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chvoswxtch · 1 year

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return the favor

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader x frank castle

summary: you're always there when matt and frank need you, no matter what it is, or what time of day. they decide it's time to return the favor, and show some gratitude.

warnings: all of them. every single one of them. swearing, mentions of blood, explicit sexual content (minors dni, seriously this is like x rated), little bits of fluff sprinkled in

word count: 12.6k

a/n: i'm not even going to apologize. y'all know me by now. y'all know who I am as a person. y'all know I cannot be normal about either one of them, and i've stopped trying to be. my inner slut took over when I wrote this, and it is filthy. it had me sweating like a whore in church. I don't even go to church. i'm not even religious, and I feel like I need to pray for forgiveness after this. this baby is over 30 pages, and it is a ride. ;)

this is my holiday gift to each and every one of you precious angel babies. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated! ❤️

also again, i'm still not sure if the glitch with dark mode has been fixed or not but if you're on dark mode, you may have trouble viewing this. I apologize for any inconvenience reading in advance!

At this point you weren’t sure who started it this time. Honestly, you weren’t even sure if one of them had started it, or if it was just another argument carrying over from earlier. You’d given up keeping score in their little competition of who could be more ornery. It used to amuse you. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and the big bad Punisher constantly bickering back and forth like an old married couple, muttering under their breath in exasperation at the others' antics, yet still fighting through all that annoyance to come to the other’s defense if need be. If it had been any other night, you might have been entertained. You might have even laughed at how ridiculous they were being. But it was nearly midnight, you were beyond exhausted, and to top it all off, it was absolutely fucking freezing on top of this roof.

Why were you even here again? Oh yeah, Frank. He had sustained a pretty nasty cut to his arm after what was supposed to be an easy takedown had turned into a confounded ambush. You’d received a simple text from Matt’s burner phone a little over an hour earlier that had just consisted of the words “roof” and “kit”. Using your context clues, you assumed he meant his roof. You didn’t even give it much thought before you were bracing yourself against the November chill for seven blocks, letting yourself in with your emergency spare key and grabbing the medical kit from his bathroom on the way up. Patching up Matt was something you were used to by now, but you were incredibly anxious as to why he wanted you to meet him on the roof of his building. Was he hurt that bad? Could he not even make it inside? Should you call Claire?

Your thumb hovered over her number as you ascended the stairs, however as soon as you heard the familiar mix of combative voices, you rolled your eyes and shoved your phone in your pocket. Pushing open the door, you were met with a sight you had become all too accustomed to in the past few months; Matt and Frank at each other’s throats. When they could agree on something and both be level headed, they worked well together. Great, even. But when they disagreed, and were fueled by rage and their own devastating egos, it was like a front row seat to world war three. There were times you’d had to enlist Jessica or Luke just to pry them apart, needing an indestructible wedge between them until they could be civil.

It didn’t take you long to figure out that Frank was the one in need of aid. There was a large tear in his shirt that was normally snug around his bicep, showcasing a jagged view of torn flesh that was dripping violently with crimson. You could make out a few other cuts and bruises that littered his face from the light coming off the obnoxious billboard across the street. It was harder to tell when Matt was hurt, not only because his suit was deep red, but also because he hid it very well. Not that Frank didn’t hide it just as well. They could both be standing in front of you absolutely covered head to toe in blood with visible gashes and holes and still insist that they were fine. There were streaks of blood around Matt’s mouth and nose, but he otherwise appeared to be in good shape. Loudly clearing your throat, you dropped the kit onto the floor by your feet and placed your hands on your hips as both men’s heads whipped around in your direction.

“Can you two pretend to get along for fifteen minutes so I can do what you called me here for, or would you both rather bleed to death on this roof?”

Seven minutes. They made it seven minutes. You had just finished the final stitch on Frank’s arm when a snide comment from Matt had him unraveling in anger all over again. Tonight seemed to be worse than usual. You couldn’t tell if it was due to the pain from their injuries, the exhaustion from the recent sleepless nights, frustration from lead after lead that kept turning into dead ends, a combination of all of the above, or what. They were in each other’s faces, noses barely a centimeter apart, trading insults like verbal punches in an invisible ring. You were shocked Matt had even called you to help patch up Frank with the way his mouth was curled into a glowering snarl towards him, fists bunched tightly at his sides ready to strike at any moment.

“If you had just fucking listened to me-”

“Because you got it all figured out, don’t ya Red? Huh? You think them fancy fuckin’ senses of yours make you better than me? I was takin’ terrorist organizations down overseas while you were gettin’ shitfaced off cheap booze in your dorm, but heaven forbid I walk into a fuckin’ building without your goddamn say so.”

“Goddammit Frank, I can hear things you can’t. Like when there’s twenty fucking men armed with guns in a building that’s supposed to be-”

“Your priest know you use such colorful language? You tell him that when you’re confessin’ on Sundays? You even tell him ‘bout all the people you beat the shit out of for fun? Or you leave all that out, altar boy?”

“This isn’t a joke, Frank. They were armed with way more ammunition than we planned for, and there were more of them than there should’ve been. They fucking knew we were coming. If you would have just-”

“Nah, nah. If you had fuckin’ listened to me, we would’ve been fine. If you weren’t such a goddamn pussy, and let me do what the fuck I need to do-”

As much as you tried to drown them out, their voices only got louder and louder. Rubbing your temples with your index and middle fingers did absolutely nothing to soothe the dull ache that had begun to throb in your head. God, they were exhausting sometimes. It amazed you how much they changed when they were together. Matt was usually more calm and collected, and Frank was usually quieter. As much as they brought out the best in each other when they did get along, they brought out even more of the worst when they didn’t. It was like they both had a perfect blueprint of where the other’s buttons were, and always knew exactly where to press. That dull ache in your head was beginning to glow like tiny embers waiting to spark. Your fingers had gone numb from the cold through the thin latex gloves. Your patience had run out half an hour ago, or long before that if you were being honest with yourself. You were pissed they had the audacity to drag you out of your warm bed in the middle of the night just to act like you weren’t there, waiting for them to finish their childish bullshit. The irritation had been wearing you down from the second you stepped onto the roof and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Would you both just shut the fuck up already? Seriously? I am so sick of listening to the two of you bitch and bicker about every little fucking thing. I have fucking had it with both of you. If you two can’t get your shit together, I swear to God, I’m going to-”

“What? What are you gonna do, sweetheart?”

If you weren’t pissed off already, the arrogant smirk tugging at the corner of Frank’s lips certainly pushed you over the edge. He cocked his head to the side, staring at you with his dark eyes squinted in levity. One of his thick brows rose in challenge, daring you to continue your rant.

“Aw c’mon, darlin’. Thirty seconds ago you were all big and bad, runnin’ that bratty little mouth of yours. Now you got nothin’ to say?”

“Get your shit together, or I will beat your ass.”

“I think she means that, Frank.”

“No shit? She ain’t lyin’?”

“Nope. Heartbeat’s steady.”

“Well ain’t that cute.”

The teasing tone of Matt’s voice hitting your ears felt like gasoline being thrown on the fire that was already raging within you. A devilish grin stretched over his mouth, showcasing the dimples in his cheeks that you loved so much. Normally the sight of that smile would make you weak in the knees, but right now it infuriated the fuck out of you. Both men were staring at you in complete amusement, smug grins plastered on their faces, and you wanted nothing more than to walk over and slap them off.

“Fuck you both.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Matt’s response knocked the breath right out of your lungs, and all your anger with it. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at him, jaw dropping slightly. He had never spoken to you like that. Matt was a natural flirt, that was just his personality. He had definitely said a few things that made you question how he really felt about you, and there were a few “accidental” touches that lingered a little too long, but never anything like that. And certainly never in the voice he typically reserved for interrogating criminals. You were completely stunned in place, brain failing to come up with any kind of response. Even though Matt’s words were phrased as an inquisition, it came out more like a confident statement, like a rhetorical question he already knew the answer to.

“Well?”

Frank’s voice seemed to break the trance Matt had you under, your eyes darting over towards his large figure. Somehow he was now only standing about a foot away from you. When did he get so close? How had you missed that? You were used to Matt sneaking up on you constantly since the man was practically a fucking ninja, but Frank wasn’t as stealthy. He was a lot bigger, moved with more force than precision, and commanded every space he stepped into.

“What?”

“You gonna answer him?”

Frank’s eyes bore into yours as he motioned his head towards Matt, the intensity of his gaze making you feel as if you had shrunk several sizes in his presence. Sometimes you forgot just how big he was, and how menacing he could be when he wanted to. There was something gleaming in the darkness of his eyes that you couldn’t place. His features were set in their usual broody state apart from his mouth that was still slightly curved in a wicked smirk. A sudden shiver descended your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold. Instinctively you took a step back, blinking a few times before staring down at your trembling hands as you removed the bloody gloves.

“I don’t…look just…clean yourselves up. Try not to kill each other, or piss off Matt’s neighbors any more than you already have.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

“It’s cold, Matthew.”

“But that’s not why your hands are shaking. Is it?”

Glancing up, a slight gasp flew from your mouth noticing that Matt was now standing right next to Frank. His head was cocked towards the right, chin jutted out in your direction, studying you intently. You couldn’t see the beautiful honey brown of his eyes that were hidden behind the obsidian lenses of his mask. His voice had dropped even lower, and your stomach dropped down into a pit of nerves along with it. A sobering thought washed over you that your beloved captivating lawyer was not the one standing in front of you; the Devil was. This wasn’t exactly new to you. Sometimes Matt had trouble shifting back into a level-headed state after particularly bad nights, or when patrols left his adrenaline pumping through his veins like rocket fluid. You had witnessed the battle on several occasions between Matthew Murdock and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for control. But this was…different. He was eerily calm and still, and it made you nervous.

“This ain’t like you, sweetheart. Bein’ all mouthy, actin’ like a damn brat, not answerin’ questions when asked. Where’s our good girl, hm?”

The mega-watt grin that immediately took over Matt’s mouth could have put that blinding billboard behind him to fucking shame.

“Oh, she liked that Frank.”

“Did she?”

“Should’ve heard the way her heart jumped. You are our good girl, aren’t you angel?”

The connection between your brain and your mouth had been severed. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t hardly breathe. Your wide eyes flickered back and forth in dumbfoundment between the two men standing in front of you. Surely, you were hearing them wrong. Were they messing with you? Where was all this coming from? What the fuck was happening?

“C’mon darlin’, use that pretty little head of yours and talk to us. Red asked you a question, yeah?”

There was a hint of teasing that laced Frank’s gravelly voice as his eyes remained fixated on you. Your head was spinning like a rogue carousel and your heart was thrashing to break through your ribcage.

“I…I don’t understand-”

“I think you do, angel. You’re a smart girl, but you’re not subtle. We know what you want, and we’re more than happy to give it to you. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

“S’right, Red. We think you’ve earned it, sweetheart. Takin’ such good care of us, puttin’ up with all our shit, always there when we need ya. We’d like to return the favor, darlin’.”

“See angel, the one thing Frank and I absolutely agree on, is how pretty you’re gonna sound when we ruin you.”

Matt’s confession struck your core like lightning and tore a startled moan of desperation from your throat. His grin stretched even further across his sinful lips, a dark chuckle emitting from low within his chest. Frank’s eyebrows rose a hair in surprise, only for a moment, before that crooked, teeth baring smile of his was back on full display. He joined Matt in sinister snickering, like there was some kind of inside joke you weren’t a part of.

“Do me a favor, Red. Put them damn senses of yours to good use and tell me how wet she is right now.”

There was never a battle with Frank. There was never anyone else fighting for control. With Frank, what you saw was exactly what you got. There was no slipping back and forth, no struggle, there was just…him. Unabashed, unapologetic, shameless Frank. He didn’t hide it when he flirted with you. He didn’t mince words, or speak in riddles. He always said exactly what he meant so there was never any confusing his words or motives. He never pushed it any further than playful banter and flirty remarks, but he also didn’t hide behind the guise of friendly teasing. The order he gave Matt caused your brain to short circuit and you were honestly surprised it hadn’t knocked you onto your knees. Matt’s lips parted slightly, just enough for his tongue to meet the air as he inhaled deeply. A satisfied hum sounded in the back of his throat.

“Not nearly as wet as she’s going to be. But she smells fucking divine.”

“Bet she tastes even better.”

“I can’t wait to find out.”

The next few minutes passed by in a bit of a blur. Frank had thrown you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing more than the duffel bag he hauled around, carrying you down the steps into Matt’s living room with haste. Matt trailed closely behind the two of you, quickly removing his gloves and helmet somewhere along the way. Before you could even register being put back down on wobbly legs, two large hands grabbed your face and a strong pair of lips met your own. Frank.

The kiss was full of passion but surprisingly tender, a sigh of relief echoing in your mouth from him. Frank kissed you deeply, but slowly, wanting to savor the feeling and the taste of you. Matt managed to sneak his hand between your bodies, tugging at the zipper of your jacket and pulling it off your shoulders with ease. He pulled down the left sleeve of your thin sweater, trailing his lips along the exposed skin before nipping and sucking at the junction above your collarbone. The scruff of his facial hair contrasted roughly with the softness of his lips and it made your mind even hazier, a moan tumbling into Frank’s mouth. Matt growled lowly, gripping onto your hips and pulling your ass against his front abruptly so you could feel how hard he was through his suit, earning another whine from you. His hand was nearly halfway into your jeans when Frank reached out to grab his wrist, halting his movements.

“Quit bein’ fuckin’ impatient. We got all damn night.”

“You hear the sounds she’s making Frank?”

“Yeah, and I’d like to hear a lot more of ‘em you selfish little shit.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. Here you were, trapped between two of the most feared men in Hell’s Kitchen, with both of their mouths and hands all over you, and they were still arguing. Your giggles were immediately cut off however when Matt’s teeth sunk down into the flesh of your neck, a surprised moan taking their place. Frank lightly grasped your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head back against Matt’s chest as he caught your gaze. His tongue darted out to wet his lips quickly, motioning his head towards you.

“You want this, sweetheart?”

All you could do was stare up at Frank with half moon eyes. Your brain seemed incapable of manufacturing a single coherent thought. You were too wrapped up in how good it felt to be caged between them. How good it felt to kiss Frank, to be touched by Matt, to be desired by them both. All you could do was feebly nod.

“Need to hear it, pretty girl. Need you to tell us you want us too.”

Matt’s grip on your waist loosened slightly, his nose nuzzling against your cheek as he softly kissed the underside of your jaw and whispered delicately in your ear.

“You can say no, angel. We can all walk away right now, pretend this never happened. We won’t be upset.”

“We never wanna make you uncomfortable, honey. Just wanna make you feel good.”

“Would you like us to make you feel good, sweetheart? Take care of you for all the times you’ve taken care of us? Whatever you want, we’ll give you. Just tell us what you want.”

“Please…”

Frank’s large hand loosely wrapped around your neck, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip slowly as he stared down at you with a timid smile.

“Please what, sweet girl? Hm? Use your words. You want us? You got us. We’re yours. Just say the words.”

Matt slipped his hand underneath the hem of your sweater, tracing slow delicate circles along your hip as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. He placed a featherlight kiss to your burning skin, the edge in his voice from earlier now gone as he whispered sweetly.

“We’re all yours, angel. Always have been. Just tell us you want us too.”

Matt and Frank both put an inch of space between their bodies and yours, as if they could sense how difficult their presence was making it hard for you to think clearly. They were giving you an out if you wanted it. You knew this would completely change everything between the three of you. There would be no going back to how things were before. This decision was permanent, and couldn’t be undone. But God, did you want it. You wanted them. You were momentarily suspended in disbelief that they wanted you too, but you were having an arduous time focusing on why they wanted you, when they had come to this agreement regarding you, and what the morning would look like. The only thing your brain could process was the pure, irrevocable yearning you felt.

You trusted Matt and Frank with your life. You knew you could trust them with your body. The safest you ever felt was in their presence. The safest place you could ever be was confined between them. You wanted them. You loved them. You needed to be consumed by them.

“I need both of you, please.”

If either of them heard the aching in your divulgence, neither of them acknowledged it. Matt’s fingertips brushed lightly along your sides as he pulled your sweater over your head, eliciting a domino of shivers throughout your body. Your own trembling fingers gingerly pushed Frank’s torn and bloodied shirt up, careful to avoid his fresh injuries along the way. As you sought out his lips, his large hands maneuvered your hips until you were face to face with Matt, his nose brushing against the column of your throat.

“Help Red outta that damn thing, would ya? Otherwise we’ll be here all fuckin’ night.”

A furrow formed between Matt’s brows and his lips parted to protest, but his words were quickly cut off when you grabbed his face to crash your lips together. His hands gripped onto your waist just above where Frank’s had settled, a satisfied groan echoing on your tongue. Matt’s kiss was hungrier, more possessive and needy than Frank’s, and it made your head spin. As your fingers worked at the zipper on Matt’s suit, Frank’s were swiftly popping the button on your jeans and tugging your own zipper down. He left a searing trail of open mouthed kisses from right beneath your ear to down along your shoulder as his large hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. Greedily peeling the material of Matt’s suit off his broad shoulders, you instinctively bit down on his bottom lip when Frank’s index finger made contact with your clit. Matt moaned at the feeling of your teeth holding his lip captive, shoving the rest of his suit off with impressive speed leaving him only clad in black briefs with a noticeable tent.

“Goddamn, sweetheart. You’ve got these completely soaked through. I guess Red was right.”

You could feel Matt’s prideful smile against your own mouth at Frank’s words as you threaded your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him even more flush against your own body. He groaned again in satisfaction at the gentle tug, and you were suddenly curious what other delicious sounds you could pull out of him. Before you could experiment, Frank slipped one of his thick fingers inside of you and a loud moan filled the empty space.

“Fuck she’s tight. Gonna have to get you nice and ready for us, yeah? Think two oughta do it, Red?”

“She’s been such a good girl, Frank. Let’s give her three.”

“Hm, she has, hasn’t she? S’pose that way we both get a taste then.”

Your head fell back against Frank’s chest as he pumped his finger slowly, already rendering you a whiny incoherent mess. You could just briefly register Matt kneeling before you, grabbing the waistband of your jeans and tugging them down your legs. His touch was lighter when his fingers slipped underneath the sides of your panties, trailing them along your skin with more precise teasing. Matt rubbed his nose along your inner thigh, humming softly as he ever so languidly pulled the fabric down your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He gently brushed his fingertips over your ankles, along the sides of your calves, up the backs of your knees, until he had a firm grip on your thighs.

“Looks awful pretty down there on his knees for ya, don’t he?”

Frank was right. Matt did look good on his knees before you, head tipped back and eyes closed in content, lips parted slightly as he inhaled your scent from the source. Suddenly you wanted both of them on their knees for you. Or maybe you wanted to be on your knees for both of them. You reached out with a trembling hand to grab a small fistful of Matt’s hair, moaning softly as Frank slipped a second finger inside you.

“Look so pretty, Matty.”

Matt’s eyes fluttered open, staring blankly up in your direction as a toothy grin took over his entire face showcasing your beloved dimples.

“Not as pretty as you, angel.”

“I think Red deserves a little treat for bein’ so patient, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Yes, Frankie.”

“How ‘bout that, Red? You want a little taste?”

“God, yes.”

“On your feet. You take over.”

If you hadn’t been so wrapped up in your own pleasure, you would’ve been amazed at how quickly Matt followed Frank’s command without an ounce of hesitation or complaint. You whined momentarily as Frank’s fingers slipped out of you, only to quickly be replaced with Matt’s index finger and his thumb pressed firmly against your clit earning another loud moan from you.

“Open your mouth.”

Once again, Matt quickly complied, parting his plump kiss bitten lips. Your walls clenched around Matt’s finger and a pathetic moan slipped out as you watched Frank shove his two fingers drenched in your slick straight into Matt’s mouth. Matt’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head when your taste met his tongue, eagerly sucking every single drop off of Frank’s fingers. Frank grunted quietly near your ear as Matt moaned softly around his digits. It was the hottest fucking sight you had ever seen.

“Attaboy, Red. Tell me how she tastes.”

Frank retracted his fingers from Matt’s mouth slowly, leaving his lips shining with a coat of spit. His hand quickly found its place once again between your thighs and there seemed to be some kind of unspoken understanding between the two as Matt twisted his wrist to make room for Frank’s hand, allowing Frank to take over stretching you apart as his own fingers worked over your clit to help bring you to your release.

“So fucking good, Frank. Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever had. You’re not gonna be able to get enough.”

“Like I said, we got all night.”

You could die like this, trapped between two walls of soft skin and hard muscle, their skilled hands working together to bring you absolute bliss. You were thankful they had you completely trapped between their chests because otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to stand. The pleasure was absolutely overwhelming. It was everywhere, all at once, and you weren’t sure if you could survive the fall. You had never felt anything like this. You didn’t even know you could feel like this. That little bubble that normally built up inside you was now simmering like a giant pit of lava inside a volcano dangerously close to erupting. You couldn’t even form the words to warn them, but with the undivided attention of Matt’s senses, you didn’t have to.

“She’s close, Frank. Keep doing that, right there. That’s it…hold her steady. It’s alright, angel. Just let go for us. We’ve got you, sweetheart.”

“Go ahead, darlin’. C’mon, let us hear those pretty sounds. Don’t hold back, honey. Let us have it all, yeah?”

The edge was painfully far away, just within reach. You were so goddamn close. It just felt too fucking good. You didn’t know if your body was holding out because you just couldn’t handle it, or because it wanted more. Just when it felt like you couldn’t make it, suddenly you were exploding into a million little pieces of gratification and being hurled into the free falling space of absolute bliss. Two pairs of strong hands supported you as you spasmed from the force of the pleasure. Two voices echoed praises and sweet nothings into your ears as you floated outside your own body. Two hearts thudded against your back and chest in sync as they adorned you in their affection.

Rough calloused fingertips trailed along your cheekbone tenderly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as soft lips traced the shell of your ear.

“Shh. We got ya, sweetheart. We’re right here, yeah? Easy now, breathe.”

Matt wrapped his arm around your lower back, hooking his other underneath your knees as he pried you from Frank’s embrace and lifted you up bridal style, holding you against his chest.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Frank. Get undressed. I’ll take her to bed.”

You weakly brought your hand up to Matt’s neck, wrapping your fingers around the cross necklace that settled between his collarbones. The metal felt surprisingly cool against his heated skin, and the deep inhale you took to control your breathing filled your senses with his intoxicating cologne. You carefully traced one of the scars on the left side of his chest with your fingertip as you crossed the threshold into his bedroom.

“Matty?”

“Yes angel?”

“I like it when you and Frankie get along.”

“Tell him to quit bein’ such a shithead all the time, and you’ll get more of it.”

“And here I was about to be nice and let you have the first taste, Castle. Why don’t you get on your knees and put that fucking mouth of yours to good use. Don’t keep her waiting.”

Matt carefully set you down on the edge of the bed, moving to sit right behind you with his chest pressed flush against your back. You noticed the commanding tone he used with Frank was the exact same one he used in the courtroom when he wasn’t in the mood for bullshit or rebuttal. For the millionth time that night, you were shocked when Frank simply grunted in response instead of verbally retaliating, lowering himself down onto his knees in front of you. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight of Frank nearly naked before you. You had seen him shirtless a few times when he needed fixing up, but never only in briefs before. The fabric clung to his muscular thighs like a second skin, and it made your mouth water the exact same way it did whenever you saw Matt only in his underwear. Your brows furrowed slightly at the sudden realization that Frank had done exactly what Matt instructed in the living room. Since when did they ever follow each other’s orders? And so easily?

“Spread those legs, angel. Let him see you.”

Frank moved in closer towards you as you obeyed Matt’s order, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs even further apart. His large hands slowly made their way from your knees to your inner thighs, his thumbs tracing the softest circles along your skin. You had always wondered about Frank and what he would be like intimately. For a guy who could take down thirty men with his bare hands without batting an eye, he was incredibly gentle. His touch was delicate and reassuring, like he was afraid he might break you, but wanted you to know he was there. Matt wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you tightly against his chest, his other brushing your hair off your shoulder as he kissed your neck softly. He was more like what you had expected. Dominant and possessive, like he had something to prove. Whether that was to you or himself, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was both. He wanted you to know you were at his mercy, and that you belonged to him. Well, him and Frank.

The only exception to all of Matt’s rules seemed to be Frank now that you thought about it. He was willing to ignore his own moral compass and religious teachings in certain situations involving Frank. He came to Frank’s defense constantly, even if he knew he was in the wrong and would personally give him shit about his choices later. He relinquished control earlier in the living room and followed every single one of Frank’s commands, something he would never do with anyone else. Frank seemed to be the only person Matt willingly submitted to. And despite his overprotective nature, he was sharing you with Frank. Matt seemed to be Frank’s own personal outlier as well. Frank always worked alone. He hated involving other people in what he did, not wanting to deal with the risks and consequences, and just another person in general. It was easier when all he had to worry about was himself. But he had no trouble dragging Matt into the flames at a moment's notice, and never hesitated to reach out to him for help or backup. No matter how much they fought, Frank always purposefully put himself between Matt and whatever threat was coming their way, even if it was just some drunk asshole in a bar trying to pick a fight he knew Matt could easily win. As much as they argued, Frank did actually listen to Matt most of the time, and Matt secretly took Frank’s advice when he knew he was right. They were both just too fucking stubborn to admit that to one another.

“Now who looks pretty on their knees, hm?”

“Frankie does.”

“Tell him, angel. Tell him how pretty he looks on his knees for you.”

You reached your shaky hand out to cup Frank’s cheek, sighing softly at the way he nuzzled his face into your palm. His deep brown eyes were hooded with lust as he stared up at you lovingly, causing your heart to constrict in your chest. He really was beautiful, especially when he smiled. It had taken so long for Frank to open up to you, for you to get to see the happier and more carefree side of him, hear him crack jokes and his amazing laugh. It was always like witnessing some cosmic phenomena, and it made you feel incredibly lucky he wanted to share those parts of himself with you.

“Look so pretty, Frankie. So pretty.”

A lazy grin captured Frank’s lips as he looked at you, turning his head slightly to press a gentle kiss to your palm.

“Thank ya, sweetheart. But I gotta agree with Red here. Ain’t nothin’ as pretty as you.”

“Tell me what you see, Frank. Describe her for me.”

Even though it was a demand, there was an echo of desperation in Matt’s voice. Frank’s eyes softened a little more as they flickered behind you to Matt’s face, the smile faltering on his lips, lingering only for a moment before he let his eyes trail over the expanse of your body. The look was so quick, you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been paying attention.

“She looks beautiful, Red. So goddamn beautiful. Let me show you.”

Frank spent the next few minutes describing you from head to toe in explicit detail like you were a piece of art on display in Matt’s lap. He gingerly wrapped his hand around Matt’s wrist, directing his fingers along every inch of your body in sync with his own words. Your heart swelled at how gentle Frank was being with Matt, and how much Matt trusted Frank with his own concealed vulnerability to guide him. You weren’t sure if it was your own shuddering breaths or Matt’s that were echoing in your ears at the mix of both men’s hands tracing your skin. Frank’s gruff voice nestled between your thighs as he spoke, as if he was reciting poetry to create a clear picture in Matt’s head. You grabbed onto both of their wrists and squeezed gently, nearly on the verge of tears from how overwhelmed you felt by their shared affection for you and for each other. Matt’s voice was almost hoarse as he spoke quietly.

“Thank you, Frank. Now show her how beautiful she is.”

For the next hour and a half, Frank and Matt took turns on their knees with their heads buried in your needy cunt. They alternated spots, one pressed up against your back teasing your nipples and fondling your breasts with their mouth latched on your neck as they praised you while the other held your hips hostage against their face with your legs over their shoulders, using their skilled tongue to bring you to euphoria.

Frank took his time with you, slowly delving his tongue inside you over and over as his large nose continuously bumped against your clit. His grip was firm, but tender, letting you rock your hips against his face as much as you wanted as you tugged him impossibly closer by his dark tresses. He grunted every time you pulled at his grown out hair and the vibrations had your thighs quivering and sent your mind into a frenzy. He drew your orgasm out as long as he could, groaning against your core as he collected every single drop of the ambrosia that he wrung from you.

Matt tried so hard to take his time with you, but he was so overwhelmed by your scent and his own carnal desire that he couldn’t help himself. He had Frank restrain your hands as he edged you, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he dug his fingertips into your skin. He sucked fervently on your clit, filling the bedroom with obscene slurping sounds as he devoured your pussy. Frank helped hold you in place so Matt could get what he wanted. Every time he could feel you about to come, Matt would slow down and give himself a moment to breathe before diving right back in. He didn’t want it to be over so fast, but he also wasn’t fully able to contain his own selfish need. He would’ve stayed buried between your thighs all night if you let him.

Eventually Frank couldn’t take your pleading cries of his and Matt’s names anymore and lightly slapped at the back of Matt’s head. When he went to pull away again, Frank grabbed a fistful of Matt’s hair and shoved his face right back into your cunt.

“C’mon Red, listen to her. Let her come. You’ve had your fill, you can come back for more later. She ain’t goin’ nowhere. Let her have it.”

As you descended from your third orgasm of the night, your body felt completely spent. Your eyes felt heavy as you struggled to keep them open, not wanting to miss a second of this spectacle. If this was a one time thing, you wanted every part of it burned into your memory for later, because nothing would ever be as good as this. Frank shifted slightly behind you, and you felt the hardness of his cock brushing against your lower back. A slight gasp left your lips once you realized just how long both of them had been patiently waiting for their own attention. Matt had already been completely hard when he removed his suit, and you had felt the bulge in Frank’s jeans against your ass. A spark of energy jolted you awake as you were suddenly filled with the urge to have your own turn on your knees.

Frank’s grip tightened on your waist when he felt you move at the exact same time as Matt’s hands clamped down even harder on your thighs.

“Where you goin’, sweetheart?”

“I…what about you and Matty?”

“What about us, angel?”

“I wanna make you feel good too.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout us, honey. Red here is finally gonna make it to heaven when you let him inside that pretty little pussy of yours.”

“And Frank is gonna be so fucking satisfied when he comes inside you, he might not be a complete asshole for an entire week.”

You tried your hardest to wiggle out of their grasps but it was no use. They were a lot stronger than you, and they weren’t budging. You whined as they both chuckled at your pathetic attempt to escape them, seeking out the erect tent in their briefs with your needy hands.

“But I wanna touch…I wanna taste you both, too. Please?”

“This is s’posed to be about you, honey.”

“No, that’s not fair. This is for all of us, not just me. It’s just as much for you and Matty. Isn’t it? Don’t you want my mouth, Frank?”

“Fuckin’ hell sweetheart, course I do.”

“Don’t you Matty?”

“I’d love nothing more than to fuck your mouth, angel. But I’m afraid right now, I’m way too fucking hard, and I wouldn’t be able to last. I don’t want to come unless it’s inside you.”

“I gotta side with Red on this one, darlin’.”

“But-“

Matt’s hand quickly wrapped around the base of your throat as he leaned in to capture your lips, cutting off your protest entirely. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, nipping lightly at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Next time.”

Your eyes flew open, grabbing onto Matt’s wrist tightly as he loosened his grip on your neck. He was sitting up on his knees now so that you were face to face, a tender smile tugging lightly at the corners of his mouth. Blinking a few times, you turned your head so that you could look up at Frank.

“Next time?”

Frank glanced down at Matt before looking back at you, a shy smile taking over the left side of his mouth. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips, placing his hand at the base of your neck right below where Matt’s was.

“Next time.”

You immediately gave up on your protest and allowed Frank to pull your body up the bed as he moved backwards. You felt giddy with anticipation, your brain going completely haywire as both of their promises rang deafeningly in your ears.

Next time. There was going to be a next time.

“How you feelin’ honey? Think you can give us one more?”

“Yes…yes anything.”

Matt chuckled lowly at the desperation in your voice as he climbed onto the bed in front of you.

“Such a good girl. Still taking care of us when it’s our turn to care for you. Tell you what, if you help me out of these, you can touch me. But you have to help Frank too. Can you do that for us, angel?”

“Yes, God yes. Please Matty…let me help.”

“Alright sweetheart, go ahead.”

Your nimble fingers dragged Matt’s briefs down his thighs as soon as he finished his sentence, causing you to gasp when his cock finally sprang free and slapped against his stomach. A quiet sigh of relief left his lips. The head was nearly as deep in maroon as his suit and leaking with desire. As you wrapped your hand delicately around the base of his impressive length, a louder declaration of appeasement slipped past Matt’s lips, jaw going slack and hips jolting forward when you swiped your thumb across the sensitive tip.

“Fuck.”

“Easy darlin’, Red’s sensitive. He’s been waitin’ patiently this whole time like a good boy. Ain’t he? Be good to him.”

Matt let out a quiet whimper, and you weren’t sure if it was from Frank’s words or the way you were gently pumping your hand around his cock but it had your walls fluttering either way. You could tell Matt was doing everything he could to not fuck your hand, bottom lip caught between his teeth so hard blood pooled beneath the skin, hips stuttering ever so slightly in time with your movements. His face was a mix of lingering agony and pure pleasure and it piqued your curiosity about just how sensitive he was.

“Are you okay Matty? Do you want me to stop?”

“I…just-shit…fuck that feels good. I-”

“Make him come, sweetheart.”

“Frank-”

“Don’t be stubborn. You’ll be ready to go again in five minutes and you know it. Stop fuckin’ torturin’ yourself. Go ahead and give him your mouth, darlin’.”

“But that’s not-”

“Would you just shut the hell up? You ever stop talkin’? Consider it a goddamn peace offerin’. I can wait. I’m not as sensitive and overwhelmed as you. Just fuckin’ take what you’re given, shit. You’re gonna come in two minutes anyway.”

“God-fuck…fine. You get to fuck her first, then.”

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya. Sweetheart, be a good girl and do as you’re told. Let Red have your mouth.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as you parted your lips to take the head of Matt’s cock into your mouth, he was shoving himself down your throat. His hands frantically gripped onto your neck and the back of your head, holding your face in place as he fucked your mouth relentlessly. You opened your mouth as wide as you could and hollowed out your cheeks, wanting to provide him as much pleasure and satisfaction as he had given you. The moans and whines of appreciation that tumbled from his mouth were fucking music to your ears. He looked so beautiful above you, head thrown back in ecstasy and eyes squeezed shut in absolute content. A loud slap cut through Matt’s symphony of fulfillment and his eyes snapped open, slowing the pace of his hips considerably as his brows furrowed in confusion. It took a moment for you to realize that Frank had slapped one of Matt’s hands away from your face.

“Slow down, Matthew. I said use her mouth, not suffocate her. Ease up.”

Your stomach clenched at the hardened warning tone of Frank’s voice. It was also the first time you had ever heard him call Matt by anything other than his nickname for him. Something about it seemed so intimate, and it set your insides ablaze. Matt tipped his head down in your direction, clenching his jaw as he struggled to gain control of himself.

“Fuck…sorry angel, I’m-shit…God just feels so fucking good. Your mouth is so warm…soft. Shit- if this is what your mouth feels like…God-”

You hummed in response, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze and beginning to bob your head to signal for him to keep going. It only took a few more thrusts before warmth coated the back of your throat with a vengeance over and over as Matt finally climaxed. You thanked whatever God was listening that you got to witness the exquisite sight above you of Matt Murdock having an orgasm. It made butterflies erupt in your belly thinking about how soon you’d get to witness the exact same phenomena with Frank Castle.

Matt fell back onto his heels as his chest heaved, panting like he had just ran a fucking marathon. A swell of pride filled your chest as you swallowed every single drop he had offered you, a newfound wave of confidence settling in your veins at the sight of him disheveled before you knowing that you had done that to him. You had brought the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to his knees and rendered him breathless. And you had no intention of stopping there.

All night, both of them had been trading control with each other, taking turns in making demands. You weren’t in the mood to trade or take turns. You were in the mood to take.

As you turned around to face Frank who had a cocky smirk on his lips, you channeled all the power surging through you and shoved roughly at his chest until his back hit the mattress. His body bounced slightly from the impact, the arrogance long gone as his mouth fell open in surprise.

“Take those off.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I said take them off, Frank. Be a good soldier and follow your orders.”

Frank’s jaw hung suspended in disbelief. His eyes widened at your command and his pupils dilated slightly. Shock was written clearly across his features, but he obeyed anyway. The second his briefs were down his thighs, your hand was wrapped firmly around his massive cock and he grunted lowly in response.

“You both asked me what I wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes but-”

“And I said I wanted to touch, didn't I? That I wanted a taste of my own?”

“But we agreed-”

“I changed my mind. You both got to play. It’s my turn. You’d never deny me, would you, Frankie?”

“Angel, we all agreed-”

“Shut up, Matthew. I wasn’t speaking to you. I asked Frank. Frankie, baby?”

“Fuck, course not.”

A cheshire grin split your lips as you slowly worked Frank over in your hand, reveling in the feeling of his velvet heaviness in your palm. His eyes were trained directly on you, watching your every movement. Besides his lust blown pupils and parted lips, he wasn’t giving anything away. The man had been trained to withstand all kinds of torture with an impeccable poker face, but you weren’t having any of that.

“Good. You’re always so good to me, Frankie. You’ve treated me so well tonight, and I know you wanna keep doing that. Don’t you? You wanna fuck me, don’t you?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Then you’re gonna let me play. I can’t have one of my boys taken care of, and not the other. Matthew gets a pass tonight. He was so worked up for so long, and we know it’s hard for him to keep control sometimes. But you’re very good at control, aren’t you Frankie? You’re gonna let me have what he wouldn’t?”

“Yeah…whatever the hell you want.”

“Good boy. Matthew, sit next to Frank. No touching, just listen. You better be ready to go by the time Frank comes in my mouth. Do you understand?”

“Yes…I understand.”

“That’s my good boy. You’ve both made me so proud tonight. Getting along, taking turns, being so good to me, being so good to each other. When I get done with Frankie, we’re all going to get what we want. I can’t wait to have you both. I’ve wanted both of you for so long. Just be patient a little longer, Matty. Let me take care of Frank. He hasn’t gotten to come yet tonight, and that’s not fair to him. Is it?”

Matt crawled around you towards the headboard, settling back against the pillows next to Frank as he stretched his legs out. His chest was still rising and falling rapidly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes darted back and forth blankly. His cock was already half hard as he shook his head slowly, lightly fisting at the sheets beside him.

“No…no it isn’t. Let him. He deserves it.”

If you could take a picture with your eyes, you would frame the magnificent sight before you above your fucking bed. Frank and Matt, in all their nude glory, shoulder to shoulder beneath you, mouthwatering cocks standing at full alert waiting for your attention. It was impossible not to be filled with condescension when the two most powerful men in all of New York that could easily tear you apart with their bare hands were willingly submitting to your dictation.

Frank stared you down as you lowered yourself between his massive thighs, wrapping your lips around the swollen head of his cock to take into your mouth. He sucked in a deep breath, thighs tensing beside your head as you took him deeper. He was bigger than Matt, which was to be expected due to his stature, but you were determined to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could. You took your time at first, swirling your tongue around the tip slowly before sliding him back down against your tongue. You marveled at the shuddering breaths released from his mouth, but you wanted more.

“Don’t be shy, Frankie. I wanna hear your pretty sounds too.”

It hadn’t taken much to figure out Matt was the more vocal of the two, but you were adamant about breaking Frank’s composure. A quiet grunt sounded from him as you squeezed your hand around the section of him that wouldn’t quite fit in your mouth.

“Tell her how it feels, Frank.”

Matt sounded almost breathless as he spoke, and his eyes were wild with hunger as you glanced over at him.

“Feels good, sweetheart. Feels real damn good.”

“C’mon Frank, you can do better than that. It’s just us. Let it out like I know you can.”

Matt’s words had a fresh wave of arousal slicking your inner thighs. You had so many fucking questions for them. There was clearly something here you were missing. Something they were keeping from you, and you desperately wanted to know everything. Frank’s eyes never left yours, and they were growing darker by the second as if something was brewing behind them. It made your stomach twist with anticipation. You flattened your tongue against the slit on his tip, sucking fervently on the head as your hand twisted around the rest of him. Frank groaned loudly as he weaved his fingers through your hair, giving it a gentle tug.

“There you go. You can pull harder, she likes that. Don’t you angel?”

You moaned in response around Frank’s cock, causing him to let out a heavy grunt as he pulled roughly at your roots. His hips had started to shift upwards in rhythm with your movements, and you’d let him do whatever he wanted as long as he kept making sounds like that.

“Goddamn. You know how to use that mouth, yeah? Shit-no wonder he came so fast.”

“Just think about how good the rest of her is gonna feel. How pretty does she look right now?”

“So fuckin’ pretty. Fuck…wish you could see her. Looks so goddamn good with those pretty lips wrapped ‘round our cocks. Wish we could trade eyes for a minute.”

Only Frank Castle and Matt Murdock were capable of saying such filthy words that also simultaneously warmed your heart. Matt’s lips curved upwards in a delicate smile composed of pure admiration, and it made you melt. You reached your hand out that wasn’t working on Frank to grab onto one of Matt’s, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently. Frank choked out a moan of surprise when you suddenly took him as deep as you could, feeling his tip brush against the back of your throat and holding him there for a minute until you had to come up for air.

“Fuckin’-shit…do that again. Fuck please…please sweetheart.”

Bracing your palm against Frank’s thigh, you took him once again as deep into your throat as you could, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose. A cry of your name tore through Frank’s chest as he gripped roughly onto your hair, and all at once a steady stream of heat coated the back of your throat. Frank bucked his hips slightly as you swallowed around him, squeezing Matt’s hand tightly as Frank released himself from your mouth.

“Fuck, I want next.”

“Jesus Christ you insatiable bastard, you already had your goddamn turn.”

Matt threw his head back against one of the pillows as he burst into a howl of laughter, bracing his palm against his chest.

“That was before I knew she could do that.”

“Well if you hadn’t been so fuckin’-”

“Boys, please. We’re not finished here.”

“I need a minute, darlin’. Think you just sucked the fuckin’ soul outta me, Jesus.”

Matt absolutely lost it, doubling over in a fit of laughter as your cheeks flamed with heat at Frank’s words. You couldn’t help but giggle, trying to cover your mouth as Frank shot you an insincere glare coupled with a coveted smirk. You hadn’t even noticed Matt had moved behind you until you felt his hands on your waist and the warmth of his breath on your neck.

“Alright, sweet girl. How about you and I start, hm? I bet Frank will be ready to go once he hears those pretty noises of yours. Besides, he likes to watch.”

A sudden gasp flew from your mouth as Matt guided you to straddle Frank’s hips, wondering how the hell he possibly knew that about Frank. God you were reeling with questions.

“I thought he was fucking me first?”

“That was before he got to come. He’s not left out anymore, is he?”

“I…no.”

“Castle?”

“Go ahead. Be with ya in a minute, sweetheart.”

Frank shot you a wink that would’ve made you fall to your knees had you not already been on them. Matt placed his palm on your lower back, pushing gently so that you were bent over Frank slightly. Frank grabbed onto your hip with one hand, his other coming up to brush his thumb along your cheekbone slowly as he stared up into your eyes. The tenderness and desire in them was so dizzying, it was almost overwhelming. You gripped onto Frank’s shoulders as Matt carefully pushed the blunt head of his cock past your folds, gasping sharply at the slight burn of the stretch.

“Shh…I’ve got you. Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

Matt’s lips brushed delicately along the shell of your ear, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself. A slow moan cascaded from your mouth as he sank his entire length into you, his hand gripping tightly onto your other hip. Matt rested his forehead against your back for a moment once his hips were flush against your ass, an incredulous moan emitting from him.

“Breathe, honey. He’s gonna take care of you, yeah? Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Frank grunted quietly as you dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped indentations as Matt fucked you slowly from behind. Matt had brought his other hand up to loosely wrap around your throat, pressing his front firmly to your back so there wasn’t even a centimeter of space between you. Matt growled in your ear and it had you clenching around him tightly.

“Fuck sweetheart…feels even fucking better than I ever imagined. So warm…so tight. Take me so fucking well, angel. So fucking well.”

“Matty…”

“You can take Frank too, can’t you?”

Your eyes flew open and you stared down at Frank almost in panic. Matt made you feel so deliciously full. You could feel every ridge and vein as his cock dragged along your walls. You stared down into Frank’s eyes anxiously, all your confidence from earlier seemingly evaporating from your pores. Frank smiled softly up at you, leaning in to brush his lips against yours.

“S’okay if you can’t honey. If it’s too much, s’alright.”

Could you handle them both? The thought seemed ridiculous. Your body was designed to push out a small human, of course you could. But you were nervous. Your cunt had a vice grip on Matt, and Frank was bigger. It would burn, but God it would feel so good once that sting went away. You couldn’t imagine having one without the other. Not anymore. You wanted them both.

“Please Frank…I-I can. I can.”

Matt pressed his cheek against yours as his hand tightened slightly around your neck, digging his fingers a little harder into your hip.

“That’s our girl.”

Frank searched your eyes for any hesitation. He pushed your legs further apart with one of his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing the head against your clit a few times. Your body jolted forward at the sensation and Matt groaned loudly in your ear.

“Gonna have to move her a bit.”

“Here.”

Matt pressed his hand against your back until you were laying flat against Frank’s chest, putting his knees on either side of Frank’s. He grabbed onto your hips firmly, raising them a bit so that your back was arched slightly and your ass was pressed against his lower abdomen. Frank gripped onto your waist, pressing his forehead against yours as he positioned himself beneath you.

“Deep breath, sweetheart.”

As Frank pushed the head of his cock through your folds to join Matt, your mouth dropped completely open. Matt stilled behind you as Frank eased his entire length into you inch by spectacular inch. Your mouth still hung open, but you couldn’t make a sound. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head, and you had to squeeze them shut as you tried to remember how to breathe. A burning sensation seared between your thighs as they both stretched you apart from the inside. It felt like they were fucking splitting you in half. It was almost too much. Matt’s fingers loosened around your throat and his deep voice echoed in your ears.

“Breathe, angel. Let us know when we can move. Take your time.”

You sucked in a gasp of oxygen like you had just emerged from the pits of the ocean. They were everywhere. You could hardly tell where one of you ended and the other began. Frank leaned in to kiss you softly, cradling your face in his large hand. Matt once again slipped his hand between you and Frank, carefully tracing circles over your clit to combat the pain with pleasure. You had never felt so full. So content. So loved.

One of your hands reached behind you to grab onto Matt’s neck as your other gripped onto Frank’s shoulder. You experimentally tried rocking your hips, crying out from the sting of the stretch and the jolts of pleasure that followed.

“God��please…please…”

Matt and Frank started to move their hips in tandem slowly, keeping an intricate pace as you adjusted to having both of them inside you. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before. You slowly felt your muscles begin to relax as the tension dissipated, your body feeling looser as pleasure began to overtake the pain.

“How’s that feel, sweetheart?”

“So fucking good, Frankie.”

Frank’s lips stretched into a proud grin as he brushed his nose against yours, holding your face in his large hand.

“Knew you could, honey. Didn’t we?”

“We knew you’d take us so well, angel.”

Matt pulled back slightly as he felt you getting more comfortable, and your body accommodating them both more easily. He situated himself on his knees behind you, gripping onto your waist tightly.

“Now, ride him while I fuck you.”

Without warning, Matt started snapping his hips against your ass as he drilled into you from behind. A strangled moan of surprise bellowed from your chest, and Frank reached out to grip your waist to hold you steady. You braced your palms flat against his broad chest, whining loudly as Matt pistoned relentlessly inside you. His hand came down hard against your ass and he growled in your ear.

“I said ride him.”

“You heard him. C’mon sweetheart, take what’s yours. Make yourself come on my cock. Show us what a good girl you can be.”

You had half expected Frank to come to your defense like he had throughout the night, but it was like you were back on the roof. Frank was backing Matt, and you had an overwhelming desire to please them both. Gripping onto his shoulders, you began to rock your hips back and forth against his quickly, struggling to find your rhythm with the way Matt was fucking you roughly.

“Matty…please…”

“Move with me, angel. You can do it. Come on, make us proud.”

Frank held onto your waist with one hand and folded his other arm behind his head, staring up at you with the biggest grin on his lips. He was barely moving his hips, letting you do whatever you wanted above him. Matt was right. He did like to watch. He had been letting you and Matt take control for the most part, and right now all you wanted him to do was lose it.

“Please Frankie…please fuck me. Please fuck me like Matty…please…I need your help. Can you fuck me like him?”

Frank’s eyes darkened considerably at your words, and you could hear Matt snickering darkly behind you. Maybe you were wrong about Matt and Frank. Maybe Matt was the one that didn’t hide what he was. Maybe Frank was. Matt hadn’t held back once this entire night, but Frank certainly had. Maybe you didn’t know Frank as well as you thought you did. Maybe there was a part of himself he was concealing. Whatever it was, Matt clearly knew what you were in for better than you did.

“Come on, Frank. She wants to play with the Devil and the Punisher. Let her have it. She’s a big girl, she can handle it. We said we’d ruin her, so help me ruin her.”

Your heart pounded so quickly in your chest you thought it was gonna give out. Frank wasn’t smiling, he was smirking. But it wasn’t the crooked mischievous one you had come to love. No…this one was sinister, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Alright, sweetheart. You asked for it. And whatever you want, you get.”

Frank gripped roughly onto your waist to lift your hips before he began to snap his own upwards against yours at an almost inhuman pace. A scream flew from your mouth as he fucked up into you roughly in perfect harmony with Matt who was repeatedly railing into your from behind. You couldn’t form words. The sounds coming from you were downright pornographic and salacious and barely coherent. You grabbed onto his forearms for support and dug your nails so deep into his skin you were shocked you hadn't drawn blood. All you could do was hang on as Frank and Matt did exactly what they promised; they absolutely fucking wrecked you.

The grunts and moans coming from both of them were feral and almost animalistic, tearing from the most primal depths of their chests. They were both gripping and kneading at your flesh with such ferocity, like they couldn’t feel enough of you. You were eager to see the marks they had left tomorrow morning. Frank repeated over and over how good you were, showering you in praise that starkly contrasted with the way he was fucking you. Matt’s fingers never once left your throat, occasionally applying just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. He poured indecent and filthy words into your ear about how perfect you fit around his cock and how badly he wanted you to come so he could fuck you all over again.

It was beginning to be too much. You couldn’t even hold yourself up on your knees anymore. The only reason you hadn’t collapsed was because Frank still had you suspended above him.

“You gonna come for us, sweetheart?”

“Yeah she is. Any minute now…right angel?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even nod. All you could do was hang on and fall further and further into Matt Murdock and Frank Castle. Matt chuckled lowly as he pulled your head back against his chest by your neck, brushing his nose along your cheekbone as he inhaled your scent.

“Think we’re fucking her too good, Frank. She can’t even talk.”

“Goddamn if you could see how she looks right now, Red. S’alright pretty girl, we got ya. Go on and make a fuckin’ mess on us. Don’t you dare hold back, yeah?”

“Hold her steady like that Frank. I got her.”

The second Matt’s finger made contact with your clit, you combusted. Your pussy clenched so hard around both of them that it almost hurt. A blinding supernova exploded behind your eyelids and your body suddenly became a live wire, convulsing with every tiny spark of touch. Your lungs burned as you struggled to breathe and all at once you felt like you were floating and made of lead. The distant echo of Matt loudly moaning out your name and Frank howling deeply for you rang in your ears. Your heart fluttered at the thought of your insides being turned into a breathtaking mosaic as the two men you loved most in this world painted you with the most intimate parts of themselves.

There was an irrefutable peace that settled in your bones once your body stopped shuddering. It felt like you were floating in the middle of the ocean. All the noises around you were jumbled, like your head was underwater. You could just barely make out two voices calling your name. The midnight sky above you was suddenly flashing neon purple and blue, and the twinkling constellations drifting around in front of you morphed into two sets of eyes swirling with deep hazel and dark cocoa.

“There she is. Had us worried there for a bit, sweetheart.”

Frank’s voice was clear in your ears now. As you blinked the haziness away, both him and Matt finally came back into view. The light from the billboard outside Matt’s apartment was projecting a kaleidoscope of violet and cobalt on the ceiling. You had no idea how long you had been incoherent, but the expression on both of their faces and Frank’s words had you blushing profusely.

“Hi.”

Your voice was hoarse as you spoke. It didn’t even sound like it belonged to you. Both of them exchanged a knowing glance, Matt’s mouth splitting into a wide dimple showcasing grin as he chuckled.

“Hi pretty girl.”

“You alright? Was that too much?”

“I’m amazing. That was…perfect.”

”Hell, I think we can all agree on that. We were worried you weren’t comin’ back to us for a minute there though.”

“I’d never leave you two. I’ll always come back. Promise.”

“Frank, could you grab her a glass of water?”

“Sure thing, Red.”

A tender smile spread across your lips at the way Frank squeezed Matt’s shoulder before making his way out of the bedroom. Matt tilted his head in your direction, eyes fixated almost on yours as he smiled in response. His hand came out to gently cup your face, brushing his thumb lightly along your cheekbone.

“Where did you go?”

“What?”

“We did lose you there for a few minutes. We kept saying your name, but you were somewhere else. Where did you go?”

“The stars. Another universe, I think.”

Matt laughed out loud as his grin stretched even further over his mouth, moving to lay beside you as he propped his head up on his other hand.

“We missed you.”

“I found my way back as soon as I could.”

This was the most at peace you thought you had ever seen Matt Murdock look. His hair was disheveled and out of place and his cheeks were lightly twinged pink, but the smile that graced his mouth was absolutely blinding. He looked…happy. Genuinely happy. You couldn’t help but surge forward and capture his lips in a deep kiss. You could feel his smile against your mouth and the warmth of his skin as his hand settled on your waist.

“Round 2 already? Shouldn’t we wait for Frank?”

“I love you, Matty.”

Matt’s smile faltered only for a second, his eyes widening at your confession. His lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. The bed dipped behind you, and you turned your head to see Frank’s gaze shifting between you and Matt.

“I think you broke him. What’d I miss?”

“I love you, Frankie.”

Frank stilled momentarily, swallowing thickly as he brought the glass of water to your lips and placed his hand on the back of your neck as you gulped generously.

“Sweetheart-“

“Wait…just, let me speak. I mean it. I love both of you. I think I always have I just…if this is a one time thing, that’s okay. I just wanted you both to know. Tonight meant the world to me. I’ve never felt so…happy. No one’s ever treated me so well as you two have and…I really do love when you two get along. I hope that’s not part of this “one time deal” thing. So, Matt Murdock…Frank Castle…I love you. Both of you. If tomorrow morning you both decide you want to act like this never happened-“

“The hell you talkin’ about? Didn’t we say there’d be a next time?”

“Well…yeah but that was-“

“Angel, this isn’t a one time thing. I don’t know about Frank, but I can’t go back to before. Not after I’ve finally had you. It's not a one time thing for me.”

“It ain’t for me either.”

Silence hung heavy in the air after the weight of your confession settled. You suddenly felt self conscious about what you had just admitted, and the urge to run away had your fingers twitching at your sides. Matt tenderly wrapped his hand around your wrist, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he stared in your direction.

“I love you, angel.”

Frank slipped into bed beside you, draping his arm lazily over your waist as he brushed his nose along your jawline and pressed a soft kiss to the edge of your mouth.

“And I love you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes darted frantically between the two of them, still trying to wrap your head around all of the events that had transpired tonight.

“So…what now?”

“I don’t know ‘bout you two, but I’m fuckin’ exhausted. I say we get some sleep.”

“Frank’s right. It’s been a long night. Let’s get some rest. We can talk in the morning.”

“I’m sorry…did you just…say Frank was right?”

“Don’t start. I’m too tired to put you in your place, and I don’t think you can handle any more than what we’ve already given you.”

Matt’s tone submissed you into complete silence. Frank chuckled lowly beside you, and you caught his smirk as you met his gaze. He gave a light shrug of his shoulders as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He may be tired but he ain’t bluffin’. If there’s anything he can do better than take a beatin’ it’s give one. I suggest you behave, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes for a second as you pressed your thighs together, and Matt groaned loudly beside you. Frank laughed as he pulled the covers over the three of you, snuggling close into your backside as Matt pulled your leg over his waist to get you as close as possible to his chest. For several minutes, you all laid there in comfortable silence, enjoying the feeling of Matt and Frank’s warmth against your skin and the sound of their steady breathing with a promise of more bliss tomorrow.

“Goddamn, you weren’t kiddin’ about that fuckin’ billboard. You ain’t ever thought to get some curtains?”

“Why would I have a use for curtains, Frank?”

A loud laugh escaped your mouth at Matt’s deadpan before you had a chance to stop it, and Frank’s hand suddenly clamped over your mouth.

“Obviously they ain’t for you, shithead. What about us?”

“Fine. We’ll look at curtains tomorrow. Happy?”

“Fuckin’ peachy.”

Thirty seconds. You had thirty seconds of more comfortable silence before they were back at it.

“You’re fucking joking, right? I mean you can sleep through bullets and explosions and the desert sun, but a billboard is where you draw the line?”

“It’s right there in the goddamn window, Matthew. For fucks sake, you got a fuckin’ rave goin’ on right now. It might not bother you-“

“Well obviously it can’t bother me Frank-“

“Boys, please. Frankie, you’ve literally slept in far worse conditions. Matty…it is a bit much. We can deal with it tomorrow. Can we please go back to you two being nice to each other and cuddling?” Both of them grunted halfheartedly in response, but it made you smile nonetheless. Because they were your boys. Yours. And no matter how much they drove you, and each other, absolutely crazy, it was all out of love. You loved them. They loved you. Nothing else really mattered.

1K notes · View notes

alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

Text

throttle │ jjk - two

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - just a littleeee (read: mostly) smut... fingering, titty sucking (his fave <3), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (female), creampie, post-creampie-pussy-eating, cum swapping, a little spitting i guess, titty worship, ?? more, maybe ??, idk, you get the idea. oh, and also dangerous driving and jk being down bad within like 5 seconds flat

word count - 13.4k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Jungkook's cheeks are red, his nose blushed from the chill of the wind by the time you reach his place. It's just on the outskirts of town, past the jewellers' district and out towards the station, and it has you wondering why he's always getting fuel from your neck of the woods. It seems inconvenient, and if you were sober, you'd be questioning it.

Sober, you might have even made assumptions about it.

Hell, you know you would be making assumptions about it.

But you're not sober, and he's got a hold on your hand like you're one of the priceless jewels in the windows you've just walked past.

You're gold dust; a diamond in amongst the rough of downtown Daegu.

In fact, he's holding you so tightly that it's almost as if there's a price on your head, and he wants to be the one to reap the rewards. No sharing. His, all his.

He doesn't loosen his grip on your hand as he begins to punch in the code to his apartment door. It's steel, and robust, hiding everything that Jungkook is behind it. You don't know him, not really - not like you want to - but there's something so painfully intimate about being invited into his space. Has you thinking that maybe you'll get the chance to know him. For a few hours, at least.

The lock beeps, a mechanical whir sounding as the bolt retracts, but he pauses as he puts pressure down on the handle.

"Can you, like, close your eyes?" He grimaces, glancing back around at you. His tongue is tipsy, about to make admissions he never would do sober. "I left in a rush, and there are clothes everywhere 'cause I couldn't decide what to wear and I-"

"Wait, wait, wait," you grin, eyes centred on his. "Did someone get pre-date nerves?"

Jungkook presses his eyes shut, smiling as he rolls his head back. He's never nervous. Always cool, calm, collected - but he can hear your little drunk giggles, and his heart rate is up, and shit, he thinks he might be nervous.

He knows he was nervous before he left.

"I just-" he says with a frustrated groan, too exasperated to finish his sentence before he starts laughing, too.

You're both a little tipsy, swaying, drawing closer to one another. It's innate, the way your body leans into his, with zero resistance from Jungkook as your hands grip the front of his coat for support.

"Shuuuush," he whispers, all giddy and coy, holding his index finger to your lips. It's almost as if he gives a fuck about his neighbours.

He doesn't.

He's just using it as an excuse to get closer to you.

"You shush!" You whisper back, mirroring his actions and holding your finger to his lips, too.

His smile is so big that his dimples are on full display. They're as deep as his eyes are dark, and you just know he must have broken his fair share of hearts in the past. His hands cup your jaw, thumbs resting on the edges of your smile as if he's framing a work of art. He'd argue that he is.

You look so dainty in his hold, and he finds himself overwhelmed with the need to savour your pretty little laugh. It'll taste just like his, but he doesn't care. Thinks it'll be sweeter coming from your lips.

And, so, somewhere between your simpering laugh and his darting eyes, as a flickering light in his hallway beats in unison with your hearts, his lips find yours.

He's still telling you to shush as he does so, and you tell him it back - but neither of you actually shush until your tongues are in each other's mouths.

He fumbles the keypad of his door again, getting you both through the threshold and into his tiny studio before you can even look at the mess of clothes everywhere.

The nerves he once had are gone, because he's confident about this; about you.

The movements of your bodies bleed into one another, neither one of you taking the lead. Instead, it's as if you're a pair of figure skaters gliding through his apartment, eyes closed - not that it makes much of a difference. The lights are off, and a string of fairy lights left up since Christmas provides the only source of illumination.

Jungkook hadn't entirely planned on stumbling home drunk with you, but he knew he'd be stumbling home in some capacity, so leaving them on had seemed like a good idea at the time. He's proven right.

And even though this night hasn't gone exactly how he had planned, he's not complaining. Especially not when your hands begin to fumble with his jacket. You undo it, push it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Casual arrogance graces his lips as he smirks against you, unbuttoning the top of your skirt.

"I don't fuck on first dates," you tell him, but you don't stop him as he pushes the black denim over your hips and lets it fall to the floor. In fact, you're kind of giving him mixed signals as you reach for his belt, sliding the leather through its buckle.

"We've had, like, 300 GS25 dates," he mumbles into your lips between kisses, so casually that it's almost believable.

He pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it to the floor, and grabs your face just to kiss you again as soon as he can.

It's about now, just after he's finished evaluating your 'dating' history, that you notice the pressure of two small metal balls flicking against your tongue. They're evenly spaced across the centre of his own tongue, and the mere acknowledgement of them has your legs clenching together. The lip ring was bad enough, but a tongue piercing? Fuck.

He smiles as you moan into his lips, and assures you: "I think it's okay if we fuck."

Your hands are in his hair, his gripping onto your waistline before he rids you of your sweater, and all you can do is nod. Playing hard to get is a game for fools, and you're not really sure why you tried it in the first place. You're gonna be winning either way.

"Yeah, you're right," you mumble into his mouth. "We're basically married."

He laughs, and for a second you think that he must have been made by the Gods. It's the only way to explain how a human could be created so heavenly, even when they're about to commit enough sins to send them straight down to the pits.

"Happy honeymoon," he smirks, assisting you as you begin to push his jeans past his ass and down his thighs. Teamwork makes the dream work, after all.

You're both in your underwear, yet neither of you have even looked at the other's bodies yet. Too preoccupied. Too eager. Too consumed by the overwhelming need to feel one another.

His skin is warm, but the ridges of his torso are so hard that you'd be forgiven for thinking he's carved from stone.

Nudging his parted lips against yours, you gasp as his fingers curl in your hair. Jungkook just claims your breaths as his own, pressing his lips firmly shut against yours.

One hand clasps your throat, keeping you secure, as the other trails up your thighs.

"Sure you wanna consummate this marriage?" He asks a little breathlessly, playing on the narrative you built up for this moment, just checking before he does anything he can't take back.

But you're impatient, and you don't think you could be any clearer even if you tried.

"Oh my god," you whine. "Just finger me already."

Your words have him laughing all over again. He likes this, likes that you're not afraid to ask for what you want. He hadn't expected anything less, but it's satisfying to have his assumptions proven right. He kind of gets why you like making so many of them, now.

He fumbles about a little bit, not bothering to turn on the lights. It's not his first rodeo, and he doesn't think it's yours either - in fact, he knows it isn't. You wouldn't be so bold if it was. He doesn't embarrass easy, and knows that there are lessons to be learned with every new woman he acquaints himself with. You're no exception.

"Gotta tell me what you like," he notes as he presses a kiss against your neck, the smell of your perfume so divine that he thinks you must be some kind of lorelei. It's like a meeting of black cherry and vanilla, but when his nose nestles into your hair, he can smell gasoline - and he thinks it might just be the hottest thing about you.

You hum a response, the anticipation causing your heart to beat a mile a minute. He pushes the lace of your underwear to the side, his middle finger running between your folds. You're slick from his kisses alone, but so is he is. As you palm at the bulge in his pants, you can feel the wetness of precum leaking from his tip. He wants this just as much as you do.

"You can do better, little miss clutch control," he teases you. "Speak up."

Part of you wants to kick him in the balls. He's so sexy but so fucking annoying - he can hear how much you're enjoying his touch. He doesn't need confirmation - he just wants the gratification of hearing you say it. It's a power trip for him. You don't like giving men power.

"I like it when you shut the fuck up," you reply, hands in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. If your words won't do it, then at least your lips will. The vibration of his laugh hums into your mouth, before he pulls away - only by an inch or so.

"That's more like it."

His lips return to yours, as quickly as they left, while he continues to roam. His fingers stay in your underwear, the very tip of his index finger mapping you out. Your body shudders when he brushes your clit, the direct contact a little too much.

He dips down to your entrance, pauses, and says "been thinking about this since the moment I met you," and then pushes two of his fingers into your cunt.

Your walls are tight and hot, but oh-so fucking wet. There's nothing about your pussy that he doesn't love. His thick knuckles are celestial inside of you, just as cosmic as the reflection of his fairy lights in his eyes, and you find yourself thinking that maybe those tattooed hands of his are something special, after all.

"Bra off," he husks, and you do as you're told. He'd have done it himself, but his hands are a little preoccupied.

He adjusts the pair of you as your bra hits the floor, encouraging your legs around his waist. Hoisting you up before you really have a chance to comprehend what he's doing, you're pretty certain that this is just an excuse to display his strength. You're impressed, so it's working, but you're also unable to really think about anything other than the way he feels inside of you.

Your back is against the wall, the weight of his body keeping you pinned in position as he fucks his fingers into you. There's no real calculation to his movements, just an awareness that he absolutely cannot fuck you yet. He'll simply finish too quickly.

It's not that he doesn't enjoy a quickie - truth be told, he finds them far more convenient - it's just that it would be mortifying.

He's not sure he'd actually be able to show up at the gas station ever again if you heard him whine like a little bitch and unload himself in five seconds flat.

Equally, he doesn't want you to dread his car coming into the forecourt.

He wants you daydreaming about him, all hazy-eyed, like you are when you're drunk, waiting for his car to roll in. He wants you musing about the way his tongue feels against your neck, and your coworker asking why you're smiling so much. He wants you blushing as you try to think of a justification, and he wants you excusing yourself to go to the bathroom to sort out the wetness pooling in your underwear.

So, yeah. A quickie simply won't do.

He grips onto the side of your neck with his spare hand as he sinks his fingers into your pussy again. The way you gasp is like music to his ears, every single one of his senses overrun by the entity that you are.

It's mutual though. You're consumed by everything that he is; his scent, the sound of his laboured grunts, the taste of his tongue and the feel of his hands all over your body. The only sense he isn't violating is your sight - but it's only 'cause he's making you feel so good that your eyes are forced to rest shut.

Jungkook, on the other hand, exclusively watches you. He marvels at the way your head leans back against the wall, neck exposed for him to leave a trail of pretty purple bruises. He knows he shouldn't. Knows he shouldn't leave a single mark on your skin. Knows better than to leave evidence of his crimes, but it's a sin he thinks he'd quite like to commit over and over again.

You're pretty good at faking it. A string of careless lovers, of whom you used to entertain prior to learning your worth, had helped you to perfect a moan. You can manipulate your body, make your chest heave with exertion, your pussy throb around their fingers, their cocks. You can make it leak, get yourself looking like a fucking mess for them, as if it's because of them. It's a fine art.

Botticelli would admire you, you think. His Venus couldn't compete with you. Femme fatal; a kisser of jaws, a killer of the men you have to let down gently because they fall too in love with you for your liking. Understandably, given what you can do. You've mastered it. Mastered men.

And it's for this reason, that you don't fake anymore. If someone isn't pleasing you, you let them know. You view it as a way of helping humanity - or their future girlfriends, at least. Why waste time letting someone else think they're getting you off, when it's you doing all the hard work?

You'd gone into this prepared; ready to remedy what would inevitably be a disappointing shag with a near stranger.

But you're not throbbing around Jungkook's fingers - you're trembling. There's no self-made stutter in your chest, but there's one a little lower down, one that you've got absolutely no jurisdiction over. Y'see, the way you're gasping, like you're struggling against a riptide, caught in the wave that is Jeon Jungkook, can't be faked.

It's what has him smirking as he puts pressure behind the kisses he's placing on your neck. It's the fact that every time you try and speak, even if it's just a curse or the sound of his name, it's cut short. You've no control. Fuck all. It's all on him, on account of him being inside you. If he's learnt anything about you in the short time that he's known you, it's that you're never speechless. Always getting that last word in.

But you can't even formulate one now, his fingers pumping into you at such a speed, that the lewd wet noise is almost louder than your moans. Almost.

Jungkook isn't a jealous kind of guy, especially not when it comes to casual hookups - but he kind of thinks he's jealous of his own fucking fingers.

Every single part of him wants your pussy; his tongue, his cock. You feel so good around him that he regrets not making a move sooner. Should have asked to fuck you as soon as you started talking about his car on his first visit to the gas station. Lord knows he thought about it.

His lips are on yours, not really kissing you, resting open, his breaths heavy and laboured. The way he's pushing into you, deeper, deeper, has you mirroring his expression, small moans pouring into his mouth. He wants to eat them up, devour them, use them as fuel.

You loosen the grip you have in his pale hair, gripping onto his neck with one hand, the other falling to his bicep. He likes the scratch of your nails against his bare skin, but there's a distance between you both that he wants to close. He pulls his hand from beneath your ass, relying on his core strength alone to keep you pressed into the wall, and reaches for your fingers. Intertwining them, he places his hand, with yours beneath it, back against the wall, above your head.

The change in position has your chest lifting, almost as if your tits are begging to have his lips around them - and who is he to refuse?

His tongue finds your nipple, flicking against the hardened nub before sucking it between his lips. The vibration of his studs against your sensitive bud has your back arching. He sucks you further into his mouth, tongue lapping against you, before he releases your nipple - but it's so puffy, and wet, and perfect, and fuck- he can't help himself, teasing at it again with his tongue.

So fixated on how you feel in his mouth, he's forgotten that he meant to be fucking you. His cock throbs beneath his boxers, as his fingers are kept warm by your walls, slick wetness creaming around the base of his knuckles and dripping down his palm.

His apartment is small, so it only takes him a moment to move you from the wall and toss you down into his sheets. There's a waft of his fabric conditioner as he does so, floral and soft. It's hard to imagine a man so broad, so handsome, so god damn irresistible, paying any attention to laundry - but you suppose it must just add to his charm.

"C'mere," you whine, as he takes a moment to take in the sight of you. Missing the way he feels, you pull him down onto the bed - but he's scared that even just rutting against you will have him spilling himself all over your stomach. Instead, he places himself beside you, and gets to work.

There's a familiarity now, his mouth taking your nipple again, wet and wanting, as his fingers toy with your pussy. He's not sure which he prefers, your pussy or tits, but he's more than happy to play with them both. His thumb presses on your swollen clit, and you writhe beneath him. "You like that, huh?"

You try and respond, but his thumb begins to rub languid circles against you. If you couldn't muster a word before, then like fuck can you speak now.

"Huh?" he teases, teeth grazing your hardened nipple, now. His finger strokes at your walls as he sinks into you once more, on the hunt for something that no one has ever been able to find, except you. The way your legs are tensing lets him know he's close.

"I asked if you like that." He's only a knuckle deep, stroking pretty little circles against your walls. Closer. You whine. "Don't go all shy on me now, doll."

Your body writhes beneath his, toes curling, teeth digging down on his shoulder in a failed attempt at keeping quiet. He hopes you'll leave a mark. His thumb presses a little harder against your clit, encircling it with pressure so deep that you're almost certain you'll die from his touch.

"Don't stop," is all you can manage. "Don't stop- fuck."

"Better," he says, pressing a kiss into your neck. You can feel his precum leaking onto your thigh, and the idea of him dirtying you has you insatiable. He can tell you're at his level now, so close to finishing that it won't be embarrassing when he's done in five-seconds-flat - but the way you're putty in his hands has him unable to stop himself. He's gotta make you cum. Needs to.

He presses his thumb down, fingers up, as if he's pinching them together, and then he's stroking and - "Oh, fuck it. Right there. Right fucking there." - he's found it.

He's fucking found it, the little ridge in your pussy that up until now has been just for you. You've lied before, told guys they've hit your g-spot and faked a little something that convinces them of it - but it's never been like this. Ever. Not even when you find it.

Jungkook follows your commands. He won't stop, doesn't stop, not even when your nails grab at his wrist because the pleasure is so unbearable, so intense, that it fucking hurts.

"Like that," you encourage, knowing your grip probably says otherwise. "Like that, fuck."

He does as he's told, and keeps like that, lips latching onto your nipple, sucking just as hard as his fingers are massaging. The slickness of your walls compared with the texture of your g-spot has him going insane. He doesn't think it's his first time finding such a sacred spot, but it's never been this easy, and the reaction has never been this good.

You moan out his name, 'cause he's all you can think about. Any and all articulation of your pleasure goes on him.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, forgetting that he doesn't know you nearly well enough to be addressing you like that, but he doesn't slow down. You just moan. He can call you whatever the fuck he wants at this point. It's too good. Too much.

"Kook, I-" you try, but your hips are bucking, and there's fuck all you can do to stop it.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises you.

He will make you cum. Will do whatever it takes, if needs be. The tip of his cock is red and leaky against your thigh, ready to fuck into you, but he doesn't give a shit. Your walls are hot. Burning hot. And then they're throbbing, and your torso begins to tense. You whisper his name like a secret prayer, legs trying to close around the welcome intrusion of his hand.

"That's it," he keens. "Cum for me, doll. All over my fingers. That's it."

You're fucking mewling as your body shudders against his. There's no dignity left in your body. It's pooling in the palm of his hand, slick and slippery, just where he wants it.

"You're unreal," he hums, drawing the last of your little death from you. "Fucking insane, babe. So fucking hot."

Turns out the Grim Reaper had made an appearance that evening, just in the form of a 6-foot adonis, who knows his way around a pussy like he does a bloody electric switchboard.

You're panting, and so is he, his lips curving against your skin. Neither of you speaks for a minute, both casually aware that it - this, the night - isn't over yet.

And then Jungkook just thinks to hell with acting coy, or playing it cool. You're naked in his bed, and so is he. No point in beating around the bush (unless you're into it).

"Wanna eat you out," he says as he presses a kiss into your neck, placing himself more centrally over you. Your chest is still heaving, and the thought of cumming again makes you feel all dizzy. His elbows are rested by your head, cock stiff against your tummy. You wrap your arms around his neck, toying with his pretty blonde hair. "Wanna fuck you first, though."

There's a logistical step to be taken there. You're on birth control, and the subject of regularly testing had come up during a particularly suggestive conversation over dinner. You both know he'll be fucking you raw - which means he's finishing raw, too.

"But-"

"I don't care," he mumbles into your lips, a little rough, claiming them as his own. He really doesn't give a fuck if it means eating his own cum. Not like he hasn't done it before. He's probably just gonna spit it into your mouth, anyways.

He pulls his hips back to line himself up. The tip of his cock nudges into you slowly, gently, and then he eases himself forward. It burns, the thickness of his shaft spreading you in a way that his fingers couldn't. It's bliss. Divine. Heavenly, and yet absolute sin.

He revels in the way you feel, for a moment, letting your walls stretch before he sinks into you fully. You curse as he does so, the pain overridden by pleasure. His hips begin to pick up pace, eyes on yours to make sure that you're okay as he ploughs into you.

It's like he's digging for diamonds, almost. Funny thing is, when you gasp, eyes all wide and focused on his, it's looks like he's found them in your eyes. It's just the reflection of his fairy lights, but the illusion fools him.

Looking at you is too much for him to handle, so Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. He really wasn't kidding when he figured he'd finish in no time at all. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls.

"Gonna make me cum," he drowsily mewls, fucking himself into you like it's where he belongs.

His body is clammy against yours, stamina impressive but dwindling. His thrusts are getting sloppy, and so are his kisses, but you kind of love it like this; Jungkook so out of control he isn't even trying to keep a pace anymore. The rhythm of your body beneath his, the way he fits inside of you, how soft and warm your tits are as they pillow against his chest, it's all too much for him.

He's so deep he's practically kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, and yet he still hooks your leg over his elbow. He needs to be deeper.

"Gonna make me cum so much. You want that, huh? Wanna be the reason I cum?" he grunts, and then his words become needy. "Tell me you want it, doll. Tell me."

He licks into your mouth, toying with your tongue before you even get a chance to respond.

"Don't want it," you pant, his harsh thrusts interrupting your words. He's about to be offended, all needy and pouty while he's buried inside you, but you're biting down on your lip and - oh, god - he's obsessed. "Need it. Cum for me. Want it so bad."

He smiles against your cheek as his hips move languidly between your legs. One of his hands comes down to your hip to help him control himself, but he can't. Not when he can feel you smiling, too. He laughs a little, soft and mellow against your skin - and when you do the same thing back, Jungkook knows he's absolutely done for.

"I'm gonna-" he rasps, unable to finish his sentence. "Where? Where do you want me?"

You don't say anything, just tighten the grip of your legs around his waist. You're a fucking mess, mentally, physically. He's ruined you in every sense of the word.

"Sure?"

"Sure," you pant against his skin, before repeating your earlier claim. "Need it. Need you."

It's a lie. You don't. You barely know him - but you feel so in tune, so aligned, when he's inside you that it feels like your pussy is the only place his cum deserves to be. It'd be wasted on your tits (though Jungkook would definitely disagree).

"God," he groans. "Don't say shit like that."

Jungkook has severely underestimated just how much of a little bitch you can be.

"Like what?" you pout as his thrusts get even sloppier, his skin slapping against yours. "What can't I say? How much I need you?"

He curses your name, lips showering you in pretty kisses. His tongue finds its home inside your mouth, but it's just an attempt to shut you up. A pretty good one, in all fairness. The way his studs feel against your tongue has you dripping around the base of his cock.

You can hear it; Jungkook slipping in and out of your soaked pussy like you're fire and he's ice.

"Need you," you simper again, just to fuck with him a little more. "Need to feel you fill me up."

"You want it that bad, huh?"

He pulls himself back a little, sitting up on his heels, holding onto your hips as he fucks himself into you. Your tits pillow on your chest, bouncing in time with his thrusts, hypnotising him, almost. You're smiling as your forearms cover your eyes, a little shameful of being caught in such a compromising position, but loving it nonetheless.

"Looking a little shy, there," he says, but his tone is so low it almost sounds like a growl. You pull your arms away, and he's amazed that you can still manage to raise a brow and throw him a pissed off glare even when he's balls deep in you. Truth be told, it just makes him want you even more. He's fond as he smiles at you. "There she is."

Even if you can't fake your orgasms for him, you can still fake annoyance.

"You gonna cum, or what?" You sigh, and then he's laughing, sinking back down, elbows either side of your head as he kisses you. "All men do is lie."

"Not gonna cum," he says, and you're right - it is a lie. "Just gonna keep fucking you forever."

"I have work tomorrow."

"Fuck if I care," he sinks his tongue back into your mouth, briefly, just to remind you who's really in control here. "Said I'll fuck you forever, so forever it is."

There's a bell chiming in your tummy, and you're not able to convince yourself that it's just another building orgasm. It's still him, though, in a round about way.

"We're not allowed to bring our pets to work," you deadpan. "No can do."

Jungkook stops thrusting, and pulls his head back, almost to look at you in disbelief. He's smiling, and he's so desperately turned on that his balls fucking hurt, but he's never been more perplexed in bed. You're equal parts a siren and a little shit.

You're grinning too, pleased to have rendered him speechless. "What is it, huh? Cat got your tongue?"

He smirks, now. "Nah. Not yet. But it will."

And then he's back at it, hips erratic, building such a pace that you can't even think, let alone come out with some dumb remark.

"Still need it, huh?" He recites your words back to you, voice raspy and hushed, so close it feels like his body could give out at any second. He's edging himself, trying to make it last just a little bit longer, but it's so wet, and you're so fucking tight, and he's throbbing, and grunting and - fuck - it's so fucking good he might just die.

"You're gonna look so pretty when I fill you up," he moans, before correcting himself. "Already pretty. So fucking pretty."

His hips slap against yours, once, twice, and then it's happening.

He buries himself in you, body tense as a shiver runs down his spine. Your nails dig into his back, a hushed whine escaping from his mouth and getting lost in your hair.

His cock unloads thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy, coating you with the very essence of everything that he is. It's overindulgent and unrestrained. Fuck if it isn't the most full you've ever felt, ropes of thick cum spurting into you like he was built to fucking breed.

He pumps himself gently inside you for a moment or so, just to ease the remainder of his hot cum into you. The sound is lewd as he adjusts, his job very much done.

Neither of you speak for a moment, hedonism taking heed. The way his heart beats in his chest is unlike anything you've ever felt before. In fact, you're almost in a state of shock, and so is he.

Only for a moment, though. He's not actually done yet.

Your first orgasm was cute - but there's no way he's letting you see him that pathetic, that weak, without making sure you end up in the exact same state.

He presses a few kisses to your damp neck, laughing softly. "Get what you wanted?"

Looking at you, brown eyes all big and sparkling, he pulls his torso back up, ass resting on his heels, before checking the state of his cock as he withdraws himself.

You're smiling as you watch him stare at where the pair of you meet with such devotion that it's hard not to feel a little enamoured with him. Even if it is just a casual fuck.

"Got what I wanted." Your voice is light and airy, like you're a Disney princess waking up from centuries of slumber. Might not have had true loves kiss, but you bet none of them has ever had a fuck like Jungkook.

You pout a little when he finishes pulling out, sad to have lost the feeling of fullness. He catches your expression, and smiles.

"Cute," he says a little mindlessly, articulating a thought that wasn't meant to be shared.

"Shut up," you reply, embarrassed, but he doesn't mind. Not in the slightest. In fact, he loves that you didn't want him to leave. Kind of wishes that he could have kept his cock buried inside you, instead.

But Jungkook is a man of convictions, and a firm believer that he'll simply die if he can't eat you out.

You sort of think the moment has passed, that it was something he said in the heat of the moment. Figure now he's orgasmed, he's finished - but Jungkook is an endurance athlete, not a sprinter. There's still a hurdle left to jump.

He presses your legs apart so that he can look at you. Your hole is creamy and fucked out, his load slowly seeping out of you with every beat of your heart. His fingers dip just beneath your entrance, collecting his cum on them, before he pushes it back into you. He doesn't look at you, just your cunt, as he says, "told you you'd look pretty full of my cum."

The way he's staring at you, like a man who hasn't eaten for days being presented with a three course meal, has you feeling all hot and bothered.

You're satisfied. The sex you just had was enough. More than enough - but you're getting weak at the knees again, his desire infectious. You can't remember a time you've ever wanted someone as badly as you want him. Not for any deeper reason than the selfish fact that he makes you feel good. It's pure lust, no romance about it.

His fingers continue to push his cum into you, stroking up and down your walls, applying just enough pressure to let you know he's there.

He moves his body back, keeping his fingers snug inside you - and then he lowers his body, just a couple of inches from you. His breath feels cold against the slick wetness covering your pussy.

"Also told you I wanted to eat you," he adds, as if you need reminding.

His spare hand strokes down the inside of your thigh before it reaches your hot core, and he begins to toy with your pussy. He spreads your lips open, just like he did your legs, and then he's studying you. Figuring out ways he can get your squirming.

The first initial contact is brief; the tip of his tongue licking across the top of your clit. A parched moan escapes your lips, and he smiles. "There?"

"There," you moan, eyes closed, head pushed back into his pillows.

He does it again, tongue a little flatter, a little firmer. You feel his piercing against you this time, smooth and hard. Your clit is snug between the two studs, like it was made to be there. He does it again. Wetter, deeper. And again. Slower, harder - and then his speed builds.

He licks up and down across your clit, rolling it beneath his tongue, once, twice- and then you lose count, so lost in ecstasy that all you can think about is his tongue lapping at your cum-filled cunt, plugged with his fingers.

Occasionally, he sucks gently on your clit, just to earn a little extra moan from you. It works every single time.

You're leaking around his fingers at this point, so close to cumming again that it's impossible to keep your legs open. He feels the pressure of your thighs against his head, and it only serves to encourage him. His speed builds, both his tongue and his fingers meeting with your pussy at such divine speeds that you're sure you'll cum in such an undignified manner that'll he'll perhaps regret his choices.

As your muscles begin to tense, his head in a literal death grip, he smiles, dimples deep and lips pretty against your pussy. Jungkook is utterly enthralled with how it feels to have his face between your thighs.

He keeps his eyes closed, letting himself experience the sensations of your body completely unadulterated. If he could see you, he'd be so obsessed with the view that he might not savour you in the way that he wants to. He wants to taste you, to smell you, to feel how soft and warm you are. If he wasn't obsessed before (which he was), then he definitely is, now.

The pressure builds, his tongue lapping against you, one of your hands tangled in his messy blonde hair, the other holding one of your boobs for a little moral support.

You're too far gone to even let him know you're about to come undone all over again. He knows, though. He can feel you pulsing, and then you're gasping, and panting, and mewling and fuck, he loves the way you sound.

Your muscles throb as he brings you to orgasm. It's so undignified that you're certain you'll never cum like this again. Your abdomen flexes involuntarily, making sure your orgasm is signed, sealed, delivered to you. He pushes your legs apart again, glancing up towards you as he licks one final stripe up your exposed mess.

You ignore the slick on his fingers that's now coating your thigh as he spreads them apart, too busy with the fact his chin is soaked, hair a mess, nose blushed. He's watching your entrance seep; a mixture of himself and you.

It's hard to know what belongs to who, but as he dips down and licks it up with the tip of his pointed tongue, the ownership is clear. It doesn't matter whose is whose, because your pussy belongs to him, now.

It's all his.

He gathers the creamy slick on his tongue, and then he pulls on your hand to encourage you into a sitting position.

You're putty in his hands, doing whatever he tells you, which is albeit very little. In fact, he doesn't say anything - just looks at your lips, then your eyes, and clasps your jaw.

He opens his mouth and pools his tongue, letting the mess that you've both made sit prettily in his mouth, dancing over his studs. He nods gently, moving his thumb from your jaw to your pillowy bottom lip, pressing down on it.

Open.

He's insatiable. Wants his cum on your tongue, but wants yours on his, too.

You spread your lips apart, eyes exclusively on his. Your tongue flicks against his thumb.

And then you nod.

Please.

Jungkook is slow in his approach, tentative as he holds your jaw, bringing your closer to him. His tongue licks into your mouth, swiping against yours, swapping his cum between the pair of you. It's a languid exchange, slow and sensual, neither of you caring for the boundaries that are being crossed.

He pulls away from you, hand gripping your jaw again. You open your mouth instinctively, just like he wants you to. Neither of you pay any attention to his phone, which is flashing on the floor next to his bed.

Spit gathers in his mouth, rinsing himself of the pair of you as he draws you closer to him, your mouth still resting open. He spits directly into it. You whimper a little as he does so, his grip on your jaw keeping your mouth open for him to observe just how messy it is; all thanks to him.

"Swallow," he tells you, easing his grip, and so you do.

Lips closed, you swallow everything; his spit, his cum, your cum, all of it. When he grips your jaw again, you know the drill, but it doesn't stop him from commanding you.

"Open."

He's pleased when you do, mouth all pretty and clean for him to ruin again - but instead, he just kisses you softly, hands on your cheeks, pushing your bodies back down into his sheets. There's a tenderness to the way in which he touches you; as if he realises you sacrificed a little dignity for him, so he's trying to restore it.

He's hard again - had never really softened, in all honesty - but he's too sensitive to do anything about it.

"Stay," he mumbles against your lips. Your hands are in his hair, keeping him close, as your legs wrap around his waist. "Stay the night. Wanna wake up to this."

You moan into his lips. His cock is firmly pressed into your stomach, his naked body warm against yours.

There's something about the weight of his body, the firmness of his muscular chest against the soft pillow of your own, that is unrivalled by any other sleeping arrangement you could think of.

And despite knowing exactly what he's saying, and being far too skeptical to think he means anything other than sex, you still choose to toy with him a little.

"Wake up to what?" You purr into his lips, aware that your hips are languidly rolling against him again.

He kisses down your neck, laughing softly to himself. His smile vibrates against your skin, and, for a moment, it's your favourite feeling in the whole entire world.

"To you."

You're pretty sure he can feel the way your pulse skips a beat in your neck. But again, you're difficult. And this arrangement definitely isn't anything more than just sex.

"You mean to my pussy, right?"

He presses pretty little kisses back up your neck, along your jaw and into your lips. They're cute. Kind. Romantic, even.

"Oh, a hundred percent," he grins against your lips, and then you're laughing too.

"You're so mean," you pout, as if you weren't the one to put the words into his mouth. There's a dimple etched into his cheek, eyes all hazy and sparkling as he shakes his head. He thinks you look adorable when you pout. So damn cute. He steals another kiss, and protests.

"Made you cum twice," Jungkook says, and has the audacity to scrunch his nose, acting all cute and shit. You're embarrassed, bringing your hands from his hair to cover your face, which you just know is flaming red. "I think that's actually pretty nice of me."

He pulls one of your hands away from your face, and kisses your knuckles. His smile matches yours - because while yes, you're embarrassed, you're still riding the post-fuck high, too.

"You also spat in mouth," you remind him, and then he's cringing. Jekyll and Hyde have nothing on Jungkook when it comes to him and, well, him in bed. "That's not very nice."

He covers his eyes with his hands, but his teeth are still on show, smile prevailing. "Shut up."

And then he's kissing you again, 'cause fuck it, he just can't stop himself.

It's been a while since he last got like this. In fact, he probably hasn't been this giddy post-fuck since he was a teenager. He's normally in the shower by this point, ridding himself of whoever he's been inside - but he doesn't have the compulsion to do that with you.

He knows that when he breaks from the spell you've cast upon him, he'll be back to reality. The fairy dust will settle on the ground like ashes, and the magic that once was will become nothing but malice.

There's a bridge to be crossed.

Jungkook has been fixing it up - repairing the cracks, making it sturdy - but he's not sure he wants what's on the other side, anymore. Not when you're in his bed, not when he can feel your chest wobble with every little laugh you do, and not when your nails are tenderly scratching at his scalp.

See, he likes being on this side of the bridge. Likes being with you.

But if he doesn't cross it, the trolls beneath it will inevitably come for him.

And so he asks you to stay again, but this time he says it like he means it.

"I want you to stay with me," he speaks quietly, rolling off of you and curling up beside you, reaching for the duvet that ended up at the end of his bed. He brings it back over your bodies, as if he's locking you in. You have to stay now.

You turn to face him, curling up too, mirroring him. Your fingers delicately tuck strands of his beautiful blonde hair behind his ear, ignoring the way his eyes are focused on you. Instead, you watch your hand as it moves, curiously touched by the fact he wants you to stay. You don't peg him as guy who often wants a girl to stay.

You're right to assume that.

Right to assume that he normally doesn't do this.

One night stands? Yeah, sure. He's had a handful - but never at his place. He doesn't like inviting people back to his apartment. It feels too personal. He likes being able to leave. He doesn't do the whole waking up together thing - no matter how much he likes morning sex (of which he does ( a LOT)).

But Jungkook's thinking about that bridge again.

He's thinking about the fact he knows shouldn't be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact that you should be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact his phone is on silent, and that Namjoon is probably cursing him out on voicemail right now.

But then you kiss him, and for a moment, he forgets again.

"I get grouchy when I'm hungover," you warn him, giving him an out, just in case he wants to retract his offer.

"Mhmm," he hums, pulling you into his chest. Your legs intertwine as he squeezes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're grouchy when you're not hungover."

You laugh, cheeks plump and full, resting right where his heart is pumping a little faster than usual.

"You're lucky you're a good fuck, or else I'd be out of that door ASAP."

It's a lie, and you both know it.

"Thank god for my cock," he says, grinning like an absolute twat.

He decides that he's still really drunk. It's the only way to explain how his body feels all disjointed but perfectly together at the same time.

"Thank god for your cock."

────────────

You're still awake as the sun begins to rise. He's mumbling, saying something about how a town in Alaska has a cat for a mayor, while your head rests on his bare chest.

He's a little clammy, the smell of sex stuck to him. Neither of you have showered yet. You enjoy the way your bodies are a little sticky, skin on skin, as if you're made for his bed; for him.

Every now and again, his hands roam out of the realm of safety, and you find your breath hitching, toes curling, lips parting. It's always accompanied by the sound of an airy smirk from Jungkook.

You learn that he's obsessed with your chest. Your tits, more specifically. So pillowy, so soft. A gift bestowed upon you from Venus herself, he thinks, or at least he would, if he knew who Venus was.

He just wants to hold them forever. In his hands, in his mouth, he doesn't care. He'll put his dick between them too, eventually. Another time. He's too sensitive right now. But definitely one day, and definitely soon.

A little sunlight pours in, and you watch speckles of dust as they dance around in the air. When he laughs, soft and serene in the hazy atmosphere of a post-fuck come down, it's nice. You imagine that you'd quite like to do this again. You hope he feels the same.

"Just think it's funny," he says, toying with your fingers. "How a cat can do a better job than fully grown men."

"Pussy power," you smile, and so does he, before he presses a kiss into your hair. It still smells like gasoline and he still thinks it's the sexiest thing in the world. It's funny, 'cause if you knew it smelt that way, you'd feel insecure about it. It's why he doesn't mention it. Doesn't want you withdrawing from his touch.

He nestles down, shifts his naked body beneath his duvet but keeps you close. His legs interlock with yours and his lips find a home on the curve of your shoulder. "I'm really glad you said yes."

The comment seems out of the blue, but it's not. Your thoughts have been echoing in his mind, too. It sounds a lot like vulnerability. To him, it feels more like he's laying down a safety net. Making his intentions clear. Doesn't want you second-guessing. Not this, at least. He knows the way you like to theorise.

"You didn't really give me a choice," you rib, as if that chime isn't back in your diaphragm.

He squeezes you tightly. "Don't say that. You could have said no."

You shuffle down, tilt your head, and press a kiss into his chest, just between his pecks. Sweet like honey, your lips trail across, placing delicate kisses in pride of place.

His firm muscle; one, two. His dark nipple; a flick of your tongue, one, two. Just above his beating heart; one, two, three.

Your lips feather across his collarbone and land where tattoo leaks ever so slightly onto the top of his chest. You sign the art with your kisses like the ultimate thief. Stolen. Yours, now.

"You'd have still shown up regardless."

And you're right, he would have done.

Not for any grand romantic gesture, nor to coerce you into something you didn't want. He's just got a job to do, that's all.

He doesn't respond, but you don't really notice.

By the time you're dressed and leaving his apartment, the 503 is running. He offers to pay for your fare, but you tell him that it's fine, and hop on the bus as if your insides don't burn. It's been a while since you had a workout that vigorous.

There are a few old women and a middle-aged man in a business suit taking the same journey as you.

Your cheeks flush crimson when you start to think about the ache in the pit of your stomach, right beneath that little chime that likes to ding every now and again. That feeling? The one that made you quietly gasp as you sat down? That's Jungkook.

The acknowledgement ruminates. It's insidious. Has you feeling all dirty.

You wonder if they know. The people on the bus, the one's sat around you. They couldn't possibly know, not really, but you brood over the notion that you give off an aura; one that says you've just been fucked by the most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes upon.

You wonder if the old ladies glance at you and long for the days when they'd go home with strangers.

You wonder if the middle-aged man is responding to the pheromones you're releasing without realising it, cock a little plump in his pants.

It's a morbid curiosity, but one that makes you feel all hot, and sticky, and sordid. Makes you feel good, too. A little dangerous. A little bit like you wanna get off the 503 and leg it back to Jungkook's place.

It has you reaching for your phone, pulling up kakaotalk and clicking through on your most recent contact. There's still a message at the top of your thread, warning about spam, or fraud, or whatever it is. You don't read it. Too busy typing away.

You're about to press send on a poorly thought out message when your phone vibrates in your palm. You pause. Cringe. Are aware that Jungkook will have seen how quickly you read his own message that's just come through to you.

꾹: i wanna do that again.

You: the galbi or the sex?

꾹: both.

꾹: mainly the sex, though.

꾹: the galbi i can take or leave.

Your legs press together, and realise you're squirming in your seat. It's subtle, but anyone who's looking at you must know.

You: funny, im the opposite.

You: id die for the galbi.

You: sex was alright.

꾹: wow, a glowing review.

꾹: can i add it to my tinder profile?

Like fuck you can, you think to yourself. If he's still active on tinder after the night you had together, you'll do the reasonable thing and learn witchcraft just so you can hex him. You tell yourself you're just joking, but honestly, the idea is tempting.

You: uh-huh.

You: you can put it right beneath a bullet point where you let them know how much you like eating your own cum :)

꾹: technically, you ate it.

꾹: i just delivered it :)

You: thank you for your services.

꾹: any time.

You: tonight?

꾹: please.

And so he arrives at the gas station just before nine, hood up, angelic strands of blonde hair tickling over his eyes. He's got a mask on, like he usually does, a black turtle neck resting prettily around his throat. An earth-toned flannel shirt peeks out from the bottom of his jacket, where the hem meets a pair of black jeans. He has a charm about him that makes the world stop turning for a moment when you first look at him.

He's not really sure how to greet you. With a kiss? A high five? Neither of these seems like a good idea, so he just does an awkward half-bow, which leaves cringing.

"Just gotta cash up," you smile from behind the kiosk. "You walked?"

He shakes his head. "Parked around the corner again. Didn't wanna block the forecourt."

It's a reasonable enough excuse, even if a little weird. You finish what you're doing, cash up, give Jieun the keys (and ignore the way she's grinning at you) and then toss your jacket over your shoulders. He walks beside you as you leave the store, popping your hood up again just like he did the night before. "It's windy."

The forecast said it would rain, too, but Jungkook doesn't know this. Doesn't actually give a shit about the weather. Just needs excuses to put your hood up.

"So I've been thinking," he says as you make your way to the side lane.

"Dangerous," you quip, but he ignores it - though he does nudge you a little. You let your body move in accordance with his, swaying back into him slightly. Like a swinging pendulum, you're about to recoil, but Jungkook's arm drapes around your shoulders, keeping you close. The scent of his clothes is a mix of fresh cotton and WD-40. It makes you laugh, how much a walking juxtaposition he really is.

"I've been thinking," he reinforces, and pauses just in case you're planning on interrupting again - but you don't. You want to hear his thoughts. All of them. No matter how big or small. "What if... What if we skip the sex tonight?"

You don't respond immediately, walking around to the passenger's side of his car. He clicks down on his key, opening up the locks. The lights flood your features, illuminating you in warm hues, reds and oranges, as if to send Jungkook a warning: she's dangerous.

"Skip the sex?" You raise a brow, ignoring the butterfly atrium that has spontaneously constructed beneath your ribs. "You lured me here under false pretences, Mr Gimbap."

He doesn't question the nickname. Figures he'll find out its origins this evening. After all, all he wants to do is talk.

Talk about you, where you come from, where you plan on going. He wants to know more; what makes you tick, your favourite chocolate bar wrapper joke, if you really meant what you said about not fucking on first dates. Wants to know if he's special. Wants to know if he gets to you the same way you do to him.

He'll ask you about your favourite Shakespeare play, and he'll hope that you'll say Romeo & Juliet. It's the only one he's read.

You'll tell him that it's not a representation of love, and he'll say he knows. He doesn't - he just won't want you to think that he bases his idea of romance on such ill-fated endeavours. Thinks it's about stars-crossing, illicit affairs, love that prevails. Shit like that.

He isn't really sure what it all means, but he's seen the Baz Luhrmann adaptation, and that's enough.

You'll say that Romeo is an ass, and he'll feign offence and tell you that you'll never be his Juliet. It'll earn him a laugh from you. That's fine; you never wanted to be her.

You're a Beatrice in search of her Benedict, after all - and the way that the pair of you bicker, it seems like you might have just found him - even if he does think he's a Romeo. Twat.

"I didn't," he laughs in response to your earlier statement. "I just like to know the girls I'm sticking my dick in, that's all."

"Ohh, romance," you whistle through pursed lips, throwing him a coy smile.

He nods towards the buckle by your seat and tells you to do the belt up, as his key turns in the ignition. There's a small rumble, his exhaust rattling as fumes begin to bluster around the end of the pipe. He's listening again, revving the engine ever so gently, foot on the throttle.

The way he cares for his motor makes you laugh. He's so temperate, so careful - but you know he abuses the engine like no tomorrow whenever he races it. He treats it almost as if it's a racehorse; something with actual feelings.

You do as you're told, clicking the belt into place, and remind him to do the same.

"The girls?" You question as he passes you the aux. "Multiple?"

There's a static click as you plug it into your phone, before your playlist starts up again. His hands move like machines, smooth and automatic as he slips into first gear.

"The girls," he echoes, eyes flicking up to the rear-view mirror, and then over his shoulder to check the blind spots, before easing onto the main road.

"Charming," you say dryly.

It's not like you hadn't assumed this already. You had already decided that he at least had a friend with benefits lurking about (even if she had become too clingy (actually, no, especially if she had become too clingy)).

You'd figured that it was where he had been on the night that he was a no show - but then he'd shown up all apologetic and shit. You had let his innocent eyes win your skeptical mind over.

"Guys aren't really my thing," he follows up, sensing your discomfort. He knows he's beating around the bush, not giving you the answer that you want - and he also knows that you're getting in your head about it. Knows you'll be questioning what he means, and if he's sleeping with anyone else. He'd be within his right to. You barely know each other. Where he sticks his dick isn't really any of your business. "And I'm hardly a virgin, am I?"

"Gasp," you say. "You're not?! Could have fooled me."

He's smiling again.

You like how much he does that around you. Wonder if he's like that around other girls, too.

"Was I really that bad?" He flirts.

Jungkook knows how to fuck. He's been given enough positive reviews to know that he's anything but bad. Although... he kinda is. But in a good way. In the way that you want him to be bad.

"I've had better."

Liar.

"Ouch," he laughs as he presses down on his indicator for the next left. "Guess I'll just have to keep practising."

City lights cascade over the pair of you as his car rolls through the quiet streets, splintering like refractions of a mirror ball. He hates that he has to keep his eyes on the road. Wants to drink in the way you look almost as much as he wants to drink up the way you taste again. The night is dark, the moon hiding behind a fluffy cloud that looks like charcoal cotton candy beneath its radiant light. Jungkook loves nights like these; likes them even better with you in his passenger seat.

Green flashes over your features as he passes beneath a traffic light. You cross your legs, adjusting your posture. It's so subtle that you don't even realise you're doing it - but Jungkook does.

"On your other girls?"

There she is, he thinks. It's what he's been waiting for. Confirmation that the idea of him fucking other girls irritates you. He reaches across and taps your knee. He enjoys the predictability of you.

You resist the gentle nudge of his hand, the pads of his thumb and fingers resting on your kneecap. Your legs remain crossed, just as his hand remains on your knee. The stretch of road you're on is straight, requiring no gear change for a little while. He can play this game, if you really want him to.

"No," he says. There's pressure beneath his fingertips now. "Be a waste of time, wouldn't it? Everyone's different. If I wanna get better at fucking you, specifically, then I gotta keep fucking you."

He's not wrong. You can't fault his logic, and in all honesty, the way he's talking is so abrasive, so raw, that it's got you feeling all hot and bothered again. He may as well be stroking your pussy, not your knee, with the impact he's having on you.

His grip tightens, then pulls your knee back over. Commanding, not requesting. Your legs part for him, because of course they do. There's something about knowing he has options, knowing that he could be with someone else, but is choosing to be with you that gives you a little ego boost.

"Maybe I've changed my mind," you feign indifference, but Jungkook knows there's a handful of feelings beneath your words. "Maybe I don't wanna fuck you anymore."

He strokes his broad palm along the inside of your thigh. It's warm, wrapped in the sheer nylon cover of tights, and he'd obsessed with the way they feel. So smooth, so soft, so perfectly pristine. He wonders if you're making a mess of them. Hopes you are.

"I don't like maybes," he says. "Either you wanna fuck me or you don't."

"I don't like fucking boys who fuck other girls."

"Who said I was fucking other girls?" he smirks, and lets his hand trail a little further up. He squeezes the flesh of your thigh, getting a feel for you.

"You did."

"No," he corrects. "I said I've fucked other girls. Past tense. Never said I'm currently fucking other girls. You really gotta stop making assumptions, little Miss Clutch Control."

"I hate you," you say with a smile, and you really do mean it.

"I like girls who hate me. Makes the sex so much hotter."

"Despise you."

"Ugh," he grins, as he lets his hand reach the top of your thigh. He squeezes again, and you hum a little moan for him. "Doesn't sound like you hate me."

You giggle, soft and serene in the safety of his car. Reaching a junction, he pulls his hand back to change gear. You're at a four-way intersection, the light only just hitting amber, so he reckons he has a least a couple of minutes to toy with you.

When his hand returns to your thigh, just like you hoped it would, it's beneath your skirt. Right at the top. Right where it belongs. The pressure beneath his palm is firm, fingers sinking into the softness of your leg.

"But I do," you say, voice quiet, anticipation lacing your breath.

His pinky finger stretches out a little, just to stoke over the mound that rests between your legs. He can already feel the heat, but what surprises him - and excites him - is the slick that's seeped through your panties and onto the outer side of your tights.

"Doesn't feel like you hate me, either."

"No?" You toy. "Feel again."

And so he does. He points his index and middle finger, and holds them flat against you. They're instantly met with a slippery mess. He slides them up and down, once, twice, three times, and then cups your pussy with his palm. You're fucking pulsing in his touch.

"See?" You speak as if you don't wanna whine his name. "Loathe you."

"So you do," he mumbles as he presses his palm tight against you, inhaling sharply as he does so. One glance at his lap and you can tell he's just as turned on as you are. His cock is solid beneath his trousers, jeans tight, keeping him concealed. Part of you feels a little bad. Looks painful. He's too big to be confined by such unforgiving material.

"Still wanna skip the sex?"

Jungkook presses in index finger against where he can feel your entrance is. You're so wet that his fingers are already coated in everything that you are. He wants more. Wants your tights gone. Wants his fingers inside you.

But he's a stubborn asshole, and hates being proven wrong.

"Sex?" he pulls his fingers back, and rests the heel of his palm on the top of his steering wheel. They're covered in your juices. He considers licking them clean, but figures that might be a bit too brash - and then thinks fuck it, and does it anyway. There's a sweetness to your taste, one that has him holding back a moan. Absolutely fucking divine. You don't even realise that you're staring at his hands - the way they sink into his mouth - until he pulls them back out. He looks at you. Shrugs. "Yeah. Not really in the mood."

"Thank god," you say, not skipping a beat. Even when your need to fuck him is so intense that it manifests into a physical form and leaks onto his passenger seat, you're still able to bicker with him. It satisfies him like nothing else. Makes his cock so hard. "Me either."

The light turns to green, his hand is back on his gear stick. You stick to looking out the window, not favouring looking at him. The temptation to palm his crotch is overwhelming, but you're just as stubborn as he is. If you've said you don't wanna fuck, then you're damn well gonna act like you don't wanna fuck, until you simply can't take it anymore.

"Glad we agree," he says. "So let's talk."

You half wonder if this was his plan all along. You actually do think you hate him - but only cause he makes you feel weak. You don't enjoy that feeling, but you enjoy him.

"I'm an open book," you lie.

He flicks his eyes to the rearview and mutters under his breath, "shit."

"What is it?" you glance over your shoulder, noticing a pair of headlights flashing Jungkook. You can't make the car out. Its lamps are on full-beam. Blinding.

Jungkook leans over, the fingers that had been stroking against your pussy now pressing down into your buckle. There's a click as it releases, before he moves down and pulls up on the lever by the front of your seat, dragging you forward.

"Get in the back," he says, as if he isn't still driving. You go to question him, but he cuts you off. "In the back. Now. Middle seat."

You stare for a second, until he glances over to you, jaw tense, with no hint of a smile. "Don't argue with me, now. Middle seat. C'mon."

"Kook-"

"Now."

And as unsafe as it feels, you find yourself twisting, hands gripping onto the back of the passenger seat as you bring your legs up to crouch.

"Quickly, babe," he says, his hand reaching over to tap your ass gently. Your back is to the windshield, and Jungkook's terrified that the fucker behind him isn't gonna wait for a respectable start - but he's also anxiously aware of the fact he isn't explaining himself to you, and that it's gonna make you hesitant. "Please. Trust me."

And so you do. You wobble a little as your leg dips over the centre console, his hand still on your ass to keep you stable.

"That's it," he encourages. You make your way into the back, a little squeal as you leap soundtracking the move. "Seat belt. Now."

The leather of the backseat is cold against your tight-covered thighs, legs pressed together, feet firmly on the raised centre of the footwell. You do as you're told, all rather quickly.

"Hands on the seats," he tells you again, and you don't question it, even though it's all that you want to do. There's a time and a place for bickering with him, and while it's the perfect place, the urgency of his commands suggest that now isn't the right time. You grip onto the seats in front of you, and Jungkook reaches up to feel your hand, just to make sure it's where he wants it. His hand is clammy and warm, safe against yours. He lingers for a second, not wanting to lose the way your feel against his skin. "Hold tight."

He slows to a near stop, and you almost laugh when you realise where you are. That fucking bridge, again. The car behind you pulls up beside him, but it's hard to make it out through his back windows. They're so intensely tinted that all you can figure out is the rough shape. "Is that-"

"Yep," he cuts you off, knowing what you'll ask. "Car from the last time. It's cool. I got this. I will warn you, though, he's a little pissed with me at the moment."

"A little?"

You can hear the engine revving. Sounds more than just a little pissed.

"We're friends. It's okay."

Friends is a loose description. It would have been the right term, once. Jungkook thinks of him more as a colleague these days. A pain in his ass.

"Doesn't sound very friendly."

"I'ma need you to be quiet, babe," he says, voice soft. He isn't trying to be rude, he just needs to concentrate. Needs to win this. Needs to get Namjoon off his back. Needs to get you away from, well, here.

"Noted."

Jungkook watches the lights. It's how races like these work; the impromptu kind that first got him acquainted with Namjoon. They wait for the lights to shift, throttle teasing on amber, rubber-burning on green.

His gaze is on the lights and the lights only. The leather binding of his wheel almost squeaks as he grips against it, shoulders rolling back ever so slightly. Glancing over to the black SsangYong, he nods, and then his eyes are back on the lights. The lack of a flagger has never bothered them. In fact, Jungkook prefers racing without one. Fewer variables. Less chance of things going wrong. He knows the time of the lights. Trusts them. Trusts his muscle memory to do the hard work for him.

You can feel that chime in your stomach again - but it's different this time. It's a warning bell. The kind that tells you to get out of the situation you're in. Fat fucking chance.

There's a purr as the lights flicker into amber, Jungkook's rev count building. The sound of the SsangYong rips through the windows, letting you know just how powerful it is. Ain't no way Jungkook's fucking Pony is beating it. His grip adjusts, foot sinking further down onto his throttle. He builds it, 2, 3, 4 - and then the light is green.

The way Jungkook moves is as if he's at one with his car.

His movements are slick, well-oiled.

There's no hesitation, just an innate understanding of what needs to be done. His car tears from the starting line, and you forget all about the SsangYong he's racing.

It's hard to think about anything at all, in all honesty. Hard to comprehend the speed he's built so quickly; the control he has. There's a rush pulsing through you that you haven't felt since, well, ever. You don't enjoy racing, not really. You hate it whenever Yoongi rags his car about, but you trust him.

And you find yourself trusting Jungkook, too.

Maybe it's because you've already seen him tame his car when it's been out of control, or maybe it's because you've already trusted him with your body, so what difference does your life make?

His tyres are almost silent, moving at such a pace that there's no chance for anything to reverb. He grunts a little, pushing the car up to fifth, building, building and then -

"Corner," he braces you.

You're pretty certain you're going to throw up.

It's a route that Jungkook knows well, just a short circuit, over the bridge, sharp left out along the riverside road until they reach Kang's. Same every time. Hasn't yet thought about what he's gonna do when he gets there. Just knows he has to get there first to buy himself a little time.

He knocks the car into neutral, clutch down, brakes too, and then he's turning the wheel just a little. Not too sharp. Doesn't wanna oversteer. He coasts it round the bend, knowing better than to be in neutral, but he isn't thinking about that right now. He's thinking about the fact that Namjoon's car is fucking faster, and he needs every gain he can get.

Your hands grip into the padding of his seats, desperately trying to stop yourself from toppling over. Elbows locked, it's hard to determine the sheer amount of force you're putting behind your bones.

There's a screech as the tyres burn against the road, no doubt leaving thick black streaks on the tarmac. You're so used to seeing them on your way to work that you never really consider how they get there. Now you know.

He pummels the car forward, knocking it back into third, and then up into fourth. It's a miscalculation. Should have jumped right up into fifth - but he can lament that later.

He corrects his mistake. Strikes it into fifth. Namjoon is trailing. Jungkook has got this.

Eyes hard against the horizon line, Jungkook has no time to think. He flicks his eyes up to the rearview, catching sight of the SsangYong's bonnet. He's miles ahead.

Well, no. Not even a metre - but it may as well be miles. He just needs to keep up this pace.

Foot to the floor, he's tanking it. The shops you dart past become a blur of neon lights, nothing for your eyes to absorb other than the chaos of light beneath a dark sky. In the distance, you see Kang's.

"Shit," he hisses as the light at the intersection ahead begins to flash amber.

"Hold on," he says, as if you've even thought about letting go. Hands clammy from nerves, you adjust your grip. Tighter. So tight, your nails will leave prints in his leather.

He pushes further, further, further, but the lights are flashing quicker, quicker, quicker. "C'mon, beauty. C'mon."

He hits the junction line.

The lights are still amber.

And then he switches from gas to clutch. Easy does it.

Jungkook pulls the handbrake up. Clicks it into place. Pulls the car round with a single hand on his steering wheel.

He has full control over the vehicle as it roars into position right in the middle of the cross-section.

There's a blaring horn sounding behind you - but it's not directed at the Pony.

It's directed at the SsangYong, which has screeched to a halt. The oncoming traffic has been set free, lights fully changed. Jungkook made it just in time.

"He's stuck," you tell Jungkook, head over your shoulder, making sure that the SsangYong hasn't moved. "Can't get past the traffic. You're good."

You expect Jungkook to ease off the throttle, but he doesn't. He takes a sharp right instead, and begins to tunnel down back allies. Right, then left. Then left again, and another right. Takes so many rogue turns that you don't even know which direction you're facing in by the time he comes to a stop. It's been nearly five minutes since you lost the SsangYong - and yet he just won't ease off the gas. Not until he's certain Namjoon isn't lurking in the shadows of his exhaust fumes.

By the time he does eventually stop, his chest is heaving. Breathless.

You're down a back alley, across the other side of town. You don't recognise it.

Pressing down into the buckle, you undo your belt and clamber forward into the passenger seat again, feet up, body facing towards him.

He doesn't look at you for a while. Just stares ahead. Inhale, exhale. You can see his jugular vein beating.

"Hey," you reach out to his wrist, and stroke on his arm gently. He doesn't respond instantly. Just lets his eyes close. It's nice, the way you're so gentle with him, he thinks. So nice. So soothing.

And then his body acts before his mind does. He pulls on your wrist, grip firm, as his other hand pushes down the lever by the front of his seat. Weight on his feet, he pushes himself back, making space for you in his lap.

The way you clamber over the centre console is less than elegant, but he doesn't care. Just needs you on his thighs. Needs to suffocate in the scent of your gasoline tainted hair, and taste the sweetness of your tongue in his mouth. Needs to remember everything that you are, so he can forget who he is.

His hungry lips find yours, a hand in your hair, the other on your cheek.

There's really not enough room, your legs straddled over his, trapped by the door on one side, the gear stick on the other. It's tight and claustrophobic, but he likes it. Likes how ensnared he is by you. Wants to be even more trapped.

He licks against your lips and begs for permission to enter - as if you'd ever refuse. His tongue strokes against yours, the studs you'd (somehow) forgotten about making you whimper. He's rough and aggressive with his kisses, the adrenaline manifesting itself in the form of intimacy.

"I lied," he says breathlessly. "About the sex. I want it. Let me fuck you."

He wants to lose himself in you. Needs to.

"Backseat?" you moan into his lips as he begins to encourage the movement of your hips against his painfully hard crotch.

"Backseat."

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

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wrestletotheground · 4 months

Text

snap out of it - ross macdonald x reader

your boyfriend helps ease the tension when you're feeling stressed..

cw: 18+ minors dni!! smut, dom!ross, f!sub!reader, kitchen sex, fingering, d word, unprotected sex, p in v, orgasm denial, stomach bulging, squirting, degradation, lowkey kinda toxic but in a hot way <3

wc: 2.4k

you're walking- no. storming around the house like a raging bull. for what reason you don't even know. maybe it's the party you're hosting tomorrow, and the fact the house is an absolute mess.

you've woken up in such a mood, feeling like you're going crazy when every little inconvenience is piling up and fuelling the fire. there was no hot water in the shower, you burnt your toast for breakfast, and you're now running around in a frenzy trying to sort everything as if you're being hunted for sport. feminine rage, if you will.

you're muttering under your breath, picking through the piles of clutter in the kitchen when you're startled by your boyfriend placing a hand on your lower back. you jump, so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear him coming.

'hi baby, whatcha doing?' he asks, wrapping his arm around your waist before you step away from him, rolling your eyes at his cheerful tone.

'ross, i'm sorry, I love you, but fuck off, I've so many things to do I don't need you distracting me, I've been cleaning all day and the place still looks the same and URGGH,' you practically scream, holding your head in your hands.

guilt washes over you, realising you've just essentially snapped at him over nothing, but you're too worked up to backtrack now. you continue what you were doing, ignoring ross' eyes burning a hole into the back of your head. you lift an empty wine bottle from the table to clear it away and start cursing under your breath when you notice it's left a stain that you're gonna have to sort out on top of everything else.

'darling you're too stressed over this, there's no need, just take a break and chill out, yeah?' rage pumps through your body. even though you know he's just trying to help, you can sense an undertone - an edge - in his voice that would usually have you on your knees already, but right now, you're in no mood for it.

'no, look, I've been putting it off it's just- there's so much to do, I'll be fine, okay?' it comes out more frantic and loud than you anticipated, making his face crease in concern. he puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

'look at me,' he orders. you sigh and turn to look up at him, heart still pounding partly from the stress and now also from the intense look in his eyes. his hands are warm and heavy on your waist now, gripping onto you like you'd float away if he let go.

'I'm gonna fuck you until you calm down and you can't think of anything else but my name, and you're gonna fucking take it'.

okay, maybe you are in the mood for it. your stomach flutters and you nod silently, feeling like a lamb under the thumb of a lion. his soft yet demanding tone always makes you so turned on you give in immediately. 'there we go darling, daddy's gonna make you feel better, hm?' he says as one hand comes up to wrap around your neck, pushing in gently.

that word sends a rush of excitement coursing through you, and you manage to get out a strangled mix between 'yes' and a moan. you'll be good for him if it's the last thing you do, and you're so riled up you're already starting to channel that rage into desire.

you go to start towards the bedroom before he grabs you roughly, stopping you in your tracks yet again. 'where do you think you're going honey? you're gonna take it here like a good pet.' his tone is stern. 'but the-,' he cuts you off by slapping his palm on the side of your jaw, grabbing your chin and forcing eye contact. you feel a pulsing heat building in your core.

'do what you're told or I'll leave you here, I know you're fucking soaked for me already, clenching your thighs when I haven't even touched you,' he smirks, and you flush when you realise you've been inadvertently squeezing your legs together in a futile attempt to relieve yourself.

the thought of him taking you right here in the kitchen drives you crazier than you'd like to admit. the big sliding glass door that leads onto the garden is only a few yards away, giving any nosy neighbours a full show, but he doesn't seem to mind and you're already too desperate to stop now.

he hooks a finger through the belt loops on either side of your jeans and uses them to pull you forward, making you stumble into him. 'take these off for me darling,' he orders, breath ghosting over the side of your face as he tries to keep his composure.

you fumble around with buttons and zips until they're pooled around your ankles, stepping out and crashing your lips onto his with one hand already gripping the hair at the back of his neck. your tongues melt together, pure lust radiating off one another.

he toys with the hem of your shirt blindly until you get the hint and break away from him to throw it behind you. his breath catches in his throat and he can't help himself from grabbing at your tits instantly, pupils dilated beyond belief as he stares at them in awe. you giggle to yourself, tracing your fingertips under his tshirt and up and down his sides.

he gives you a questioning look. 'you're such a boy,' you laugh. his stare intensifies. 'oh yeah? don't think a boy would make you feel like this, hm?' he replies, bringing a hand down between your legs to cup your pussy and dipping his index finger under the thin fabric, making you moan. 'see?' he whispers. you smile coyly and kiss him again, more passionately this time.

dripping desire pools in your underwear when he grabs you and walks you a few steps towards the kitchen counter. he turns you to face away from him and pushes down on your shoulders. you fold with his touch, straightening out your back as your chest and arms fan out over the cold marble.

with one hand pinning you onto the countertop, he uses the other to rip your wet underwear down, letting them fall to your feet before you kick them away.

goosebumps prickle across your entire body when his fingers graze over your soaked cunt. you spread your legs wider instinctively, allowing him easier access. 'so responsive for me,' he mumbles behind you. he leans over your back, moving your hair to one side to nip and suck at your neck.

without warning, he shoves two fingers inside you, making you scream out in surprise and pleasure. he instantly takes his hand away and you exhale sharply at the sudden loss of contact before it comes back to land a sharp slap on your ass. 'shut the fuck up screaming like some sort of crazy bitch, the neighbours are gonna hear you. don't want them to know how much of a little slut you are do we?' you shake your head too quickly in response, teeth digging into your bottom lip.

after a moment of letting you sit in shame, humiliation, he plunges his fingers back in; this time you know better than to make too much noise. 'good girl, I know baby, I know,' he coos, gazing down at your trembling figure as his fingers work in and out of you.

'mmplease, feel so good,' you whimper, your hips jerking into him every time his thumb swipes your aching bud. the need for release is all consuming. the effect he has on you is unparalleled by anyone else. the way he works you up so much just to watch you crumble and writhe under him is enough to make you submit to his every word.

every bend and thrust of his fingers is delicate and precise, hitting all the right spots to have you doubled over in ecstasy, leaning your whole body weight on the counter to hold yourself up. 'gonna cum, please, ross, SHIT- what the fuck,' you practically sob, your climax that was right at your fingertips being suddenly ripped away from you. the second he knew you were on the edge, he stopped, pulling out his soaked fingers and drying them on your back. your head drops downwards in frustration as the fuzzy feeling inside you dissipates.

'you don't get to cum until I fucking say so, got it?' you let out a strained 'yes' sound, more of a whimper than anything. you nod your head and let your eyes fall shut in relief when you finally hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled.

'need me to fuck you stupid so you can think straight don't you love?' he says, placing a kiss just below your ear as he pulls down the waistband of his boxers just enough to to free himself from the constraints of the tight fabric. you glance down behind you and inhale deeply at the sight of his raging erection, already leaking in his hand before he even gets you into position.

he hikes your leg up, letting it rest on his strong forearm, fingers gripping into the soft flesh inside your thigh. the air hitting your cunt makes you squirm, but you manage to keep your balance, aching for him to give you what you need.

he lines himself up and you feel yourself get wetter, dripping onto him in anticipation. he slides into you with no resistance, groaning at how wet and perfect you feel around him. the full feeling of his thick cock stretching you out makes you see stars, whining softly as he builds up to a delicious pace that practically splits you in two. 'fucking hell, so perfect, just for me,' he rambles, mind going into overdrive already. 'just for you, daddy,' you reply, knowing how feral that word makes him at the best of times.

you can slightly make out your reflection in the tiles on the wall. the distorted image shows him practically fully clothed and you bare, at his disposal to use how he wants. the sight eggs you on further, and you lean up into his chest, moaning at the new sensation of his beard tickling the side of your neck.

with the angle he's at now, he's going so deep inside you that his cock pushes out your lower stomach. you look down and nearly collapse when you see a subtle bulge just below your belly button disappear and reappear with every thrust.

ross notices it too, and trails his hand down your stomach until he feels it. something feral unlocks in his brain when he feels the bump protruding, making him groan into your ear and fuck into you harder, somehow even closer now.

'shit, you feel that? feel how well you're taking me angel?' he says, pressing in on the spot. 'fuck, yes, more, please, daddy,' you whine, gasping when he starts groping at your tits, his chin resting on your shoulder as he teeters closer and closer to the edge.

'more, huh? this not enough for you?' you shake your head, and you can feel him getting more riled up by your reaction as his cock throbs inside you.

the knot in your stomach tightens further as his right hand moves down to circle your throbbing clit. you cry out at the sensation of him all over you all at once, and it takes everything in you not to let your thighs clamp shut. his name echoes from your mouth like a prayer.

the pressure is steadily mounting inside you, and you feel like you could let go any second. 'close... mm-' he slaps his hand onto your cunt, just above where he's pumping in and out of you, making you whine. 'i told you, you're not gonna cum until I say, need to teach you some fucking manners, brat,' he punctuates the last word with another harsh tap with his fingertips before continuing agonisingly slow circles.

the sting of the slaps mixed with the soothing warmth of his touch sends you into overdrive. the cold countertop digs into your palms, using it as leverage to push yourself impossibly further into him, following his pace carefully.

'jesus christ, ross, fuck, please let me cum,' you moan through gritted teeth. you don't think you've ever been this worked up, with him denying you of your orgasm twice already. you feel wound up, like a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute, and fuck, you need to, but you'll strain yourself to the last second to please him.

your core is on fire, warmth spreading all over your body, you can nearly hear the ringing in your ears already and you're about to start begging again before he snaps you out of your head. 'go on. cum all over daddy's cock, that's it- shit,' he curses when you clench tightly around him, the coil in your stomach finally snapping. you cry out as you gush all over him, little squirts splashing from you onto the floor in time with his movements. you grab onto him, pushing his hand onto your clit harder to work you through your high, the head rush like nothing you've ever felt before. it's electric, like a static current washing over you as your whole body convulses.

when he sees the pool of your slick shining on the tiled floor, it's over for him. his groans get louder and with one final push and a 'FUCK,' he tips over the edge, pulsing inside you and painting your pussy white.

your head feels hazy as you catch your breath, slowly coming back to reality. you barely register what's happened with the euphoria lingering in your body. 'did I...' you look down at the mess you made and realise you just squirted all over the kitchen and desecrated ross' hand and jeans in the process. 'fuck, that was so hot, i'm- christ,' he laughs, his head dropping onto your shoulder in disbelief.

'thank you,' you whisper. the stress that's been weighing on your chest all day has completely disappeared, but you're so fucked out you can't find any more words. he lets out a breathy laugh and braces you as he pulls out gently, holding you upright as you stand on two feet again.

'you were right, I'm not stressed anymore,' you smile, placing a soft kiss on his lips before starting to redress. 'daddy's always right,' he teases, a cheeky grin spread across his face.

#runs away and goes back into hiding #ross macdonald #ross macdonald oneshot #the 1975 smut #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald smut #the 1975 #ross macdonald imagine #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy #adam hann #george daniel #not a huge fan of this but we move 💅

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lostelfwriting · 2 months

Text

Bury Me with a Rose, We Both Have Thorns (Prologue)

Rating: Explicit

AO3 Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Death & Dream, Dream & Hob, Dream/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Death of the Endless, Hob Gadling, Jessamy, Matthew, Corinthian, Lucienne

Additional Tags: NO Major Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, Terminal Illnesses, Thoughts about death and dying, Decaying Health, Refusing Treatment, Strong Language, Unrequited Love, Enemies to ?, Past Minor Characters Death(s), Protective Death of the Endless, Doctor Human!Death of the Endless, Alternate Universe - Human, Tattoo Artist Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Flower Shop Owner Hob Gadling, Blood, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word count: 32k

I'm posting the whole work here on the 1st of March, but I strongly reccommend you read it on AO3, where I will be posting one chapter per day. Either way, click Read More or go to AO3 to read the Prologue!

Written for the event @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang. With beautiful art by @five-and-dimes!

It is a slow day at the studio, so while he is waiting for his next appointment, Dream is – like he does almost all of his free time – sketching new tattoo designs to add to his portfolio and listening to music loud enough to completely shut out his own thoughts. He is sketching a snake, having no doubt that it will catch someone’s eye. There is always someone who wants a tattoo of a snake. He pauses to look at his progress and ends up snorting in disbelief.

The drawing is truly a snake, but the reptile is weaving among the stems of flowers instead of a dead branch like Dream had intended. And they are ugly flowers at that. He is pretty sure that he gave a pot of those flowers to his secondary school teacher, who always called him Murphy, even though he hated that nickname. He can’t resist snapping a picture of the flowers with his phone and trying to look up what they are, but once he finds the name – cyclamen – he refuses to look up their meaning. It would surely be something stupid, like forbidden love, or maybe hopelessness.

Even the snake’s scales seem to actually be made of flower petals, and Dream rolls his eyes as he flips the page of his sketchbook. The downside to trying to tune his mind out is that he doesn’t notice when his subconsciousness begins to interfere with his process, and it has led to many flowery paintings in the past months. With a sigh, he starts copying the usable parts of the design onto another page until an insistent thought makes him pause mid-movement.

Just a few weeks ago, he would have been furious if this had happened. He used to tear those ruined sketches to pieces and then go outside into the late winter chill and glare at every passing person who dared to look his way. He wished they all felt as bad as he did, and most of all, his neighbour with his shop opposite Dream’s studio, with its bright, flowery logo.

Today’s drawing incident feels like just a small inconvenience. He feels zero anger, though he might still opt to destroy the sketch later, just for the miniscule satisfaction that the action will bring him. Or maybe he will keep it. Pin it to the wall next to his bed and look at it every night. He will look at the ugly flowers and realise with wry amusement and aching hollowness that he has finally accepted his fate.

He, Morpheus Endeles, is going to die.

He thinks about it and waits for anger or grief to appear, but they don’t. Good. He was getting sick of the self-pity. It has been months since he noticed the first symptom – the occasional cough – as something seemed to tickle his throat, easily blamed on a bit of dust. And then, a bit later, when he lay awake late at night and everything around him was quiet, he heard the soft rustle of leaves as he breathed. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him that he had the Hanahaki Disease. He tears the ruined sketch out and shreds it into tiny pieces, enjoying the bit of satisfaction that it brings him. Maybe he is still harbouring some badly suppressed anger. He doesn’t need a fortune teller to tell him that he has no chance of getting affection from the person he hopelessly loves. Because it is his neighbour, the owner of The White Rose, Robert Gadling, a straight man who rightfully dislikes Dream.

+*+*+*+*+

Cyclamen: resignation and good-bye

#my writing #bury me with a rose #centennial husbands big bang #dreamling #hanahaki disease #angst #happy ending

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springnote · 1 year

Note

Hello, saw you were taking request. Could I get Nanami x fem!reader. They’re on a mission and we get the good “there’s only one bed” trope.

of course! Sorry this took so long, holidays got busy. Hope this is okay! 💕

One Bed

Nanami Kento x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw minors dni, fingering, handjob, lots of fluff, Gojo causing issues

This was all Gojo’s fault. If you could, you would strangle him right now for putting you in this situation, or maybe you’d hug him? You weren’t sure, but you definitely didn’t want to think about him now while you were with Nanami. In bed. Practically snuggling with him.

It all started pretty normally, there was a sudden assignment, and you and Nanami happened to be the only ones available. You both ended up scrambling to pack for the trip, and since you were too busy to book a hotel for the trip, Gojo piped up to offer to help. Neither of you thought much of it until the mission was done and you tiredly drove to the hotel, just hoping to get cleaned up and sleep.

“Is this really the place?” You had asked Nanami as you grabbed your bag, watching his brows furrow as he checked his phone again.

“It would appear so.” He replied, his breath fogging the air as he clutched his coat tighter. The place was clearly not as glamorous as you’d expect for Gojo to pick, but surely it was warmer than the freezing air outside right?

Things got worse when you got to the front desk, the poor lady handing your key nervously watching you both she tried to explain. “The reservation was for just one room I’m sorry…I would get you another room b-but we’re fully booked…”

“I’m sure it’s a double suite,” you tried to reassure Nanami, watching how he folded his arms disapprovingly as the elevator dragged up with a few lurches. “Or I can lay on the couch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he shook his head. “I will take the couch if necessary. I wouldn’t inconvenience you that way.”

Your face heated a little at how forcefully he said it, admiring his gentlemanly demeanor even when he was so tired. Your small smile fell though once you opened the suite’s door, being greeted with a small, one-room suite with a singular bed.

“No way…” you mumbled under your breath as you stepped inside, chills still running through you as a small draft snuck through the window. Surely this wasn’t your room right? Gojo liked to play with Nanami but he wouldn’t mess with you this much would he? Would he???

“I’m so sorry,” a voice cut through your thoughts, causing you to peek over at the tall man next to you, watching how his jaw clenched as he surveyed the room. “This is unacceptable, let me see if anywhere else has rooms.”

“It’s not your fault this will be okay,” you tried to reassure him, another shake racking your body from the cold as you sat rigidly on the plastic sofa.

“No, this is far too cold and I don’t want to intrude on your privacy or comfort.” He said as he unwound his scarf, draping it over your shoulders gently before heading for the door. “I’ll find something better.”

As comforting as his words and gesture had been, he returned with no good news from the front desk or searching with the crap hotel wifi. All the extra blankets and pillows had also been given away as well, apparently the whole building was a drafty mess full of shivering travelers, and you both got the short end of the stick.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Nanami insisted, causing you both to grimace slightly when he patted it, a creaky plastic sound coming from the ripped cushions as some dust puffed out.

“No, I have an idea,” you sighed. “Let’s both take the bed. It’s still too cold in here and that couch isn’t comfortable or sanitary at all.”

“I couldn’t do that, surely you’d be uncomfortable.” He frowned.

“I don’t mind I just want us both to get some rest,” you explained. “It’s okay, I trust you Nanami.”

His eyes softened a little before he took off his glasses, rubbing his temples as he sighed. “Alright…I’ll let you use the shower first in case the water gets cold, then you can pick which side you want to sleep on.”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly, butterflies in your stomach when he gave you a small one in return.

That’s how you ended up in the hotel bed, it’s small size meaning you could barely move without bumping into Nanami or falling off the edge. Thankfully you’d brought a fairly warm pajama set on the trip, but shivers still went through you when the wind blew at the windows.

A sneeze stirred you from your thoughts as you carefully rolled over, peeking at Nanami. He only wore sweatpants and a white t-shirt, the absence of his glasses making his furrowed brow more prominent as he shook slightly. “Nanami.” You whispered as you slowly got up and crept to your bag. “Sit up, I have something for you.”

“Hm?” He drowsily replied, squinting in the dim light as you stepped towards him.

“I have this oversized t-shirt I was going to wear as pajamas,” you blushed a little remembering you had to find your other pjs so you wouldn’t be flashing your legs at your companion. “Here, you should wear it.”

“I-I couldn’t,” he blinked in surprise, shaking his hands ‘no’ as you plopped the black shirt in his arms. “Are you sure..?”

“I insist! Please?” You asked, a pout on your face at how he shivered still.

“Alright, thank you (y/n).” He bowed his head slightly, pulling the shirt over his head.

You smiled as you laid down again, replaying the sound of him saying your name in your mind as you closed your eyes. That lasted a few minutes before a stronger gust of wind blew through, causing you both to shiver.

Without thinking, you scooted backwards towards Nanami’s warmth just as he scooted a little forward, slotting your right against him. You both stiffened for a moment, but before he could pull away or start apologizing, you whispered out “Wait…it’s okay, please just hold me…”

It was silent for a moment, making you worry he was going to pull away. You’d been crushing on him for awhile now, and you had dared to hope some of his gentlemanly behavior was also partially due to him possibly having feelings. Just when you were about to apologize, one of his arms draped around you, his hand grabbing your own as he pressed closer to you.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, his breath fanning over your ear and sending your heart into overdrive.

“Yes.” You replied, giving his hand a small squeeze before you both quieted down.

Nanami still seemed tense behind you, and as you restlessly shifted around in your drowsy state, you began to see why. As you shifted again, you felt something hard against your back that clearly wasn’t his thighs, and by the way he jolted at the contact, there was no doubt what you just bumped into.

“I’m sorry, I’ll roll over, or I can leave if you want.” He said, his voice sounding a bit strained as he reluctantly pulled his hand away from yours.

“No please, Nanami,” you whimpered at the loss of contact, reaching your hand back to touch his arm. “It’s okay…I-I could help.”

“What?” He croaked out. “(y/n) you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” You replied quickly, your face burning as you heard his breath hitch.

“May I touch you?” He asked, his hand lightly touching your arm.

“Yes please Nanami.” You replied.

“Kento,” he whispered as his hand drifted to the waistband of your bottoms. “Please call me Kento.”

His hand slowly down between your thighs as he pulled your underwear down, running the rough pad of his thumb through your folds as you whimpered at the contact. He let out a low moan when he felt how wet you were, trailing his knuckles through your folds as he located your clit with his thumb. “Good girl, so wet for me. You really need this don’t you?” He groaned as you pressed against his erection.

“Wait!” You gasped, stopping him in his tracks. You sat up and plopped down on your other side, giving a shy smile before looking down at his crotch. “I want to touch you too…”

His ears flushed pink as he watched you pull down his sweats and boxers, your eyes growing wide as you looked over his impressively sized cock. He grabbed a fistful of the shirt you gave him to bite into as you gripped the base of his length, loud moans threatening to spill out at your gentle touch.

“Is this good?” You asked as you slowly slid your hand up and down, watching precum drip from his tip.

He groaned in reply, your scent from the t-shirt overwhelming his senses. His hand went back between your thighs in response, his thick fingers pressing at your opening, making your hand stutter.

“Fuck…” he gasped when your fingers swiped over his cock head, the shirt slipping from between his teeth as his other hand went to run through your hair. “Right there…good girl you’re doing wonderful.”

“You feel good too Kento,” you moaned as two of his fingers slid inside you, his thumb running slow circles around your clit. “Ah! More please, I need more.”

“Say my name again.” His voice rumbled as he leaned down to nuzzle the top of your head, twitching as jolts of pleasure ran through him.

“Kento, touch me more please.” You whined as your other hand ran down his back, your nails scraping against him as you moved yourself on his fingers. “Please sir.”

He groaned even louder at the honorific you whimpered out, the hand in your hair moving to fondle your chest as he finger fucked you faster. “God you’re squeezing me so tight— are you close darling?”

“Yes!” You gasped at the knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter. Your hand moved faster around his length, squeezing slightly as you neared your high. “Kento I’m—”

You came with a gasp, spasming around his fingers as waves of pleasure crashed through you, Nanami soon following you as he came all over your arm.

It was silent for a bit, only both of your gasps breaking the silence as you tried to catch your breath. Kento whispered your name and grabbed your chin gently, making you look up into his eyes before he placed his lips on yours, making you melt against him.

The kiss was slow and warm, his large hand trembling against your cheek when you pressed into him more firmly. He only pulled away to press soft kisses across your cheeks and nose, making you feel like crying from how tender he was being, his own eyes looking a little shiny as he studied your face with pure adoration.

“Sleep darling,” he shushed you when you tried to kiss him again. “I’ll wash you up with a washcloth alright? Just close your eyes.”

You drifted off to sleep with a small smile, barely registering when he wiped you both clean and then curled around you again. Once he was sure you were asleep, he sent a quick text to Gojo, smiling as he set his phone down and snuggled with you.

The strongest sorcerer himself got woke up by the text from Nanami, reading: “You’re a despicable bastard. I almost want to thank you, but we will be discussing your booking choices when we return.”

#jjk fanfic #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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pixelatedraindrops · 1 month

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Ok, so, this ask is based on the peacekeepers. How would they do with them being sick? I exclude Makoto from this because we know he overworks himself at times and all.

In addition if it were to be with Swank added to this, you can also take in Kuro (my oc) into the scenario if you like.

Sorry I can’t do OCs… But the Peacekeepers hmm let me see if I can make some stuff up (they’re not my favorite so this may be difficult) And yeah I’ve said plenty on Makoto already I get it xD (he’s my antagonist to target :3c)

Okay here’s what I have come up with~

Yomi Hellsmile:

The Absolute WORST patient.

He will complain CONSTANTLY.

With every sneeze or cough, his entire frame hurts and he curses every single time his head starts pounding

And whats with all these DAMN CHILLS?!

His sickbed is full of tissues and spilled cough syrup. And his blanket is a mess too (don’t ask)

If you take care of him, good luck. Most of the gestures will be refused or thrown back at your face.

Until his fever rises to the point he becomes needy and clingy. But even THEN he’ll still back in forth refusing the caretaking or accepting it. (MAKE UP YOUR MIND)

He hates liquid medicine and will only take pills.

Also he’s a little goldilocks with food and tea. If it’s too hot or cold, he will let you know aggressively. (His tongue is very sensitive)

And he may also deny it entirely and try to keep being a little devil making things hell for everyone, so you gotta drag him to the bed (even if he bites you)

Martina Electro

Being ill is but a minor inconvenience to her.

But how she wishes her beloved Director Yomi would come to care for her…

She’s the type that brushes the illness off continuing to work at times if it isn’t too bad.

She cannot disappoint Yomi after all…

Only to get much worse later.

Thankfully, she does know her limits.

She is fairly good at taking care of herself. (As well as of the other peacekeepers if they falter) She’s usually the one caring for them.

Usually wearing a comfortable robe sitting down with some warm tea and medicine so she can still do, some work. But she makes sure paces herself.

If she sneezes or coughs she tries to be as quiet as possible doing so.

She cannot bear to falter…or Director Yomi would be upset with her. (someone help this poor woman ;-;)

Seth Burroughs

A pure sopping wet cat.

If he’s ill, it’s the most pitiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He’s very prone to asthma attacks and at times the rain isn’t good for his health either.

His unhealthy demeanor really doesn’t help. If he catches even a small cold, it will grow to something FAR worse later

He loses his already barely audible voice and has to communicate with a whiteboard.

He also can have food sensitivity, so if you feed him the wrong thing…it will come back up.

Super frail so make sure to handle him like the delicate flower that he is.

He uses his megaphone to try communicating or calling people to help him or if he needs anything. But sadly, it usually breaks out in a coughing fit.

He’s the most prone to illness out of all of the peacekeepers.

Looking at flowers brings him peace so having a vase at his bedside does make him feel a little better.

Guillaume Hall

She is SUPER needy and whiny about it

And she works Dominic like a DOG to try to meet her every need. (Dominic cannot get sick)

She’s a bratty little princess who wants everything to be done right.

She still has her fortune telling gear at her bed and she still practices it despite her poor state.

Or she opens up her laptop and watches something “fun” to cheer herself up. (Horror movies or killing documentaries)

She always wants to eat something sweet. Sometimes sneaking candy under her bed.

She sleeps with multiple plushies.

Her voice gets super deep if she loses it due to illness.

Sometimes if she has a fever or feels chils, she gets a bit delirious and wants Dominic to come give her snuggles.

Until she falls asleep in his large weapon like arms with a smile on her face.

Swank Castonell

He’s similar to Yomi in being SUPER grumpy about being sick.

Only difference is, he is VERY demanding of whoever tends to him.

Ordering them around and forcing them to use “their” money to get anything rather than his own.

His appetite somehow gets higher when ill, and he craves a LOT more meat and booze than usual

But booze isn’t a good thing to drink when ill, so it has to be kept away from him

But then he yells about it. Until he eventually passes out.

His cigar also has to be confiscated. His cough is bad enough already.

He needs to be watched at all times to make sure his usual habits don’t make things worse for him.

Eventually he’ll conk out. But he needs to be in front of a large screen tv playing the most boring documentary you’ve ever seen.

I hope this is something !!

#pixel answers #whumpcode #whump ask #sicknario #rain code #yomi hellsmile #martina electro #seth burroughs #guillaume hall #swank catsonell #I TRIED IM NOT THAT GOOD W THESE CHARACTERS #the peacekeepers literally mean almost nothing to me... xD #hopefully its enough so I don’t have to speak of them again xD #do with this information what you will! ✌️

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triplesilverstar · 3 months

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The best desserts are savored slowly

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Knives X F!Reader

CW: Dom/Sub undertones, office sex, phone calls, slight voyeurism

Word count: Roughly 1.8K

A/N: Chapter seventeen of the series, A Date Night with Nai that doesn't end as you expected. Or does it?

Giggling over the rim of your martini glass, while Nai rolled his eyes at you tapping the napkin to the edge of his lips. “Enjoy your laughter Pet, it may be your last of the evening.”

“Oh, come on Mr. Saverem, you have to admit it’s not often the waiters hit on you.” It had been funny to hear the waiter when Nai had declined dessert to utter that he could think of a better dessert for the handsome businessman.

“Perhaps I would have considered his offer, if I was so inclined.” His tone is clearly one of disbelief. “Now Pet what sh-” Interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, nodding at you in apology before grabbing the device.

One thing that had changed as your relationship developed was Nai taking business phone calls with you nearby. Kissing your fingers once while you had been snuggled against his broad form on his couch “I trust you to keep my secrets Pet.”

Finishing your drink you watch the briefest tick of the vein in his forehead, he’s pissed off with something. Teal eyes going across your form as he ends the call. “It appears I am required in my office. A mistake was made in coordinating timings and I have a business phone call.”

“It’s alright Nai. These things happen.” You shrug, certain it won’t be the last of your dates to be interrupted.

While you smile in understanding at him, something flashes across his face, before he sends you a bone chilling grin. “I wonder, Pet. Would you like to accompany me?” His tone is seductive and it sends a signal from your brain straight to your core, lighting a fire in your belly.

“Of course Nai.” Happy to accept his hand as he leaves more than enough to cover your bill on the table.

It’s a short car ride back to his office, watching the lights of the city sparkle in the night as you ride in the elevator. While the world becomes smaller, Nai is right behind you one of his warm palms kneading the flesh of your inner thigh under your skirt to touch the bare skin.

His breath warm against your neck, his head tilted forward to mouth at the soft kiss he knows is there and you feel a very distinct hardness pressing against your backside.

You might have an idea what he has planned for the two of you once he gets to his office, his mouth and hand pulling away from your skin as you near the top of the elevator shaft. Standing to his full height, as while he only expects Legato to be waiting outside of his office it wouldn’t do for any of the other staff members to see him all over you. Not because he would be worried about being seen with you, more he doesn’t want anyone in his damn personal business.

As the musical chime of the elevator door’s opening ring in the small metal room, you follow Nai once more heels clicking on the polished marble tiles as the blue haired bastard known as Legato appears behind the secretary desk.

He’s been waiting for Nai without a doubt.

“Good evening Master. Again I apologize for the inconvenience of this, I will ensure the staff are made aware to coordinate that the timings are for your convenience not our overseas partners.” Legato gives the smallest of bows to Nai, voice carrying his usual lilt of disinterest. At least until his gaze lands on you, and your joined hands.

“Shall I provide entertainment for your little Pet while you’re otherwise engaged Master?” A thinly veiled sneer of displeasure on his face even if his tone remains the same. One you return as his eyes flash with hatred in those burning golden eyes.

“That shall not be required Legato. She’s going to accompany me.” Brushing past his chief of staff as if he means nothing and pushing open the large wooden doors of his office. You know Nai cares for the man far more than he lets on, but as of late he’s been letting his own displeasure towards the blue haired man’s attitude when it came to your person known.

A quick step has you right behind the broad blond man. Something about Nai’s office always makes you feel small, well aware it’s designed to have that effect on anyone who enters your gruff lover's domain. Designed so that the desk he resides behind is framed by the large glass panels, a small sitting area off to the side of the room as well as a conference table.

Both areas are just far enough from the door that Nai would be able to watch like a predator from his desk. The king of his kingdom reigning over it as he so decides, and while you aren’t as far into the underbelly as he is, you do know his business is growing at a steady rate. Enough that he’s no longer considered a small fish in a large pond.

Sure steps, and Nai is behind his desk and sitting in his office chair leaving you standing while he sets up his work space as he needs for the meeting before setting his sights on you. A lick of his lips and a hand though his normally slicked back hair resulting in some of the tufts breaking away from the hardened mass.

“Now Pet. I’m going to require you to be silent for this meeting, so will I need to have your lips wrapped around my cock? Or can you find another way to remain silent so you can keep me nice and warm another way?” A little surprised Nai is leaving the choice up to you, a nagging suspicion that whichever one you don’t take you’ll still end up doing tonight.

“I think” you tease, biting into your plush lower lip and letting a dainty hand reach for his belt buckle and beginning to undo it “I would like to warm that nice cock of yours up if that’s ok? I can be quiet since you asked me so nicely.” Keeping your own voice seductive while Nai grins in response, lifting his butt just enough to help you work his pants and boxers down enough for his throbbing cock to spring free.

A quick snap of his wrist and Nai has your jaw grasped in his hand, forcing you to open your mouth so he can kiss you his tongue exploring your mouth at his leisure keeping the pressure there so you remember who’s in control.

When his hand releases you, the lingering warmth from his fingers radiates along your skin, almost breathless. “Now. I do require you to be silent, Pet, this call will be on speaker phone.” A second softer kiss to the corner of your mouth before leaning back in his office chair and patting his thighs. Helping you get into position so you’re straddling him chest to chest, the fabric of your underwear pushed to the side so Nai’s cock can slide into your slick pussy.

One thing you’ve noticed since dating him, you don’t need a lot of prep anymore when it comes to even the thought of having Nai inside your core. With your legs hanging through the gap under the arm rests and your chin resting on his shoulder enjoying the feeling as he fills you. Another brief kiss pressed into your hair and one of his palms on your lower back.

“Silent safe signals.” A long exhale as your body tightens ever so slightly. You should have expected that, to Nai, everything is a game of some kind. As he starts his teleconference you don’t miss the subtle twitching of his hips under yours, the smallest of movements as his cock shifts just enough inside of your walls to elicit a response from your muscles.

Most of the call is more of the same, while Nai is actively participating in his phone conversation you focus on breathing while using some kegel exercises to keep his cock nice and hard inside of you. On occasion Nai would lift your hips before dropping you, or pressing his warm palm to your lower back to get you to roll your hips more against his making him throb inside of you.

Focusing on filling your lungs slowly before exhaling again, feeling the expansion of your chest pressing against the hard muscular chest of your lover, hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt and suit jacket.

At what you can only assume is near the end of the call, things change as Nai places one of his hands between your bodies, placing his thumb on your clit and starting to rub feather light circles against the nerve cluster.

You respond almost instantly as it makes your core clench, immediately shoving your hand into your mouth and sinking your teeth into the base of your thumb to try and stifle the moan that almost slipped from you.

From the corner of your eye you watch the lazy grin that spreads across Nai’s face, the speed and pressure of his thumb slowly building. Your own reaction instantaneous, hips jerking to seek more friction, inner walls clamping and unclamping around him.

Shutting your eyes as Nai presses harder, faster, and you know what he’s trying to do, to try and make you cry out so you’ll break his little rule. Instead you bite harder on your thumb, certain there’s an indent of your teeth into your flesh, tears forming on your closed eyes.

“If that concludes our meeting, I bid you a goodnight. My chief of staff will handle the formal contract in the coming days.” Hearing the call disconnect you finally crack your eyes open once more, still doing your best to remain silent since you don’t have permission to make a noise yet.

“You’ve done well tonight, Pet. Do you think you deserve a reward?” You keep silent even as Nai removes your hand from between your teeth, while you didn’t break your skin the area is red and tender. “Good girl, games over.” A press of his dry lips to the area and the pressure against your clit relents for a while.

Tilting your head so your forehead is pressed against the warm skin of his neck, you empty your lungs before answering. “I think I do, you started playing dirty at the end.” Snickering lightly while Nai keeps a gentle hold of your hand.

“Then shall we have you cum on my cock before we depart” Grabbing the back of your neck and smashing his lips to yours, tongue plundering your mouth while the hand at your sex starts to dance along your sensitive skin once more. It doesn’t take long, the rough pad of his thumb working your quickly since you had been hovering at that edge for a while.

Pulling your mouth away as you cum while sitting on his lap, head thrown back as you scream his name, walls fluttering around his cock while Kni watches you with a grin as you come undone for him.

A sight he’ll never get tired of, as you slump forward after your high panting softly in his ear. Resting his hand on your lower back, you’re his, and he’s not going to let you go.

Ever.

Back to masterlist

#millions knives smut #millions knives x reader #millions knives x reader smut #modern au #trigun #trigun stampede #tristamp #trigun smut #twink writes #knives smut #millions knives #knives x reader

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greyinthecolorprism · 1 year

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Strangesona: Seasonal Atronach

"We're just a step from fearless, Reach out for me my dearest: Don't you cry. You don't know, you're almost near it." - Tightrope (LP)

Part 1: Sketch I have been DYING to draw this boy for such a long time and finally, here he is! My Strangesona has been in the works since August of last year and I'm so proud to have finally finished his design. I was debating on if I would actually post him once it was finished, but thanks to the lovely @foxssketching, I decided that I really wanted to. This boy is very, and I mean very, picky about how I show him, and he would not work with me at all for the first hour I tried to sketch him. He kept telling me the pose he wanted was wrong and no matter how hard I tried, he wouldn't explain what he wanted. Finally with the help of @stewardofningishzida, I was able to get him to talk to me and tell me exactly what it was he wanted. After that, he basically just chilled out with me and relaxed until I got done. He had a couple of minor inputs - mostly about his cloak pauldrons and boots - but aside from that he was quiet. I have smelt evergreen for the last four hours and considering that I've caught a bug, it cleared my sinuses and I'm thankful. I'll probably be able to sleep now since I can breathe thanks to him. This is his autumn form, indicated by his "classic" robes, leaves on his antlers and mushrooms. My moonflower - @strangelockd - suggested it when he had me ask her what season she wanted to see him in. So, ta-da! I will upload a profile for him on the finished piece!

✨This is a blog transfer! You've been tagged because you liked this on my main blog! I apologize for the inconvenience. ✨

@sobeautifullyobsessed @fanartka @sassenach-on-the-rocks@bakerstreethound @icytrickster17 @sirleafheart @darsynia @cirocity @paperclippedmime @whitefoxgone @mrs-cookie @prettywitchiusaka @ktrew @aelaer @rachellunesta @muppet-emergency @ursamajor17 @gumgum78 @strangewords-98david @starkiller-queen @tarjapearce @starkkawajiri @nekojetto @mister-faltine @strangelockd @pinkthick @

#my art #my fanart #doctor strange #strangesona #original variant #seasonal atronach #doctor stephen strange #earth-218 #benedict cumberbatch #strangebach #as beauty would say #Spotify

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raptorfae53 · 3 months

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Monster High Reimagined

Deuce Gorgon character bio/redesign

Deuce Gorgon (he/him)

Trans man

The Gorgon son of medusa

(Greek Moroccan)

Deuce is the first Gorgon (on account of their rarity as a monster type) to attend monster high at the behest of his nervous and at-times overbearing mother Medusa. (yes, that medusa) Not that he minds all that much being an easygoing, chilled out boy who tends to make friends easily through his delicious cooking and general affability ,monster high being the perfect place to hone his many Gorgon powers and perfect his culinary skills as well as make some new friends. That Mummy girl in particular is kinda cute,he'd love to get to know her better…

Likes: cooking,space,skateboarding,pet rodents and tabletop rpgs.

Dislikes: transphobia and islamophobia,cold weather (makes him drowsy),accidentally petrifying people, wasting good food and people acting entitled towards kitchen staff and servers.

Killer style: A simple,casual look that marries north African and western streetwear. Because of Vermont's chilly climate most of the year his mantra when picking out an outfit for the day is to strike a balance between “cool” and warm, or he risks falling asleep in class thanks to the cold. (Though usually one of his friends jolts him awake or lends him their coat if he does)

Familiar: Percy,Orym and Caleb the rats. Named after some of the characters from a tabletop rpg web show he loves,deuce has always liked rodents but until he arrived in the states wasn't able to keep them due to his family's affinity for them in a...different sense (as accidental as it always was,his mother's always felt a bit off snacking on rodents personally but her serpentine urges are always just too strong,she and her sisters try to never do so in front of him at least if they must)

Pet Peeve: food influencers using exponential amounts of ingredients for wasteful,dumb stunts online. It just doesn't sit right for a working class guy like deuce who was taught growing up how much more could be made with less.

Freaky Flaw: At the moment his petrifying gaze. Being a Gorgon means deuce has a bevy of latent powers with the ability to turn people to stone amongst them. Which whilst thankfully it isn't permanent can still be an inconvenient (to say the least of it) experience for the recipient and very awkward for himself,there's also the matter of his glasses used to keep said power in check dropping in food while he's cooking but that's another story altogether…

Spooky Secret: Despite being chilled out a lot of the time,duece does sometimes worry about his mother back home and whether their once tight bond is starting to fray,and that whilst she's generally a bit of a nervous wreck about everything it's something to do with his transition and her anxiety regarding men. Although medusa has been stalwart and understanding of him throughout his transition and deuce himself probably knows it's probably more to do with him growing up and leaving home for the first time,the thought still makes him a little nervous.

Dream job: be it in a high class restaurant or in a simple shop or food truck,deuce hopes to put his culinary skills to good use after high school and get the world as hooked on his greek-Moroccan-monster fusion food as he was growing up.

Five Fearsome Facts:

Deuce is a practising Muslim. Medusa and her sisters having converted centuries ago after becoming (obviously) disillusioned with their native hellenic polytheism after the “incident” and deuce and his cousin viperine being raised in its stead. As with it's other minority faith students, monster high accommodates him as best they can,for example giving him and the few other Muslim students a room for midday prayers and offering halal/vegetarian lunch options within the creepeteria.

Aside from the culinary arts,deuces' other great love has been space,being interested in the cosmos from a young age. This manifests in a lot of his other favourite media,including spending many hours of his spare time watching live streams of space launches and playing video games like Kerbal space program, as well as a love of astronomy and the constellations,a telescope being one of the most treasured possessions brought with him from Morocco.

Deuce's “hair” may look a bit odd at first,with the roots seemingly dyed dark green that fades into a deep brown ,but it's actually all natural! The nine snakes that make up his hairdo are African house snakes,all named after different beasts within the constellations. (Serpens,Hydrus,Cetus,Ursa,Taurus,Cygnus,Corvus,Scorpio and Leo) ironically due to his birthday being in early December deuce himself was born under the “forgotten” zodiac Ophiuchus ,the serpent bearer.

Like all gorgons,deuce has a pair of wings, and while Gorgons aren't as proficient fliers as vampires or harpies,per say, medusa saw it fit to teach duece how to fly short distances “just in case”, deuce prefers to get around town on his skateboard most of the time though. (This concept being inspired by designs by artists like @sleepywsha )

Also like his mother and family,deuce has powerful and rapid self-regeneration abilities,but though medusa has famously survived being decapitated and come out physically no worse for wear deuce isn't willing to test out its restrictions much and keeps his workspace as safe as can possibly be.

Happy new year everybody!!! I know I said last time I would have another one of these out by the end of 2023,but I had stuff going on irl/a bit of writers block so this (and several others to come) is done a bit later than I originally intended.

(Since I felt the following tract about why i made the design choices i have and how they tie into the folklore surrounding Gorgons would have made this already long post completely and utterly colossal ,I've put it in the read more tab down below)

Regardless i hope you like this post,and keep your eyes peeled because another one is nearly done and coming soon,hopefully anyway...

Anyways,before anything else,you're probably wondering why deuce is written the way he is. Considering how many of it's famous mythological monsters have found their way into Western pop culture, Monster High has a lot,and I mean a LOT of characters who hail from Greece. (There's also my hc that in general new salem has a large human population of greek immigrants, but anyways) As such, I decided to make a few of the greek characters hail from other parts of the world. Duece being from North Africa is a reference to several ancient scholars attempts to pinpoint exactly where medusa lived,with a popular schools of thought being that she originated from the mythology of the Ancient amazigh people of the sahara (of whose descendants make up a good chunk of modern morocco's population currently) and lived in classical Libya (Aka all of Africa north of the sahara) or as far west as the Cabo Verde islands off Senegal. My train of thought behind the idea of medusa living in Morocco was driven by the idea of her wanting to get as far away from the grecian world as possible after everything regarding perseus and settled down in what was then the phoenican colonies on the other side of the Mediterranean,which eventually became carthiginian,then roman,then islamic,then french/spanish and finally independent.

Impromptu history lesson aside, another reason behind my changes was because I felt monster high could have the chance to represent characters of different and diverse faiths as well as nationalities,identities, and orientations. It just made sense to me for it to be that way. Plus, aside from gigi and Wisp (and considering the iffy reputation those two have i understand why a lot of people arent too fond of them) ,Monster High really doesn't have any characters from the Islamic world,which in my opinion is a massive shame considering the rich cultures and mythologies within places like Iran,Mesopotamia and North Africa. So I thought that there should be some,even if it's only through a transplanted character from classical mythology at the moment.

Finally since this post is way too long already,here's a few visuals to show what exactly I'm going for within the text.

First off since I absolutely despise the G1 snake mowhawk,I imagine deuce has "hair" that's styled more like this:

Meanwhile, this is an african house snake,and what I imagine deuces "hair" colour looks like: (Unlike with the snake mowhawk, this wasn't because I hated the green btw)

Finally in terms of a mix of North african and western clothing,I like to imagine duece would absolutely rock both a hooded and non hooded kaftan with vans, baggy jeans, hoodies or puffer jackets.

#monster high #deuce gorgon #monster high reimagined

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twin-wolves-123 · 7 months

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long textpost incoming lol, for whoever cares

i think the thing i was least prepared for about being queer was just how fucking lonely it feels

tbh maybe lonely isn't the right word. helpless? hopeless?

When i first realized it i was in high school, and i didn't really make a big deal out of it at the time since it didn't affect my life a lot in particular-- i had a lot of other personal crap going on and the person who made me realize it ended up graduating anyway. i kind of just viewed it as a fact about me more than anything else, the same way my favorite color is a fact about me. Which is a privilege of course, i didn't really come out to anyone aside from close friends who were also out to me, but i did grow up in a pretty accepting area and was lucky enough to not particularly have internalized a shit ton of homophobia by then. but now that it's actually having a tangible impact on my life that view has definitely shifted to a more negative one.

for context, i think i've fallen a little in love with one of my close friends/roommate over the past couple of months. we've been pretty good friends for a bit over a year now, though only started rooming together at the start of this semester. he's a really great listener- sometimes he will just walk up and ask what i'm watching/doing on my laptop and let me ramble at him for however long about whatever niche interest is currently occupying my attention, he makes time to spend w/ me even if it's very spontaneous, i'm a little obsessed with his laugh/smile, and god he's so fucking smart i think it's insane. and sometimes when he's letting me infodump on him or we're just sitting together doing whatever i just get the urge to hug him or ask to cuddle and it's kind of ridiculous. I recently just got back from a fall break trip that he ended up backing out of and there was a day I was exploring the city by myself just kind of wishing he had been there with me.

issue is, aside from the obvious one, is that he is straight as hell

I'm out to him and he's very chill with it (not that I'd even be friends with him if I knew he wouldn't be), but god, what I don't really understand is how people deal with this. It's hard enough finding someone who likes you back even when your sexualities/genders DO align. i mean, it's not like things have gone perfectly with every girl i've been into up until now. And generally speaking, people are more likely to be straight than not, because... we are a minority lol. The argument often made by, say, homophobic parents of bi children is, just date women (or men, depending on who you are)! but you can't really help who you want, right? being bi in general isn't even a 50/50 split to begin with the same way all sexuality can be fluid, and it's very possible and even probable that i do lean more this way than the other (frankly it's not like i've dated enough to know). And i'm of course aware that things like dating apps and queer communities do exist, but it's not that easy to get over someone just like that, especially since i find it really difficult being into someone if I'm not already friends w them/know i get along w them well as a person first as opposed to seeking out this kind of connection on an app of some kind

so it's times like these where, as much as i've gotten out of the friendships i've made through queer communities (like on campus for example), being Not Straight just really sucks, not even necessarily because of homophobia (either from others/internalized) but simply because it's that much more miserable knowing that someone, even though they make you really happy, would never be able to view you that way, and sometimes i feel like it'd just be easier if i were straight the same way i wish i were taller, or my teeth were whiter, or other similar inconveniences that i can't change. i'll see other couples posting from trips they did together, or for national boyfriend day, or whatever, and it's just that feeling of one day, he'll be doing the same thing with someone he loves and i won't have any part to play in that, because i'll just be watching distantly online wishing it could've been me instead.

and of course it doesn't really help that i really struggle with making friends and am not socially perceptive at all and am often mentally hung up on small social interactions, him being no exception (quite the opposite actually, in general he shows slightly less emotion in conversation than the average person), so a lot of the time i'm stuck wondering whether he really even likes me as a friend at all or is just putting up with me for the sake of politeness.

Anyways. obviously this will pass (i think? regardless of the fact that it usually takes forever for me) but it still just fucking sucks and makes me wish i didn't have to deal with it at all

#lgbt #bi #college #gay #student #bisexual #love #or lack thereof #i don't know i think i'm going a little insane #queer

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grantgoddard · 9 months

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Economics! Economics! Read all about it! : 1974 : Mr Hodges, Strode’s College

“Each of you will subscribe to ‘The Times’ newspaper and read it every day,” Mr Hodges told us. “In class, we will discuss one of its news stories about economics.”

What?? It was my first lesson of a two-year Economics A-level course taught by a newly appointed young teacher wearing a dapper suit that could have been hiding a Che Guevara T-shirt underneath. His thick moustache signified the educational wind of change in the air. A revolution had torn through our school during the summer holidays and life for us students would never be the same. Ye olde buildings remained intact but events within had unexpectedly fast-forwarded to the late twentieth century.

A modest name-change from ‘Strode’s School’ to ‘Strode’s College’ failed to communicate the extent of the transformation. When I had arrived five years earlier, it was a grammar school whose calendar seemed to be set in 1869. The all-male teaching staff wafted around in faded black gowns as if momentarily materialised from the staff room of the University of Transylvania. Girls had ne’er been enrolled since Henry Strode founded the school in 1704. Latin lessons were compulsory. Boys wore bottle-green blazers, shorts and caps that were not permitted to be removed until we reached home. Pupils had to choose ‘arts’ or ‘science’ A-levels but not mix the two.

Headmaster James ‘Jock’ Brady would cane the bare backsides of boys in his office without the inconvenience of parental pre-approval. When carpeted for my first minor demeanour, as neither my parents nor my primary school teachers had ever laid a hand on me, I refused point blank to bend over and submit to Brady’s corporal punishment. Thereafter I was sanctioned with detentions, mediocre termly school reports and passed over for school prizes. Some of Brady’s staff seemed to be competing with him in a Strode’s league table of sadism. Writing on the blackboard, our biology teacher would suddenly spin around and hurl the wooden board eraser like a missile at the head of a student he suspected was not paying sufficient attention.

Our raised-from-the-dead English Literature tutor seemed to both teach and dwell in a dimly lit cobwebbed outbuilding that daylight had never touched, a hovel straight out of ‘Tom Brown’s School Days’. He would pace along our aisles of Victorian wooden desks, eager to whack his cane across our hands if we failed to recite our homework word-perfect. I can still reel off passages from ‘Henry V’ without the faintest notion of their meaning because the school never contemplated showing us a production. Neither were my parents of assistance since the only theatres I had been dragged to were a West End pantomime with Cliff Richard playing Buttons and appearances at Camberley Civic Hall by Lenny the Lion and Pinky & Perky.

For the first five years, my school ‘short break’ had passed standing beneath the window of the enigmatic Sixth Form Common Room hut at the edge of the Playing Field, hearing records played at extreme volume and banging on the window to be handed down a chilled bottle of Coke in exchange for some pocket money. Sixth-form prefects randomly picked on us younger students for minor infractions and handed out after-school detentions like confetti. I was once sent home by a teacher for wearing brown, instead of regulation black, socks. My slip-on Hush Puppies were deemed unlawful because shoes were required to have laces. My long journey home would result in missing an entire day of classes, and for what educational purpose? ‘Discipline over learning’ should have been the school motto … in Latin, of course.

I passed those years daydreaming of being chosen as a Prefect once I reached the Sixth Form. But the revolution denied me that power. Prefects were abolished. The Head Boy position was abolished. Girls were admitted. Uniforms were abolished. Morning and afternoon registration ended. Students were only required on-site when their timetable required attendance for a class. The Sixth Form Common Room was closed. A new teaching block was built for girls to learn Domestic Science. A host of new teachers, including women (gasp!), were employed for previously unknown subjects. Female toilets were built. Headmaster Mr Brady retired to his mansion in the nineteenth century from whence he had come. The canes were put away. One entire century of enlightened progress had been compressed into a single school summer holiday.

In our first Economics lesson, Mr Hodges gave each of us a text book but insisted the economic news stories we would read in ‘The Times’ were equally important. A discount student subscription enabled it to be delivered by a local newsagent every morning. My parents had always read ‘The Daily Express’ which I skimmed but found unedifying, exemplified by its anti-Common Market ‘Back Britain, Buy British’ masthead. However, ‘The Sunday Times’ had been my parents’ weekend preference since the 1960’s for its ground-breaking ‘Magazine’ colour supplement, permitting me to devour the newsprint sections they discarded unread and which introduced me to investigative journalism on topics such as the thalidomide scandal.

My daily journey to Strode’s by bus and train was one hour in the morning, but two hours in the afternoon that included a half-hour wait at Egham railway station and forty minutes at Camberley bus station. Though this travel elongated my school day to ten hours, it offered me the ideal opportunity to read newspapers thoroughly. Even before Mr Hodges introduced me to ‘The Times’, I had been purchasing ‘The Evening News’ at Egham station to read on my way home, it being unavailable as far out of London as Camberley. I recall once pushing open the waiting room door on Egham station’s westbound platform, only to be confronted by a couple wearing the uniforms of the adjacent Catholic girls’ and boys’ schools noisily engaged in sex on the wooden bench seat. After that graphic shock, I always waited outside on the platform.

Mr Hodges’ revolutionary teaching method stimulated my fierce appetite for the daily news cycle by reading ‘The Times’ cover-to-cover (except for the sports pages). Initially, it proved challenging to grasp the detail of British government machinations and the influence of global developments on the economy. However, significant events such as the 1973 oil crisis, ‘winter of discontent’ and ‘three-day week’ provided plenty of real-world material to discuss and analyse what ‘Economics’ was all about. I loved learning about the interaction of economic policy with politics and international news stories.

In the Lower Sixth form, some of my closest school friends decided to apply to study at Cambridge University, which encouraged me to do likewise. Tim, Martin and Philip planned to first complete their A-levels and then focus during a ‘year out’ solely on their applications. This avenue was not available to me as my family’s dire financial situation meant my single-parent mother could not afford to support my studies for a further year. Despite his substantial arrears, my absent father had already persuaded Farnham court on my sixteenth birthday to reduce his maintenance obligation for me to £1 per year. I had tried desperately to find a summer job in 1974 to assist my family but to no avail.

As a result, I was required to sit Cambridge’s entrance examination papers at the same time as studying for my A-levels, with extracurricular one-to-one tutorials generously fitted around my timetable by Mr Hodges and a maths teacher. Somehow, I managed to pass by a slim margin and was called for interview. I travelled to Cambridge alone, wearing the one stiff grey suit that my mother had bought for me to attend my cousin Lynn’s church wedding. On the train, I read the day’s papers thoroughly to ensure I could confidently discuss the British government’s economic policies and the latest international affairs. After all, I had applied to study economics.

“What sort of school is Strode’s?” my elderly interviewer asked.

“It’s a sixth form college,” I replied, “that used to be a grammar school.”

“Of which school sports teams have you been captain?” he asked.

“None,” I replied.

“What positions of responsibility, such as Head Boy, have you held at school?” he asked.

“None,” I replied. “Our college does not have a Head Boy or Prefects.”

“What does your father do?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he immediately shot back at me.

“My parents are divorced and I haven’t seen my father for several years, which is why I don’t know what he is doing presently.”

“But he must have a profession, like a doctor or a banker or a barrister. What is his profession? Who employs him?”

“He qualified as a quantity surveyor and used to be self-employed.”

He seemed unsatisfied by my response. My father had left school at age fourteen. What could I do? I was not my father’s keeper! My interviewer waved towards a corner of the dingy interview room.

“There’s a piano over there,” he said. “Can you play something for me?”

“Sorry but I can’t,” I admitted. In my head, I was reflecting that I could name every minister in the present British government cabinet, if asked, and every aspect of its economic policy. However, my interviewer seemed convinced I was destined to be another Jane Fairfax.

“Did you not learn piano at school?” he asked.

“No. My school is focused on academic subjects, which is how I passed nine O-levels,” I replied.

The ‘interview’ continued in this same baffling style for half-an-hour. Not a single question was asked of me about economics, current affairs, news or, indeed, anything relating to the real world in which I lived. Enquiries were wholly about my success at making myself noticed by my peers and being appointed to team responsibilities by schoolteachers. There was no opportunity for me to mention having been male head of my family for the last few years, visiting solicitors, phoning courts, responding to Final Demands, writing endless letters to the tax office, utility companies and benefit agencies. Even if I had desired, I had insufficient free time to glorify my ego because I had all these responsibilities at the same time as passing three hours a day commuting to and from school.

On the long train journey home, I was not upset because I had no understanding of what had just happened. From an early age, I had had to invest and believe in the concept of ‘meritocracy’. Otherwise, I would never have bothered struggling to succeed in life. It was only years later I fully understood that my application, having lacked the benefit of wholehearted support from my school, had been made to a Cambridge college that accepted only around a hundred new undergraduates a year. Probably between zero and five of those accepted that year would arrive from state schools such as mine, regardless of how many had applied. My answers to the interviewer had merely reinforced a prevalent belief that boys like me were unsuited to aspire to study alongside the favoured elite from private schools. It had never been about academic ability alone. It required proof that you longed to be accepted by ‘them’ as ‘one of us’.

Unsurprisingly, the college I had applied to rejected me. My name was then placed in a ‘pool’ of applicants, probably filled with young people like me who had failed to prove at interview that they were ‘gentleman’ or ‘deb’ material. Eventually, I was informed that every other Cambridge college had similarly rejected me. The dream was over. It’s just one of those things you put down to experience.

What did not end was my insatiable appetite for reading newspapers, stimulated by the amazing Mr Hodges, that led me to ravenously consume a broadsheet daily for decades to come. For that I remain eternally grateful to a teacher who broke away from our school’s usual text book rote learning and opened the door to me understanding the big world beyond.

#Cambridge University #childhood #Grant Goddard #Mr Hodges #Strode's School #student

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scorchieart · 2 years

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Table for Ten

Table for Ten | AO3

Characters: Sariel Noir + all the princes

Rating: G (no warnings)

Summary: Sariel joins the princes for a quiet dinner, but things take a turn for the worse when he realizes someone is missing.

W/C: 2312

Originally posted as a reblog, but not sure if I did it correctly.

Thanks to @unknwnrm for letting me post this, based on this post.

“You are all incredibly well-behaved tonight.”

Sariel smiled as he sipped his drink. He was seated opposite the door of the roundtable room which was decked out with a delectable dinner of assorted game meats from different territories in the kingdom, a selection of artisan breads and cheeses, and a menagerie of colorful fruits and vegetables. Joining him were the eight princes of Rhodolite as they enjoyed a quiet dinner.

A too quiet dinner.

“What did you do?” Sariel’s cold voice cut through the silence like a knife.

No one responded, and the air grew thick with temptation. While it was not uncommon for the princes to dine together, especially in recent days with the princes each taking on even more duties after the death of the king, it was certainly a rarity for all eight to be gathered in one room, and even more so without a hint of commotion.

Sariel had grown accustomed to hearing arguments being thrown across the table over the years, ranging from petty squabbles among the princes to heated debates between factions about affairs of the kingdom. The only explanation for this ceasefire was that they were hiding something.

He lowered his glass and panned the princes more intently. To his immediate right sat Jin who immediately avoided his gaze and elbowed Leon to pass the mashed potatoes. Leon appeared all too eager to help his brother as he leapt out of his chair and reached for a bowl halfway across the table. Next to him, Yves was busy pouring spoonfuls of steamed vegetables from a barely touched dish into his neighbor Licht’s plate who, with a look of distaste, pedantically fished out the carrots and peppers and deposited them into Luke’s plate when Yves wasn’t looking. Luke sat directly across from Sariel and was completely unperturbed by his glaring as he shoveled down hordes of honey-glazed meats and sweet breads, as opposed to Nokto who sat beside him and instantly froze when he felt eyes focused on him, knocked over his knife, muttered something about having too much to drink and bent out of view to pick it up. On Nokto’s other side sat an incredibly still Clavis holding a glass to his lips he was barely taking sips from, and finally Chevalier who was staring intently at his plate, his mouth full with a piece of steak he was definitely chewing for too long.

Sariel’s lip twitched. Refusing to speak and avoiding eye contact all but cemented the princes’ guilt, but he shuddered to think of the magnitude of their transgression when not a single one dared to confess.

Sariel rubbed his temple as he let his mind replay the day’s events. He remembered joining Luke and the members of the domestic faction for breakfast, but those five seemed to be acting normally in the morning. Chevalier and Clavis returned to the palace at noon with a routine report on the current state of the northern border. Nokto even managed to squeeze in a detailed chat with him on their way to dinner about a new trade proposal with Benitoite, and though he seemed overly enthusiastic about the topic such behavior didn’t hint at any suspicious activity.

Save for a few minor inconveniences, the day was as commonplace as any other, even with his added responsibilities as king’s regent. If the princes were hiding something, it may as well just be their fear of living up to his perfect example once one of them is selected as king.

A glint shimmered in Sariel’s eyes as he refocused them on the table. “Where is Belle?”

The room instantly took on a chill as if the sharp breaths the princes took sucked out all the warmth. Several princes exchanged hurried glances, but none deigned to speak until Leon nudged Yves’s arm and he cleared his throat.

“W-well, regarding that matter, the domestic faction determined that it would be of the kingdom’s best interest if we were to postpone the installation to a later date due to a recent discovery of the acceleration of copper corrosion under the sun. Prince Nokto actually proposed a new trade agreement with Benitoite regarding their brass reserves which is being drafted now… isn’t that right?”

Upon hearing his name, Nokto reappeared with haste, steak knife in hand. “Yes, it’s like I was telling you before, Sariel. The ringing those marvels produce is truly a thing to behold!” He closed his eyes and began waving the knife in a bobbing motion akin to an opera conductor. “I was actually planning on heading over there sometime this week to finalize the details, and I’ll be taking Luke with me to give him a taste of how we negotiate foreign deals.”

Luke, currently stuffing his face with spoonfuls of Licht’s neglected vegetables, made no indication of hearing his name nor any of the conversation.

Yves puffed his chest and clapped his hands. “Excellent! I trust the town will be brimming with chimes again very soon then. Now that the matter is settled, let’s get back to—”

“Not bells,” Sariel hissed, his voice laced with poison. “Belle. The woman selected to choose from among you the next king.”

Yves deflated, sinking deep into his chair as his face took on a pink as brilliant as his coat. The confident air he wore melted away as quickly as it appeared and he busied himself with his dinner again.

“Oh, Belle!” Leon said, voice booming throughout the room. “Well, she was hanging out with us in the office for a while, but she left sometime in the afternoon. Something about lessons with you, if I’m not mistaken.”

Sariel sighed at Leon’s interruption. “Yes, she did arrive at my office, but an odd occurrence forced us to cut our time short.” He frowned as he reached for a bottle of juice and started to uncork it. “It was most peculiar, but the moment she opened a new bottle of ink, the liquid erupted and splattered us and my office entirely.”

There was a loud crash. Everyone turned their heads to find Clavis half-bent over the table sputtering and gripping the edge as his shoulders trembled, the glass once in his hand now shattered across the table. At first glance he appeared to be choking, but the noises he made sounded somewhere between a cough and a laugh and they ceased the moment a callous Chevalier delivered a forceful whack to his back. Clavis took a few deep breaths, murmured a quick apology, and grabbed a napkin to brush away the shards of glass, all the while failing to hide the grin that threatened to take over his features.

Sariel grimaced, passing the now opened bottle which Clavis snatched immediately and began chugging. “In any case, I instructed her to clean herself up and join us for dinner, though it appears she never arrived. I had hoped a sitting with you all would provide her a good opportunity to observe your decorum and propriety, though it appears we were fortunate enough to dodge multiple embarrassing oversights tonight.” His eyes fell again onto Luke who continued to inhale his meal obliviously.

“Although, it is not like her to be late like this,” he continued, looking around the room again. “And on that note, where is the dog?”

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room once more as jittery looks darted between the princes.

Sariel sighed again and readjusted his glasses. This was getting ridiculous, he just needed to focus on one and force him to spill the beans. He felt like an animal tamer at a circus, assembling his lineup of beasts while each shied away from being singled out and put on display. Among the anxious lot he narrowed his sights onto Yves who, still fanning his face from the previous exchange, would likely be the easiest to extract Belle and Rio’s whereabouts from.

Just as Sariel opened his mouth, a flat voice broke the silence.

“They fell down the old garden well.”

There was another crash as the bottle Clavis was holding smashed on the ground, though everyone was too busy staring bewildered at Licht to pay it or Clavis, who was now howling with laughter, any attention.

“Sorry, the pressure was getting to me,” Licht said mildly, his expression undisturbed.

“Oh, Licht, we’re so sorry!” Yves lept up and pulled his chair adjacent to Licht’s to softly pat his head. “None of this was your fault, and we’ve made you bear the weight of it. Oh, you must have been yelling on the inside!”

“Yeah, yelling at you to stop flooding his plate with veggies.” Nokto dropped his stiff act and reclined his seat, grinning mischievously at Yves. “I bet you he was more disturbed about those carrots than about pushing Belle—”

“HE— DID— NOT— PUSH— HER!” Yves’s face quickly reddened again. His eyes threatened to pop out of his head at any moment. “He was helping her wash off that surly ink when she— she happened to slip! He was nothing less than a gentleman, which is more than I can say about you, watching her fall and laughing.”

Nokto languidly raised his hands in mock defense. “Hey, at least I bought us some time keeping Sariel busy, which is more than I can say about your comical excuse for misdirection. ‘Acceleration of copper corrosion’, you’re lucky I’ve got a stronger lid on my lips than Clavis.”

“I wish you would keep that lid on always.” Yves crossed his arms and pointed his nose to the ceiling. “And for your information, Prince Chevalier gave me that idea, and I thought I worded it very eloquently.”

Nokto tutted and turned to the back of the room. “Listen Sariel, these two prince charmings just got a little too enthusiastic helping their damsel in distress. You should have seen the look on Evie’s face when she fell in after nearly drowning her with a bucket.”

“I WAS HELPING HER!”

“If that’s your idea of helping, kindly stay far away from me the next time I have a wardrobe malfunction.”

“No offense Yves, but you should just stick to what you’re good at, like baking and watching from the sidelines,” said Licht.

Tears started to prick in Yves’s eyes as the three continued to squabble. Then Jin pushed back his chair and stood.

“Don’t listen to them Sariel, it’s none of their fault. Let me take responsibility, as the eldest—”

“No, Jin, it was my idea to cover it up.” Leon also rose and roughly put a hand on Jin’s shoulder, “And as faction leader, I should be the one to bear the blame for this.”

“That’s very noble of you Leon, but you should let your big brother handle this.” Jin flashed back a pointed smile.

“Nooooo,” Leon shook his head, his grip on Jin tightening. “You always take the blame, even when it’s not your fault. This time, you’re going to let me be the fall guy.”

“That’s an unfortunate choice of words, little brother.” Jin’s tone took on a sardonic twist, “You’re always so eager to lend a hand, just like Rio, and we saw where that landed him.”

Sparks flew between the two as they stared each other down, neither of them wavering. Sariel had half a mind to pull them apart and simply ask them to explain everything when a large belch echoed near the door.

“I’ve got it! Don’t worry Sariel, I have a plan to get ‘em both out in a jiffy!” Luke bolted up, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and reached for his sword from underneath the table.

Chevalier idly poked his head from behind Clavis, who was clutching his sides still cackling madly. “And what exactly do you plan on doing with that, Jumbo? Were you thinking of spreading it with honey and dangling it down the well hoping it would stick to them?”

His biting voice cut across the room, but Luke did not appear intimidated in the slightest.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Seems like a waste of honey, though.”

“If that’s what you’re worried about, just go ahead and throw yourself down with them.”

“Oh yeah, that way we can make a human ladder and you guys can pull us up from the top. Man, you really are smart, huh, Chevie!”

The roundtable room, which until moments ago was deadly silent, now exploded with sounds of arguing, chortling, and passive aggressive bantering. Sariel furiously rubbed at his temple again, ears ringing and sanity slipping. It was his own fault for thinking that tonight would be a peaceful family dinner.

He wordlessly stood and passed by the princes, including stepping over Clavis who had laughed himself so hard his chair tipped back and fell on the floor, but no one seemed to notice when he left the room. The sounds from within were largely muffled once he closed the door, though that wasn’t enough to calm his nerves.

In less than a month, one of those men would be chosen as the next king of Rhodolite. The thought made Sariel’s heart stop, but he forced himself to remember the last will of the previous king and the duty he left him with. He knew each of them had the potential to offer something worthwhile to the kingdom, something that could keep their citizens smiling and their enemies at bay, but how could he trust even one of them with such responsibility when they couldn’t even cooperate for a single dinner?

Sariel sighed deeply for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night. He pulled out his whip from his belt and made his way toward the gardens, his mind abuzz with thoughts of reprimanding. He would have to think of a suitable punishment for the princes, but for now he had to rescue a certain rabbit and dog.

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Daddy's Home

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 3,388 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dom/sub, Daddy kink, Oral sex, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Anal sex, Spit kink, Come sharing, Breeding kink, Dirty talk, Aftercare, This is legitimately so filthy Summary: Aaron has been out of town for ten days, and when he finally gets home, you’re both desperate to make up for lost time. *Requested by @arsonhotchner Link to A03 or read below! Aaron has been out of town for ten days. Ten. Days. It’s misery.

You’re usually completely understanding when he has to take a case, because his job is important, and you know you have his undivided attention when he returns. You don’t have children, you’re fine staying by yourself, so most of the time it’s a minor inconvenience—ruined plans here, a postponed date night there—and nothing too pressing. And the sex is always great when he gets back.

This time, it’s different. Three back-to-back cases and a delayed flight later, and he’s finally on his way home. You’ve spoken every night since he left, and he has sounded increasingly more tired, more worn out; you can’t wait to be in his arms, warm and content in bed.

Before that, though, you both have other needs that will have to be met, because you mutually decided not to masturbate while he was gone, and you’re both feeling very... pent up.

Usually, you’d tease him while he was away, texting and sending pictures, maybe a video, all in good fun, but this isn’t the time for sexy texts or teasing or lingerie. You are both desperate, aching for each other, wild with need physically and emotionally; his touch anchors you, your touch anchors him, and right now you are both lost at sea, bobbing offshore, so close but so far away.

He will be home within the hour, so you do what any good girl would do: take a hot bath, prepare your holes, lay down a blanket in front of the door, and kneel on it and wait for Aaron to come home.

You exist to serve him, to please him, to be used by him, to make him feel good—and because making you feel good makes him feel good, you receive everything you give back tenfold. That’s the part most people don’t understand, but you and Aaron are on the same wavelength, always; you know he will need this, and he knows you will need this, and he knows you will be ready for him.

When he opens the door, sees you waiting, pretty and perfect and bare, he exhales, and all the tension leaves his body in a wave of relief. He sets his bags down, takes off his shoes, and then gets down on the blanket with you, presses one very controlled kiss to your mouth.

“Baby girl.” His voice is rough with everything he’s not saying, and you nod, press your forehead against his, because you feel it too.

“Daddy. I want to give you whatever you need,” you tell him, your breath on his lips. “I’m ready for anything, please tell me how I can serve you, daddy.” He swallows hard at your admission, knows exactly what you mean.

“Ready for anything, sweet girl? Turn over and let me see.” You obey—of course you do—and lay flat on your stomach so he can see that you’re wearing your plug properly. It’s not cutesy, just simple black silicone with a ring at the end that he can slip his finger into when it’s time to pull it out; he doesn’t put his finger through it now, just palms your ass, spreads it a little, and admires your handiwork. “Good girl, getting your ass ready for daddy. Do you want me to fuck it?” he asks, leaning in to brush your hair away from your ear. His voice gives you goosebumps, chills.

“I want you to do whatever will please you, daddy.” It’s the right thing to say, and it earns you a slightly harder kiss when he turns you on your back.

“That’s right, sweetheart, you do. Kind, loving girl. You want to please daddy with your body. It’s your purpose.” You lick your lips, and you can feel your eyes getting heavy already.

“Yes, daddy, it’s my purpose. Which hole would you like to fill, daddy?”

“First,” he says, and you wait for more, but it doesn’t come. You furrow your brow, confused, and he leans in and places a kiss on your forehead. “Which hole would I like to fill first.” He guides you to sit up, then puts his strong arms around you, lifts you up and carries you to bed, sets you on the edge. “Tonight, angel, daddy is going to breed you full of come to make up for the last ten days I’ve been away. I’m going to fill your pretty mouth, and then your sweet pussy, and then your tight ass, until I’m leaking out of you. If I’m not done coming by that point, I’ll just keep fucking it into you anyway.”

You whimper. You can’t imagine you’ll be coherent for all of that, but it makes your pussy ache and throb when you think about it. He’s going to be so good to you.

“On your knees, baby.” You slide off the bed, sink to them, and he points to the wall closest to you, the one with the full-length mirror against it. “Over there, back against the wall.” You crawl where he wants you, kneel and wait, and he makes his way over, pulls the mirror up beside you so you’d have to turn your head to look at it.

He unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and pushes them down; you open your mouth, because you always open your mouth when presented with daddy’s cock, and then he puts his hands gently on your head and just says watch.

It’s hard to watch without being able to move your head, and you can’t move your head because he’s slowly pumping into your mouth, but you make sure to keep your eyes on the mirror as best you can. Daddy will understand, as long as you try.

“Oh, fuck. So good for me, sweet girl, watching yourself be used by daddy—does it feel good?”

You press your hands hard against his thighs and moan around his length as it strokes over your tongue, the best you can do when he’s inching his way toward the back of your throat; he knows what you want to say, though, how good it feels to be filled, how you know you’re special because you’re the only person in the world Aaron feels this comfortable with, the only one he’s ever shown this side of himself to.

“Yes, baby. I’m going to come fast, since I’ve been without you for so long; we’ll take a break, and cuddle, and when I’m hard again I’ll come in your pussy. You’re going to be filled up soon, bred full of me, full of babies and come. You earned it, waiting so patiently for me to get home, waiting by the door open and ready.” He moves faster, but less deep, caresses your cheeks to feel the way they hollow and then bulge while he fucks your mouth.

When he comes, you both moan, sounds of pleasure and contentment; you don’t swallow right away, hold his come in your mouth instead, and when he pulls out you lose a little, dribbling down your chin, mixed with spit and clinging to your skin. Aaron gets down on one knee, swipes a thumb over it and licks it away.

“Perfect, messy girl. You can swallow for daddy in one second, but first I want you to open up and show me.” It’s an easy request, one you expected; when he sees your mouth full of him, he groans, exhales, takes your face in his hands and tips your head back so you swallow it. “Good girl. We’ll have to find other ways to keep your mouth full throughout the night; I’ll think of something.”

He helps you to your feet, slides the mirror against the wall, and lays you back on the bed while he takes off the rest of his clothes; watching him undress is soothing, when you’re so worked up, the slip and slide of fabric over his skin. He climbs on top of you, solid and warm, and wraps his arms around you, tips you both so you’re laying on your sides.

“I missed you so, so much.” You breathe against his lips, hands skimming up the length of his back. “Being without you for that long is torture.” He smiles softly, kisses your mouth.

“Unfortunately, I was responsible for stopping some actual torture, but I agree. It was extremely difficult, and I’d be happy to never do that again.” He kisses you some more, soft and sensual slides of tongue, brings his hand between your thighs and teases you where you’re slick and hot. “Not going to stop touching you for the next three days, okay?”

“Perfect,” you sigh, curling your leg over his hip to give him more room, and he presses two fingers inside you, moves his other broad palm to your ass and squeezes.

“Such a good girl, soft and wet for me. I can’t wait to sink inside you, fill you up so deep, come right in your womb.” You grip his hair tightly, get close for kisses, panting, and he thrusts his fingers more quickly inside you, then moves the hand on your ass to wiggle the plug a little.

“Oh, fuck. Daddy please.” It’s impossible to say what feels better; when you’ve gone without him, without an orgasm, for ten days, every sensation is so heightened. Your whole body is alight with pleasure. “Please can I come, please make me come.”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’ll make you come. Daddy will take care of you; don’t I always?” He gets his arm around your waist, urges you to scoot up a bit, then moves his hand to the plug again, slowly removes it, replaces it with two fingers.

The sounds you make while he fucks you with both hands are a breathless combination of whimpers and moans; your body doesn’t know how to react, wants to press against both. You wrap your arms around his back, digging your nails into his skin, and he constantly alternates between shushing you and kissing you until you come trembling against his hands.

“Mmm, god, daddy.” You nuzzle against his throat, his cheek, delighting in the scrape of his five o’clock shadow against your face, and he whispers your name, presses his lips to your shoulder. When you reach a hand down, he is hard against his stomach, and you pull back to look into his eyes. “What next, daddy?”

“Hmm. Think I want you with your ass up high while I pound into your pussy; it’s so wet for me now, I can’t resist.” He slides his fingers out, presses the plug back into your ass, moves away from you so you can get into the position he wants; he reaches forward for a pillow and puts it under your head with a caress, and you wrap your arms around it, get comfortable. It probably won’t take long for him to spill inside you, but your eyes are heavy, and you’re hot all over, and you just want to lay still and be used. Luckily for you, that’s exactly what he’s looking for.

You’re at the foot of the bed, hips up high, feet sticking out over the edge, and Aaron comes up to stand behind you, puts his hands on your ass, and thrusts fully inside.

“Yes, baby, good baby girl. You feel so good. Won’t be long before I come, and you’ll be sloppy for me, leaking. You have to try to keep it inside for me, I’ll help you; if you want to be full of my babies, you’ll have to keep it inside.”

His body is hard against your ass as he slams in again and again, filling you just right, making your toes curl; you moan into your pillow, clutch it tightly as he praises you, endless compliments about your pretty, wet pussy and how good your ass feels in his hands.

“Thank you, daddy, I’m happy it-it pleases you, daddy.” He moves faster, digs his fingers into your flesh, humps his hips hard, and you whine, moan his name, start bucking your hips back. “Oh, please, please, breed me, daddy. Fill me with babies, so close, daddy.” He groans, takes one hand off of you and hooks his finger around the plug again, pulls it out just to lean in and spit on your hole. It shouldn’t be that sexy, but it makes your eyes roll back with pleasure, and you abandon your pillow to get your hands underneath you, on your breasts, squeezing roughly while he fucks you and rubs the pad of his thumb through his saliva.

“That’s it, baby, come for me. My perfect slut, getting all of her holes filled by daddy tonight. Come on this cock, baby girl, for daddy.” You don’t need to be told twice, as he slams into you so hard your ass shakes, as he presses a finger into you where you’re slick with his spit, and you come just before he does, loud and frantic. You like to think it’s his name on your lips that brings him over the edge, and he presses forward, his body flush against yours, and fills you with his come.

You are a panting, sweating mess after that, and he is, too. He pulls out carefully, rolls you onto your back, and grabs another pillow, puts it under you so your hips are tilted up. He climbs up between your legs, lays on your body, and you don’t even mind how hot his skin feels, you just want to touch him, stay covered by him.

“Oh, love you daddy,” you murmur, and you drape your hands over him; it’s all you have the energy for. He kisses your cheek, your neck, soft and slow.

“I love you, sweet girl. You can rest a moment. Do you want anything? Water or a blanket or a snack?”

“Hmm, no, I’m okay for now… Except my mouth is empty, daddy,” you say with a pout, and he kisses it, then presses two fingers into your mouth to open it up.

“Good girl, that’s right. I promised I’d think of something; stay still.” He moves down your body, kissing gentle and wet as he goes, and then he ducks between your thighs and licks your opening, curls his tongue inside. You groan, not just at the feeling, but at the implication: a mix of both of your come, from your pussy to his mouth, on the way up to yours—it’s a wonder you don’t pass out.

He kisses you, sloppy and deep, his tongue slipping against yours so you can taste everything, then adds some spit for good measure; there’s no shortage of it, they way you’re kissing, and when he pulls back you sink against the pillows, too tired to hold your head up.

He rests his head between your breasts, listens to your heartbeat and runs his hand up and down your body; it’s warm and comfortable, and you’d drift to sleep, you almost do, but you remember there’s one thing left, and you make a soft sound in your throat. Aaron peers up at you, touches your face, and you press against his palm.

“Ready for more, daddy. Are you?” You lick your lips and he shifts up onto his knees—yes, he’s ready, cock hard and thick for you—and he gets his hands under your hips, pulls you closer, eases the plug out.

You prepared yourself well, but will need more lube for him to fit comfortably, and he climbs off the bed and reaches for it on the bedside table where you left it. He leans in for a few warm kisses, then gets back on his knees on the bed, works a few thick, wet fingers into you, then slicks up his cock and presses that slowly inside.

“Oh god, hmm, yeah.” It feels good, but so snug, and he pumps easy and shallow so you can get used to having him there. He rubs a thumb gently over your wet, spent pussy, lovingly between the lips, and you reach down to hold yourself open, to make it a little easier on you both.

“Perfect, angel. So tight for me; it barely fits, but we make it work, don’t we, sweetheart?” You nibble your bottom lip, nod, breathe, because being tense only makes it worse and it feels so good when you let it. “I’m the only one who’s ever been here, aren’t I? I’m the only one you’ve ever given this to.”

“Yes, daddy. Only you,” you sigh, and he starts moving a little quicker, a little deeper; it just feels good now, his cock so big and hard inside you, tight like you’re made for each other. He rubs your pussy with purpose, now your opening and your clit, and you know you’re looking up at him with such sappy, sweet affection in your eyes because he’s looking at you with everything you feel mirrored back in his.

“Going to fill you up; never going to leave you like that again, if I can help it.” You hum, smile, move into his thrusts just a little.

“Yes, daddy. Missed you too much.” Your mouth falls open in a moan when he fucks his hips hard against yours, your breasts jumping with each full, deep thrust, and then the moans become constant, each time he’s completely inside you. It’s like a switch is flipped, and you go from sweet baby to desperate, feral slut in an instant. “Oh, come in me, daddy. Want you to fill me up, breed my body. Claim my ass, daddy, ruin me for everyone but you.”

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, thrusts faster, rubs your pussy harder, and you throw your head back and moan, your chest heaving. “I’ll breed your ass—no babies this way, but when you come you’ll still be full of me, and when your little pussy flutters it will just sink deeper, sweetheart. Your belly will swell for daddy, and you’ll be owned by daddy—even more than you are now. Isn’t that right?”

“Oh, god, yes daddy. Fuck me, daddy, breed me daddy, please.”

He’s getting close, it’s clear, and he pulls your body flush against his, one hand wrapped around your thigh, and pounds harder inside you, checks your face to make sure that’s okay; it’s so okay, and you nod because you know he likes the reassurance he’s not being too rough when you do this.

“Feels good, want your come, daddy. Want you to come in my ass and spit in my mouth—I’m begging, daddy, begging.”

You fuck hard against him, so desperate, dig your nails into his thighs and climax, and he follows, holding you tight and coming hot inside you. He fucks you through it, and you can feel his come pushed back and forth by the head of his dick; it’s delicious, maddening, and you don’t stop shaking for a long time, until he’s pulling out and lifting your body and holding you in his arms.

“Good girl, sweet girl, all used up by daddy, filled up with daddy,” he murmurs, rubbing your back and gently kissing your lips. Your head sags, your body drained of energy, but he tilts it up and gets you to open your mouth, licks at your tongue, pooling saliva on his while you moan, soft and wrecked into the kiss. You swallow hard when he pulls back, your eyelids fluttering, and he lays you down on the bed, brushes your hair back out of your face. “What do you need, baby? Bath or shower? Blanket, food, cuddles?”

You hum, because it all sounds good, but ultimately murmur, “shower, please, and then food and cuddles on the couch.”

He is so good to you, as always, cleaning you up, washing and conditioning your hair, letting you lean against him, sleepy and boneless, while he does all the work. He orders from your favorite restaurant, then gets you into a pair of his sweats, and you cuddle on the couch with a movie until the food comes; you don’t watch it, just lay on top of him, warm and content in his arms.

If Aaron ever has to leave town for ten days again, you’re booking a flight and hunting down that goddamn unsub yourself. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #prompt #request

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wordstrings · 2 years

Text

Glories Streaming

Post-canon Supernatural (finale-denialist version). Written for @rosileeduckie for the Squealing Santa 2k21 fic exchange, for prompts having to do with stargazing, light, warmth, and laughter. Words: 2,900

—

It’s freezing.

Thirty-one point eight degrees Fahrenheit, in fact, Castiel knows. On the Celsius scale, negative zero point one one one, repeating, on and on into the infinite blackness of space above, out beyond the unfathomably distant boundaries of the universe that is still now rocketing outward from the explosion that began it all.

But “freezing” will do, as Dean’s occasional mutters keep reminding him.

Castiel is perfectly comfortable with the temperature. He always is. What is surface temperature or wind chill to a celestial wavelength? But Dean is merely human, and the dark black cold of sky above and car hood below can wreak discomfort on his mortal body. Castiel resists the urge to melt the chill away, to create a small bubble of room-temperature comfort surrounding their prone, parallel forms. Dean would complain.

(Yes, he complains about the cold, but he’d complain inexplicably louder if he were comfortable. “Freezing our asses off is half the point, Cas,” apparently. Castiel has long since learned not to question the logic.)

The two of them stare quietly up at the winter stars.

“So, you remember that one?” Dean asks out of the silence.

Castiel turns his head to look at him. The blanket providing a thin sliver of cushion on the hood of the Impala wrinkles between them.

“Which one?”

“That one.” Dean nods vaguely upward. The gesture indicates nothing more specific than his initial question.

Castiel turns back to the sky. The stars are all unchanged, pricking their lights out across the vast distance of eons.

“Yes,” he says, because it doesn’t really matter which one Dean is asking about.

“Really?”

Castiel turns to him again. This time, Dean meets his gaze. Dean’s eyes would be just as comforting to spend this time staring at, though Castiel doesn’t say so. It would make Dean look away.

“I remember them all,” Castiel says. “At least, all the ones born before this planet formed. They lost most of their interest after that.”

“Sap,” Dean accuses.

Maintaining their eye contact, Castiel scoots his body closer to the line of Dean’s, until they’re pressed together, side to side. Dean’s face softens. It could be because of Castiel’s warmth against his chilled body, or because Dean isn’t as immune to “sap” as he projects himself to be.

“I’d much rather be here with you than wandering the stars,” Castiel says.

Dean gets that slightly lost look he often does when confronted with Castiel’s affection. Castiel kisses him to bring him home.

It’s only a moment before Dean’s body shudders against him. Castiel feels it from his knees up to his lips. He breaks the kiss with a final few pecks to Dean’s chasing lips and the tip of his reddened nose.

“You’re cold. Come, I’ll warm you up inside.”

Castiel ignores the suggestive waggle of Dean’s brows and levers himself up from the hood of the car, careful not to put too much pressure on the points of his elbows. Dean has fussed at him often enough about putting dimples into the car’s body. Dean relents to reason and follows, balling up the blanket in his arms. As they walk back toward their home, Castiel doesn’t comment on how Dean seeks the heat of his side again, or how a tiny smile brightens his face in the starlight when Castiel wraps the warm, open edge of his coat around Dean’s back.

–

“You know I’m not gonna sleep if you pump me full of caffeine right now,” Dean says, while Castiel pulls two mugs from the cabinet. It’s a minor inconvenience, trying to lift his arms that high without fully dislodging Dean’s chin from his shoulder. Dean remains stubbornly in contact against his back as Castiel sets the mugs down and shuffles sideways to the hot water kettle.

“You won’t be full of caffeine,” Castiel says. He shuffles back the way he came, with this barnacle of Dean on his back, to fill the kettle at the sink – then back again to the kettle’s base, where he sets it to boil. Dean’s feet scuff along with his own, step for step. “Cacao beans have very little caffeine when compared to coffee beans.”

He can hear the wrinkled nose in Dean’s voice: “You’re doing your fancy hippie thing, brewing cacao instead of coffee? Just make a packet of cocoa, jeez. It’s so much faster.”

“You know perfectly well that faster isn’t always better,” Castiel chides.

Dean smirks against his ear while Castiel reaches for the French press. “Don’t we both.”

Castiel, again, doesn’t comment on Dean’s clinging – at least, until the grounds are measured, the kettle boiling, and the press filled. He drapes a tea towel over it to keep the heat in for the ten minutes it needs to steep, then turns in Dean’s octopus-grasp and regards him.

“You’re still cold,” he observes. He lifts Dean’s arms from his shoulders and holds both their hands in front of his chest. All it takes is a thought, a moment of intent, but as with the brewing, a little time and ritual has its own kind of worth.

He begins with Dean’s fingers, which are still stiff with the chill of the winter night. He cups them in his own hands and brings them to his lips so he can breathe warmth over them as his grace seeps unseen into Dean’s hands. He warms the still-strong tendons, the joints showing the first internal signs of arthritis, the bones with old healed fractures. He moves slowly, gently within Dean’s flesh. Experiencing him from the inside is just as familiar to Castiel as from the outside, though that’s another thing Castiel doesn’t say aloud. He’d know Dean by the shape of his thumb knuckles, by the density of his fingertips, by the cartilage wear patterns in his wrists, by the antibody blend circulating his veins. These are no less precious to Castiel than the laugh lines on Dean’s face.

Castiel pushes his grace further, tracing along the radius and ulna of Dean’s forearm, spiraling up the bicep muscle to tired shoulders. He witnesses from both sides of Dean’s skin the tension of cold melting away.

Dean inhales. His lashes flutter down as his brows knit up in one of Castiel’s favorite outward expressions of pleasurable overwhelm. At the moment of exhale, when Dean’s practiced defenses are at their lowest, Castiel moves in and sweeps Dean up into his arms.

The kicks of alarm are predictable and Castiel counterbalances appropriately until Dean stops swearing. There’s new tension in Dean’s body now, both of ingrained resistance and of the desperate cling of a man who prefers being connected to the ground.

“Fuckin’ cardiac arrest,” Dean grumbles in the vicinity of Castiel’s neck. The grip of forced trust around Castiel’s shoulders loosens only slightly. “Hate it when you do that.”

That is not true, but Castiel doesn’t point it out. It will take time to finish the brew of their chocolate drinks, and there is more of Dean’s body to warm.

Dean’s weight is easy to bear as Castiel carries him out of the kitchen to their cozy living space, where an oversized armchair awaits under the soft, colorful glow of the string lights they hung together over the door frame. Castiel sinks into the chair, angling into the corner so Dean’s legs have room to relax over his lap. He keeps one arm curled around the back of Dean’s shoulders to hold him close.

Dean gruntingly snuggles in. “You really are a romantic sap.”

Castiel kisses the top of his head in response.

For as serene as their stargazing had been, and as truthful as Castiel was about interest lost, Castiel finds himself thinking of the glories he hasn’t turned his attention to since ages past. The darkness of the sky outside is deceiving; it appears all the fainter to human eyes for the competing light of the towns nearby, with so many of the stars obscured. There had been times past, on those long trips across middle America, where Castiel would notice Dean snatching glances at the unobstructed night sky. In those days, there were always more important, more difficult, things to be doing than staring up at the stars. But they were so much more striking out there, away from the cities that overwhelmed their light. The dark was deeper, the light more nuanced. Rippled bands of space dust and starlight would wheel magnificently overhead as the planet turned, ever-watching.

Castiel lifts his eyes and reaches with his awareness beyond the ceiling, the attic rafters above, the roof shingles and the light pollution of civilization. There, distant, are Procyon and Sirius, Castor and Pollux – according to the names humanity has given them, different from their true names, but Shakespeare had gotten it right about naming roses. Rigel, Betelgeuse, and Aldebaran mark the shapes called Orion the Hunter and Taurus the Bull. Fainter, more far-flung, beyond the bright points strong enough for most human eyes, are the stars named less creatively as technology aided in their discovery: CVSO 30, 66 Orionis. The dust of nebulae and long-exploded gasses refracts their light across a spectrum that is so much wider than what a limited biological system of rods and cones can detect.

Castiel can’t make Dean see them this way. But he can bring their representation into something reachable.

Keeping his own face upturned, he runs his fingertips up the stubbled curve of Dean’s cheek and rests them on his temple.

“I’d like to show you something,” he murmurs, and gently feeds in the visual information in a way Dean’s mind can understand.

—

Dean gasps as the living room ceiling whirls into light.

The massive Milky Way groans on its axis with the music of the spheres. Blue-white infernos reduced to the size of pinpricks glitter their way through the ocean-deep darkness that extends immeasurably beyond the eight-foot ceiling canvas they dance on. Cosmic dust and star debris glow as black rainbows swirling through the depths.

It’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen. And he’s inside his own damn house.

“Showoff,” he mutters, for lack of any other suitable words.

Cas smiles, probably. Dean doesn’t look away from the galaxies above to check.

He knows Cas isn’t trying to actually show him up. This isn’t an answer to the pitifully human experience of icing one’s nuts on Baby’s hood while squinting up at dots in the sky. That had been Dean sharing an experience with Cas. This is Cas sharing an experience back with Dean.

Dean never really knows how to respond, though, when Cas does this. Does anything, really, that forcefully reminds of the immensity of his experiences, the divine and the celestial. The strength in his body. The patience of his care. It’ll send Dean into a coma if he thinks about it for too long. So he just… doesn’t, and opts to bitch about inconsequential things instead. Like the rudeness of being literally swept off his feet. He really is gonna flatline one of these days, though whether it’s from shock or fluster overload will remain undiscussed.

He sinks more heavily into Cas’ chest and watches the stars sing out their light. His head finds a comfy spot by Cas’ collarbone, where he nuzzles in and releases the last of his tension with an exhale.

Cas makes a noise.

It’s a very particular noise, a hum-grunt that Dean recognizes as involuntary, because for all the multi-dimensional capacities and compressed divinity, Cas, the angel, is ticklish.

Dean fucking loves this about him.

It’s one of the only equalizers that at least kind-of balances the two of them, physically. Sex does, too – at least, once they get toward the end, where Cas is so tangled up in his own body that he can’t really focus on anything else. But here, this spot at the crook of his neck, where Dean’s hair is brushing? Yeah, that’s just mundane ticklishness at work.

Dean sighs again, not-quite-theatrically, and rubs his head there as he wriggles to a more comfortable position on Cas’ lap.

Cas’ chin comes down this time and bumps the side of Dean’s forehead. The noise, slightly closer to a huff now, repeats.

“Dean,” Cas says.

“Cas,” Dean says back. Still watching the astral display above, he hugs around Cas’ chest and starts gently tracing his fingertips up and down Cas’ side. “Real nice show you’re putting on here.”

The way Cas says, “Thank you,” is about as reflexive as the twitch Dean feels in his body.

“I’m really enjoying it.” Down, up, down with a little finger wiggle.

Cas’ breath puffs out with a flinch of movement that threatens to break the touch on Dean’s temple. Cas seems to gather himself then, steeling against further reaction.

“I’m glad,” he answers stiffly.

Oh, this is where it gets fun. “Break the Angel” is one of Dean’s favorite games.

“Sure would be a shame if you had to shut it off early,” Dean sighs. His fingers walk slowly up Cas’ side, until they’re under the arm that’s raised to maintain the touch-illusion with his head. “I’d like to watch until our deluxe, not-at-all-unnecessary hot cocoa alternative is ready.”

Cas swallows. “There’s still some brew time left, don’t worry.”

A little tickle in Cas’ armpit, then Dean’s fingertips slide further back to tease behind his shoulder. However invisible and intangible, the base of Cas’ wing is sensitive. It’s a bonus in all sorts of circumstances. Right now, the upside is a special, angels-only tickle spot.

Despite what Dean knows is Cas’ best effort, Cas’ spine curves away from the touch as he squirms in the armchair. The fingers on Dean’s temple slip; the Milky Way warps into a ripple like disturbed water for a brief moment.

“Dean,” Cas begins again, but no amount of super-human strength can stop the chuckle that wobbles his words. “Only a few moments, please…”

“Yep, only a few,” Dean agrees cheerily. “You got this.”

It is so damn satisfying, making unshakeable Cas shake with laughter. The stars overhead wink and glitch. Dean’s hand finds what he’s privately dubbed the “wingpit” by Cas’ shoulder blade and tickles it mercilessly while he clings to the squirming torso beneath him. Cas scrunches up, buries his nose in Dean’s hair, and snickers until he snorts. But he’s stubborn – the night sky flickers, blares into nonsense colors, browns out until Dean actually catches a glimpse of the ceiling’s plaster, but keeps reforming as Cas struggles to keep contact with Dean’s temple.

“The – hah! – the cacao should be ready,” Cas stutters after a moment more.

Clearly, Cas is expecting this to be the white flag of truce. But Dean has already decided there will be no survivors.

He pivots suddenly in Cas’ lap to claw at his ribs with both hands. He burrows his face into Cas’ neck with a growling assault of nibbles and raspberries for good measure.

Cas dissolves into laughter and finally breaks the connection. He grabs desperately at Dean’s tickling hands and twists to dislodge Dean from his neck.

Dean sits back with a grin, now straddling Cas’ lap. The only glow in the room is from the string lights; the ceiling is bland once again. Cas is smiling and catching his breath, the sight of which rivals the splendor of the absent sky, so it’s no great loss.

“Are you all warmed up now?” Cas asks, faux-exasperation and all.

“Yep.” Dean holds up limber, wriggling fingers demonstratively. Cas catches them before they get any ideas of their own.

—

The unfortunate truth is, brewed cacao smells so much better than cheap packet cocoa. Dean begrudgingly gives it that. He’s wrapped himself around Cas’ back again as the two of them putter through the kitchen once more. Cas seems on-edge this time, especially whenever Dean’s hands drift to his ribs. But Dean only pecks a few ticklish kisses to the side of his neck, and smiles when Cas shivers with goosebumps. Will Cas try to get him back for it later? Yeah, probably. Likely right when they’re getting into bed, when Dean’s too tired to fight back. Afterward, when he’s trying to stop giggling, Cas will kiss him quiet again. None too terrible, as far as divine retribution goes.

The mugs catch Dean’s eye when Cas pours a bit of milk into each. The dark liquid inside swirls slowly with pale clouds and ribbons, reminiscent of the galactic show. It’s not nearly as spectacular, of course, but Dean thinks he’ll look a little more fondly at his morning coffee from now on.

Back in the living room, they snuggle up once again. Dean cradles the hot mug in both hands and smiles when Cas noses his ear and kisses his cheek before taking the first sip of his own drink.

The ceiling looks so blank.

“Do you think you could, uh,” Dean starts, hesitantly, “do that sky thing again? That was pretty awesome.”

Cas looks consideringly at him, the kind of look that warns of consequences if pushed, which… isn’t really an effective deterrent, if Dean’s honest.

“Are you planning on interfering again?” Cas asks.

He’s already had his fun – for now. Dean holds up his mug. “My hands are occupied,” he says, making sure to top it off with a disarming grin.

Cas’ look relents. He wraps an arm around Dean and pulls him in until Dean’s head leans on his shoulder. He lays one more kiss on Dean’s hair before brushing fingertips over his temple.

Together, they bask in the light of the stars.

#Supernatural #Destiel #Squealing Santa 2k21 #rosileeduckie #stringswork #Castiel #Dean Winchester #tickle fic #ticklish!Cas #ler!Dean #Glories Streaming #happy new year y'all

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