doing this for you. Or is he? The fact he’s fathered a child has a major influence on his decision to be standing here to begin with… perhaps it’s something within him driven by nature—by instinct. The further you’ve progressed, the more he’s thought about rekindling this relationship. But he always brushed off these passing thoughts, until they were no longer just thoughts that passed. They became thoughts that lingered and kept him awake some nights.

Showing their faces the most when Tonowari reminds him of the imminent danger the clan may face.

They reminded him of the good times when they were children. Teasing the ilus when no one was looking, sneaking off to the reef where the adults went to hunt just to see what it was like. But it also reminded him of the more unfortunate moments they shared. Those that will forever leave a scar on their souls, branded by pain and suffering. Since then, Ralak took an oath to never allow his own family to suffer the way he did.

If this is what he must do, he’ll do it.

“I am in need of a favour.” Ralak finally admits, witnessing a tall, thick silhouette emerge from the marui.

At this angle, its darkness looms over Ralak ominously. Green glowing eyes peer down at Ralak as the figure's hands cross defensively over his chest. He steps out of the darkness, revealing his inked face and intricately up-kept hair. He looks as if he’s been disturbed or rudely interrupted, evident in the way his eyes pierce fearlessly into Ralak. But Ralak simply returns the leer.

“Zu’té.” Ralak speaks his name again, a little more sternly this time.

“Brother. To what do I owe this visit?” His tone is sarcastic with undertones of hostility.

Ralak sighs, turning his head away from his older brother, fixating his gaze elsewhere. His jawbone flutters as he struggles to figure out what words to string together next. This isn’t easy for him—being here with his tail tucked between his legs.

“It is no way easy for me to ask you of this…I know we have not spoken for some time.”

“Really? You think so? I would say it has been a little more than ‘some time’, no?” Zu’té’s irritation is shining through now.

“Agreed.” Ralak speaks sharply, dropping his head, gaze piercing into his own feet. He swallows and sighs once more, finally lifting his head to look his brother in the face. "I need your help, brother."

“Hm.” Zu’té scoffs, meeting his stare flagrantly. “Let me get this right. You come here, wake me out my sleep, speak to me like this for the first time in over forty-eight seasons…and demand my help?”

“You are the only one I trust with this.” Ralak grinds out the words, they are hard to admit.

This quietens Zu’té, causing his features to soften and his fixed stare to falter. To hear this after twelve years, straight from his brother’s mouth has him a little taken aback. There’s only one thing that it could mean—that could bring the golden child before him, begging for a favour.

War.

“What does our ‘mighty’ olo’eyktan have you up to now, baby brother?” Zu’té’s tone is especially sardonic when speaking of their father-figure.

“Plenty.” Ralak chuckles quietly, shaking his head in amusement. His curved lips fade into a thin line, returning his grim expression when he’s reminded yet again of his exact reason for being here. “Look…” Ralak exhales, “...it is nowhere likeable for me to show my face like this. Trust me, I have thought of every possible solution. But…" he shakes his head, hesitant to share what he must say next. "My mate...she is pregnant."

Zu’té’ sighs when he realizes the gravity of the situation, eyes narrowing as they look behind Ralak to scan his surroundings. He’s far from all of the neighbouring marui pods, being the last pod along the mangroves. But if someone were nearby, they could eavesdrop with ease.

Zu’té lightly nudges his head, giving Ralak the silent signal to enter his marui. Ralak moves slowly, a little surprised by his change in...heart. Annoyed with Ralak's sluggish movement, Zu’té rolls his eyes.

“What? You expect an invitation?" Zu’té asks the rhetorical question loud and clear, watching in awe as his not-so-little brother stands almost eye to eye with him. "...you've grown."

"Surprised?" Ralak mutters, ears spasming from his brother's comment—shuffling past him.

"Don't get smart with me, little brother." Zu’té snaps with his ears pinned to his skull, automatically slipping back into disciplining his younger brother like he once used to. Ralak fights the smirk pulling at his lips, making his way further into the neat, well-decorated marui.

——

Ralak came home that night, as he does most nights nowadays with a heavy tail and tensed muscles. That night he broke the news that he had no luck with Tonowari. That he remained tied to his duties as a warrior, teacher, hunter and evidently more…that you had no knowledge of.

But he made it clear that none of them came before you—his most important duty of all. He promised not only to your father, but also to you, to put you first, no matter what. That he will do whatever he needs to ensure your safety is never compromised. Even if it means putting his pride aside, and asking for help, as he did that night.

The desire to prepare for your son's arrival grew with each passing day, making you nest like an expecting ikran. You smoked enough meat to last for the next couple months, and gathered as many herbs and fruits that you could manage.

Weaving has been one of your more frequent tasks, making a couple slings and a few more blankets. Ralak was quick to build the cot when he got into a nesting frenzy, too.

But regardless of what your next task was, it was always a little bit harder…a little bit more tiring. Until you were so round and heavy that most of them became unachievable. Your size started to affect you in more ways than just physical. It started to affect you mentally, too. Playing tricks on your mind, making you think negatively about yourself.

And Ralak picked up on that very quickly.

——

As you wait for his return, you give the marui another deep clean. You take small breaks often, sitting down whenever you become short of breath.

Whilst you sweep the patio, you see your mate trudge up the stairs, ears pinned back and exhaustion wrinkled into his forehead. Ralak sees you and wastes no time to take the broom from you and pull you into his chest.

He holds you in silence. Comfortable silence. Savouring how you feel against his body. The thud of your heartbeat, the warmth of your skin. You’re his safe place. His home. As he is yours. His embrace is what you look forward to the most after a long day apart.

Perhaps this is what you both need. A moment of peace and quiet, where your focus is purely on the person in front of you. A break from the mayhem that life can entail, from the pull and push of the rough tides. Serenity. All to be interrupted by Ralak pulling away, holding you by the arms to create some distance between you two.

Furrowed brows and beaded eyes stare back at you when you look at him. He’s staring at you, but not at you. His eyes pierce into your chest, and then peel away to flick down at his stomach. A smile creeps on his face, and a huff of air through his nostrils as he chuckles softly. His gaze finally meets yours, and he lets go of your arms.

“Your milk is in.” He almost whispers, his fingertips grazing against your stomach.

“What?” You breathe, caught off guard to say the least. Your head snaps down, eyes searching every inch of your shawl to find two large, growing wet spots on it. “O-Oh.” You stutter, looking back up at him, catching sight of the glistening liquid on his stomach. “Oh.”

Your cheeks grow hot when blood rushes to them from embarrassment. Just another thing pregnancy has bestowed upon you. “Sorry, Lak.” You turn to reach for the nearby cloth that hangs by the window.

“What for?” He asks innocently—a little confused.

He watches as you wipe him down in an almost frantic manner. He stills your movements by grasping your wrists, causing you to drop the cloth. He brings your hands to his lips.

“Mawey [Calm]. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He speaks into the palm of your hands. You hear his words, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Hey.”

He lets go, and cups your cheek, urging you to look at him. When you finally do, he’s smiling down at you, allowing his hand to slip down to the bow of your shoulder—his fingers hooking underneath the hem of your shawl. “Let me clean you up, hm?”

“Oh—okay.” You stutter shyly, feeling his fingers slip under the woven fabric to slip it off your shoulders. “W-Wait.”

And when the material hits the floor, a shiver shakes your spine. Your breasts are exposed to the cool air, sticky nipples hardened into peaks for him to see. They’ve darkened in colour, and are even a little more puffy too.

Honestly, you weren’t the biggest fan of them anymore. You wore thicker tops or shawls to conceal them, just as you did your stomach with your new…stripes. But Ralak loves them, always stealing a glance at every given chance.

But to know that they’re full with milk makes him feel…on edge.

His eyes bore into them, unapologetically taking in every detail. His smile falls into a slight smirk, which then droops into a thin line. His jaw flutters as he grits his teeth, biting back his urges.

“Don’t stare.” You whisper shyly, covering your chest with one arm and your belly with the other. He looks at you, and reaches for your arms, peeling them away from your body.

“Beautiful.” He states as a fact, intertwining his fingers with yours. “So beautiful, carrying my child.”

“‘m really not.” You mumble, looking away in shame. You feel his hand move to your face, two fingers tugging at your jaw to have you look up at him. When you finally give in to his nudges, you see the look on his face. It was as if you had deeply and personally offended him.

“You are.” He insists softly.

You simply shake your head, arms instinctively wrapping around your chest and belly once more. “I don’t feel it. I don’t even know how you can look at me and say that.”

Ralak almost feels angered by your words. It hurts him to hear you speak of yourself in such a way, especially when it’s far from the truth. If anything, he’s even more attracted to you. Knowing that this is what your body is going through to bring his child into the world has made him even more appreciative of you.

“Never say such things.” He husks firmly, removing your hands from your body and keeping them in his grasp. “Do not hide.”

“You have barely touched me.” You retaliate, voice cracking with hurt.

“Not for that reason.” He’s quick to cut you short, making sure you know that the last thing stopping him from pouncing on you every chance he gets is the way you look. Absolutely not.

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, then—”

Frustrated, Ralak shoves your hand onto his loincloth, pressing it firmly against the bulge that strains against the material. “You feel that?”

You do, you feel every inch of it, hard and warm against your palm. Your face heats up even more, cheeks staining a bright red. Your breath turns raggedy as you struggle to find the words to say.

“Hm?” He grunts as he presses himself even harder against the palm of your hand.

“Y-Yes.” You stutter. Ralak turns you around, pressing himself into you from behind. His heated lips are flush against your ear, hot breath prickling your skin.

“This is what you do to me.” Ralak husks into the shell of your ear, grinding his bulge into the swell of your ass. “Day after day.” He groans almost painfully, filled with all sorts of emotions. He holds you firm against his body, grazing his bottom teeth against the lobe of your ear. “All it takes is a single glance.” His words have your clit pulsing under your tewng and your thighs rubbing against one another. “The sight of you…of your swollen breasts… your swollen womb…” he hisses, on edge and high strung as he caresses your belly, “…it makes me lose myself.”

“Fuck.” You breathe, reaching behind you to tug his loincloth down in a frantic manner. You feel his lips nibble and nip at the skin behind your ear, making their way down the back of your neck. You can’t help but moan from the feeling, your already stiff nipples tingling from his gentle touches.

You feel his hands wander over your stomach and under your tewng, his fingers fondling your folds as he gently parts them. He grunts against your neck, inhaling your scent deep in his lungs as his hips stutter into you. Your stickiness coats his fingers as they slip and slide over your hardened nub.

You tug even harder at his loincloth, struggling to get the annoying thing off him. You let out a frustrated grunt, and he lets loose an amused chuckle, peppering soft kisses down to the bow of your shoulder.

“What is it? Need me to take you right here?” He husks low, voice muffled by his continuous kisses. “…where someone may see?”

Right, you’re on the patio.

Out in the open, under the light of the moon. Ralaks marui pod is far from the village on a cul de sac. The only thing further than here is sand, open water and a couple smaller islands off in the distance. However, there' is's always the slim chance of a na’vi or two going for a late night swim or on a romantic adventure far from the village.

But you simply didn’t care.

If anything it only riles you up more—the riskiness of it all, the thought of being caught. The need to be sneaky and quiet, when all you want to do is moan his name until your voice goes dim. It seems that Ralak feels similarly as you feel him throb against you, excited to take you where you stand.

“I don’t mind.” You huff shakily, finally tugging the cloth down enough for his cock to spring out. “Do you?”

You feel him smile against your shoulder when you grip it in your hand, smooth teeth bumping into your skin as his free hand cups your full breast.

“Not at all, my tanhì.” He breathes, gently kneading the soft flesh, feeling the trickle of your milk flow over the back of his hand.

“Good.” Your lungs tremble beneath his touch, hand desperately stroking his length. Yet he remains gentle with his touches, pinning your clit between his two fingers as he rubs you slowly. “Then hurry…I need you inside.”

Ralak quickly moves his kisses back up your neck, and you feel the tip of his tongue tickle the lobe of your ear before he suckles on it lightly. Tingles ripple up your spine, sending your head into a shiver as you lean into his mouth. His fingers dip into your soaking core just as he rolls your tender nipple between his other two digits.

It’s all too much. All-consuming. Making you gasp for air in lungs that won’t seem to fill. Fog clouds your head. How did you get here? How did this happen? Fuck, it doesn’t matter. Not when you feel like this.

You’re already so sensitive as it is, so tender and delicate, like silk under his fingers. He pushes his two fingers even deeper inside your aching pussy, curling them and earning a whimper from your lips and quiver of your tail.

“Not too loud, oeyä sevin muntxate [my pretty/beautiful wife]”. Ralak whispers the hushed praise, knowing it’s what you need to hear.

You’re so much warmer around his fingers than usual, so much softer. Wetter. With each curl of his digits comes out a squelch as he works you open for his cock that he’s been dying to plunge inside you.

You wrap your leg around his, perching your heel on the side of thigh as you lean all your weight back into him. He steadies his knees, supporting you with ease. Your head slumps back into his shoulder, opening up your neck to his hot breaths, an arm reaching behind you to fist his hair.

His brows are tense and his breath is heavy. He’s overcome with arousal and he can’t keep his composure as your scent grows stronger now your throat is directly under his nose. Truthfully it’s been too long, he knows that. He knows he’s been too protective, too cautious. Depriving you and him of the touch that’s necessary between a mated pair.

His fingers slip out of you, now expertly unravelling the loose knot just barely keeping your tewng on you. As it drops to the floor his fingers are back where they were, rubbing sloppy circles into your clit before spreading your pussylips apart. His hips stutter as he attempts to align the crown of his cock with your slit and finally buck forward when he senses your little, exposed hole.

His cock sinks inside you at an achingly slow pace—inch by inch. You let loose a lengthy moan when you feel him fill you completely, no longer caring if anyone hears you.

“Hnng—I missed you.” The gruff words slip out as he bottoms out inside your cunt. He has longed to feel your gummy walls squeeze oh-so tightly around his cock. “You alright?” He checks on you in a daze, voice thick with want—with the desire to pummel your little pussy until your voice is hoarse. But the last thing he wants is to hurt his heavily pregnant mate.

“Mhm, ple-ase.” You purr with need, closing your eyes and relaxing completely into him. Trusting someone this much feels too good. Ralak moves slowly, pumping his cock in and out of you in a languid haze, tickling your sensitive clit with just the tips of his fingers.

“Tanhì—haah—you are squeezing me so tight.” Ralak moans as his strokes grow with intent. His hips roll deep, shoving and forcing his cock inside your sensitive cunt until his swollen balls kiss your clit.

He’s unapologetically coaxing out the orgasm you’ve been denied for so long with only a few lazy thrusts. And he knows it. He can feel it from the way you clench around him. From the way your thighs tremble a little more after each deep stroke…from the sweet, filthy noises that shamelessly drip from your lips.

“Oh my—Ralak! I-I’m gonna—” You sputter the words between choked sounds, eyes welling with tears from the burn between your legs.

“I know, I know.” He huffs, dragging his hot tongue along the length of your throat. The truth is, he’s close too. But he can’t allow himself to finish inside you. He can’t risk letting himself go and pounding recklessly into your poor, tender pussy. He’s already had a long day. “Let it out, tìyawn [love].”

Its almost cathartic.

Weeks of pent up frustration released in a few minutes, leaving you near convulsing in his grip. You can’t stop the flutter of your pussy walls if you try, it’s out of your control, much like the surge of white fire going right through you. Your legs fight to stay open and you hold onto your mate to keep you standing. Gurgled noises spill from your lips as your body shudders under him. His hips still, keeping his cock buried to the hilt inside your quivering cunt as he holds you tight, supporting you until you finish riding out your high.

“Good girl. Good girl.” He praises you in a hushed, shaky voice, extremely wound up from feeling you flourish so beautifully under his touch. It's a miracle that he didn't empty himself inside you right then and there.

“But you—but you haven’t—” You sputter, collapsing into him as your legs give out.

“I know. It is alright..” He hums, carefully leading you inside the marui to lay you on the bed.

“Thought you were c-cleaning me u-up. Not mak-king m-more of a mess.” Your breath is relentlessly hitching as you watch him hastily remove his tewng that’s been digging into his thighs. A reminder of exactly how quickly things happened.

“You are right.” Ralak tsks, cocking a brow as he stares down at you with a predatory leer. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Ralak situates himself between your legs, crouching over you, ensuring there’s plenty of space between him and your stomach. His cock presses between your sticky folds as his lips press against your clammy neck. He tastes the faint saltiness of the thin film of sweat on your skin as he drags his lips down your chest—between your breasts.

“Lak…” You whisper, back bowing against the bed.

You’re way too sensitive right now, like an exposed nerve. His eyes snap up and lock with yours, responding to you moaning his name. His tongue darts out, sampling a taste of the spilled milk on your breast. Then his eyes slam shut, tensed brows and scrunched nose telling you that he’s unsure of the flavour in his mouth.

Eyes widening, you’re taken aback by his actions, feelings of shyness and embarrassment creeping back in. Fisting his hair, you pull gently at his head to pry him off your chest, only for him to resist your tugs.

“You shouldn’t have done—why’d you do—” You struggle to find the right words at this moment, flustered and nervous that he’d do that.

But what leaves you even more speechless is when he opens his eyes to reveal dots for pupils, a look you only see when he’s high strung. And then he eagerly takes your nipple into his mouth, latching on and ensuring the suction is airtight. The tip of his tongue flicks at your hardened nipple a few times before he gently suckles at your breast.

A tingling sensation radiates your chest and you feel it in the pit of your stomach. Your breath catches in your throat, a little surprised by his lewd behaviour. And soon, all you can hear are the repeated, muffled gulps of your warm milk flowing down his throat.

“W-What are yo-ou d-doing, my love?” You mewl, squirming underneath him from the strange feeling. He unlatches harshly with an audible pop, leaving your pointed nipple misshapened and exposed.

“Cleaning you.” He huffs quickly as he catches his breath, diving back in to lap up the milk leaking from your other neglected breast. Your head throws back in what is undeniably pleasure now, legs tightening around his waist. You look down in a daze, watching him feast greedily, feeling his hips begin to stammer against you.

“Fuck—I didn’t know this i-is what you meant.” You’re finally calming down from your orgasm now, already feeling your body gearing up to have another. His desperation is pungent. Evident in the way his cock grinds between your soft, slippery folds, scenting your cunt with it.

He pulls off you with yet another pop, his tongue swiping his bottom lip so not to let the bead of milk dripping off of it go to waste. He’s huffing and puffing against you, trailing his wet kisses down your curved stomach as he tucks your legs back. You feel his hot breath against your thighs and your legs tremble in anticipation.

“Kalin, kalin [sweet, sweet].” He mumbles, kissing your pulsing clit. “Oeyä kalin [My sweet].”

“Oh shit.” You let loose the breathy curse when you feel his lips pucker around your over sensitive nub, and squeal when he begins to suck on it too. Your hands fly to his head, grasping at his hair to shove his face further into your cunt. He devours you with exhilaration, lapping at your leaking slit to savour your sweetness.

His cock is aching now. He’s so hard it’s painful. He can’t stop throbbing and his cock strains so hard it’s swollen. He wants to shove himself back inside you— your warmth—and hump at you until his marked you with his essence.

He can’t help but touch himself as he pleasures you. Stroking his cock with every lick of your pussy. Thrusting into his hand when he feels you throb against his tongue. He’s groaning and grunting into your cunt, urgently chasing his own release as he sucks on you for his own pleasure.

Too busy to realise that you’ve been begging him to slow down a bit. That you’re too sensitive. That you feel like you may explode if he continues.

“Ralak! I just came! F-Fuck—” You yank his head away, hurriedly rubbing at your sore pussy.

Ralak pants for air, pulling back into a standing position to reveal that he’s been fucking his hand this entire time. It’s glossy with his precum as it dribbles down his strake. He’s frantically stroking himself, staring brazenly down at your pussy—taking in how it’s flushed and swollen, glistening with his spit and your slick. It’s a delicious sight, tempting him to go in for another taste.

He’s close and you can tell, his hips are stuttering erratically and he’s groaning like a dying man. You sit up slowly, bringing yourself to your knees as you shuffle your way closer to him. Your chest is level to his cock and you cup your full breasts with both hands, pushing them together only inches away from him.

He seems a little confused, unsure of what your next move may be. Fuck, you aren’t even sure of what your next move is. But you’re going with your instinct, pinching your nipples until they begin to leak milk. His brows jump, the sight of that sends his hips stammering into his hand. With each huff and thrust sends his cock a little closer to you, until his swollen cockhead is poking at your breasts.

You shuffle a little closer, moaning softly from watching him get off like this. Then you feel his sticky cock slip in between your breasts, and his hand falls to your shoulders.

Now he’s fucking your tits in a frenzy, his leaking tip prodding at your lips. You stick your tongue out for a taste, allowing his cockhead to slip and slide against it. He’s groaning and moaning, eyes fixed in the sight beneath him. The pressure from his fat cock between your breasts only makes you leak even more, and that’s when he loses it completely.

“Oh, fuck.” He growls, thrusting hard enough to shove his cockhead into your mouth. You feel him throb violently against your tongue, his thick, hot load coating your cheeks until they're full to the brim. He pulls out as soon as he realises what he’s down, immediately reaching for your bedside bucket to spit in.

But you shake your head, glossy eyes staring up at him as you swallow his cum with a singular, loud gulp. His eyes bulge, his hands flying to cup your cheeks as he quickly searches your eyes. You simply smile, using a thumb to swipe the single bead of cum on your chin and pop it into your mouth.

Features softening, he returns the smile, chest heaving wildly as it swells with pride.

——

1K notes · View notes

vatelixx · 4 months ago

Text

You are the knife (I turn inside myself),

S2!Post-addiction!Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and copious amounts of angst, and like a small amount of fluff to just… balance it out), Workplace rivals, aka, enemies to lovers (who are still enemies and would rather die than tell each other they’re in love).

──── autistic spencer (as per usual), evil evil reader (im being dramatic, kinda), they hate each other so much that they have to find a new way to crawl into each others skin.

Warnings: sub spencer, brat!spencer (a man gets glasses and suddenly thinks he can be defiant) brat!tamer!reader, HUGE corruption kink (someone keeps putting that in there???? it’s not me, i swear), first time for Spencer (i love a virginal nerd), restraints (someone has to pin him down), crying— like lots of crying, degradation (and a little praise because they work hand in hand), Spencer eats reader out like rent is due, reader says thankyou by destroying him, they argue mid-sex. They actually just argue constantly.

— warning: mentions of past drug addiction.

w.c: 9k (mostly smut, holy shit how is it 9k??? their arguments hiked up my word count im positive)

a/n: i know tumblr hates to see me coming with my Spencer Reid one shots. I wrote this at 3am when I was supposed to be studying for my latin exam, it’s okay. Uni will understand I had greater things to do. I promise i’ll get around to my requests this week, i just got possessed by the holy ghost and wrote this.

────────────

Something, something, mindless torture. Spencer holds his brain, his intellect, in high regard. Proverbial accomplishments, Stanford Binet approved genius, he’s an outlier to most. And yet, the moment you start speaking, he has no thoughts beyond the domineering urge to throw himself off a cliff.

You’re late today. Chicago, you’ve both been sentenced, discarded to create a profile from the minimal information present. Forced proximity, the team have been trying to stifle this animosity shared between you for over a year now. It doesn’t work.

Here’s the thing, each member of the BAU has their own specialised feat: Penelope could be a cybercriminal, if she so wished, a tech-genius that has no qualms in tearing down firewalls. Morgan, adroit, an expert on the field, stereotypically strong, all running lines of muscle. Who wouldn’t want to be princess-carried away from danger by him? He’s also remarkably good at kicking down doors. Gideon has incalculable years of experience, a mentor.

The list stretches on.

But you and Spencer can’t both be the brains of the team. It’s unbalanced, skewed. A clash of intellect. Scales tipped in one direction, why does he always come up short? Why can’t he just—

Why, repeats as you push through the bureau, blanking the predictable, formulaic stares of various officers, trained officials, the usual mess. Why— why profiling? Why did you voluntarily choose to suffer your way through ceaseless cases of sanguinary?There has to be an element of masochism to your career; no one with a sane mind voluntarily decides to walk into an onslaught of serial killers and death.

The early mornings are always the worst; stumbling out of bed, deriving no sleep from the night, tangled sheets and restless limbs. “Don’t,” you push, padding into the office, met with Spencer’s hardened gaze. “Late night.”

“We haven’t been here for 48 hours yet, 36 and 22 minutes to be precise, and you’ve already—“

“Get your mind out of the gutter, boy genius. Late night as in I stared at the casefiles until my mind went numb.”

“Did you take a break?” he asks, and you both know it’s not born from care. “Maybe a self-reflection period to realise that torturing yourself isn’t the most effective form of work. Your reactive skills will be delayed now, let’s hope we don’t find the unsub today. In fact, maybe I should warn Hotch—“

“Have I ever warned Hotch about your breakdowns?” that shuts him up. It also makes him spiral, because you can’t know, it’s not statistically possible that you’d be aware of Hankel’s lasting impact on his body, dilaudid, hydromorphine, and not tell someone. He assumes you’d be desperate to eliminate him from the team, to claim your win.

“Right, um— the case,” he shifts in his seat. Professionalism, tolerance, it’s all a little too much work when it comes to the subject of you.

“The case.” you agree.

You’re attuned to each other, a psychological curse he’s forced to stomach. Offices and crime scenes, analysing, competing, hellbent on one upping the other. “Look at these markings—“ his hands rifle through the files that adorn the table, searching searching until they produce an autopsy report.

The markings on the body are intricate, latin symbols prominent against the victims pale skin. You lean further forward, following the path of his index finger as it traces the outline. Perhaps there’s an element of telepathy to your dynamic; you don’t need to state the obvious, too aware that his brain has already processed the information, that he’s moved onto the nuances now.

Human sacrifice, it’s not the first time you’ve caught yourselves in the midst of cult worship and indoctrination. But it’s certainly the first time of its kind.

“Traces of wine in her bloodstream. Found in a forest. Sounds like a bacchanal.” you state, shifting to pull yourself up on the desk.

Spencer looks. At your long, slender legs extending out from a pencil skirt. Effortless, natural, situating yourself on the oakwood, hair half covering your face, with loose strands pooling over your eyes to obstruct your sight.

It’s a strange analogy, the two of you; Spencer with his tired eyes, haphazard clothes and messy desk, and you, just as dishevelled in the morning light.

Metaphorically and literally you’re higher than him right now. He fixes his askew glasses. Clears his throat. “Regina Horthorne,” the victim, “Straight A student. Honour role. What are the chances she willing went to said… bacchanal?”

“Hm. I don’t know, maybe she’s like Laura Palmer. Double life. 4.0 cheerleader by day, crazed bacchante by night.” you retort.

Shamelessly, you take a moment to observe him, just as he did you. Shirt sleeves bunched up at his elbows, hair tousled, large hazel eyes, interminably darting across your face. You wonder for a moment if he’s analysed you the way you’ve analysed him. It’s a futile question, of course he has.

Anything to gain the upper hand.

You continue, “Maybe they’re sacrificing virgins. You could go undercover as a potential victim. Certainly fit the part.”

“I’m already too old to be counted as an appropriate victim. There’s a high probability ‘they’, the dominant unsub, wouldn’t even look at me, and—“ he pauses, pretty face marred by creased features, brows furrowed, a slight pout to his lips.

“There’s a homicidal cult preforming human sacrifice, and you’re wasting time by insulting me?” Spencer is….. a perpetual scholar, a social disaster, wearing his intellect like an ill-concealed secret, outcasted for the weight of his own brilliance. “The BAU clearly made a well-informed decision when they hired you.”

“Oh, you wound me boy genius.” you respond, pressing your hand against your heart.

Endless cases. The impenetrable presence of fall. It feels like you shift through cycles, bleary-eyed and tainted from the job, damaged goods— do you struggle to sleep like I do?

You lean forward, hands, adorned with cluttered rings, braced against the table, bodies closer now. There’s a burn, something fervent that lingers between you, rivalry, opposition. Some days you feel as hedonistic as the unsubs you track and chase.

Continuing, you let out a sharp laugh. “Are you still bitter because I realised it was a bacchanal before you? Don’t worry, i’ll let you take the credit for it. I’m sure Gideon will be so impressed.”

Gideon sees everything in him, and nothing in you. Predictable.

The distance between you has become almost null. It’s intimate, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. “I’m not bitter. And I don’t care about the credit.” A lie. “Unlike you, I don’t need to prove my worth to him.”

────────────

Spilt blood. Your hands are calloused from holding a gun. From firing a bullet straight through skull. The case closes, locked behind that inviolable wall, the one that’s installed into your mind the moment you’re employed, the moment you sign your fate over to the BAU. You’re not sure why anyone stays, overworked and undervalued, there’s no heroes in real life. Maybe it’s the sense of family, or maybe it’s just what everyone subconsciously fell into.

You can’t understand why you’re so angry at Spencer, why it extends to the next case, South Dakota— deaths of locals, but these days, all of the illogical, petty reasons just blur together. Create this tangled mess of overcompensation. ’I assumed you two would get along,’ Prentiss had stated— but what does she know? She’s been an active member of the BAU for a whole 10 minutes.

The hostility has mounted to new levels now.

It’s hard work, long hours, no gratitude and a pay cheque that can’t even begin to cover the trauma that comes with the job. The BAU is like self-sabotage: a long list of reasons to leave, and no real reasons to stay. But still you’re both stuck in this loop.

South Dakota, of course it’s South Dakota. Cold, desolate South Dakota where the wind and snow will not let up, and the team are forced to remain cooped up in a cheap motel, desperate for any sort of entertainment.

Here he is, coerced into your room to work on the case, overtime, his eyes are rimmed crimson.

You’re sprawled out across the bed while he sits at the other end, slender legs crossed. Spencer is tired with a weariness that seems to go soul-deep, shoulders slumped forward, glasses oblique.

The tension is near-palpable, stifling. “I can do this myself. No offence,” full offence, “but you’re unneeded right now. In general, really.”

You make him cruel. Or no, maybe this job does? He can’t remember himself unscathed now, fresh-faced to the BAU, unaware of what he’d endure. It’s still early days in recovery, two months since he was entirely, indomitably reliant on Dilaudid.

“No you can’t,” you retort. Maybe it’s unprofessional, disreputable to waste so much breath on insults, to dedicate specific moments to hostility— people are dead, people will keep dying. And yet, perhaps there’s justification for this; your mutual animosity is the only semblance of routine to this job, the only way either of you can seek control.

Control. All you do is reach for the blade.

“You’re just bitter that I know what I’m doing. You’re not infallible, Boy Wonder. You need my help, so shut up and read that autopsy report. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go back to my apartment and forget you exist.”

Well that’s certainly unlikely.

“I think,” he says, and he knows this is going to be bad. He can feel the serrated edge to his forming words, his half-baked analysis too focused, too distracted, by his need to hurt. But he’s exhausted, and these days, he runs on a detrimentally short fuse. Maybe he finds a release in your dynamic, or maybe it makes everything worse. How can something be everything and nothing at the same time?

“I think you’re insecure” he continues, “because you know Gideon values me more. That, to him, you’re replaceable. It’s why you’re so fixated on one upping me. Why you feel the need to prove yourself superior. Textbook insecurity. You can’t stand the fact that he chooses me over you, that he thinks I’m better than you. That my input is more wanted, more necessary.”

This is uncharted territory now. It’s never been pushed to this extent. It’s never gotten so morbidly cruel that his words actually pierce. You’d consider yourself to be thick-skinned, bullet-proof, a mess of hardened edges and calloused flesh. But he regards you with such insignificance, in a way that’s different from your own personal view of him.

Obstinate, petty, a smart kid yet to meet his match. But never insignificant.

There’s silence, and then he’s dragging you down with him, forcing you to dig deeper, to smother wounds with salt. “Did he really choose you, though? No one on the team noticed. Not one person. After the Hankel case? When you came back different?”

Spencer falters.

It’s a vulnerable, raw spot, a laceration that never seems to heal; the worst part is that you’re right. He’d been in a spiralling decline for months, in plain sight, but everyone had been so absorbed in their own issues and god he needed a release. No one noticed. No one ever notices.

That he has no life, no prospects outside of the BAU. That his existence has been one comicotragic mess of inexperience, missing the mark, missing the joke, the punchline, the fact that everyone was always laughing at him, behind his back, to his face, present or gone. It didn’t matter? Why would it ever matter to a bunch of washed-out teenagers?

He was robbed of his adolescence. And these days, he barely gets by.

Spencer’s eyes drift back to the files, avoiding your perusing gaze, if only you had enough decency to soften your eyes. Just once.

“You don’t get to bring that into this.” He murmurs. “Shut up.”

“You started this—“

“Are you 5?” he bites back, “I was making an observation.”

When he abruptly stands up, files clattering to the floor, discarded despite the prevalent case, you’re quick to follow after him, to chase him into the cheap motel corridor. Because no, he doesn’t get to walk away from this. Not when he laid the first blow, when the first cut was drawn from his blade. Perhaps it’s perverse, to chase the hurt that comes from being around him. Maybe it’s all just an elaborate way to self-harm, to find release in the distorted relationship you both share.

“Where are you going? You can’t walk away from this one.” you state, gripping his arm. Nails pressing into skin, crescent marks that’ll stain and remind and then ache— it’s repetitive now.

“I covered for your ass.” you knew about the addiction, you knew, and even though omitting such information to the BAU could’ve lost your license, you still. Didn’t. Say. Anything.

It’s not like it took much effort to discern the truth.

“I also signed your email up to about 100 rehab centres and self-help blogs.” you’re not sure if you did that out of malice, or if it was your own, interpersonal way of minimising the damage, despite the circumstances.

You noticed. The rest of the BAU, who pressed false promises of friendship, loyalty into his shaking palms didn’t notice. Didn’t even think to humour what he became at his worst. But you did.

Furthermore, to add onto that jarring conclusion, you helped him. Admittedly in your own insufferable, (downright mocking) way. But it was help, and that’s more than he’s ever received before.

All he knows right now is that he hates you, hates the person he is, the person this job, and the intransigent presence of you, forced him into becoming.

All he knows is that he’s stumbling forward, cupping your face (taking your grip along with it), and kissing you. Kissing you hard. Like he’s Icarus and you’re the sun, worth the inevitable burn, even if the touch is only momentary, even if it’ll seal his fate as foolish.

It’s a mess of harsh, rough skin, tousled hair and sharp teeth against soft lips. It’s like trying to grasp at stardust, his hands fumbling for purchase along your body, trying to push you closer, as if the chasm of space between you is unbearable, a distance that’s impossible to endure.

He laughs when you respond instinctively, a sharp excuse of a noise, muffled by your swollen lips, and he’s just kissing you through it because he hates you, he hates you— he hates you so much that sometimes he can’t breathe when you’re around.

You crawled under his skin a long time ago, made yourself a home there.

“I think I’d rather be held hostage for a second time than kiss you again.” he says, and he might’ve elaborated further, but his lips abandon such a notion to chase your own.

The kiss becomes more languid, more desperate, like he’s trying to find an answer in response to it. There’s a brief, agonising break, foreheads pressed together, a harsh gasp of air, before the moment restarts.

God you taste good. Feel good, he thinks. He’s never been this intimate, not beyond Lila, that fleeting mess in the pool. The two events incomparable, he felt something then, small and minuscule, not enough to pursue. But right now? Oh, In contrast, he feels everything now.

“I wish you were being held hostage. It’d be quieter,” you retort. It’s muffled, and you’re moving, bodies stumbling into obstacles as you relocate, when did you get to your room? It feels like natural progression, evolution, diminutive changes that you don’t even realise are occurring.

You bite his bottom lip, draw it between your teeth, ruin him for anyone else. Because isn’t that what you’ve been doing for years now? Hurting each other so profoundly that only you can bare the scarred aftermath?

It’s sick. It’s sick, and you wonder how petty comments, trivial work-place rivalry distorted into this? How you’ve just ended up sick because of each other, and admittedly, for each other.

What is sickness without pleasure?

He whimpers. The noise almost imperceptible, but it’s there, and it’s pathetic, an unbecoming thing caught somewhere between a gasp and needy whine. He’s backed against the wall now, and he can’t find it in him to complain.

“Of course it would be you,” he says breathlessly. For all the knowledge he lacks here (physically; he’s well-versed in the hypotheticals of anatomy), he doesn’t feel pure.

People like him don’t get that.

He should feel guilty. He should recoil at the touch, at the knowledge you bear, at the reality of this. Except, for some unknown reason, he relishes in the idea of someone having him, even if the cost is his pride, his dignity, even if the cost is you.

He whimpers again as your teeth rake along the slope of his neck, shuddering at the sharp sensation, and he’s almost begging, words on the verge of being uttered.

But he can’t. Because that isn’t him when he’s with you. “Are you going to punish me? For uh, everything I said tonight? Because ah, god, I’d like to see you try.”

Admittedly, it’s not hard to break his resolve. A few more soul-crushing kisses and your wandering hand, dipping beneath his trousers, hard. Obscenely hard. Yes, he’s muttering as you unclasp buttons, as you loosen his trousers to the extent that you can palm him through his boxers. Half-choked gasps escape his bruised lips with every touch, and he’s crying now. Pretty tears streaming down his face, accentuating those doe-wide eyes of his, now glossy and warped.

“Only person who’s ever touched you, huh?” you state, and maybe you derive pleasure from that concept. That only your hands, drenched thick with staining blood, have ever scrutinised the warmth of his skin. The areas where his form curves, and the areas that make him come apart, undone at the seams. Grasping you, relying entirely on the wall, just to remain upright and somewhat conscious.

He makes another noise, another guttural, pathetic sound. Because, yeah, it’s just you. It’s only you, and the thought should be unbearable, but the pleasure of having, being touched is too much.

He has to grasp the back of your shirt, nails digging into fabric, as a distraction, a way to centre himself, while the rest of the world falls apart. His words are scattered, broken and messy, and he finds himself saying things he’ll inevitably regret. “Please, I can’t-“

He’s supposed to hate this, hate you.

“Cant— can’t take it. Oh,” he wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, but you’re gripping his jaw, forcing him to look directly at you. Glasses discarded, the view was blurry without the added layers of tears.

“Eyes on me, boy genius.”

He complies. Gaze locked, unable to look away, entranced by the way your pupils dilate, staring at you, like you’re artwork, something to be studied and broken down and torn apart, only to be rebuilt again once he’s had his fill.

“Let’s look at you. Hm?” you state, removing his sweater, then his shirt, and there’s so many layers, and he’s acting coy now, as if he wasn’t whimpering moments prior.

Instinctively, by reflex, he tries to cover himself up. To hide planes of untouched skin from your gluttonous palms. You grip his wrists, pin them above his head, and oh isn’t this a sight: Spencer Reid, entirely bare, bound by you alone, tear track marks and swollen lips.

He always wanted to be seen.

He just didn’t expect, anticipate, being seen to this extent. He can’t fight your trailing gaze, and he doesn’t want to; it might make him flushed, a few irrational movements away from a cardiac arrest, but this it— raw uncut intimacy.

You’re softer now, as you run your hand along his dick, earning a variety of muffled noises, as your thumb brushes over his tip, taking care to touch every part of him. Everywhere he needs it. When you finally wrap your fingers around him, everything burns, fervent and collapsing, and he supposes this is what it felt like the moment Troy collapsed.

“Mhh,” he moans, hips bucking in time with your palm, steady movements.

He’s already so messy, and it should be embarrassing, but all he feels is the blunted edges of pleasure, the jagged cut of humiliation, warring against each other.

“You’re— oh.. you’re enjoying this far too much,” he manages, and it takes so much energy to get it out, his words slurring, interrupted by debauched gasps.

It feels good, so good that he can’t process the shame that’s bound to follow. He hates you, and he might be a little in love with you, and it’s not fair to process feelings, chemicals, he was never supposed to obtain.

“That it’s. There you go. That’s my good boy.”

Spencer sobs.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know, it’s a lot.” there’s always an element of condescension to your words. An undertone that rips through his defences. Destroys him in the process.

His body is receptive, ruined, because of the praise. He’s not sure how you can look at him, clearly, consciously, and dictate that he’s good. Most days he feels impure, debased. Burnt-out and wasted, the great always fall.

The same skin he pierced with needles is now reverently on show, and you should be cruel, it’s what you’re both good at, the only viable way to communicate, an undisclosed secret language. But you’re not. That confuses him to no extent.

“I can’t— cant, ‘m so close.” his arms are still bound above his head, and despite the ache, he keeps them there. It’s not the most conventional ‘first time’, but he takes it regardless.

“Yeah?” you mutter, pace picking up. The sound is obscene, his excessive pre-cum smeared across his length, wet noises with every stroke. “You wanna cum for me, hm?”

“Oh god,” he breaks, “Yes— yes, please—“

You have no interest in denying him, not when he’s this destroyed from a mere hand-job. “Go on then. Just because you asked so nicely.”

He falls apart. Dewy-eyed and blissed out, you force him to look at you as he reaches his orgasm. To keep looking as he squirms and writhes. So he does, because apparently his cognitive function has evaporated now.

Your tongue meets your palm, tasting him, pressing the excess into his mouth with an indecent kiss. Is this what sex entails? Complete submission, vulnerabilities bared wide? Dirty in that primal sense, the same one he always shied away from?

Finally, finally in the aftermath, he breaks his stare. His head falls back against the wall, eyes closed, neck exposed. Stifled gasps, it’s quiet, as if you’re both aware of your actions, the consequences of them.

“This is, uh— yeah.” he mumbles, reaching for his clothes; now the ecstasy has worn off, the shame overpowers. The sin of man, he’s starting to think you’re the personification of the serpent.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. He doesn’t hold his own body to such pure standards. He’s not sure any benevolence would look at him with acceptance. Not after everything he’s done to it.

“Hey wait,” you’re not good at this whole ‘nice’ thing, not when it comes to him. But there have been moments, in the past, small, fleeting seconds of…. you’re not entirely sure what to call them. Late hours spent scrutinising cases, your back-up points to his statements, mindless information dumps that the team can’t quite understand.

“Don’t make me chase you a second time, jesus.” You can’t just leave—“ you exhale, breathe, in and out, “Are you okay?”

He stops. He stops because you’ve never asked that question, never cared to ask that question, and maybe that hurts more than not being asked at all.

A part of him, the small part of him that’s not functional, wants to stay, wants to just stay in this bliss and pretend that it doesn’t matter, that the inevitable fallout won’t occur. But the larger, prominent part, reminds him that this isn’t right, that he needs to leave and collect his wits.

“I don’t know, im confused—“ he sighs, drags a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, im uh… i’m fine. “I just need to leave, I have to-“ he swallows. “I can’t. Not right now, I need to do— anything but this.”

He walks out on you and it’s fine.

────────────

Everything is fine, reality can return, and you can forget that you had his arms bound against the wall, that he fell apart from the weight of your dragging palm. You can pretend you never saw him naked, bare in every form of the word. Stripped raw, his lips burning against yours, skin on skin. It’s. Fine.

Life continues. Your dynamic remains the same, unrelenting, your biting words, just short of callous, his scathing remarks. Modus Operandi. You wonder how you’ve turned the most tender person into something sharp, and you wonder if it’s ever going to be reversible.

When the case closes, the BAU, in predictable, systematic fashion, celebrate (ease the weight) over drinks. You’re adorned in lace, a black dress that just catches your thighs. It’s late now, and by the time you arrive at the dive-bar, the majority of the team are intoxicated (you couldn’t go straight from work, there was still blood clinging to your skin).

Everything is fine. To reiterate.

It’s not.. It’s not. Because oh, Spencer finds himself staring. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t have any lingering interest. But then again, why is he fixated on the way fabric clings to your ruinous figure, the way your hair sits, slightly dishevelled, pooled over one shoulder? It’s exasperating and inebriating all at once. You shouldn’t be able to affect him to such an extent, and yet here he is, mindlessly staring at you with starry-eyes. He should look away. Leave even?

Of course, he fails. You end up squeezing in next to him, all leather seats and too little space.

And, okay, he knows he should feel guilty.

In reality, he’s not. Because, sure, he’s sat too close, and sure, he can just make out the scent of your perfume, faintly floral. But he’s intoxicated, just as everybody else is, and it’s making logic and reason seem far off, too distant to process. He looks at you once, then twice, like he can’t quite believe you’re tangible.

“You look nice, I guess,” he murmurs bluntly, looking away, feigning disinterest.

As if the ‘incident’ (as he’s taken to calling it) didn’t tilt his world on its axis.

“You also look nice, I guess.” you retort, and it’s the best you’re going to get out of each other. At least in this state (the surplus of praise that left your bruised, possessed lips cannot be justified, or repeated ever. again.)

You lean forward, watch as his face creases at the proximity. Are you thinking about the kisses? Plural, fuck, plural. Open-mouthed, desperate movements?You’re. not. Instead, you steal his glasses, slip them on. The prescription is strong, thick lenses that distort your perception.

“What do you think?” you ask, “I might go as you for halloween, it’ll definitely scare the kids.”

“They make you look intelligent. Considering you need all the help you can get, I’d take that as a compliment,”

It’s a domestic action, to put on his glasses. And the thoughts that burn through his mind stem from HR prohibited to domestic, which he argues is far worse. You, tangled in sheets, sporting nothing but his glasses. Resting against the tip of your nose, askew, as you ride him. As you tilt your head back, exposing— no.

He wants to say something about how ridiculous you look— but it’s hard to focus, you’re taking up all of his sanity, like a computer running multiple programs at once. You’re malware actually, destined to corrupt him (which you’ve already done to a painful extent).

“You can’t just touch my stuff.” he settles on, sounding more petulant than anticipated.

“Oh chill out, boy wonder. It’s a pair of glasses,” you mutter, removing them to blink blink blink, and there he is, the centre focus of your vision, now fully detailed again. It takes you a moment to render in his appearance: shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms exposed, long, deft fingers. There’s heavy bags gathering beneath his eyes, dragging down those big, blown-out irises of his, wide and completely dirty (how is it that his natural resting face is so obscene?).

Focus.

You push the glasses back onto his face. Better, it’s a sight you’ve come to anticipate after he ran out of contact lenses. “There. Oh, were you just upset because you couldn’t see me properly? That’s sweet, Spence. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

He can see everything.

Every small detail of your face; strands of hair falling loose, dilated pupils, accentuated by heavy liner, obsidian that contrasts against your incisive eyes. Your lips, oh your lips, he could write a thesis on them. Stained crimson, if he were to kiss you right now, residue would catch against his own mouth, incriminate him.

He gets up. Excuses himself. Sometimes he wishes he could vanish.

But it’s not good enough.

“You,” he says between messy kisses, “Need to keep your hands to yourself.” — okay, he’s not sure how this happened. He left for the bathroom (to splash water on his face, gather his dignity, perhaps drown himself?) and you to humour the locals outside, gathering around with half-smoked cigarettes and slurring conversations.

But then, on his way back, padding through the long corridor (why is it always a corridor?), you were there, and yeah. He was screwed. Fatefully wrecked.

He had tried, in the moments leading up to his demise, to resist, but he was a man of logic and science and the science, when he was around you, simply did not apply. You’re bad for him, in every sense, he should avoid you, he should stay away.

But now, there’s no space between your bodies, no space for rationality or reasoning (god he’s tired of the thinking part. He just wants to feel).

The kiss is rough, sloppy, a desperate, messy thing. “This can’t keep happening,” he mumbles against your smeared lips.

“Do you remember last time?” you question. It’s taboo, to bring it up, to disclose the buried. But you’re fairly certain this compromising position wouldn’t exist without the lethal effects of that one night. The cheap motel and his body arching into your touch.

Rationality appears to be nonexistent now. A discarded concept.

Like last time, you guide him back against the wall, pin his hands above his head. Mirroring your actions. Well, to some ‘dignified’ extent. “Had you just like this,” you lean forward to press a series of kisses along the curvature of his jaw. “I bet you’d let me take you like this again, hm? Right here? In the middle of this shitty dive bar?”

And if he weren’t so far gone, he’d protest, he’d tell you that no, this is wrong, because you’re so wrong for him. He knows that if one good man has to fall, it shouldn’t be him.

But you don’t let good men rise, and there’s something so enticing about the depths of hell. He’s not sure he’s good anyway. It’s a complex situation. “You’re a sadist,” he murmurs, breathless, “I wouldn’t.”

Your grip instinctively tightens against his wrist, and he squirms. He’s nervous, “Could we, like… at least find a bathroom? I’d take a bathroom, even though there’s endless strains of bacteria there. Or, or split a cab. No, i’ll just pay— Anything. I’ll do anything. Just not here. This is a public space, and technically, public indecency, and—“

“Fuck,” he’s never been the type to swear, “I’ll do anything.” this time, he says it in self-defeat. Acknowledgment.

────────────

French exit. His wandering hands in the cab, and the electric pulse that burnt through his body as he kept a low profile, stumbling out of the bar, muttering thinly-veiled excuses for his abrupt departure.

The second you’re both inside your apartment, you’re clattering into things. “I love your eyes,” you state bluntly, forthcoming in every sense of the word, “Love it when you cry for me.”

You think of every harsh word that has ever escaped your lips, You think of the consequences they might’ve had. Did he ever cry over them? You know, in contrast, you never did over his. Though there was that sharp, sinking pain that felt like the embodiment of slow death. Something terminal, fated to linger, to eat and eat until nothing remained.

No big deal!

“It’s an involuntary bodily response. You’re a dacryphiliac.” he responds.

There’s not a lot he can compute right now, his brain too preoccupied with processing your touch alone. Which is so prominent, so harrowingly good that not even his genius mind can comprehend it.

He’s reasonable to believe he would kill whoever had the pleasure of experiencing you like this.

“It’s not a fetish if I only feel it for you—“

Spencer breaks.

“No-no-no,” he says, too loudly, “You can’t just- say those things. You can’t tell me you love when I cry, just because- I should be scared, of you. You’re volatile. Destructive,” he murmurs, head leaning against the crook of your shoulder. Against better judgement. But all reason has left him now. You’ve stolen it, taken it as a personal trophy to parade and boast about.

“Why am… Why am I not scared?” he asks, “It’s not like I make you cry…”

“Because there’s no reason to be scared.” you answer simply. And at surface level, it’s true. In spite of the hostility, the years of white-knuckled rivalry, you’ve always trusted him. It’s a coveted admission, considering you’re circumspect by nature.

You unbutton his shirt, let it fall to the floor, exposing his skin in the middle of your apartment. He’s standing there, and you’re not sure what to do with all of this want that perhaps you’ve misplaced as enmity for so long.

“You could make me cry,” you state, because if there’s one person out there capable of cracking you open, leaning behind fragmented pieces, it’s him. It’s always going to be him.

It’s a startling realisation. That he, Spencer Reid, of all people, can reach the centre of you in ways nobody has ever done before.

“Why would I want you to cry? That’s— i’m not even sure how I would go about it.”

You grip his hips, walk yourself backwards until you’re hitting a wall, there your body instinctively curves forward to meet his. “It doesn’t always have to be bad.” you explain, because he’s looking at it from a simplistic, textbook perspective. “Last time,” those words still feel like poison, “When I made you cry, there was no pain, right? You cried because it felt good.”

He’s staring at you clueless. Though, he might just be distracted. Either works.

Your hand catches his wrist, and then you’re hiking up your dress, guiding his touch beneath fabric. The lace panties that cover skin. He’s tentative, experimental, dragging his thumb over your clit, causing your hips to cant towards him. “Make me cry, boy genius.”

You act like this is the most indecent thing he’s capable of doing. From an unbiased standpoint, it’s up there on his list, but admittedly he hasn’t really done enough to constitute a list in the first place.

Spencer, in response, simply drops to his knees. Your panties are pulled down your legs in a disconcerting haze, and then he’s just groaning, cursing Gods he doesn’t believe in, spiting them with blasphemy, whilst also simultaneously thanking them, humouring false promises he won’t commit to.

It’s blasphemous, a prodigy on his knees, in front of you, for you. As if he’s worshiping something he can’t even comprehend, something beyond the expanse of his knowledge. And you just pull strands of his hair, pull at the strings of him.

His hands find the inside of your thighs, caressing the soft skin there and you make another noise, a noise that has him devouring you.

Face buried between your legs, he flattens his tongue against your clit, drags it upwards to catch wetness, to affirm that you’re just as affected as he. That since you touched him, all thoughts have consisted solely of you.

He doesn't think he's doing this correctly- but you're making noises, gasps that he didn’t even know you were capable of, and that's the thing about science or anatomy, whatever it may be, the brain is incredibly subjective, and the more knowledge you acquire, the less you really know.

And there's knowledge here, but it’s not utilised; no coordination, even when there should be, even when he’s got the human body memorised to perfection. Still, you seem to like him messy, desperate, drawing your clit into his mouth to pull, to tug, before shifting back to blow cold air against you.

The task was simple, at surface level: make you cry. And whilst, if you pick it apart, it becomes more complex, he seems to be efficient in following orders because right now, you’re ruined. It might not be the most meticulous head you’ve received (though you’re sure, under different circumstances he could probably surpass that standard), but it’s wanting, in a way that makes you ache.

“Oh oh, fuck— fuckfuckfuck.”

You grip his hair, twisting and pulling and using, and he lets you, he’d do anything, do this forever if he had to. His fingers, still gripping your thighs, dig into soft flesh, leaving visible marks. And he wants to see those marks, in the morning, an irrefutable fact that would force him to accept this as real.

But he can’t focus, can’t think about anything when you’re reacting like this, so undone. How can there be anything, at all, beyond this?

He lets you drape a leg over his shoulder, let’s you get off against his face, fingers sliding inside, one digit at a time, to feel warmth wrapped around him. To feel the way you clench when he curves them, when he grazes spots that he could explain to factual detail.

Your body shudders, and you’re making noises he hasn’t heard before, sounds that could only be described as obscene— and his name, you’re moaning his name, and god, he’s certain he would follow you to the ends of the earth right now. Without question.

It’s when he stops, when he leans back enough that he can breathe. That he can look at you, really look at you.

You’re messy, undone. The sight could be considered humiliating from an outside perspective, but you’re gorgeous, and he’d do this a thousand times over if it resulted in this exact reaction. A reaction that he’s given you. No one else.

“I love your face.” He says, a little bluntly. But it’s true, he does.

So he returns to the task. Practically situating you on his face now to suffocate him, to let him become some sort of extension to your pleasure. And inevitably when you fall apart, tears and writhing, boundless pleasure, he can only push you through it. Allow his existence to crumble, for the second time,

And as he draws back, face covered in you, he can only stare.

His knees are bruised. That’s the first thing you notice when you stumble to the bedroom, when you’ve taken a moment to wipe away evidence of the tears, to regather and compose yourself. It’s not in your nature to be soft, no to him, but you still find yourself kissing the mauve blemishes, working your way up his body after you’ve oh so unceremoniously undressed him. Reduced to his boxers, he’s an incriminating sight.

“Losing your virginity to me is like the biggest irony ever.” you say, kissing along his stomach, watching as his body reacts, arches, contorts in search of more pleasure. It’s a hypnotising sight, to see every nerve tuned to you solely.

“Ironic, demeaning, enough to send past versions of myself into an early grave. Yes, I get your point.” he mutters.

Your hands find their way to the waistband of his boxers, and he’s lifting his hips, because he wants you to undress him, because he’d let you do anything right now, but he also feels embarrassed, exposed. Vulnerable in a way he’s never felt before. You’re seeing him, seeing things he doesn’t even know himself. But there’s nowhere to hide, not while you’re slowly pulling off his underwear, with a care that he’s unaccustomed to.

“I won’t go easy on you,” you assure. Even though that’s technically a straight-faced lie. Of course it’ll be more tender than anything else you’ve endured; he has this devastating habit of softening those around him. It’s only taken this long to affect you out of pure, unbridled spite.

Oh, he wants. The evidence is his body alone. Laid out before you, like an offering, a hedonistic one. Dick hardened, dripping pre-cum onto his stomach.

“Hands above your head,” you watch as he blindly obeys, any defiance now crushed. Well, for the most part: at least in his actions. “That’s good— good boy. Tell me if they’re too tight,” you say, binding them with his discarded tie.

You stare, and it’s like you want to eat him alive, and against better judgement, he’d let you. Serve himself up, passive as you tear him limb for limb, taste all the bad parts of his existence, the ones he keeps hidden shamefully away.

“Too tight? I’ve been held hostage, I think I can handle a little bit of fabric.” he retorts before tugging at the restraints, “Tighter.”

“Didn’t realise you were so into this—“

“Neither did I,” he scoffs, “I’ve never done it before, obviously.”

“Now you have. Congrats, i’ll give you a sticker once we’re done. Gold star, huh?” and just for good measure, you tighten the restraints further. Just a few more pulls until you’re knotting it in place. Until he’s entirely defenceless, but realistically, what would you do? It’s hard to find fear when you’ve covered him on the field for over a year (he’s prone to being targeted, an unsubs wet dream).

“Yes, thank you. I’ll put the sticker on the wall next to my PhDs.” right now, right in this moment, countless people are getting what they want.

And Spencer is being manhandled by his pretty coworker.

Ironically, that’s exactly what he wants.

You’re the perfect dichotomy. Cruel, and caring. Harsh words to juxtapose gentle hands. Soft touches, but scathing remarks that linger, leaving behind a trail of scars, the ubiquity of your cruelty.

You’re lethal, and he’s smart enough to comprehend the danger. Except he’s never been smart when it comes to people.

Your hands are acquisitive, roaming, searching, blunt nails that scrape skin as you rake them down, down towards his abdomen. He shivers, bite into that pretty bottom lip of his until he’s spilling blood, and it’s a sight. Something sick that you both want to such an offensive extent.

“Sensitive.” you murmur, like the idea of him so reactive pleases you, in a way you’ve never considered before. Because the way his body strains, bucking forward to deepen the contact is maddening.

“Are you always like this?” you wonder aloud, leaning down to run a hand along the length of his inner thigh. “Poor baby, so touch-starved.”

“I don’t know if I’d use the word sensitive.” he replies, “More susceptible to the fact that you’re touching me, and that I haven’t felt another person touch me in a long time. And of course when people touch me, it’s usually professionals poking me with needles or stitching this weeks new wound.”

Touch-starved? He has sensory issues. The lightest graze can provoke, cause his skin to crawl. Of course he would like your touch, of course the universe would torture him by finding relief in the one person who nobody should stumble upon for relief.

“Oh you’re a soldier, you suffer so much.“ you state, and it’s condescending (naturally), but there is some truth to the serrated comment. You, the team, are all bruised, mentally and physically distorted from the consequences of the job. Only he could react so reverently to your calloused hands, blissed out to the extent that it looks like you’re witnessing ascension.

It’s pretty. Pretty, in a soft, domestic way. One that demeans his bound wrists and your sharp words.

You press a few tender kisses to his thighs, the inner sections, where you’re certain, assured, no one has ever touched before. Maybe there’s something possessive to that thought, the want to own, to know that no one will ever have him the way you have him.

Your touch is like a brand. He wants it, even if it’s bad, even if it’s cruel. Because the alternative to this is nothing. A lonely existence. A life of work, of chasing shadows, knowing he had so much to give, and no one to give to.

“Stop mocking me.” he replies, it’s through laboured breath. “Just because I don’t have your proclivity for taking hits doesn’t mean I don’t suffer.”

No one’s ever touched him like this. No one’s ever cared to try. You’re his first.

“I know you suffer,” you retort, are you arguing? Is this foreplay? If it is, then you have some serious self-reflecting to do on every single past conversation. Because maybe you should’ve taken him to your bed earlier, in that case.

Oh god was your hatred of each other built solely on sexual tension?

Finally, you move. Just like the first time, your hand runs across his length, taking him slowly, easing him into it, coercing him through the pleasure. It’s not similar to before: it won’t end after he’s found his release, and it’s not frenzied and ardent. Spurred on by shame.

“And you know i’m always going to take the hits for you, regardless.” he whines when you remove your hand, and whines again, for contrasting reasons, as you spit on your palm, generate lubricant to support each stroke.

“Oh—“ he breathes out. He’s fairly certain he’s supposed to be more contained. A huff escapes his lips and then he’s retorting, “You could try a tactic other than reckless self-sacrifice every once in a while.”

He’s overwhelmed, with you. All of you. The way you look, the way you talk, all the harsh lines and scathing remarks. The way you take the hits for him, an altruistic custodian, but he isn’t worthy of being saved. Isn’t worth the effort.

“Shut the fuck up, Spencer.” you say, promptly ending this discussion; you grip his dick tighter, tilting your movements to catch him at a better angle.

“Shit— okay, okay,” he moans because that feels really really good, and he wishes he could articulate it in a better way. Something complex and poetic, but it’s just so good.

He’s always been a little masochistic. Too smart for his own good, too analytical. He wants you to take him apart, piece by piece, and see the inner workings of his body laid out before you, raw and vulnerable. Because only you can see him like this.

He doesn’t even really touch himself. There’s been nights, body flushed and wanton, bucking up against sheets, muffled noises pressed into his pillow. But they’re rare, and they usually lead to an aftermath of ignominy.

He’s a prodigy, a genius in the field of criminal psychology. So why does it feel so good like this? To be humbled, to be demoted. As if all his degrees, his awards, his intellect, mean absolutely nothing.

He’s never felt so loved. Which is ironic. Because he’d always hoped love would be slow, gentle. Soft, like a caress. The kind of love you share over meals and pillow-talk.

He realises, with a jolt to his system, that if this is love to you, he’d accept it, in its most primal form.

“You get off on this,” he analyses as you draw back, mostly to stifle the begs that nearly escape his mouth. Come back, need you here.

“Well I’d be pretty concerned if I wasn’t getting off on this right now—“

“No,” he pushes, “You like that i’m, that yeah. I have no experience. You want to corrupt me, huh?” he looks up at you with pretty, innocent eyes. Holy shit. “Ruin me for anyone else? Go on, let me have it. I’ll only come back, i’ve already done it once. Statistically, it’s going to happen again. And again. Pavlovian responses, condition me. Make my body react to no one else.”

When you kiss him again, he can only take it. Can only moan, whimper, plead against your mouth until you’re lining him up, until you’re sitting on his dick, and everything is okay.

“You’re so—“ bottomed out, wrapped around him entirely, you sigh. “Fuck, Spence, who taught you to be so fucking dirty?”

“You.” he mutters, playing coy. “But you’re a bad teacher, I think I could do with a few more lessons..”

“I think you could do with learning to shut your mouth more often.”

“It is better suited for other purposes, I suppose..”

He gags when you slot two fingers, index and middle, into his mouth. No warning, no predetermined acknowledgment. They hit the back of his throat, and he can only suck, muffling protests around the digits until he goes blissfully silent.

“Better,” you retort. Drawing them out, you press your thumb against his bottom lip, keeping it parted so that you can lean forward, spit into his open mouth. When you first met, he promptly refused to shake your hand, too conscious of the dissemination of germs, now? He’s swallowing your saliva, unprompted, with little resistance.

You know him. The way you touch is like you’re searching for something. Anything about him. It’s like you’re a bloodhound, trying to unearth every single vulnerability. And you must’ve found them, because you’re suddenly here, bearing all your weight on him, moving, and it’s all his body can do to take it. All of it. All of you.

He tugs at his restraints, because he won’t go down without a susceptible fight. Even if he knows it’s fated that he will inevitably fall. “Please—please untie me, just wanna hold your hand.”

And, oh that shatters you. Like, mentally, physically, spiritually dismantles you until you’re breathless, staring at him with widened eyes and a loss of composure. It’s such a tender request, something domestic and raw, and mindlessly you’re fumbling with the knots of his tie. Freeing them to take one in yours.

It’s against your nature, but you can’t help, can’t refrain yourself from pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “You’re doing so good f’me. Such a good boy,”

Your free hand runs across his torso now, grazing skin, admiring the sight of him, flushed, debauched, sprawled out beneath you.

He grips your hip. That’s the first thing he does once he’s sufficiently sane, well… partially, the praise did knock him entirely off balance. Tip the scales, send him over the inexorable edge.

He watches as you take the incentive to slip off his body, and the loss of friction is okay, tolerable because he’s sitting up against the headboard, drawing you closer, whining for you until you’re on his lap, until you’re sat in your rightful place.

Here, he can kiss you. Which he admits has become a very vital aspect to his existence.

The kiss is like a bruise. Not rough, he’d never be rough with you, he’s all long, languid strokes and soft movements. But it’s overwhelming, and leaves discernible, lasting imprints.

And yeah, sure, kissing you is the closest thing to worship he has ever known. Something he would like to commit to memory, every single time your lips touch, it’s like he’s seeing god in the shape of your cupid’s bow.

“Please, I need—“ he stutters over his words, “If you don’t move, I swear—“ he pauses, his head falling against your shoulder— “I swear, I’m gonna die, this has to be against the Geneva Convention, you can’t leave me like this, please—”

“The Geneva convention? Really? Is this your form of dirty talk?” you retort, unable to muffle your laugh.

“No. I’m stating my rights,” he says, “Torture is prohibited.”

“I’m not torturing you—“

You tangle your hand through his hair, tug tug tug, and then pull, drawing his head back by tousled strands, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“Ohmyfuckinggod, yes. You are.” he whimpers.

It’s indefensible how good he feels, how he sinks into you, hitting crevices you’re certain no one else has ever grazed before. Feeling full, whole, it’s new. It’s your own first, and you can’t even begin to articulate how defenceless you are to the way it makes you disintegrate, fragment to pieces of pleasure. Spencer is warm, and soft, and it makes you want to cry. To just fall, give in, transcendence of self, Burke said, and right now, you feel that entirely.

His moan is unapologetic, unfiltered as you move. At this point, you could slice him open, leave him bleeding in your bed, and he’d thank you for it.

You hold his hand, and yet, simultaneously destroy him.

“Please,” he whimpers again— he’s too pretty to be asking so nicely. “I just— I want you closer. As close as possible, I want you so close to me that I’m not even sure if my body can handle it.”

It’s not dirty talk, it’s more like he’s begging you, tears staining his skin, pitiful eyes, wide and glassy, staring at you with some form of desperation. Brows furrowed, gaze soft.

And his gaze only grows worse when you do give him what he wants, when your pace fastens.

It’s a religious experience, like he’s about to be crucified, a martyr to his pleasure. He’s almost afraid to touch you— to stain something divine, like you’re too much for him. But you’re not.

“I like this. Like you. Like you here. You’re so good for me,” he murmurs, and it’s untruthful, but right now, he sincerely believes it. “so good, so perfect, all I need, please—”

“Stop it.” you bite, preferring him defiant over this— because this opens up wounds you weren’t even aware existed. “Oh fuck, stop it.”

“So good. You’re so good,” he cups your face, presses his forehead against yours, and you might as well just die right here.

“Says you.”

“Says me.”

You fuck him harder.

“Oh,” is all he can pronounce, little oh’s every time you rock against him, and he has to grip you hips, deepen the movements until you’re bouncing against him, up down up down, exploiting his sensitivity with a torturous pace.

And it’s not fair, he needs to balance the scales, so he runs his thumb over your clit, firm halos that have you keening. “If being nice got me this, I’d be so nice to you for the rest of my life—“

Another lie. But it’s worth it. If only for the way you kiss him. The way you silence his cutting words, forcing your way into his mouth, forcing him to just squirm and sob, until you’re clenching around him, and he’s there with you. Falling apart, bodies shifting until movement ceases, and there’s nothing but bliss.

“I hate you so much,” you say in the aftermath, and it’s closest you’ve ever gotten to a confession of love.

He laughs, wipes away tears, “Hate you more.”

“Don’t leave this time.” he just nods, bordering on nonverbal now. It takes you hours to coax actual words out of him, and by then, you’re both tangled in a foreign mess of warm limbs.

“Oh i’m going to be so mean tomorrow.” you mutter, playing loosely with his hair.

He can only sigh, stare at you dreamily. “God, is that a promise?”

#sub spencer reid #sub spencer #brat spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #enemies to lovers #rivals #idk they hate each other but want each other #it’s a messy situation!!#id hate to be either of their therapists #or HR who has to deal with the fallout of this

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youraverageaemondsimp · 1 year ago

Text

To Ruin. // Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

THIS IS A DARK FIC, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

MDNI

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.

Summary: you are aegon's and helaena's daughter, being the eldest triplet, you were betrothed to your older uncle Aemond the moment you were born, he seemed to show no interest in you, being lost in his own world until he returns to kings landing and sees you again, in your prime age. // based on this request.

WARNINGS: noncon to dubcon, p in v sex, fingering, orgasm denial, knife kink, blood kink, dacryphilia, breeding kink, choking kink, corruption kink, purity culture, age system is in accordance to medieval/canon standards and not modern but do not worry they dont get sexual until reader is 19, virginity loss, tiddy sucking, thoughts of violence, fucked up shit, age gap (13 years), extreme canon divergence, cunty aemond + not proofread

WC: 4.3k

The moment you were born, you were immediately betrothed to your uncle, Aemond Targaryen. Alicent never wanted to betroth or marry someone from the same family after Aegon and Helaena but Otto convinced her to do so, even if they see it as a sin. Telling her that it would secure the hightower blood further down the line.

When Aemond was informed of this, he laughed, he was just thirteen back then, the idea of marrying someone that was just born seemed comical to him, especially when the babe was his elder sister's and elder brother's daughter, but he quickly accepted it, as he realised it was his duty.

Aegon however, was against it, calling you too young, but he was only sixteen at that time so his opinion was disregarded.

You were the oldest by an hour to your younger siblings, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

You were informed of your betrothal to your uncle when you were ten years old, that's when they deemed you old enough to understand what marriage and everything was. Aemond had turned twenty three that year, performing his duties as the prince of the realm, securing aegon's claim to the throne, claiming lands and power back to their hands successfully. At the end, Rhaenyra was successfully usurped, having lost way too much before she died at the hands of Aegon. And then came Aemond's march to Harrenhal, killing off every person that contained even a single droplet of the strong blood, except he spared one, Alys rivers, who he took as his war spoil and a bedmate.

He spent most of his time there with her in Harrenhal, burying himself deep inside of her, and other political matters, only returning to King's Landing when he was needed, just like now, but what he didn't expect was you. He was surprised to see you.

You were no more the gangly limbed child he knew you as and remembered you to be, your breasts and hips were fuller, your face having lost its childlike appearance as you were going through puberty, becoming more sharp and mature, having recently turned seventeen, You were becoming a woman now. You greeted him with a small smile. “Welcome back, Uncle.” you greeted him and he swallowed thickly, hoping you had not noticed how his breeches tightened as he got hard at the sight of you. Your beauty captured him.

“Niece, you've grown.” he comments, eyes shamelessly roaming over your breasts, which you weren't aware of, “You too Uncle, it has been a while since we properly saw each other.” you tell him and he hums, looking at the soft flush of your breasts pushing against the bodice, almost calling out to him to set them free, he fought with every urge to not do so.

It was when he spent some time with you, he realised he didn't know you at all, so he put in effort into knowing you, courting you properly which you were taken aback by, always knowing him to be distant towards you, but that was only because you were a child, you are a woman now, and he was a lot interested and willing to be with you.

It was on your eighteenth name day, which he attended, when he cut off multiple ladies tongues out for bad mouthing you, they had said mean things about you, calling you too old now, that nobody would be interested in marrying you if your betrothal to Aemond was called off, which was unsurprisingly a rumor circulating due to Aemond's involvement with Alys, his disinterest in you and your grandmother, Alicent, doing nothing to make the betrothal move forward. It had been a messy name day but it was also the moment you fell in love with your uncle, impressed by how he defended your honour and your name.

Aemond had to return to harrenhal as there were some pressing issues which needed to be taken care of, and he was less than enthusiastic about it, not even the thought of seeing his spoil made him excited. He was sitting on his chair doing the paperwork when Alys walked into the room, she sat on his lap and caressed his face, “What is it my love?” she cooed and he sighed heavily, not in the mood for her, “Get out.” he said, and Alys was heavily hurt by it, but left nonetheless. His mind was constantly on you, he remembers how your breasts pressed against his chest when you hugged him during your name day, and he immediately gets hard at the thought, that night, he finishes in his hand before cleaning himself up.

You had plagued his mind, cause he couldn't look at his lover nor bed her anymore because she isn't you, he was becoming more and more insatiable, tired of fucking his own hand, he was in need of a real cunt.

He stopped ordering silk green dresses for Alys and instead ordered dresses of material you would wear, the colour palette you dearly loved, and requested her to wear those instead, and do her hair up in a way you did, so he could at least pretend she was you when he fucked her, moaning your name loudly while being buried inside of her cunt. He knew he was being cruel to Alys, but he couldn't give a fuck, and Alys kept quiet, not wanting to anger him, knowing that he could kill her.

But it still wasn't enough, no, because it wasn't you.

Aemond was so delighted when he was called to the keep again, it means he got to see you, it was to discuss matters of the realm, and after what seems like hours, his mother finally changes the topic. Which catches his immediate attention.

“I think it is in our best interest if you marry aemond and y/n soon, maybe in a moons time, there have been various slanderous whispers about their betrothal, and i want to put an end to it.” Alicent says and Aemonds heart picks up it's pace at that. “It's better if we call off the betrothal.” Aegon's voice booms across the chambers. “I do not think it is necessary anymore, not after we have won the war. Rhaenyra is dead, the blacks are dead, my daughter shouldn't need to marry her uncle anymore.” Aegon reasons and Aemond clicks his tongue, “It is my duty brother, to keep our valyrian blood pure, I do not mind marrying my niece.” Aemond replies and Aegon sighs. “You need not perform your duty anymore, she is my daughter, and I do not wish her to be subjected to your cruelty, little brother.”

“My cruelty? What of your whoring?” Aemond grits his teeth, and Alicent visibly flinches at the mention but Aegon only laughs, “I have put it past me dear brother. You however, still are as merciless.” and Aemond scoffs.

“I want to marry her.” Aemond says, tone final, staring daggers at Aegon, and he just laughed. “Alright, Alright, it was merely a suggestion.” Aegon backs down which makes Aemond calm down. “The matter is settled then, the wedding will take place when the moon turns.” Alicent says and everyone nods.

Another moon to finally bed you? Gods be damned, he cannot wait that long.

So he didn't.

He snuck into your chambers that night, through the secret tunnels, he had expected you to be asleep but you were awake, sitting on the chaise, reading a book of some sort, but you didn't hear him enter your chambers, so you jumped when you heard him speak.

“Hello, Niece.” you snapped your head to the direction of the voice and were surprised to find Aemond.

“Uncle? What are you doing here” you asked and he just stalked towards you, “Mhm, is it wrong to see my future wife?” the word wife rolling off his tongue with such delicacy. “No- you misunderstand- i merely meant that–”

“What are you reading?” he asks, cutting you off and coming even more closer to you, he took the book from your hand and you stood up, feeling vulnerable when you were just sitting.

“A romance novel huh?” he asks and you nod, he would love to go through the content to tease you, but he had no interest in wasting his time, he came here with a purpose.

“Dear niece, we are to be wed in a moons time.” he says and you look at him, “Understood, Uncle.” his gaze was too intense, so you looked down in submission of a sort.

He felt his cock stir at that, the way your puffy lips were pouty, eyes darted to the ground, like a good obedient and innocent wife.

Oh seven hells how he wanted to ruin you.

And so he would.

You were surprised when Aemond threw the book on the chair before grabbing you by your arms and pushing you in the direction of your bed, he slammed his lips against yours in hunger, swiping your bottom lip with his tongue, you were frozen in shock before it finally clicked and you used all your strength to push him off.

“We-we shouldn't, we are yet to be man and wife.” you breathe heavily, hoping he'd understand but he doesn't. He pushes you down unto the bed before getting on top of you, you panic, “U-uncle- please.” you were scared.

You knew how dishonourable it is to lose your maidenhead before marriage, it will ruin your reputation, it did not matter whether the person who took it was soon to be your husband. It is a sin, and you were extremely protective over it. After all, your grandmother raised you to be protective of it, saying it is a woman's honour that should not be given carelessly.

“P-please uncle! You said we were to be wed in a Moon's time, then you can have me! Please!” you beg and he smirks, “No can do, niece. No way in seven hells am I waiting that long, not after I have suffered so much because of you.” he says, and before you can say something, he grabs your throat, choking you, “Shut the fuck up. I do not want to hear your pleas.” he says meanly before squeezing your neck tight, making you see stars and leaving your head feeling light as the blood supply to your brain was being cut off due to his ministrations.

“P-pl-ple-” you try to choke out, tears welling in your eyes until he finally lets go of your throat, causing you to gasp for air, the air entering your lungs so quickly making it painful.

Aemond takes the dagger from its holder and starts cutting, tearing up your nightgown, the sound of clothes tearing filling the chambers as you pleaded him to get off of you, how your virtue was an important thing to preserve, how embarrassing it would be if you did not bleed on your wedding night, but all of that fell deaf to his ears, his only mission was to fuck you.

Soon enough, you are completely bare, you crossed your arms across your chest to protect your dignity but he pulled them apart, pinning them to your sides, “Do not hide yourself from me.” he said, voice low, emitting a slow growl. You sobbed.

“P-please, I promise I won't resist or hide myself from you- just wait until our wedding night, I am begging-” he shuts you up by pushing his lips against yours, his hands leave yours before he starts undressing himself, undoing the clasps on his clothing, he pulled apart to completely rid himself of his clothes, feeling to suffocated.

He was very fit, lean muscles coating his body, defining and toning his arms, chest and thighs, you felt yourself clench at the sight of him so bare, you were beginning to get aroused.

Aemond leans and places gentle kisses on your face, before trailing down your neck to lick and bite at them, you felt a burning sensation when he bit too hard, causing you to yelp, he pulled back and looked at the bite in satisfaction, which was now drawing blood. You whimpered pathetically.

You didn't like the feeling of ache between your thighs.

Aemond leaned down once again to take one breast into his mouth, suckling on it like a hungry babe, causing you to gasp, your breasts were extra sensitive considering you were near your moons blood, you gripped his hair and tried to pull him away but, he bit down harshly onto to your nipple making you tug harder at his hair for the pain to subside, however the more you tried pulling him off, the harder his bit and latched on, the other hand painfully dug into the flesh of your other breast, nails biting through the skin, so you removed your grip on his hair, and only then did he stop his inflictions of pain on your tits, beginning to suckle at your nipple in a pleasurable way,

Your hand reflexively went to his hair again, but this time instead of trying to pull him, you held him there like that, arching your back when you felt his warm tongue tickle the bud, shoving more of your breast into his mouth, he hummed in satisfaction before he pulled away with a wet pop, to continue the same thing on your other breast.

It was sensual, it was so slow, and you were getting aroused by the minute but your fear of committing a grave sin still plagued your mind.

“A-aemond-” you say his name making him groan and pull away to look at you, “Gods, when you say my name like that- it makes me want to ruin you so fucking hard.” he confesses and you gulp, his hands part your thighs, exposing your core to him.

You try to clench them shut in reflex but he holds them apart, visibly drawn by it, you felt the cool air hit your clit making you shiver, he trails his hand down your inner thigh before rubbing small circles there, teasing you.

You whine, the ache beginning to get even more stronger, making you buck your hips, hoping his hand grazes over the sensitive part, but he just chuckles, “Greedy are we? What happened to waiting till marriage?” he mocks you and you fight back the tears of shame, he then presses his fingers right onto your core, parting the flesh and caressing your clit, you twitch at the foreign sensation.

His other hand leaves your thigh as well, and he uses both of his thumbs to hold the flesh covering your core apart before he leans down and sucks on your pearl, making you arch your back in pleasure, his tongue flickers over your bud constantly, sending sparks of pleasure.

You were shocked when he did that, how can someone put their mouth over there?

Your hips start to move on their own, trying to keep up with his rhythm, he groans at your attempts and pulls away, you whine at the lack of warmth, “Be still.” he says and descends onto your clit again, and you try really hard to be still but you couldn't help it, you grip his hair, shoving his face into your cunt to the point he was suffocating but it didn't matter to him, this would be the best way to die according to him.

You feel something creeping up at your core, a itch that keeps plaguing you, a certain type of string tightening constantly as he continued his actions, you were confused until you were snapped out of your own confusion by an overwhelming feeling of pleasure hitting your body, causing you to moan loudly into the chambers. Aemond drinks up your release like a dehydrated man before pulling away and looking at your face, he chuckles when he finds you looking confused and dazed, eyes teary, wondering what the feeling was.

“It's called a peak, my love, was it your first time?” he answers, staring at your face and you tilted your head in confusion.

Women can peak?

You knew how the act is performed, the cock goes into the cunt, and you're supposed to lay there taking it as your husband impregnates you. It was taught to you by your grandmother alicent, it was supposed to hurt, not feel intimate. If you're lucky, you'd get a few kisses on your face and neck.

But what aemond did was so foreign, you didn't know you could experience sexual pleasure like this.

“Y-yes, but i- i didn't know.” you blush while saying it, you don't need to finish the sentence before aemond caught on and Aemond almost moaned at the thought that you didn't know anything, that you probably thought that sexual pleasure can only be felt by a man.

Oh how he was going to show you all the ways.

Oh how he was going to corrupt you.

He smirked.

You looked up at him, the tears from the orgasm threatening to fall, and oh gods how that made him want to be extremely cruel, he wanted to ruin you. It set off his blood thirst, something he would only feel while fighting during battles, when he burnt the riverlands with vhagar, when he took the life of his own uncle, when he slaughtered the strong house watching as the blood coats the ground, the screams of men, women and children alike. He hadn't felt that in a while considering the war was long over.

And so he would.

His eyes trail over to the dagger that laid forgotten on the bed, and he reached out for it, changing his grip and pointing the blade at the direction of your body, you look at him in what seemed like fear but he didn't care, he brought the blade down gently, and then pressed it against your skin, piercing through the skin. You winced at the burning sensation, he removed the blade and watched as beads of blood poured out, he leaned down and licked it all up, the iron tasting sweet to him.

You whimpered in pain, feeling the twinge, when the wound was met with his saliva, causing an even more burning sensation to plague at your skin.

He pulled back and watched as the blood smeared onto the surrounding skin, the wound already trying to close up. He looked at your pained expression and decided that he wouldn't be that cruel and scar your body as much as he would've loved to since it was your first time with him, he needed to leave a good impression after all. When you're truly his wife, he'd ruin so much.

He watched as the tears fell down your face, he licked them up before pressing gentle kisses to your eyes. “Shh.. It's okay, I won't do more.” he says and you whimper, trusting him.

He pulls back and grabs his hard leaking cock. The tip all flushed pink, it looked so painful.

It was painful, he was so fucking hard the entire time, he was trying to savour everything before he fully went in, but he realised he had no such patience for that.

He lined it against your cunt, and slid his cock up and down, coating him in your juice before he caught the tight hole which wouldn't open at all, and he realised he needed to prepare more for you to be able to take him.

So he replaced his cock with his fingers, shoving one inside you slowly, feeling all the ridges of your inner walls, wishing it was his cock that was inside you.

He started pumping in and out, curling his fingers from time to time to graze over the rough part located inside you, and you felt your stomach tightening again, and before you could reach your peak, Aemond pulled his fingers out. “H-huh?” you looked at him confused and he smiled meanly before shoving his fingers once again, and making you come to the edge but never topple over it, pulling out every time you were so close. It made you frustrated.

He decided you were relaxed enough to take his cock, so he replaced his fingers with his cock, pushing the tip inside, making you grip your bedsheets underneath tightly.

He wanted to go slow, let you adjust to him, but it was way too much, he finally got to be inside you after what felt like way too long, these past few years he always dreamt of this moment, so he lost control and slammed himself fully inside you cruelly, pushing to the hilt, making you scream in pain, which he shushed you by cooing you and caressing your cheek.

Your legs twitched visibly, he pulled back, thinking he was taking his cock out, you relaxed but then he slammed into you, causing you yelp and then he started pulling and pushing over and over again, the pace messy at the first because your walls were still trying to adjust to him, sometimes even pushing him out.

But then as the continued thrusting, the pain slowly went away and you felt pleasure beginning to rise, causing you to relax around, and he moaned in pleasure when he felt you loosen up around him, not holding his cock in a tight grip that made it impossible to move without hurting you.

He fastened his pace, unable to hold himself back, he fucked into you brutally, breaking your maidenhead, he watched the sight of your maiden blood coating his dick leaking onto the white sheets below, and he moaned your name.

The chamber was filled with lewd noises, wet slapping sounds as his hips rammed against yours, his balls slapping at your ass as he thrusted in and out, sweat coating his eyebrow, he was grunting loudly, he wasn't usually a vocal person, but with you? you bought out the worst in him.

He felt his peak beginning to come, but he wanted you to peak first, so his hand went over to your clit and rubbed small circles over it, and the pleasure intensified for you, you peaked extremely hard, wet fluid gushing out of you, all because of the multiple denied orgasms finally catching up to you.

Aemond moaned as he watched your juice coating his cock, and he was reaching his peak too, “Fuck- fuck- going to fill you up, with my seed, watching you grow round with my child in your belly.” he babbled and reached his peak, his cock twitching inside you, shooting ropes after ropes of cum, coating your walls.

He didn't pull out, staying inside, making sure his seed didn't spill, he began to soften inside you.

He pulled and held you close to him, before he propped down on your bed, pulling you on top of him, his cock slipping from inside you at that, you laid on top of him, head on his chest as you listened to his fast heartbeat, it was relaxing for an odd reason.

He grabbed the sheets and threw them over both of you, covering you and himself and then slowly drifting off to sleep.

The maid couldn't have picked the worst time to enter the chamber in the morning, she usually entered without knocking since you and her were close, but she gasped when she found you stop aemond cuddled and then noticed the blood on the sheets, it didn't take a genius to figure out what went on, and she quickly reported it to the dowager queen.

Enraged was an understatement. Alicent was extremely disappointed, barging into the room, by then aemond had already put on his breeches and he was confused when he saw her, then he figured it out.

You woke up, gripping the sheets tightly to your chest as you watched your grandmother yell at her son, your uncle.

And just then your father barged in, along with your mother, she quickly rushed over to you to check if you were alright and looked at her younger brother in disappointment.

Aegon had never been angry like that in his life, he went straight for Aemond, tackling him to the ground, trying to hit him, “You ruined her! Couldn't your ass wait until the wedding? What was it that made you so impatient?” Aegon yelled at his brother, and Aemond dodged every hit Aegon threw his way.

“Fucking CUNT!” He was mad, and one of hits finally landed on Aemond, punching him right in the face.

“Father! No! Please.” you yelled, but he didn't listen and that's when you started sobbing loudly, which made him immediately halt and rush over to you. Aemond spit the blood that coated his mouth on the ground and got up.

“My dear.” Aegon looked at you sadly, noticing all the cruelty Aemond left on your body.

“The wedding is to be held in a week.” Alicent's voice booms the chambers

“Mother you cannot be serious! He-” the king tried to reason with her, but she looked at him with a stern expression and he backed down, he was the king yes, but he knew he would never stand a chance against his own mother.

Aemond simply smirked, accomplishing what he had wanted, Aegon glared at him.

“Please, I want to be alone.” you say and everyone looks at you, you were extremely tired and you didn't want this hassle.

The matter came to an end like that, you watched everyone leave reluctantly, except Aemond, you looked at Aemond, waiting for him to leave, but instead he sat down next to you and made himself comfortable in your presence.

Aegon grit his teeth, turning around to storm into the room but Alicent and Helaena held him back, and you didn't say anything else, but leaned your head on Aemonds shoulder.

That told everyone what you wanted and they soon left, you allowed yourself to get comfortable in his presence. Slowly falling asleep.

“My sweet girl.” you heard him coo before the sleep finally pulled you under.

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